Wolf of the West, Chapter 4, Part 1

The glow of dawn’s light warms the bones of a tired Ryuden and his horse. It illuminates the familiar landscape near the settlement’s inn, and dissolves the thick shadows trying to pour out from the forest. The chirping of birds coexists with the rhythmic pounding of the horse’s hooves against the dirt road.

While physically there, Ryuden is elsewhere entirely in thought. The question left unanswered from the night before caught him off guard. He has butchered countless people, but it has always been in the name of his own survival. Surely, either he had to die, or they had to, right? He did as he was ordered to. And, if he had not killed the couple, they would have alerted his target, and he would have lost the opportunity for information. With the inn in sight, Ryuden spurs the horse in his impatience.

Despite it being early morning, nobody is outside. A lone crow greets Ryuden, perched atop the inn.

Dismounting the horse, Ryuden approaches the inn. Reaching to open the door, he stops his hand from touching the handle at the last second. The door is open, already. Pushing it open wider, he tenses at an alarming scene; broken glasses, toppled tables, and the half burnt logs of a fire are scattered about.

Drawing his dagger, Ryuden approaches the bar. His frown only deepens when he finds the innkeep. There he lay, face down and motionless. Climbing over the bar, Ryuden kneels down to examine the body. Though the back shows no signs of injury, a large gash through the throat is revealed when the body is flipped over. “Siyerrod plagues me,” mutters Ryuden. There lays his chance, dead on the floor. He closes his eyes, fists clenched.

Someone clears their throat.

Whirling around and standing up, Ryuden feels a hand grip him by the throat. His feet leave the ground, and his body is pinned against a wall. His dagger having slipped out of clutch from the sudden attack, Ryuden swings his fists frantically at his attack. Though his blows land over and over, they only serve to anger his attacker, who makes it impossible to breathe.

“Let him go,” a familiar voice says.

“Why should I?” asks the attacker. “Could be another Inquisitor--”

“An Inquisitor who comes alone, and ill-prepared?”

Ryuden pries the hand at his throat to grant himself more air. When he is released completely, he slumps to the floor. Air rushes into his lungs as he makes no effort to retaliate to his attackers. Though in sight, his dagger is well beyond his reach.

“Well, it seems we were destined to meet again,” the familiar voice says. The blonde woman from before kneels next to Ryuden, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I apologize for the rude greeting. We were waiting for the lucky man who slaughtered one of my clients. Would you happen to know where he is?”

Ryuden says nothing, trying to regulate his breathing.

“You say he’s right in front of me? Why… that must put you to blame, then.” Taking her hand away, she presses cold steel against Ryuden’s throat. “The Ravens of Night have a very… vague rule when it comes to stealing or ruining a contract. It says the wrongdoer must be punished, but does not specify the punishment. I could part open your throat, or slap you across the face.” Smirking, she pulls her knife away. “I have a much better idea, however.” The woman stands up, picking Ryuden’s dagger off the ground. “You may call me Yanna.” She motions to the quiet, bulky figure who attacked Ryuden.

The figure looms over Ryuden for a moment, and -- without warning -- strikes him over the head.

***

“What’s the matter?” Kelyn asks, standing behind Ryuden .You think it’s over? That the Wolves have perished?”

“An army came in and killed off nearly all of our people.” Ryuden folds his arms over his chest, giving a nod towards the bandits huddled around a campfire. Even under the heat of flames, the snow barely melts around them. “Those who did escape are hopeless for sanctuary now.”

“You are looking at it from the wrong angle, son.” Kelyn places a hand on Ryuden’s shoulder, unphased by the old. “We were -- are, group of warriors that could only be stopped by an entire army coming down on them. Do you know what that means? We can rebuild, and once we are stronger than before, no physical force in the world can stop us. It is time for a new home, wouldn’t you agree?”

Raising a brow, Ryuden looks at Kelyn. “Where would you propose we go?”

Kelyn scratches his beard. “We ought to find one of them forts in Oner. We’ll take one over.”

“The Onerian Army isn’t that weak.”

“They are if their forces are too engaged in their war with Omem.” Kelyn leaves Ryuden, heading towards the campfire. “Listen up, you cattle-tongued fiends! We leave Uskbight by dawn. The Wolves of the West will find a new den, and grow stronger than before. We were forged in the crucible of ice and death, now let us share this might with the world!”

Ryuden sits back against a tree, listening to the cheers amongst the survivors. They would grow stronger, as they had before. Back when the ‘Wolves of the West’ was one man and his innocent boy.

More Wolf of the West on the way!

Good morning!

I can't go into much detail, but due to some conflicts, I had to halt progress on Wolf of the West. But, after dealing with the issue, I can continue the dark story of Ryuden. I should have the next chapter up by tomorrow evening, so stay tuned!

Ranger of the North, Book 3, Chapter 5

Opening his eyes, Rune forces himself to sit up. Groggily looking around, the chamber seems the same as it has been. Turning around, he meets the patient gaze of Talbot. "What happened? I feel.. different."

"You are a Reaper now," Talbot replies, "you have taken the oath, and sealed it with the ancestral spirits."

"That's it, then?" Rune asks. "I don't feel any stronger.. just sick."

"You'll feel the improvement a hundred years down the road, and - if you're lucky - in a millenium." Talbot grins, easing back in his throne. "Don't be fooled; you have changed already. You won't feel time the same way, wounds will adorn your body less, and your body will bolster its strength."

Remembering how Terzogue had cleaved through the stone pillar in the dragon's cave, Rune nods in acknowledgement. This could be the source of that exhibited strength, which Rune will likely need. And, speaking of Terzogue... "Grandmaster Talbot," Rune says, "before Terzogue's passing, he wanted me to tell you 'the sun must rise.'"

"And it has indeed," Talbot comments, massaging the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "It seems you have been chosen by him for the White Sun matter."

"White Sun?" Confused, Rune waits for further explanation.

"The White Sun is a glorified cult," Talbot starts, "A few years before the Reign of Darkness began, a group of individuals ran a guild dedicated to hunting and exterminating foul things. Witches, vampires, werewolves and the likes were not safe as long as they were at work."

"Sounds like they could be helpful."

"Could have been; one night, all of these individuals were supposedly visited by Anto himself."

"If they were visited by Anto, how could that be a problem?"

"If that was not Anto." Talbot leans back in his throne, watching the doors expectantly. "Decieved by Siyerrod, the Queen's jester, they were told to that their guild must be dedicated to the worship of Anto, and call themselves the White Sun. Nothing changed for the founders' slives, who resumed their struggle to rid the world of tainted beings. Until one evening, Siyerrod whispered a lie so cunning, it shone as truth would; if they truly wanted the world to be pure, then the world must be cleaned of all its flaws. Sentient life is one of the key flaws tainting the world. Those who aided in this goal would be given salvation and live with the deity himself."

"But where will they go?"

Talbot sighs. "They have already committed themselves to Siyerrod's will; they are all condemned to the Queen's domain. But, more to the matter at hand, it is beyond us how they will find the means to wipe this world of life, but with the aid of that devious god, I doubt it is impossible."

"Why would the Queen do such a thing?" Rune asks. "An empty world is useless."

"That's where you are--"

The doors' clicking is followed by it swinging wide open. Clad in the familiar midnight-black armor of the Reapers, a man - with green flesh, appearing as strong as an ox with tusks protruding from his lower jaw - collapses to the chamber floor, huffing heavily as blood paints the stone. "They found the runaway," he pants, "but.... White Sun.. overran.."

"Easy, orc," Talbot says, hurrying over to him. "Breathe easily. Your brothers and sisters will need you for another fight."

The orc's beefy arm raises up, grabbing Talbot's shoulder to make eye conact. "Don't... d-don't let," he stutters, before giving one final shudder as he collapses on the floor. All is silent as the light leaves his eyes.

Shaking his head with a melancholic sigh, Talbot lays the orc down flat on the floor, before glancing up at Rune. "You heard him. There will likely already be reinforcements en route to the battle's location; join up with them, and save your brother. I fear that is who they have come so far for."

With a nod, Rune turns on his heel, striding out through the doors. In front of him stands Leina and Silverfall, both bearing an expectant look. "Do either of you know the way?"

"I do," responds Leina.

"I can follow--"

"Stay here. Talbot will need your help."

Witha cold glare, Silverwind stalks off into the chamber.

Leina hurries through the various corridors down the grandmaster's stairs. Somehow, she does not second-guess herself winding through this maze.

Trying to memorize the turns himself, Rune quickly loses track, and just focuses on keeping up with Leina. It would likely come to him over time.The kiss of cold air signifies their close proximity to the exit. "What will we do if we run into the White Sun?" he asks as they round one more corner, the light of dawn breaching through the open entryway.

“The exact courtesy they gave to us shall be returned in full,” says Leina. She steps outside - along with Rune - of the Nexus and into all too familiar ice.

Rune’s eyes set upon the valley below, where a usually calm sea of evergreens reside. Smoke billows from various burning patches in the forest; someone is setting the forest ablaze! Where shou-” Rune’s eyes fixate where Leina stood - now gone. With a shake of his head, he begins to work his way down the steep decline into the valley. Leina’s words from before echo in his head, about how they stood a better chance apart.

Quit thinking about your little vixen, and worry about the task at hand. The tone in Siden’s voice is lined with something.. unlike him.

“Is that anxiety I hear in your voice?” he asks in a whisper, slowing down as he navigates his way through the dense branches.

You’re damn right I’m anxious, Siden retorts, there's a powerful abomination molded after me sealed away in an unstable host, being chased by fanatics trying to capture him. Why should I not be anxious?

"Capture?"

Unlike you fools, I have a better idea on why someone would be out here, fighting these Reapers when there's conveniently a good reason to do so.

Drawing Gwynt from his sheath, Rune nods. "Okay, you make a fair point,"  he admits, stepping out of the trees to catch the figures' attentions. Their white clothing would have easily hidden them in the pure white snow, but with the pines and flames, their garb is useless as camoflague. A golden pendant with the image of a sun stamped into the center adorns the neck of each. One of these men meet Rune's gaze with a chilling yet equal represent of attitude towards foes; cold, calculative, and determined.

"Turn back, traveler," the cultist orders, "this place is a haven to a dangerous being. You will perish in this forest, as we fight to put down this menace."

"Is that a warning or a threat?" Holding his ground, Rune readies Gwynt, prepared to spill the blood of his enemies. "And menace or not, I will not let you harm my brother. I'll cut you down to the last man if that is what it will take."

"Fool," the man mutters, giving a gesture to his comrades, one of which loads a crossbow. "The White Sun is bigger than you, bigger than your pesky Reapers, and bigger than any standing army. Fighting us is certain doom. It won't matter soon.. salvation is close, I can almost taste it.." Armed with a maul - so well crafted its beauty matches the terror it formulates simply by being raised into the air - the man begins to rush towards Rune. "And it is neither a warning nor threat; it is a promise!"

Taking a quick step backwards when the maul's brute force tears through the air, Rune feels the bone-crushing fury smashing through his absence. Intending to strike, Rune angles Gwynt to pierce through the maul-wielding brute's chest. A feeling - like that of a hot knife - halts his blow as something slams into his shoulder, causing Rune to stagger backwards. Before he can recover, he recieves a shoulder-bash, knocking him off his feet and onto his back, winded.

"Shrivel before the might of the White Sun!" cries the man, raising his maul to finish of a bewildered Rune. Suddenly, a battle cry - so vigorous it is terrifying - breaks the man's focus when a hulking orc lumbers towards him. The brawny orc lifts him off his feet with one green pillar of an arm and hurls him into a tree.

Rune tries to put Gwynt between himself and the orc, but looking at his right shoulder, his eyes rest upon the bolt sticking out of it. The orc's hands reach down and lift him up. Rune's eyes meet the orc's as the other two cultist - shocked by the bare-handed juggernaut - hurry around the two to tend to their own injured comrade.

The orc sniffs Rune, before opening his mouth to formulate words. "Friend... saved... fight.. sun." Setting Rune down, the orc bounds towards the remaining two cultists. Picking up the maul, he slams it into one's ribs, the cracking loud enough to make Rune cringe. The other cultist gives a shriek before the orc ends it with a heavy landing on the cultist's skull.

Still in shock at the sudden entry of the large orc and the violent ensuement of the cultists' elimination, Rune does not move to escape nor provoke the orc. Though perhaps what the orc meant by his broken dialogue is that Rune is not meant to be another foe?

Dropping the maul, the orc turns around to face Rune. "Eiden," he says, pounding his fist on his exposed torso. Approaching Rune, the orc jabs his chest with a finger. "Friend?"

Not eager to join the pile of bodies, Rune lets the orc he assumes is named Eiden poke away. Nodding in response to Eiden's question, Rune clears his throat. "Yes, I'm your friend. My name is Runeshot, Ranger of the North. I'm looking for someone."

"Someone?" Eiden points a finger at the three bodies that lay limp.

"No, not them," says Rune. "It's my brother."

"Brother," Eiden echoes, thinking. Scratching his head, he gives a simple shrug. "Somewhere."

"Thanks," Rune says, feigning gratitude with a warm grin for Eiden's beaming smile. A shooting pain roots into his shoulder as the adrenaline of battle fades. Feeling with his hand, he wraps his fingers around the metal shaft of the crossbow's bolt.

"Shot," Eiden comments, brushing away Rune's hand as he studies the bolt himself. "Help?"

"Help? What do you--" Rune grits his teeth and groans in pain; the oaf rips out the bolt without hesitation. "What in the name of Tarlmisac did you just do?"

"Helped." Eiden tosses the bloodied bolt behind him, but sniffs what blood of Rune's remains on his finger. Turning around, he points into the direction of the concentration of the fire. "Brother."

"In that direction?"

His finger still pointing at the open flames, Eiden nods his head frantically.

"Okay, okay, we'll get there. But first, my wound--" The sudden absence of the pain surprises Rune, who reaches to feel nothing but a hole in his coat. That, and the cold trying to pervade his body and its warmth. Adjusting his coat, he seals the hole with one of the various layers. "It will work for now," he mutters before beginning to navigate through the trees. The regeneration intrigued him, but not enough to take priority over his brother.

Soon enough, the cold is no longer an issue; the trees are pillars of fire reaching up into the air. Faint shouts, clanging of steel and battle cries reach Rune's ears from deeper into the forest. Through the treeline, Rune spots Goldshot in the middle of a horde of more cultists.

Though, Gold does not seem the same as Rune remembers; utterly calm in the face of almost certain death, his eyes are pure black, iris and all. His flesh is much more pale, with several glowing marks on his body which pulse a fierce red. One of the cultists swings his blade at Gold, only to have it whistle through empty air. Goldshot's palm lands firmly on the cultist's chest. The connection lasts for only a second before the attacker lets out a violent shudder and crumples to the snow, unmoving. As more of them come at Goldshot from all angles, he bypasses the oncoming blows with swift maneuvers of his body.

Your brother is not that man anymore, explains Siden, it is the shell of what I was; an archdemon, serving under On'hino, God of War and Devastation. That shelll not only has my power, but the god's teachings to use it. As he stands, he is a great threat to your destiny; destroy him now, before he grows any stronger.

"But my brother will die as well," Rune says while watching Gold dispatch the cultist with ease, even though he is unarmed. The bodies pile up as it becomes clear that the White Sun has little to no chance of victory against him. As their numbers are decimated, the remaining cultists retreat into the treeline.

"Go?" Eiden asks, still pointing his finger at Gold.

"No, you stay here." Rune creeps out of the trees, walking towards Goldshot from behind, stepping over numerous bodies. Once he draws close enough, he clears his throat.

Whirling around, Goldshot grins. "It's been a long time since I got to kill someone on my own. These mortals are so.. fragile, and so easy to cower." Chuckling, he folds his arm over his chest. "I can feel the other half of me there. How has he been?"

A little sickened; if the Queen has settled for you, her expectations must have dwindled. Siden's laugh does not accompany his retort this time.

"He's fine," says Rune, "better when you're back where you belong." Taking a step closer, he stares into the twin orbs filled with an abysmal darkness. "I don't care about the feud between the two of you; I just want my brother back, or at peace."

"Do you, now?" Raising an eyebrow, the possessed Goldshot simply shrugs. "I wish I could abandon this pathetic vessel, but I cannot. I was sealed within this from since both of our creations. Too weak to survive on my own, I leeched on your brother for enough energy to self-sustain, and for now I need him where I have been for all these years; imprisoned, watching the show. That is, until I am strong enough to take my true form. But then he would have perished; his soul's energy is vital to put on such a plan."

"Then we are at an impasse," Rune says as he stands in place, his muscles tensing. "I would rather he takes a quick death than endure a slow one." His muscles tense further as his 'brother' lets out a cacophonous cackle.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. I can already feel some of my power returning, and even this miniscule amount is enough to prevent you from even touching this vessel." The smoke from the flames billow in between Goldshot's tennant and Rune, obscuring the surroundings to the naked eye. "I am Sidileth, the archdemon born of abandon, from dust to deity with little effort. I'll see you when you're ready to draw your last breath."

Rune cuts through the smoke - where Sidileth stood - to hit nothing but the ground. The smoke leaves everything - except Rune's mind - clear after dissipating. He stands there, glowering at the tracks left by Sidieleth. They continue in no certain direction; the archdemon is gone without a trace.

"Brother?" Eiden calls out from afar.

Gritting his teeth tightly, Rune closes his eyes, giving a sharp exhale. Blood boiling in his veins, he tries to organise his feelings; fear, rage, grief, panic, they all run rampant. However, a faint voice in the back of his head says one word.

Endure.

The blooming of the flames die down, and the winds relent. A ray of moonlight pierces the canopy of grey clouds and shines upon Rune. If the Queen is doing this to send you into dismay, then she is frantically trying to stop you.

"Siden, what are you saying? This doesn't sound like you," mutters Rune, looking down at Gwynt's blade, which seems unusually light.

It isn't me, Siden replies.

Surely you recognize me, do you not? The voice seems less crude than Siden's - more sincere. Do you remember not how I released you from this blade’s twisted grasp when you lost your focus, when you let rage consume you?

“I do,” murmurs Rune, “but why now?” Sliding Gwynt into its scabbard, he glances over the carnage. Bodies of the cultists lay strewn everywhere; not a single survivor remains. “You have remained quiet until now; where were you?”

I have spoken before, but only when it is necessary. Do not believe that I care little for the struggle against the Queen of Darkness. However, it is through your strength alone that this realm may be rid of her and her minions.

“But how?” When no response supplies his heavily curt question, Rune’s lips twist into a frown. Only when it is necessary.

Dry Spell

Hello everyone! I'm just letting you all know that I'm still alive and working on the site, but with the burden of work I've been unable to work on the blog and my writing substantially. But, don't worry, I'm reaching the light at the end of the tunnel. New content will be released!

EDIT: I'd like to thank friends and family who have shared my blog on their facebook/twitter accounts. You guys are the best! I'll keep trying to do you all proud, and to my new readers, feel free to share my blog. It helps promote my writing, and it motivates me to see how much support I have.

Wolf of the West, Chapter 3 (Part 2)

Passing quickly through the draining streets, Ryuden pays little attention to the symphony of conversations now. He already has the information he needs; a location. Now the rest falls unto his ability. Rounding a corner onto a street clear of buildings, his eyes set on Sea Wolf’s Bay.

The dwindling rays of sunlight slide down a section of the city in disrepair. Occasional piles of rubble that once were proud structures are but victims of neglect. Not a single soul catches Ryuden’s attention. When the last ray of light disappears over the horizon of the limitless span of water stretching far from the bay, darkness floods into the streets Without the moon’s intervention yet, pitch black engulfs whatever torchlight does not.

Passing quickly through the shanty town embracing the bay, Ryuden stops when he spots a large building -- the warehouse. A collection of torches pepper the building, to prevent trespassers -- himself included -- from slipping by unnoticed. Shifting his eyes to the guards patrolling around, Ryuden immediately tries to work out their pattern. The striking resemblance of these guards to the ones at the estate leaves no doubt that this is the place he is looking for.

Ryuden watches the patrols move, slowly gaining an understanding of their patrol routes. A compromise in their security comes to surface. The guards’ timing is imperfect, leaving a small period where their eyes cannot watch the surrounding crates for movement. Waiting for the fault to appear, Ryuden then rushes forth. Leaving the cobble streets for wooden planks built over calm waters, he hides behind a stack of shipping crates. After a few moments of silence to ensure his presence remains unknown, he peers over the barrel.

The passing torches of the patrols briefly illuminate a large door; a way in. Despite the small distance between it and Ryuden, the patrols’ timing makes it impossible to open the door and slip by unseen. A distraction is the only way to progress without bringing every guard to alert.

Ryuden waits for a chance to move unseen again, timing the patrols like clockwork. When the moment of opportunity presents itself once more, he shoves a barrel over the edge and hurries away. Concealing himself behind several crates nearby, Ryuden listens to the disruptive splash break the palpable silence in the night.

“Hey!” a guard barks. “Who’s there? I saw that!” A pair of footsteps against the dock’s planks draw close to Ryuden.

As one guard leans over the edge to search for the barrel, Ryuden slips away from the crates. Dagger in hand, he punctures the other guard’s flesh, just at the top of the spine. Placing a hand over the paralyzed guard’s mouth to muffle any screams, he pushes the limp body into the first guard. Both fall into the water, the helpless guard pulling the other under. Ryuden moves away quickly, hiding behind crates closer to the warehouse as the others guards rush past to investigate the commotion in the waters. With his window open, Ryuden reaches the door and opens it just wide enough for him to slip inside, shutting it quietly.

The inside of the warehouse boasts little lack of space, despite being lined to the ceiling with mountains of crates. Unlike the outside of the warehouse, no guards stand sentry. Workers move about, with a drone-like mindset -- each has their own responsibility, working without need of communication for coordination. Aside from those with tools, they are all unarmed. Vulnerable.

But, before he can move into the shroud of darkness, a worker looks over to Ryuden. And beckons him over. “What’re ye doing?” the worker asks, walking towards Ryuden. “The boss don’t have meetings after dark, yer too late to talk to ‘im. You’re that cap’n, right? Lost a few crates of the important stuffs?”

Ryuden nods, figuring it easier to play along for now. Anything that would make it easier for him to get to his target.

“Hmm…” the worker scratches his beard, and shrugs. “Not in me power t’ shove ye out of here, being a brother pirate.” With a chuckle, the worker rolls up his sleeve to show off a series of black lines running down his arm. “Are ye just a land - lover who loves the sea more, or ye from Siyerrod, too?”

“Beldirr, you gilnik!” a voice barks. “Get back to work. The boss doesn’t pay you to sit around, shove our goods up your nose, and chat with clients.” Coming around another set of boxes, a man -- no, a giant of a man strides towards the two. His hulking figure makes Ryuden takes a few steps back as he approaches. Glaring down at worker Beldirr, he beckons Ryuden closer. “If I don’t have everything ready to move by sunrise, I’ll have your wages cut.”

Without further coercion, Beldirr turns around and returns to his work with haste.

“And you,” the man says, his grayed skin in contrast with the pearly ivory of his tusks, “you’re going to tell me why you are here, and why I should not see you hang from the nearest pole for trespassing.” When Ryuden fails to speak, the orc chuckles. “Relax, I know why you are here. Had I not, I would have called the guards the moment I saw you. The innkeeper sent you to help change the establishment overnight.”

Ryuden can only nod, still puzzled. “If you knew why I am here, then why make the threats?” he asks.

“We have plenty of petty thieves trying to steal from our shipments. It was meant to scare off an armed beggar, should you have been one. Not, let us not keep your quarry waiting.” The orc leads Ryuden through the warehouse, deeper into the building until the sounds of work seem to die down, and light becomes more scarce. Crates stack up into the darkness, lit only by scattered torches resting in their rusty sconces. At the end of the passage lies a door, two figures cast into the light beside it.

Their stillness lacks no discipline, and they give a salute to the orc and Ryuden. These two are not the thugs and simpletons from before. What power would one hold over the city to have the need to hire such guards? They pay no attention to either as the orc and Ryuden stop before the door.

“You have no need to worry about these two,” the orc says. “If they weren’t in my pocket, then you would’ve been killed the moment they saw you.”

“Comforting.” Ryuden gives the pair of guards one last glance before paying attention to his orc acquaintance. “What now?”

“I’m going to go in there, catch him in an argument. He’ll be too worked up to think straight and call for help.” Not waiting for Ryuden’s approval of his plan, the orc swings the door open, and marches on inside.

Shaking his head softly, Ryuden steps through the doorway, shutting it behind himself. His eyes run over the barrels and crates that continue taking space. No torches light the room, just whatever comes through the cracks in the floor above. Along with the light comes two voices -- one most certainly the orc’s -- which gradually elevate from hushed voices to raised ones. Within a few more seconds, the voices soar to new heights, each shouting angrily. Trying to make out the words, Ryuden fails to understand. The two are speaking in a different tongue.

Rather than continuing to make sense of the dialogue, Ryuden creeps up the stairs. He can feel it in his blood -- this is it. Each step seems higher than the last, so much that Ryuden has to climb up rather than walk. When he reaches the top, he grasps the door handle to what lays beyond, and twists.

The door opens to the angered men glaring at each other, the orc leaning over a desk that another man sits behind. Turning his gaze from the orc, the man looks at Ryuden, his anger quickly dissipating as he raises an eyebrow. “Who in the Void are you?” he asks. “Do you know this man, Kresch? Do I have business with him?”

Kresch turns his glare over to Ryuden. Almost instantly, he changes from unbridled fury to an almost smug state. “About time you arrived.”

“So you do know him?” Looking Ryuden over, the man sits back in his chair, with a pondering expression. “What are you looking for? Work? Give me a name.”

“My name is not important,” Ryuden states, the sudden weight in his words carrying more force than a hammer clanging against an anvil. “Anyone could carry out my work.” Drawing his dagger, he approaches the cornered prey, who just starts to realize his disposition.

“W-wait a moment,” the man stutters, “no need to be hasty, I can get you whatever you are doing this for.” When no response is yielded by the approaching Ryuden, he stands up, moving behind the chair to maintain a distance. “Coin? Women? Power?”

“There is no substitute for what I’m looking for.” Walking around the desk, Ryuden stops only several steps from the man.

“K-kresch, do something!” the man implores.

“I’m sorry, bossy,” Kresch says, folding his arms over his chest. “The transition of power has been pre meditated for some time. This just happens to be a means to secure the future of this business and its interests.”

The man glares at Kresch. “You swine! You giant, grey skinned swine! I ought to saw off your tusks and sell them with the rest of the ivory, you muck lurker!” His hands ball into fists, but he does not attempt to lunge past Ryuden. “My death will not go uninvestigated, and the law will rid this city of both of you.”

“Then I’ll see to it that there is nothing to investigate.” Kresch clears his throat as he turns his attention to Ryuden. “To be clear, the innkeeper sent you?”

Ryuden nods, waiting patiently to end a panicking man’s life. Like a cornered animal, the man does not move, knowing that he is truly stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“Then everything is in order.” Kresch turns to face the wall. “Commence.”

Before the man’s pleading can escalate to screams for help, Ryuden grips his throat with his offhand. With enough force, he effectively constricts the man’s windpipe, silencing him. With his dagger in hand, Ryuden plunges the blade into the soft flesh just above the collarbone, burying it deep until the brief struggle for survival ends. With the withdrawal of his dagger, he releases the man’s body, the eyes still drenched in panic.

A period of silence following the thud of the man’s body prompts Kresch to turn around. “Oh, by the gods!” he exclaims with poorly feigned shock, if not excellent sarcasm, “he is dead! I do not see the killer in the act, so I suppose there is nothing more that I can do for him. I suppose I must take charge around here, to preserve his legacy.” He chuckles, stepping beside Ryuden to look over the bloody mess. “You can leave whenever you wish. The guards in front of the office will prove no issue to you.”

“And the ones patrolling the outside of the warehouse?” asks Ryuden.

“Pah, they are not worth the air they breathe, much less what it would cost to keep them all quiet. However, pine boxes are relevantly cheap this time of year.” Kresch sits in the chair behind the desk, not paying any mind to the bloody mess behind him as he starts to organize the paperwork cast upon it.

Moving in front of the desk, Ryuden picks a hand cloth off the surface. “Then I will take my leave.” He wipes the blood off of his dagger, the white cloth spattered with streaks of crimson.

“I see. Do you have a name?”

“That sounds a little intrusive for our business relation, Kresch.”

“I meant a monicker. Think of people like the ‘White Stone Slaughterer,’ or the ‘Night-Monger.’”

Ryuden nods in understanding, however his focus is on Kresch himself. Nobody reacts to the brutality he has just committed like Kresch did. Why was the orc so calm? How many times has he seen this? But, instead of pushing into a conversation that threatens to leave more questions than answers, Ryuden resumes the shallow dialogue. “Those are for people who thrive off their killings.”

“What does that make you, then?”

“I’m just some one-time hitman.”

“A shame. Well, if you ever are looking to make a name for yourself, I’ve plenty of people who would do me more good… decommissioned.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Kresch grins. “Excellent. I do have one more question.”

“Yes?”

“There was word of somebody sneaking into a home and butchering one guard and a couple that just happens to be related to the fool behind me.”

“If you’re asking if I did it--”

“I’m not. I’m asking that -- if you were responsible -- does that not make you one of those who thrives off their killings, as well?”