Inspired by Wimblegurk challenge after somebody recommended The Night Unfurls to me in my primary account. This story will certainly have a hard M-rating, with violence and gore and all the grim and darkness that would accompany both sides of this crossover.
Also, this is an alt to my primary account, so any Warhammer fans that recognize the MC, don't cry foul. I am entirely aware that I am using my own character with my own permission.
The concept of this stems from my inability to reconcile Vult's (spelling I will be using) sudden betrayal and how nobody saw it coming. Most stories I have seen from this setting have him as a lewd, crude, hell of a bad dude. But everybody is like "NO, NOT VULT!" That's stupid, and I feel there should be more to it than that. My first goal for this was to figure out a way how to properly have Vult shift from being "Bestie Mercenary" into "Sexist the Rapist." And then, the next step is how on earth does everything spiral so quickly out of control.
If only there were some inexplicable corrupting force that the Warhammer universe could bring to the table to explain all of this...
Marigar, Feoh
Marigar was a quiet village, tucked in the cleft valley between the northern mountain range that protected Feoh from the frigid wastes and separated it from the lower region of Ur. A few small farms surrounded it, growing subsistence crops as the seasons allowed, toiling in the hard earth at the foot of the mountains. Barely a hundred souls lived in the village proper; ten times that could be found in a good two-day march any direction. It was a quiet, sleepy place.
Though small and relatively unremarkable in production or population, in fact it could only be found on the most detailed maps of Feoh, Marigar possessed the noteworthy establishment of an actual inn, complete with four rooms and a few lofts in the stables for the less discerning passerby. Not many travellers ventured to the north-eastern edge of Feoh, save for miners, adventurers, and patrols of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order out hunting for demon incursions. Most of the year, it served as the communal gathering place, where stories could be told, gossip passed mouths, and Marigar could draw close. The locals called it 'the Alehouse.' The original settlers of Marigar had not thought up a better name, and the family that ran the inn had never bothered to change it. It was simple, memorable. Marigar did not need something fancy like a garish sign and a name on the door. The excitement of the Alehouse came in the form of visitors, not signs.
The rare times a visitor came through, the inn always filled to the brim. Local gossips crowded for information, the aldermen pushed the gossips away then plied for the same news. The young men and women strove to draw the eye of the mysterious travellers. It was all good fun and games for the locals. In a sleepy place like Marigar, any news was noteworthy, and spread like wildfire.
The news rushed so quickly that Jowles found it exceedingly rare that a stranger reach the Alehouse without his foreknowledge. Which made it all the more surprising when the door to the Alehouse opened and an unfamiliar figure stepped inside.
It was a brisk spring night, the sun having fell below the mountains only a little while before, leaving just enough fading light to make torchlight unnecessary yet. A dozen locals occupied most of his inn, sitting around the fireplace or trading stories at the corner tables. His daughter, Melaea, lounged against the bar, batting her lashes furiously at the Groll's eldest son. The two families had entertained the possibility of courtship between the younglings for some time now; it was clear to the whole of Marigar that a wedding was to be had by winter. He just didn't know if we was ready for that yet. It seemed only a harvest ago that Melaea had bounced on his knee and giggled at the silly voices he made.
Service had been slow tonight. It always was, this time of year. Just early enough that the farmers had started planting, but not so early that they were eager to spend their evenings guzzling his ale. Jowles did not mind that so much. They were due for another merchant's visit soon. He had plenty of coin to restock his cellar for the summer. But it never hurt to have a lighter purchase, especially if he might be having to plan a wedding. Even out on the fringe, it could cost quite a bit of coin.
When the door opened, he cast his practiced gaze at the intruder, wondering which of the families would be arriving so late. Once the sun fell, few newcomers came to the Alehouse save the drunks. And most of those were already here.
Instead of a local, however, a foreign man shuffled into his Alehouse. A heavy cloak obscured his appearance, hood pulled low to hide his face. What clothes were visible showed ragged misuse: pants decorated with outer pouches around his thighs and hips; a dark leather jacket that reached his feet. And his shoes! Jowles' eyes narrowed in wonder at the unfamiliar fashion: laces crossing along the length of the foot, continuing on to reach above the ankle, padded with thick soles and metal caps on both the tip and heel. Such strange clothes, he thought to himself.
His chief concern settled on the gleaming sword hanging from the man's hip. Though encased in a gilded scabbard, he could have sworn there was true gold in the symbols and etching lining the piece, the weapon's guard was a polished silver, and a bulky construct on the side seemed so dreadfully out of place. But it was a sword. Swords were rare; moreso ones with such fancy scabbards. This stranger was dangerous, and important. One, or both. But not neither. And that made him uneasy. Strange armed men arriving unannounced never bode well.
"A seat" the man spoke. His voice croaked dully, a harsh edge to it, yet the request was clearly intended without malice. The Alehouse had gone silent, all eyes turned on the man. Melaea looked to Jowles, uncertainty crossing her expression as she asked permission to see to this stranger.
"Where ever your pleasure, sir." Jowles gestured invitingly. He shooed Melaea to the back room, telling her to fetch a bottle of brandy. This one had the look of a man in a bad way. He would need something stronger than their ale.
Obliged, the man sank down into the nearest chair, hardly bothering to push his scabbard to the side. A long, stuttering breath exploded out of the man's mouth, and he leaned forward over the table, one hand on the hilt of his sword without menace, the other resting on the table. The stranger did not even look around at all the inquisitive stares thrown his way. Jowles shot the locals a warning look, but they were preoccupied by this newcomer. The fascination showed on all their faces.
"Drink" his voice croaked, again barely forcing its way free.
Melaea reappeared with the brandy. Jowles snatched the bottle and carefully measured out a proper amount. He would not waste this rare commodity, but some things must be done.
"Are you a brandy man, sir?"
The stranger gave no answer. Hurrying to his table, Jowles set the mug down and took a step back, anxiously eyeing the tension in the man's grip on his blade. It did not appear a threat, if anything he held it to keep the weapon from clacking against the chair. But the people of Marigar were unused to seeing any sort of weapon held so openly. They could not be faulted for that.
Taking the mug, the stranger brought it to his lips and sniffed. The brandy must have agreed with him, because he leaned back to drink-
And promptly spat it back out as a fit of coughing seized him. Startled, Jowles leapt back a step, his hands curling in fright as the man let out a pained gasp, blood and spittle spraying across the table and his brandy. The mug fell to the inn's floor, brandy mixing with the blood of the man as he collapsed onto the table. They all heard the gruff, powerfully uttered curse
"Shit."
And then the stranger slumped motionless in his chair. They all stared in horror, confused by what had just transpired. Jowles' eyes widened as Ara Groll rose from his seat with the alderman and went to inspect the stranger, holding out a hand with the timidity of a child approaching a barking hound.
"Is… is he…" Melaea peered over Jowles' shoulder, keeping her father between herself and the body. "Is he dead?"
"By the Goddess" Ara Groll murmured, seeing something they could not. The elderly farmer placed a careful hand on the stranger's chest and eased him back to a sitting position. Blood coated the man's lips and chin. His eyes were empty and unfocused. Slipping his hand to the man's side, Ara Groll grunted and tugged at something. It came free with a horrid squelching sound that made even Jowles flinch.
Ara Groll dropped the offending object onto the table for all to see. The people of Marigar gasped at the sight. A broken arrow, dyed black, point fashioned in the manner of the demon orcs to the east.
"That's an arrow" Jowles whispered. "Orcs! Are they this close?"
"His wound looks fresh" Ara answered, fear creeping into his voice. "They must be near." The farmer looked to Jowles and the alderman. "If there are orcs in the mountains, we need to send to Feoh. We need soldiers to protect us."
"Yes, of course." The alderman, Hess, leapt out of his chair. "Ishar," he motioned to the eldest Groll child. "Fetch a horse, lad. I'll put my son on it and send him tonight. Jowles, ring the village bell. We need to tell everyone of the danger."
"Don't bother" a gruff voice ordered.
Melaea shrieked as the stranger's body moved. They had all forgotten him in the momentary panic, but the man's eyes had gained color again. The color had returned to his face, and he was… very much not dead anymore. Reaching down to his feet, he picked up the fallen mug and inspected the bottom for any brandy that might have survived. A disappointed grimace slugged across his face, and he placed the mug back on the table.
"You're… but you died" Ara cried out.
"Didn't stick" the man replied, tonelessly. His eyes swept the room before settling on Jowles. The innkeeper flinched under the stranger's full attention. Dark, brooding eyes pierced into him like knife blades, a savageness lurking behind the colorful, serious orbs. "I wasted your brandy. That was rude."
"... you don't need to apologize" Jowles mumbled, his voice sounding far away and muffled. He blinked quickly, forcing himself to look away. The man's gaze set his teeth on edge. It was like staring into the shadows of a mountain cave, knowing full well that all sorts of monsters could wait in the darkness.
"I find myself at a loss here. As for these orcs" the way the man pronounced the word sounded mocking, almost amused, "you needn't fear. It was a small band. They're all dead now."
"Dead? You killed them?"
"That would be the logical assumption" the man agreed. He picked up the broken arrow that had been pulled from his side and inspected it curiously before setting it back down. "Again, I apologize, but might I have another drink? Throat's still a bit sore."
Jowles absently motioned for Melaea to grab the bottle. She set the whole bottle next to the man, nervously dropping the bottle so that it spun and nearly tipped over. The stranger snatched it before it could, and offered her a nod before taking a long swig straight from the bottle. They all watched in awed silence as he drained it to the end; enough brandy in that bottle to feed Jowles for a month, there had been. He could not bring himself to complain. Not when faced with this strange, utterly strange man.
"Did you fight them by yourself" the alderman asked.
"Yes." The stranger wiped his mouth and set the bottle beside the arrow. Mutters of astonishment rose from the onlookers.
"How many were there?"
"Was a bit too busy killing them to ask. And it was too dark for a headcount afterwards. Besides" he indicated the arrow. "Had a few more important things on my mind."
"Well, why did you go after them? Surely you must have known the danger of an orc raiding party"
"I assure you, I have seen far worse than that rabble." The man's chuckle was dangerous and utterly unsettling. There was no humor in it, only malice. "But I did not go looking for them. Trouble has a way of finding me wherever I go."
"And who are you, sir?" Ara blanched as the stranger turned his gaze.
"Reaper." The stranger replied.
"That's a strange name."
"I am rather attached to it."
The Alehouse fell silent, the locals uncertain whether or not that had been intended as a joke. None dared laugh. Jowles glanced to the alderman.
"These orcs" the alderman insisted. "You are sure you killed them all?"
"They are loud" Reaper answered. "I would have heard any that tried to run away. Straight up the mountain, perhaps a few hours' walk, if you want to see for yourself."
"I am certain we can take your word" the alderman admitted. "But, here I am blathering on. You were injured. Surely you should rest. I will fetch the healer for y-"
"Don't bother. I'll be fine. Just need some rest." Reaper fixed Jowles with a hard stare. "Bed available?"
"Upstairs" Jowles said, transfixed by the man's eyes. He could not bring himself to mention payment. The stranger saved him the embarrassment by fishing inside one of his pouches and tossing the innkeeper a glittering coin. Jowles nearly dropped the small thing in astonishment. It was pure gold, with beautifully carved letters and symbols on both sides. He could not even bring himself to test the metal for surety. The artistry of the coin alone made it more valuable than anything he had in his possession.
"My thanks. Will that cover a morning meal as well?"
"Why… yes, sir. It will indeed. Jowles hurriedly tuck the coin away, heat rising in his cheeks at the jealous looks that chased the coin. The innkeeper made a note to kill a chicken for this man in the morning. The coin could have bought him a month's meals, room and board. How could he so casually toss that out? What sort of man was this? He fought orcs, and he had coin aplenty. A noble, then?
The stranger stalked off to the stairs, guided by Melaea's helpful call that no rooms were occupied. Once they heard the door close, the room sprang into action. The alderman hurried out to fetch his son. The message to Feoh still must be sent, but now they had something beside orcs to bring to the attention of Princess Fiorire and her knights.
-v-
Capitol, Feoh
Alicia Arcturus stared at the map, ignoring the dull ache behind her eyes. For a full hour now, she had examined each and every little flag, locations where raiding parties of demons had been spotted in the past year. Thirty. Ordinarily that would have been cause for great alarm, and a mobilization of her knights. Any demon raid required her attention, and a swift response to prevent their savageness from falling on the people of Feoh.
Currently, a squadron of her knights patrolled the southeastern edge of their borders, pursuing the rumors of a warband that had recently spilled out of the Gaijin Pass. No news was good news, in that regard. Had something happened to her sisters-in-arms, she would have known. Thalia was a competent subcommander with years of experience hunting down these raiding bands.
By rights, Alicia should be riding hard to the northern border. Twenty of the thirty flags clustered around the upper reaches of Feoh, most noticeably around the tiny hamlet called Marigar. Those poor people had the misfortune of living close to a handful of passes too small for an army, but large enough for warbands to cross over the mountains. Twenty recorded instances of raiding bands. She could assume that half of those were wild tales, rumors spun out of control. But even if half proved true, the village should be gone. It was far too small to have a standing militia, and with the recent years of peace in Feoh her predecessor had chosen to withdraw the northern garrison of knights to the capitol. They were, simply put, defenseless.
The scouts she had sent to confirm the sightings and gauge whether a proper response was needed had all reported similar findings. The remains of eight individual warbands had been found. The remains. Something was killing them up there. As her scout had put it, 'butchering them like cattle.' The villagers had offered no information, remaining suspiciously tight lipped when asked what might be stopping the demons. For two months now, they dutifully reported the incursions. And for two months, the raiding bands were dead by the time her scouts arrived. Unless a hidden band of mercenaries was operating under her nose in Feoh, she had no idea what was happening.
Perhaps the raiding parties were killing each other, fighting over the rights to pillage, and the victors were too badly bloodied to send off a true raid. It seemed unlikely. One of her more mindful scouts had bought a cart from Marigar and dragged back some of the bodies she had found. Though rancid and decaying by the time she had returned to the capitol, Alicia had studied the corpses with great interest, as had Minister Beasely. The cause of death had been clearest on the little imps. Their spindly bodies decayed much slower than the fat-filled orcs. The specimen her scout had brought back was missing one hand and a good bit of its other arm. The amputations were clean, precise, and burned. So clean that the imp may as well have put his arm on a chopping block for an executioner's axe, then immediately shoved his stump into a furnace to seal the wound. Which was obviously silly, some other weapon had done this. A weapon she could not imagine.
Was it magic, then? Was there some magic-user prowling about Feoh, experimenting with new spells and using these raiding bands as his test subjects. The thought of an unregistered wizard practicing unsanctioned magic set her teeth on edge. That would require immediate and swift action. But she would not lead her knights into a potential battle against a foe she neither knew or understood. They needed more information. And that was proving difficult to acquire.
An exasperated sigh slipped out of her lungs, and she stepped back from the table, fingers rubbing her aching forehead. Why was this puzzle here? Why now? Her silk-lined white gloves stretched out to pick up her sword, a masterfully wrought blade gifted by Luu-Luu herself. Buckling the scabbard back onto her hip, she smoothed the creases it threatened in her blue-and-white dress. The crest of the Arcturus family showed proudly on her skirt and scabbard, a constant reminder of who she represented, who she was. She was the last daughter of Arcturus, the scion of an ancient family renowned for its commanders and warriors. Feoh would not suffer under her watch. Not while she drew breath.
"Alicia, is this where you have been hiding?"
The soft voice of her younger cousin made her tense, caught like a child in the larder. Turning slowly, Alicia forced a smile onto her face, erasing the tension from her expression with practiced ease. Prim stood just inside the main entrance of the strategy room, her hands clasped behind her back, fixing Alicia with her disarming, adorable grin. There was no judgment or condemnation in the younger woman's eyes. Her eyes shone like the waking sun, and her smile could soothe the most heartbroken of souls. A thick mane of velvety pink curls foamed down her back, held back from her face by the golden circlet of Feoh, her only acknowledgement of the royal position she held. Prim Fiorire was not a girl that needed to remind those around her that she ruled Feoh. She cared for her people, and they loved her for it. Her gentle words and fierce loyalty to those that she ruled had made her one of the most well-received rulers in some time, despite her youth.
How fortunate for her, Alicia thought without jealousy. The people loved her for her youth, her beauty, and her kindness. If only commandery of the Knights were so easy. There was no end to the trials she had to undertake, the doubters she had to prove wrong. Her position had been won through sweat and blood, and she would have to defend it until her death. It was a small price to pay, if that allowed her to look after her younger cousin.
"I was studying our scouts' reports" she explained.
"As you have been for the past four days" Prim countered, a giggle forming on her pink lips. Stepping further into the room, Prim looked about with the same sense of wonder she showed every time, admiring the tapestries depicting the history of Feoh; the Fiorire and Arcturus families. Her joy with life was an unflagging wellspring, infectious. Alicia could not keep the warmth from creeping into her forced smile, exchanging it for a genuine one as Prim brushed her hand across an old suit of armor, now standing ceremonially beside one of the windows. "You will worry yourself to death, cousin. Is it Marigar?"
Unsure whether Prim's question had been a mere guess, or a well-informed point, Alicia nodded. It was easy to forget, even for her, that Prim was more than a cute figurehead. Her mind was sharp as a freshly whet blade. Someone would have told her what had occupied so much of Alicia's attentions these past months.
"I would like to take a squadron and investigate these…"
Killings was not the right word. The dead were demons; they did not deserve a term that made them sound like victims. But they were not battles either. The only dead had been orc-kind and the like. Had the people of Marigar suffered, word would have made it back. They were too small a community to suffer loss without notice.
"You know that my permission is hardly required" Prime reminded her, turning with a dancer's grace on her heel. Another trait of hers that had developed naturally. Where Alicia had developed a soldier's grace, stiff and functional, Prim glided about as if stepping on clouds, her movements fairy-like in their lightness and ease. "But that is not why you have delayed, is it?"
"I don't want to lead my knights into a trap" Alicia answered. "We do not know what is out there. It could be an ally, or it could be something far worse than demons."
Her cousin's smile did not falter, but the gleam in her eyes faded, replaced with sensible concern. Joining the knight commander at the table, Prim gazed down at the map, her delicate brows furrowing as the smile eased into a pursed frown.
"Twenty" she breathed, her surprise catching Alicia off-guard. "Are these all confirmed?"
"No, merely the reports. The red ones we have confirmed" Alicia informed her, gesturing to the small boxes of flags beside the map. "Green is as of yet unconfirmed."
"That is new" Prim said, offering a slight sigh of relief. "When did you switch to the coloring scheme?"
"Recently. Before now, it had never mattered. We still treat every report as verified" Alicia hurried to add. "However, with this strangeness near Marigar, it is easier to separate them."
"So these green ones never happened?"
"Or we never found the bodies." Alicia winced at the admission. Normally, such words would accompany the loss of a village. Not the disappearance of an orc band. It was a question she had asked herself many times these past months, had always asked. How many bands had they never discovered? How many people had they lost without her ever knowing?
"You should go" Prim told her. Alicia cocked her eyebrow at her cousin. "If this eats at you so terribly, you should take your knights. If only for your own conscience. I know you are as relieved as I am that the people of Marigar have been spared the horror of these warbands."
"Were it so simple" Alicia muttered. "The people of Marigar know what, or who, is destroying these raiding parties. They won't tell my scouts anything."
"Perhaps a visit from their regent might loosen their tongues?"
"You can't be serious" Alicia started, reflexively stepping towards her cousin. "It is too dangerous!"
Her cousin's smile returned, appreciating Alicia's concern, but clearly not sharing it. "How dangerous can it be if a squadron of Feoh's finest knights are protecting me? You have always kept me safe, cousin. I have faith you will continue to do so. When do we leave?"
"I…" Alicia wanted to argue with Prim. She could not sanction the idea of Prim going out into harm's way. Even with her knights at her side, the thought of an ambush or any possibility of the demons hurting her young cousin made Alicia's stomach twist in knots. She had seen firsthand what those monsters did to women. It was not something she wanted little Prim to ever see. But the determination in her cousin's expression could not be denied. Once Prim had decided something, she stood like a mountain.
Alicia bowed in acknowledgement of her cousin's decision.
It was time to discover what was protecting Marigar from the demons.
-v-
Marigar, Feoh
Jowles poured the Reaper another drink. It was a fine day, bright and sunny with a gentle breeze wafting across the lake. Seeding was in full swing, and many of the farmers had finished early, thanks to the helping hands available now that the stranger had taken to protecting the village. Not having to leave half the men on watch from raiding bands made for productive labor. That alone had earned the man his keep, and after some convincing the village had convinced the stranger to stay for the Seeding. In truth, it had not taken much convincing. The man had a peculiar lack of interest in moving on; he seemed content to stay at the Alehouse, though most days he spent out in the forest, patrolling the mountain's edge. Twelve times now, he had encountered roaming bands of demons and finished them off.
He had never asked for payment. In fact, he insisted on paying for his meals and bed, despite Jowles' protestations. His supply of those strange gold coins did not seem to have diminished after two; at the least Jowles had convinced the man that once a month was payment enough. He would have gladly settled for less; the stranger's contributions to keeping Marigar safe were payment enough for a dozen mens' sustenance. The safety his presence provided was worth more than any amount of gold.
Today they celebrated yet another victory of his over the demons. The stranger returned the night before, dragging a sack filled with orc and imp heads. None had asked, but he always brought proof of the fresh kills. In the man's own words, 'life is filled with liars.' This time, a full-grown ogre head occupied the mouths of the villagers. Orcs were terrifying foes for the ordinary man, but killing an ogre required exceptional skill and luck. Even the Knights of Feoh did not challenge an ogre in single combat. And the stranger had killed it alongside a dozen or more lesser demons.
"Thirsty work, eh?" The innkeeper grinned as the stranger took a slow draw of ale, his eyes closed tightly as he enjoyed the cooled beverage. Two months now, and they still did not know his name. People did not like calling him Reaper, it was a foreboding name. But they could not keep calling him stranger either. So, in typical country fashion, they just did not use a name for him. They knew when his name came up in conversation.
"Their blades don't last long" the man replied, his face still half-hidden by the mug. "Broke four of them."
"Is that so" Jowles asked, not particularly caring one way or the other. The man's eyes had drifted to Reaper's own blade, the beautiful piece that they had yet to see the steel of. As far as they knew, he had never drawn it. Perhaps it was broken, hidden by the scabbard, or a ceremonial blade. The man wore it with ease, as if he was far more used to it than he let on. "Bet you'd like a rest, then."
"There's another band out there" the man countered, as calm and indifferent as if he were reporting the sighting of a red-tailed hawk. "Travelling south. I doubt they'll sweep back up this way, but I'll keep an eye on them."
Their conversation ceased as the door burst inwards, propelled by Isahr Groll and Melaea. Red-faced and sucking greedily for breath, they staggered over to the bar and took seats next to the stranger. His daughter spent a moment tidying the bronze tiara in her hair, shooting a meaningful look at her father to draw him over. With the peace brought on by the stranger's presence, the Grolls had agreed to the betrothal, setting a date for just before the Harvest. The circlet had belonged to his family for generations. It was hardly worth anything, but the intent made it clear, and she wore it with pride every day.
"Riders are coming from the capitol" Melaea wheezed, gratefully accepting a mug of watered-down ale. She knocked it back in a single breath, nearly choking in her haste to put it away. "Armored knights. Isahr's brothers saw them passing their farm. They should be here any minute."
"Knights" Jowles repeated, nervously looking in the stranger's direction. Had they come seeking the mysterious man protecting their village? Scouts had visited time and time again, following the reports they had sent to the capitol of the raiding bands. The stranger had not seemed keen on being made known to them, always disappearing before they arrived, or finding some other place to be. The village honored his desire to remain hidden; if he were a criminal, he was doing nothing to harm them and his protection more than made up for any crimes he may have committed. If a good man, then his reasons were his own and could safely remain so.
This sort of news usually sent the stranger packing for the back door. Unlike the other times, the stranger took this news in silence, inspecting the bottom of his mug with a thoughtful expression. Melaea and the others turned to watch him unreservedly.
"Knights, you say?" He pulled his eyes up and returned their gazes. More than one flinched away under the weight of his intensity.
"Lots of them" Ishar insisted. "My brother says he saw the queen herself riding with them."
"She ain't a queen" Melaea grumbled, slapping her betrothed. "She's a princess. Not old enough to be queen yet."
Ishar rolled his eyes and reached over to wrap her in a hug, pinning her arms to her side. She laughed as he picked her up off her seat and deposited her in his lap. "Point is, someone important is coming. And why'd the princess of Feoh come here if not for you" he asked.
"Does the princess make a habit of visiting her people?"
"Not us outliers" Jowles admitted, sweat rising on his brow at the prospect of a visit from royalty. His Alehouse was hardly presentable, and his best drinks were all buried in the cellar. Excusing himself with an apology, and snapping at Melaea to get behind the bar, he hurried off to find a proper set of drinks. What did princesses even like? He had no idea, and he feared he had nothing to offer.
"I heard the princess is a child" Melaea said petulantly, grabbing a rag from the water bin and wringing it fiercely. "Bet she doesn't even have a proper set of tits. Ain't nothing like a girl raised on hard work."
Her betrothed grinned lecherously, his eyes filled with love for his bride-to-be. It was no small rumor that the two had consummated their marriage early, and more than a few times at that. Once the betrothal had been declared, all bets were off, it seemed.
"Well, if it is her, she's got a whole gang of knights with her to keep her safe." Ishar nodded sagely. "Folks say her cousin runs Feoh's knights. One of them Arcturus people. They've protected Feoh for a long time, longer than most remember. And she's right protective of the princess, so she doesn't let her out this far most of the time. Especially not when there's raiding bands in the hills."
The stranger flipped his mug over and slid it across the bar to Melaea, who caught it deftly and tossed it into the water bin for cleaning later. "This was going to happen eventually" he muttered, and stood. Running a hand through his hair, kept shorter than the local fashion, he collected his jacket and slipped it on. All eyes drew to the mysterious device hanging just under his left shoulder. It was blocky and strange, with a shaped handle almost like a blade's handle. The stranger had yet to explain what it was for. Nor did he seem intent on telling. Sometimes he wore it under his shoulder, other times opposite his hip. It was a mystery, just like so many other things about him.
"Are you going out to see them" Melaea asked, her curiosity bursting out. "Are they here for you?"
"Odds are good they came to see what's killing all the demons. So, yes, they would be here for me." The stranger flashed her a smile that almost seemed cheerful. If only it had not been lined with a hard edge and those terrifying eyes. "Best make a good welcome for them. Does the alderman knew they are coming?"
"My brothers went looking for him and the others" Ishar replied. He busied himself with the ale Melaea dropped in his hands. When he looked back for the stranger, all he found was the closing door to the Alehouse.
-v-
It had been a quiet and uneventful travel to Miragar. Surrounded by twenty of her finest knights, and with Alicia close by her side every step of the journey, Prim had never felt more safe. Twenty and one trained and skilled warriors, each dedicated to protecting her from harm. It was touching, to say the least. The three days of travelling had gone splendidly, in her opinion. The first night they had taken rest in a small hamlet where the people had been happy and eager to greet her. Leaving the castle was something she had little opportunity for anymore. The pressing duties of leadership left her overwhelmed more often than not. This excuse to duck away and travel through the countryside excited her. No Beasely, no courting nobles. Just her, Alicia, and the people. And the knights.
This far out into the borders of Feoh, though, a marked difference could be felt in the people. They were no less joyous and happy, but their guarded nature could not be mistaken. These were the people that worked hard for life, and bore the brunt of the wretched attacks by the demons and the Dark Queen. It saddened her, knowing the pain they suffered was something that she could only hope to ease, unable to take it away from them.
Her cousin had seen this before, many times. Perhaps that was why she was always so serious, so grim. Prim did not like it when the dark moods overtook her cousin. They were still young, and had a lifetime ahead. Letting the bad things of the world in would only bury her in sorrow and doubt. Prim prayed for her cousin every night, that the burden would be lifted from Alicia's shoulders, and that she would rediscover the joys in this world.
The scout rider turned her horse and ambled back to Alicia's side. Clad in leather armor patterned after the plate and chain of the knights, their young scout looked remarkably less dangerous, even with the short bow strapped to her back and the long knife hanging from its scabbard on the saddle.
"That is the village ahead" the scout reported. "You can see the church tower, through those trees. The alehouse is just beside it, and the alderman's home across the way. Pond is to the left. Healer lives there, small shack you'll see on the ride in."
"My thanks" Alicia told the scout, who beamed with pride as Prim favored her with a smile. "Please carry ahead and fetch the alderman."
"As you command, my lady."
Turning her horse about with practiced ease, the scout urged her mount into a gallop, tearing down the road towards the small village. Prim watched her disappear around the bend, then turned to her cousin. It excited her to see her cousin in action. She had no doubts about Alicia's capabilities and her worthiness as the commander of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order, but seeing her in action warmed her heart. Alicia's decisiveness and fierce commands kept her knights on a short leash, even while allowing them to operate at their best. Having Alicia at her side was a great comfort against the thought of an attack.
Not that she expected one. With all this talk of the demon raiding bands disappearing, Prim doubted harm could reach them.
As the lead knights in the column rounded the bend, one half-turned in her saddle and gestured approvingly to them. "The people have come out to greet you, Princess."
"As they should" Alicia muttered. "Tighten up, ladies. We're knights, not mercenaries. Show some pride!"
The knights eased their horses back into a proper column, stiffening their postures and bringing their weapons about in parade form. More than a few stifled grins, shooting knowing looks back and forth at their commander's bark. Alicia slowed her pace, falling a half-length behind Prim, and let one hand fall to her side. They were quite a sight, with winged helms and silver-gilded armor. Each held a lance, with swords strapped to their saddles and shields hanging forward of their knees. In battle, they had a fierce reputation, almost equal to Claudia Levantine's own. Outside of that, they were young and full of life. They formed the perfect bodyguard for Prim: not too serious, but powerful enough should the need arise.
"That would be the alderman" Alicia noted, casting her voice in that way that indicated her target without Prim having to turn and ask. An elderly man stood beside the scout, wringing his hands nervously as the column drew nearer. A battered hat covered his greying hair, and the soft roundness of his belly reminded Prim of her grandfather, a jolly and gentle man before old age had claimed him. The thought dulled her smile, only for a moment.
The villagers had not formed a large crowd; Marigar had too few inhabitants for that. Those that had come stood in a rough half circle, eyeing the column and exchanging words. Children rushed back and forth, finding their friends so they could ogle the armored knights together. The atmosphere was excited.
A lone figure stood apart from the others. Prim's gaze drew inescapably to this dark person, leaning casually against the corner of the village inn, arms crossed and hidden inside a heavy jacket stretching to brush his boots. A long straw of hay worked up and down in front of his face as he chewed idly on it, studying Prim and her knights with predatory intent. Prim sensed no danger or hostility from the man, but when his attention slid onto her, a creeping dread filled her belly. She hastily averted her eyes, heat rising in her cheeks. The man continued to stare. The desire to squirm began to rise inside her, and she did not understand why.
Alicia tore her attention back with the sharply called order for the knights to halt. In near perfect unison, their horses clopped to rest, stamping out the last touches of momentum as the knights reined them in. Slower to respond, Prim allowed her horse to pull ahead, slipping past her bodyguard to approach the alderman. Her cousin followed closely. The comforting clap of the armored horse reassured Prim that all was well.
"Yo… your highness!" The man fell to a knee, signalling the villagers. They all stooped obediently, save the man by the inn. Prim felt his eyes crawling across her face; the heat of his gaze threatened to color her cheeks. Swallowing down the unease that continue to clutch at her, she forced a serene smile and waved to the villagers.
"Please, stand. I am honored to come to Marigar. It is to my shame I have not made time to visit you before now."
Alicia dismounted and took Prim's horse. Accepting her hand, Prim eased from her horse, fighting the discomfort of her aching thighs. It had been far too long since her last extended ride. Her muscles were stiff as boards, and each step took effort to not flinch from the pain.
"It is we who are honored by your visit, princess. May we offer you and your knights refreshment?" The alderman waved towards the village inn. "We are a humble place, but we have ale and food."
"In time" she answered. Inclining her head, she indicated the alderman walk with her. Alicia followed close on her heel, one hand on her sword hilt. An aggressive posture, and not needed, save that Prim spotted the wary direction of her cousin's gaze. True to her duty, Alicia had noted the mysterious man by the inn. And she did not like what she had seen. "Is there a place we may water our horses and rest them?"
"We do not have proper stables" the elderly man admitted, the guilt clear in his voice. "But we will do our best to care for them. Would it be permissible to take the horses to the nearer farmsteads? I am certain between our village and the Groll family farm, we can see them all cared for."
"That would be excellent" Prim told him, drawing a relieved smile from the man. "I am sure you know why we have come now."
The man's relief faded as abruptly as it had arrived. A nervous edge crept into his voice as he glanced furtively away, in the direction of the mystery man. That was all the confirmation Prim needed, but she did not press the issue. That was what they had come for. Now that they knew who it was, they could speak to the man at their will. Time was on their side. It would be improper to trample on these people's lives. For now, she would allow them their hospitality, and trust that no harm would come. These people clearly were loyal, upstanding citizens of Feoh. If the stranger intended harm, he would have skulked in the shadows, not stood so obviously by himself.
At least, that was her plan until Alicia separated from her side and stormed directly over to the man. Her heart seized in her chest for a moment at the breach of decorum, and brief stabbing panic for her cousin's safety locked her voice in her throat. She wanted to call out after her cousin, to stop her, but could not bring herself to speak. The man's eyes had locked on hers, and the darkness in them curdled her blood like spoiled milk. Prim had not known terror before. She did now.
-v-
"Hey, you!" Alicia stalked towards the man, determination driving her steps. Her knights were behind her, not on her heel but drifting over, more curious than on edge. The villagers had pulled back, murmuring unintelligibly, unease draining their cheer away. With every step, she felt the unease growing, and knew that Prim was watching her. It probably mortified her for Alicia to step forwards like this. But she was here to protect her cousin, not to obey her. This man had been eyeing her cousin every since they had rode up. Letting him go unanswered would be inexcusable for her position. This would happen now.
The man glanced over lazily at her approach, a damned hay stalk bobbing with his jaw. The weight of his attention struck her like a hammer blow, and Alicia nearly faltered as the dreadful sense of wrongness engulfed her, pouring from the man like a bursting dam. Her knuckles whitened on the grip of her sword, and she struggled to form words. Eyes black as midnight peered into her very soul, haunting flames dancing in the corners of those pitch-dark orbs.
And then the moment passed. A nervous breath exploded from her lungs, and she was standing in front of him. One hand gripping her sword so fiercely her muscles ached, the other pinning her scabbard in place, readied for a sudden draw. Her hackles rose as a mirthless, wicked gash of a smile spread across the man's face. He plucked the straw from his mouth and tossed it at his feet.
"Made quite an entrance" the man commented, as dry and unimpressed as if she were a scullery maid. "I take it you're the pink one's bodyguard."
"My name is Alicia Arcturus, Knight Commander of the Holy Iris Chivalric Order. You will address me with respect, as you will the Princess."
"Sure." He pushed off the wall and offered a noncommittal shrug. "I was just sticking around to see what the fuss was about anyways."
"The fuss?" She snarled at his insolence. "Your Princess comes to visit and you describe it as a fuss? I should take your head from your shoulders for your disrespect."
"You'd lose" he countered. The certainness of her his words slapped her pride. It took great willpower to not draw her blade.
"You!"
"Alicia."
Prim hurried to her side, placing one hand on her shoulder to calm her. Alicia growled at the man, daring the man to make a move. Some of her knights had come forward, their curiosity soured into readiness, all eyeing the man with hands on their weapons. The villagers had drawn to the far end of the square, clearly unwilling to be near if any violence should erupt.
The reproach in Prim's voice nearly shamed her, but for the man's haughty expression. At her young cousin's approach the man offered a short nod, bending just slightly enough to qualify as an insolent bow. The urge to bring the man to his knees gnawed at her. She hated this man, without needing any other reason.
"Princess" he murmured, reaching up to touch his forehead and gesture, in poor imitation of doffing a nonexistent cap.
"You have done this village a great service" Prim told the man, her voice mellow and soft. Leave it to Prim to be the peacemaker. That was what she did best. Her agitation could be felt though, in the current of her words. Even Prim found herself ill at ease beside this man.
"I'm good at killing things" he stated. The bluntness of the admission rendered her silent for a moment, eyes flickering over to Alicia, perhaps in warning, or seeking assistance with the unruly man.
"May I know your name, sir?"
"Told them to call me Reaper."
"What kind of a name is Reaper" Alicia scoffed.
"The kind of name that describes what a man does" was his answer. "If I worked the fields I'm sure you would call me a farmer."
"So you want us to call you a reaper? Of what?"
"Whatever needs killed" he replied, an unnerving seriousness in his tone. Alicia grit her teeth against the unease building in her chest. Something about the man struck her as dreadfully wrong, even with his attitude and gaze. There was something… unnatural about the man.
"That is a dreary outlook on life, is it not" Prim cut in, her hand squeezing Alicia's shoulder guard to inform her older cousin that enough had been said of the matter. "Reaper, then. You have been killing the demon raiding parties around Miragar by yourself?"
"Yes." His attention returned to Prim. Alicia did not like the man looking at her cousin. She wanted to interpose herself, but she knew Prim would have none of that.
"Oh." The claim certainly left Prim wrongfooted. Alicia knew that her cousin had expected there to be a mercenary band in the hills, perhaps drawing supplies from the village in exchange for battling the demons. One man could not have taken out a band single-handedly. It was impossible. Alicia wanted to say as much, but kept her mouth shut. This was Prim's business now. It would only make her cousin look weak to interfere.
"Jowles is kind enough to give me room for the service. Though I pay him anyways."
"That is very honest of you." Prim forced a smile that even a stranger could tell was strained. "Are you a good man, Reaper?"
By the way the man opened his mouth, hesitated, then shut it, he had choked down a snarky reply. Perhaps that was Prim rubbing off on him. She had a habit of doing that. Her mere presence soothed the worst of tempers.
"No" he replied finally, and his tone left no room for mistake. "No, princess, I am not."