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Wouldn't wanna meet HIM in a dark alley at night...; One-Shot (short story)
Topic Started: Sat Oct 12, 2013 8:47 am (166 Views)
Faustine Hirsch
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Old leather boots clopped as they made their ominous way across the ancient wooden planks. A long coat of black leather made little motion as a small sack swung lightly by its side. The state of its owner’s attire could hardly be described as anything short of archaic; ancient breeches once used in a stage performance and a shirt once tan, now brown from its many years of service, adorned the rough-hewn soul. A soul indeed it was, yet a soul made flesh by the countless gallons of mana that flowed through Chaon each second of each minute of each hour of each day and night. This particular soul, however, was relatively unknown despite the danger inherent in crossing it.

The menace of the previous year’s harvest festivities had yet to occur. In three months’ time, all would fear the night save those too stupid to realize that there was more to life than gold and gin. Still, the man that now strode boldly into the local sheriff’s office of a small town at the edge of a fabled Elven wood couldn’t care less about some fantastic god that was probably dead. All he cared about was the much-weathered map that he was about to be offered in return for the head of a rather savage creature - one that had been terrorizing bandits and villagers alike. This map did not show troves of gems or chests of gold, nor the deed to ancient wonders of a value priceless in the current economy. The map showed something of much greater and much more personal value to the man about to claim it.

It was a map of The Twilight Barrens.

To most, that name would mean nothing. The Shadow Society certainly knew nothing of it, or they didn’t give a rat’s tail about it if they did. Really, it was just an underground graveyard. Countless bones of countless weary travelers lay therein, waiting for some poor soul to greet their former owners in the afterlife. But the man soon to enter The Twilight Barrens had seen the afterlife; he had been to the Abyss, and he had crawled and clawed his way out of it with every last ounce of his own mind that he had left. What had happened in that place, he could not remember - and that was the whole point of this job. He only knew that it had been so horrible as to be wiped from his mind when he escaped. He was not going back.

What he was going to do was seek out an ancient relic there, one that supposedly opened a passage from the mind into the Astral Plane. It was a scepter that was said to grant answers that could not be obtained in any other fashion, and this particular fellow was going to have that scepter - at all costs.

Fortunately for his own safety, Diego Jas knew nothing of this. He was just an innkeeper, and probably a bad one at that. Yet he was a wealthy innkeeper, and he was one of the few in East Debon Village that had any means at all by which to rid the town of its troubles with the creature. What exactly the creature was, he didn’t know for certain. He could only go by the accounts of the other villagers. It was said to be a spider-like creature, which was foul enough without being supposedly as large as a wood shed. It was supposedly covered with fur and absolutely hideous to behold. All Diego knew for sure was that the creature was bad news, and the map he held was of no use to him; the quicker that creature was killed, the better. He didn’t much like dealing with this one’s ilk - and this one was more hideous than he’d heard - but he somebody had to get rid of the thing. As long as it wasn’t him and he could go back to business as usual, he’d be a happy man.

Of course, his sixty-two-year-old aching back would still be complaining come morning.

“Well, stranger?” he asked the ugly fellow, trying not to stare too hard at him.

The sack was dropped upon the counter without a word. He glanced between it and the dark stranger a couple of times but the man did not move or speak. He was almost afraid to touch it. With somewhat trembling hands, partly from age and partly from a fear that he tried (and failed) to keep completely from the man before him, he reached for the sack. Of course, he couldn’t really be called a man; he was too ugly for that. But man was as close to a one-word description as he could get so that’s what he called him. What was his name again? Oh, yes…suu-ee, or something like that. In any case, when he opened the sack a little, he saw something that chilled his bones.

There was hair, all right, but it wasn’t the humanoid head that got him. It was the long, narrow jaw and the gaping mouth - as though it had been screaming when it perished. It was the crooked nose and the bulging, yellow-green eyes; it was the many scars and pits that dotted its face. It was the ragged manner in which the head just…sat there. He couldn’t suppress a shudder as he quickly let the edge of the sack fall.

“Yep,” he said, his voice a little weak. “That’s the creature, all right.”

It might be a lie but it would at least keep him happy - for the time being, anyway. He’d be able to sleep a little better. So he reached into his vest and pulled out a faded and folded piece of parchment. The scarred fellow took it from him like someone snatching a stolen trinket from a thief. Diego watched as he carefully unfolded it upon the counter. He handed the man a candle but he waved it away as he studied the parchment for several long moments without a word.

Feeling rather awkward, Diego started to move away so that he could finish his rounds. Stopping him was the deep, powerful rumble of a voice that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once. That voice was telling him not to move, and he did exactly as he was told. This fellow seemed as dangerous as the creature, and he didn’t want this man coming after him anymore than he wanted the creature eating his friends. Then again, as old as he was, he didn’t have many friends to begin with. He certainly didn’t have many left. He wasn’t about to anger someone that could probably end his miserable, worthless life without a second thought. The man probably wouldn’t even have any remorse if he did.

“Can I help you look for something?” he asked the man, thinking to get him out of the inn before he started scaring away the guests.

”Quiet,” was all the man said.

Diego nodded and didn’t say anything for almost ten minutes. He just stood there, glancing nervously around the tavern and judging whether he could make a run for it if the man decided he wanted more than just some worn map. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the man stood once more. He nodded curtly as he folded the map up and shoved it into a pocket of his coat. He motioned for him to come along, and he hurried around the counter to usher the man out.

“Of course, of course,” Diego said with a smile.

He didn’t want to make it look like he was being discourteous, after all.

“You should come back some time,” he said.

Shut up, you crusty old fool! he thought furiously to himself.

He didn’t want the man to come back. Ever. But he couldn’t be discourteous, now could he?

Oh, yes you can, you idiot.

He cleared his throat as they reached the door.

”How far to the Richmond Spire?” the stranger asked in that deep, powerful voice of his.

Diego thought for a moment, stumbling over his words until he came up with what he thought was a somewhat reasonable answer.

“Uh,” he said, “um. Er…uh, twel…twelve miles.”

He nodded as though to assure himself that it was the right answer.

“So not far, really. You could make that journey before dawn, I’m certain, and be on your way in no time at all.”

He smiled pleasantly but the stranger was not fooled. He crumpled beneath that wary gaze, one almost as demonic as the dead gaze of that foul creature. He then remembered that he would have to dispose of the thing himself. Oh, that would be pleasant. There was nothing he liked more than disposing of the decapitated heads of monsters after all. The very thought made an icy chill dance upon his spine, and he swallowed a little harder than he meant to; he coughed, and the man asked another question.

”You’ll tell no one of our arrangement, correct?”

“Oh, o-of course not. W-why would I?”

He gave a little laugh. It was more nervous than he meant it to be.

“Who would I tell? Heh.”

The man glared at him again. He swallowed again, though not as hard this time.

”Pray I do not return. If I come back this way before three days’ time has passed, you will not see the next dawn.”

With that, the stranger turned and crossed the threshold. He was clearly letting his words sink into Diego’s mind - and oh, boy did they ever sink. He swallowed a third time as he watched the man’s dark back retreat into the fading light. Whatever the man’s business was in The Twilight Barrens, he didn’t want to have any part of it. Oh, he was definitely praying. He was praying to Lothlómendil as he stood there, half-expecting the man to turn and kill him with some foul, demonic gaze. It seemed like a long time before the man became but a speck amidst the setting sun, yet it was likely no more than a few moments.

When he returned to the counter at last, he was met by two men that wore badges upon their breasts. Clearly, his luck had taken a turn for the worst before he’d even had a chance to get a drink. They questioned him about the man that he’d just met with. They asked what he was doing there and where the head had come from. They took the sack, which he gladly let them do, and claimed it was evidence in some kind of investigation. Apparently, the man was responsible for more than a score of murders throughout the Debon Plains. That didn’t make Diego feel any better.

The sheriff and his deputy sat and had some soup, and they talked with Diego for a while. He told them what he could, figuring that they would catch the man and kill him. After all, that was their job. His job was just to collect some pennies from them for their soup, which he did and then some. They paid far more than what the soup was worth but he certainly wasn’t about to complain. He pocketed all of it, and he started thinking about the repairs he could make on the roof with that money. He had to fix the hinges on that door, too, and he could pay for that now as well. He would even have some left over for a trip to Kellen to see his daughter and her children, something he had been wanting to do for a while. He was old, after all.

When the men left, Diego collapsed onto the stool and pulled out a rag. He wiped some sweat from his brow that had nothing to do with the warmth of the summer months. This job was going to kill him, probably sooner rather than later. If there was one thing he did know, it was that he was due to retire. He started making plans right then and there, and he was up much later than he meant to be. At least he was keeping busy.
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