Private Tales A hunter in the streets

[Rainer]

It was the sort of dream that felt difficult to come back from. Not necessarily in the sense of wishing he could return to that place, though that did reside somewhere in the back of his mind. There were feelings, whether that was attraction, the sense of home, or the growth of love that had occurred over a lifetime, presented in flashes of time, it was difficult to say. But he knew that whatever feelings he had for Wren in that dream, it seemed to carry over with him, reflecting a stronger sense than what had been there prior to sleeping.

The bed, her body wrapped around his, the feeling of her skin and warmth, was the only way he could describe home.

Tilting her head back with a his fingers, hand resting against the pillow, he pressed his nose gently against hers before kissing her. "Do you think we could stay here forever?" Her hand, snaking across his abdomen, was warm yet still elicited goose bumps across his skin. ​

 

[Wren]

"No," she answered plainly, flecked eyes looking over his face in the most sober expression she'd worn in a while. Bereft of anger, pain, aggravation, hunger, grief, exhaustion ... everything that seemed to comprise her new life, she was for the moment ephemerally the woman she was before death and rebirth.

"No we cannot." There was a certain sense of foreboding she felt in her own words, knowing well enough that they were not permitted such luxury as living a dream. Her gaze drifted down to his lips and the tips of his fangs hidden just behind them. They had to live in the now and take advantage of these golden moments before they slipped by like so much sand through fingers.

He seemed complacent to squander the time, but Wren was not. She pressed in on his lips and ensnared the man around the middle, pulling him close as she had standing by the door in her armor.

 

[Rainer]

No. The succinct nature of that response, the totality of the affirmation, was a bit jarring. She was, obviously, correct on the answer. They were more creature than anything else now, despite their outward appearance. What drove them was their hunger and willingness to put it to an appropriate purpose. Consuming blood, burying themselves, wearing thin under a beating sun, all were things that meant they could never sit still. Not for long.

But the inability to imagine it, the way the future felt in some fashion to be forsaken, really got to the meat of what should have bothered him. But from the moment he rose from the Shallows, the future had never been his goal. To exist and do good before the darkness arrived, it was all he could hope for. And to find some comfort and respite along the way, when the twisted webs of fate allowed it.

Before he could answer, before he could espouse the values of dreams when he so recently wished for a reprieve from that false hope, Wren attacked him in the same way she had when entering the quarters. And he was happy to lean into it, hand finding it's way beneath her tunic and curling around the small of her back. They were so close now that idle hands could even trace the lines of the scars, running down the right side of her body.​

 

[Wren]

Roving hands shifted over muscle, sinew, and scar - a map of things she'd not yet become familiar with. Wren could hardly recall much in the way of detail from the night at the farm house, so saturated by apple wine as she had been then. Aside from a now innately buried desire to puke at any whiff of the stuff again, her mind filtered in only brief moments of closeness.

No words, a myriad of emotions tied to an uncountable number of things. She recalled they had been interrupted, but beyond that ... nothing much else aside from that horrible hangover in the morning.

There was no apple wine tonight. No drink to speak of at all, which was a new venture to try considering every moment of intimacy had been preluded by imbibing. The clarity of serene euphoria was something Wren thought she could drink in instead. Driven by the rising need for closeness and the chasing rush from his touch, Wren hooked her snaking leg around his and snared his hips against her own, then leaned back to pull the man's weight over her.

I want you, he'd feel the emphatic pull on his mind, no longer an asking tug but a demanding pull, emphasized by the grabbing grip on his rear.

 

[Rainer]

It wasn't often that he forgot how strong she was. She was a Vedymin, after all, but the foray into a world dispositioned by her grief and sudden possession had given him a brief and momentary relapse in memory. She could have what she wanted and she'd find no true opposition from him.

As he moved to a more elevated position, pressed by her urgency and her sudden persuasive hand placement, he hovered over Wren. Looking down at her, seeing her intended target reflected in a field of earth and emerald, and feeling the emotions and wants roiling off the sire connection, he could resist it until the end of days and it wouldn't matter. The connection they shared meant wanton desires were shared as well.

With his hands on each side of her, he studied her for whatever moment her exigency afforded. The way she seemed freer now than she had hours earlier gave him a relief that he couldn't explain, nor did he need to. He found freedom in that release, like the celebration one might have in seeing another unshackled. Leaning forward, his reply was a return of thoughts and something similarly physical, pressing teeth against her cheek as he found his way to her neck.
​

Prove it. There was demand and desire, intermingled. But suddenly depleted of any need to dwell on feelings or where they might be tomorrow or the days ahead, he was content to see where this would go. And drag it out as he wanted.

 

[Wren]

Some time later...

The slow and steady burn of the wick was something she wasn’t sure she’d ever have enough patience for. Perhaps in her prior life of living, in the arms of a man she’d fallen deeply in love with, that cadence of dance had been common and welcome. But those were memories forgotten and dreams so foggy they might not have even been dreamt at all. She wanted for his strength and hunger yet time and again found herself dealt his restraint and idleness. It was equal parts infuriating and humbling.

Haste and greed were not virtues, after all, but Wren was not feeling particularly virtuous since her second birth.

And yet…

KNOK KNOK KNOK

There might’ve been value in haste here.

“Oy, port call,” said a gruff voice that she did not recognize. The interruption would have set off her ire were she not pining for dry land so desperately. “Cap’n wants you off straight away. Says that’s the bargain for what’s been done seein’ as she won’t let the Barber help ye..”

Wren sat bolt upright, all inklings of desire having immediately evaporated for the more pressing matter of disembarking from the boat with all due haste. Yes, haste. Which meant extracting her legs from Rainer and departing from the bed. She uttered a thank you to the man at the door and began snatching up her clothing pieces to yank them on one by one.

“No - more - boats,” Wren grunted, pausing momentarily only to give Rainer a sharp look before continuing with her redressing, “no more water. I’m done being trapped. Done.”

 

[Rainer]

As she moved away from him, in response to the knocking of some subordinate of the Captain and Terzine, Rain exhaled and pressed his head into the sheets where her presence and warmth still lingered. Every time, he thought. The sun had somehow caught up with them and his lingering regrets and memories of the apple orchard left him feeling somewhat deflated. Turning over onto his back, he stayed there for a moment before lifting himself upright.

Rubbing the palm of his hand into the socket of his eye, Rain breathed in the salted air as he wiped back a locks of grey and black. Sitting idle for a few breaths, he watched as Wren set herself to the task of departing. She was ready to leave, that was apparent even before the moments they shared, entangled amidst one another.

Turning to put his feet on the boards beneath them, he stretched and nodded. "Right, no more boats. We'll swim next time." It was a half joke, though one grounded in a harsh truth. Without this vessel, they would have been deep on the wrong side of an angry mob. They could have likely escaped the fiery zealots with a long ride down the coast, but he wondered where that might have led them.

"That didn't sound like the barber surgeon or anyone else that I recognize." He stood up, pulling on his clothing lazily as he watched her move with a bit more expedience. It had been some time since they had properly fed and he couldn't recall when she had last taken to ground. He had always ignored the calling to the best of his ability but it couldn't be denied - lest a Vedymin is knocked from their feet in the attempt. They needed to find food and soon.

"Darhesh sounds like the sort of place that lacks the capacity for trapping you. A good place to start." Where they were going, it was hard to tell. But it wasn't in his nature to search for the bigger picture. One foot in front of the next, a wake of dead monsters behind them.

Moving towards the door, he grabbed his armor and his equipment. "Ready whenever you are."​

 

[Wren]

Wren might've liked to face the angry mob. At least in that instance she could have cleared her conscience by knowing, in complete absolution, those people had been crazed fanatics. Many of them had not been innocent, and so much as the idea of harming humans grew the bile of her stomach to painful levels, she'd have liked to do it there than on this boat as she almost found herself.

His half-joke earned him a sharp glare but no comment as the once she-elf continued to hastily redress. All essentials tied and cinched, Wren pulled her breastplate on over her head but left the buckles loose in order to grab up the last pieces and plunge her feed into her boots.

"My affects," she said with a swift look around, "my weapons. Where are they?"

Rainer had taken her sword from her earlier but she'd not see the fate of it and she most certainly wasn't leaving without them.

 

[Rainer]

Rain watched her quietly, moving through the act of dressing as precisely as any other muscle memory activity. His joke landed just about where he expected, flat and without much consideration beyond irritation. How quickly things had turned cold and all it took was three knocks on a rickety door.

"Sure." He responded as he eyed the floor and and searched for something. Moving passed her, he found a wooden pale and placed it, topside down, next to the door. Stepping on to it, he reached up and pulled the weapon down from the ceiling beam. He hadn't quite felt comfortable having it much beyond reach, given that something was particularly off about Terzine. He had claimed to be a friend but that claim didn't take much more than the act of speaking it.

And Rain knew even less about this Captain.

Holding out the affects for Wren to take, Rain waited for her to reclaim it.​

 

[Wren]

Ceiling beams. They seemed to be a running theme for them when it came to hiding things. The hand that snatched the weapon from him was hasty like a territorial dragon reclaiming its nest. The blades and her armor were all that remained of her previous life and Wren kept them close to the chest, as it were. She quickly strapped her two main swords at her hips and the dagger on her thigh. The remaining armor pieces were easily enough secured on the go to which she motioned with a nod of her head that she was ready to ship out.

Though they passed by many crew members of the ship, Terzine did not show his face and neither did the Captain. Not that they had been expecting the latter, but Wren was more than glad not to see the former. If he'd try to push his help at her again she might've been liable to take off his head.

Stepping out into the early light of day was a bit more shocking than she remembered. Wren winced up into the pale sunlight, feeling the onset of mild discomfort like she'd been out in the summer sun for a long and hot afternoon. Had it always been like this or had they been moving under the cover of night more than she remembered? Wasn't about to stop the woman from setting her boots on dry land, and she was quick to find the ramp that gave her passage from ship to dock.

No backward glances were spared; Wren moved with purpose through the stacks of shipping crates and bins that lined the dockway without even looking to ensure that Rain was on her heel. She could feel him back there with some innate sense and knew he would not let her get too far from his sight.

But the moment her toe crossed from overwater planks to cobble and stone a sudden burning weight shed from her like a cool drink of water would wash over a parched desert wanderer. It struck her so profoundly that she stumbled and nearly collapsed into a hay wagon set on the side of the road.

Her hand instinctively went to the brand at her chest where she realized for the first time that there was no longer the dull ache of pain.

No more boats. No more water...

 

[Rainer]

They left the vessel unceremoniously. Terzine and the Captain were nowhere to be found and for those who did meet their gaze, it was a weather beaten and sunburnt lot. Some where pulling anchor line, others were working on a second coat on the planks. All of them look relieved to see the two leave. And for that moment, Rain was a toss up between irritated and understanding.

Passing the gangway from ship to port town, Rain followed Wren as they walked silently and found themselves on solid ground. As she stumbled, he moved to catch her and found himself just a bit later than the hay wagon. Perhaps it was the relief he felt, crossing the connection they shared. The way she felt at her brand, the silence that returned, it was deafening. How quickly that creature had become a part of them, wedging it's place firmly between what should have been something far more formidable and inseparable.

The fact that the silence was noticeable, it infuriated him.

"Take it slow..." It was far from a command or request, a phrase expressing a concern. The threat of the grounding loomed in the back of his mind. "We should be able to find work here." He shifted to look around, trying to spy a town center where the post board might be found. It went without saying that a bit of distraction could do them good - but the nourishment was critical.

Those who passed by on the wharf were largely working class, with a small village in the background. It was likely a port town and not much more, but trouble was rarely that discerning. Where people were, evil followed.​

 

[Wren]

She felt ... winded. As though the sudden dispersing of the entity's presence had taken her breath with it. A gloved hand found Rainer's arm as he moved to steady her and clamped down on him tightly. Even with barriers between skin, Wren still felt that soul-deep sense of comfort in his presence - perhaps it was his concern filtering through.

"I'm-" she took a moment, like he said, and waited for the sensation of weightlessness in her gut to pass, then pushed herself off the wagon and back to steady feet, "I'm ok."

For now, she thought, still worrying after the mark on her sternum when she should have been more concerned about the pressing matter at hand: they needed to feed. With the demon sitting at the forefront of her mind she'd not noticed the hunger pangs, but now that he had retreated they would surely come on again, and strong.

"We need to find a notice board," she echoed Rainer's thoughts, turning to grasp a hand at the arm of the next passerby, "excuse me - does this town have a notice board?"

The man startled slightly at being grabbed and gave Wren a bewildered look, "Ah - yes, by the town square. Follow the church tower, you can't miss it."

"Church tower," Wren repeated, brow furrowing as she released the man and looked up, "why is it always a goddamn church."

 

[Rainer]

Rain watched the man stumble and walk away, spying over his shoulder once he had reached a safe distance. His clothing wasn't exactly the same stylings as what was found in Alliria or Elbion, but it was easy enough from context to discern the common professions. Fishing, agriculture, religion, and propping up the business in between that allowed those forms of trade to thrive. Shifting his attention from Wren to the direction of the church tower, Rain could only assume the usual suspects. A tavern, a governance building, a cathouse, and the meager wharf facilities that could be used for processing and selling fish.

A good spot for tuna and trade.

"Humans look for comfort where they can..." He paused, mid thought, realizing that in that moment, he didn't consider himself human. In the stint from Elbion to Bur'tyga, they had seen in countless ways the methods in which church and doctrine were implemented. And in many cases, sharpened to the edge of a sickle or emblazoned on the tips of torches through the thoroughfare of a small town.

It wasn't a comfort he sought or needed. He preferred ideologies and concepts that didn't thrive in the presence of fear, for things in this world and in the next. But these fisherman were likely happy for their false miracles, tossing coins in brass pans in hopes of a fruitful journey. Fortune for what was offered, humility for those grievances that couldn't be understood for the deific reason that drove them.

Snapping back to attention, he nodded. "Let's go do the work that the Church can't..." He smiled and began to trudge off in the indicated direction. Wren was hungry and ready to put many things behind them, he was confident she would either be on his heel or leading the way. The curious side of him wandered what sort of ailments troubled this land, existing far beyond the shadow of the Darnhesh Church Tower.​

 

[Wren]

Rainer was waxing introspective again. Wren snorted.

Comfort. In a church. And she was the Queen of Falwood. Given the option she supposed she'd have chosen attending Church regularly over being possessed by a demon, but she hardly thinked the matters stood on equal ground. Churches, by and large, were far less personal than one made them out to be. Given more to the "pick your own story" than anything else, sermons falling as guidelines for a life well-lived with no specific recourse for those who only prayed but did not practice.

A pile of shit wrapped in clean linens. What was that saying the farmers used? Wolves in donkeyhides?

Either way, she'd be happy to cull the wolves so long as they were getting paid their due. The church tower loomed overhead, a market buzzed with tending vendors and buyers nearby, somewhere a rowdy conversation from the local tavern played into the air. Wren ignored it all, her gaze fixated on the oft overlooked; a skinny dog laying in the shade of an old tree; a horse snoozing while the contents of its wagon were offloaded to a stand; a child pawing at apples in a basket; a chicken pecking about for insects underfoot; a man nailing a missive to a notice board.

Bingo.

She shifted on her feet into that direction, wending through the traffic until she stood before the board. It was sparser than that of the numerous bulletins in Elbion. Her eyes scanned several posters, aged and rain-run and nearly illegible. Useless.

 

[Rainer]

Darnhesh had the trappings of the standard port town but lacked the same aesthetic of what Rain had come to expect in the back and forth journeys that spanned Alliria and Elbion. He couldn't quite place it but he got the impression that there was a very fine line here between stranger and interloper. Those who were tending to their businesses in the primary village thoroughfare painted the hunters in passing glances of apprehension, treading towards antipathy. He had to assume this conveyed feelings towards their obvious profession.

Approaching the board, what bounties and requests remained where hardly viewable against the brittle and sun-bleached squares of vellum and parchment. Running his fingers across one of the notes, it flaked off from the pin that stuck it to the wooden post and dissolved into the steady coastal breeze. "Either this place has little trouble for our abilities...or more than it can handle." Having no problems and having too many could both result in complacency.

As another piece of parchment drifted away, a burn mark revealed itself. A symbol, like a ball caught in a windy flame. He wasn't sure if he had every seen the symbol before, though it did carry some form of familiarity. Given the recent events, he didn't welcome the familiarity as anything more than something of concern.

"You hunters, right?" A man approached, slouched and largely concealed beneath a flowy robe. "Those weapons aren't just trinkets, are they?"

Rain shifted as the man approached, though he gave them their due space. "That depends on who is asking."
"Of course." The stranger chortled, leaning on gnarled stick. "Well...if you were hunters, there is a tavern close by...The Salted Carp. Ask for the barkeep, ask about the screaming nights."

Somewhere between the man saying 'of course' and 'carp,' his voice had turned to a whisper. Something gave the old hunter the impression that speaking about this topic in public wasn't the safest course of action.​

 

[Wren]

It was an odd lead and Wren felt the same subtle curiosity hit her as Rainer, glancing to see if he'd marked a similar thought to she. Why, if this were such an important thing to make a point to tell supposed hunters to seek, was it then not posted to the board? Or had it been? Did one of those weathered and sun bleached parchments contain the story and bounty and someone had simply been too lazy to re-write?

The other thought that struck her was the coincidence of the man appearing just as they had. It was fucking weird.

"Thanks for the tip," Wren eyed the codger and turned in the direction she thought she'd seen a tavern sign swinging on a side avenue, boots shifting across loose cobble and the sponge of damp earth with purpose.

"Why is it always fucking weird," she remarked to herself but loud enough for Rainer to hear, "why can't it just be a normal fucking job."

 

[Rainer]

Rain agreed with her assessment but let silence follow as the mysterious figure hobbled off in a different direction. Weird was the world they lived in now. Between the ancient vampire underneath streets of a well established city and interacting with a barber surgeon who was well beyond what he presented as, Rain assumed that dealing with something that wasn't weird would have felt just as outlandish.

"Normal jobs are for carpenters and cobblers..." He remarked, teasingly, as he looked towards the tavern. Scraping his boots against the cobble as he stepped, he sighed. "I could use a bit of a mend now that I think about it." He couldn't remember the last time he had his boots repaired but now wasn't the time for it. Maybe when they got a moment to breath, which he assumed would never happen.

"Oi, you there!"

Rain caught the words as he placed his feet on the first step, leading up to the tavern. A woman in a sleeveless dress, décollété and wearing a bit more makeup than what anyone might need, leaned over the bannister that peered back out to the street. "Ya here ta dock? A bit long of tooth for ma college but with the right plying, a five or seven disposition could turn those grey hairs golden, hmm?"

"Sorry, not interested." He muttered as he stepped and approached the entrance to the tavern. He has spent enough time near wharfs to decipher the port language but he was far from fluent. "For business then?" She flicked a fan out and proceeded to cool herself. "Suit yerself, luv. Be here for a while but can't make promises that you won't get a buttered bun on the 'turn." The woman said with a smile as she looked towards Wren, her expression tinted subtly with a grimace. The woman didn't carry the typical traits of someone in her assumed profession, nor did she look like she was from around the area. ​

 

[Wren]

Didn't understand a single meaning behind that blather and she might've turned to give the woman an earful for her trouble - but she was far too annoyed already and just wanted to be on their way with a bounty in hand. That dark cloud may have stopped raining upon putting her feet on solid ground once more, but it continued to hang about. The umbrage it cast was not without its weight on her mind.

She afforded the hussy a cross side-eye before shoving into the tavern ahead of Rainer to take it all in. Not as full and bustling as she expected, though perhaps they were here during prime fishing hours and its usual patrons were off making the best of it. Now who was it they were looking for? The barkeep?

Easy enough.

Wren shifted easily through those seated at tables and made for an open corner of the bar where she neglected to take a seat. The barkeep that approached was certainly unexpected: tannish green skin, two small tusks, tribal markings. An orc! The disbelief was more than evident when he walked over, earning her a wary eye.

"What'll it be, strangers?" asked the orc.

"We're not here for a drink," Wren answered, "or small talk. We've been told to speak to you about the screaming nights."