Private Tales Hungry Dogs

[Sledge]

His boots on the wooden floor of the inn. Heavy footfalls. Foreboding drums. The beat of a sure and steady doom. The rings of his chainmail hauberk clinking, metal on metal, as he walked down the hallway. A tower of a man. His wide-brimmed hat scraping lightly against the ceiling. He wore a leather coat which had but one sleeve, and a glove there on the matching hand, both serving to conceal the arm of the beast. The prize of a past conquest, taken to replace his own.

In his hands he held a heavy crossbow. An enormous and baleful weapon.

And he approached the door at the end of the hall and kicked it open. An explosion of wood from the jamb. The brother stood from the table in the room and he aimed and fired the crossbow and the brother reeled and tumbled back and there a clattering of things being knocked over as the brother fell dead to the floor.

The sister gave a yelp and then shortness of breath found her. Frozen she sat, staring at him with nothing short of abject terror.

He stood in the doorway. Watching her. He pulled a bolt from the bolt case on his belt and let go of both his crossbow and the bolt. Both floating in the air, and the windlass of the crossbow began to turn itself and the crossbow in this way so cocking itself and the bolt floated and secured itself properly and then he grabbed his self-reloaded weapon in his hands.

The sister slowly raised her quivering hands. "I can get you more money. Please."

"I have no use for your money."

"Please. Don't."

And he stepped away from the door and inside the room. A single step. To make way.

The nobleman entered. Smirking as he saw the fear on the sister's face. "Thank you," the nobleman said, not to her. "That will be all."

And he left the room and the nobleman and the sister therein and he walked past the nobleman's guards as one shut the door. He walked to the front of the inn and stopped and turned his head to look at the cowering innkeeper.

"What do you hear?" he asked.

The sister. Her pitiful and horrid screaming.

"Nothing," said the innkeeper. A manner of pleading in his voice. "Nothing at all."

A nod.

And the Jackal left the inn and the elven town of Elyr'Adith.

* * * * *​

Elyr'Adith.

Nice place to relax. Even if Vel Anir had sunk its teeth into the town there was a contingent of Anirian Guardsmen stationed here for 'protection'. They at least didn't ruin the scenery. Yet.

Sledge sat in a comfortable chair and in the shade on the deck of a seaside inn, the Cortosi Sail. The sand of the beach just out past the deck and the waters of the Cortosi Coast beyond that. She sat with her legs crossed and she smoked, holding the slender reed pipe between her index and middle fingers. All her usual armor was in her room, and she wore her black pants and black gambeson. Felt good to dress down every now and again. Her gambeson was more the length of a doublet and wasn't as thick as those human-made. Comfortable. Like a light coat. And there was a nice cool ocean breeze so it was fine. No sweating to bother her.

She'd been in Elyr'Adith once before with Blair Company, Captain Leona deciding to overnight here on their way north to Vel Anir. But now Elyr'Adith was more accessible than ever after that worldwide incident with the red mists. Fuck that. She wasn't paid enough to fight demons. But in the aftermath, now there were new portal stones in the world. And one such new portal stone happened to be near the teeth-like inlet of the Cortosi Coast just south of the inlet Elyr'Adith itself was built next to.

Auch. But using the portal stones. Just felt...weird. It didn't cost much to pay a mage to make a key, but still...was that creepy feeling worth it? She wasn't sure about it.

Well. Fuck it. What's done is done. And she was here now enjoying a smoke and a few days' worth of relaxing.

"Excuse me."

Sledge turned her head and glanced up. A young man. Human, and probably proud of that little patch of fuzz on his chin. Willowy lad all around. Built like the damn reed pipe in her hands.

"I'm a courier, ma'am," he said.

"Damn it, that was my second guess. Lost my own bet." Sledge grinned.

"Oh." He seemed to lose his train of thought. A growing rattle of nervousness in the way he stood.

"Did you want to know what my first guess was?"

"...No?"

"Good. You'd turn red."

He turned red at the mention of turning red. Said with some amount of fluster, "I've come to deliver a m-message. Are you the bounty hunter named Sledge?"

"That's me."

"Oh. Okay. Lord Havelholme has invited you to his manor at your earliest convenience, ma'am. He has a business proposal he thinks you would be interested in."

"Masseur."

"What?"

"That was my first guess."

"Oh." He turned a shade redder.

"Do you know any good masseurs?"

"...No?"

"Shit. You look like you would."

Sledge brought the pipe to her lips and inhaled and blew smoke from her mouth.

"Was that all?" she asked.

"Oh. Oh! He...Lord Havelholme did request an...actual answer from you."

"Does he know any good masseurs?"

"I...the Lord's business is not mine to know."

Sledge laughed and waved the courier off. "Hey. Kid. Relax. Tell him I said yes. I'll be there before sundown."

The young courier nodded. "Very well, ma'am." And he stepped across the deck and through the door leading back into the inn.

Sledge sat there and smoked and enjoyed the breeze. Well, at least she had gotten a full day yesterday to simply relax. Then again, it was hard to turn down a bounty, wasn't it? The chance to get into a justified scrap. She lived for it. The sheer physicality. Win or lose, a good fight was a good fight.

And that was something life in Fal'Addas had never offered her. Well thank Leona and Blair Company for showing up when they did and taking her in and showing her what life could really be all about.

Sledge sat and leaned her head against the back of the chair and let herself sink into the cushions and watched the tide of the sea flow back and forth.


Irithiel

 

[Irithiel]

A Wild Gnoll was snoring in the forest surrounded by blood and bones of his prey. He twitched and turned possibly dreaming of playing with a bone or hunting more prey little did he know was that a one-eyed Elf snuck into his territory with a potion in his hand. The Elf knelt next to the animal and held out the potion for him to sniff it. It filled the bottle with a mixture of rotten meat and spoiled eggs. The rancid meal a Gnoll enjoys, as soon as the Gnoll sniffed it, the Elf grabbed him by the scruff of his neck ignoring his yelping and threw him off the cliff where he landed hard on to the floor.

The one-eyed Elf adjusted his scarf that was wrapped around half of his face. As he did so, his fingers brushed past his scar etched on his cheek. The Elf frowned before clenching his fist watching the Gnoll recover from his fall and watching a Hill Giant emerged from behind the large Oak Trees gawking at the Gnoll who began whimpering. “Food,” the Giant’s mouth was salivating as soon he saw the animal. The Gnoll was a tiny morsel compared to him and there was no way he’ll satiate his seemingly endless hunger but The Elf didn’t throw the Gnoll to feed the Giant but to distract him. +

The Gnoll ran deep into the forest continuing to yelp while the Hill Giant began to lumber after him. His footsteps thundering as he moved. The entire earth around the Hill Giant shook, and the Elf had to maintain his balance though he was smirking when he saw the Hill Giant out of sight. The Elf dropped off the cliff and entered a cave behind him, inside was a cache of weapons and food mostly Elven bread and bottles of Elven style Vodka. The Elf inspected the daggers and grenades that laid before him testing their sharpness and grabbing some Elven arrows to place in his empty quiver.

After arming himself, the Elf headed for a desk located near the fireplace on it was a letter that had the Fal’Addas seal on it. Sighing a bit, the Elf opened the letter and began to read it:

Irithiel,

Sorry for summoning you back, I know you were just beginning your vacation after your mission at Vel Anir but I have no one to turn to for this mission and with the rest of the Black Operatives scatter all over Arethirel you're all I got. We found Irithiel: The Jackal you know him as Jack the Ripper. A mass murderer of Elves and has even defeated six of Black Operatives in single combat. The Jackal was placed on top of the list as the most dangerous criminal on Fal'Addas. Despised by not only Elves but Humans as well. There has been a bounty placed on his The Jackal's head so large that not even the most stupid of human bounty hunters would ignore it.

But The Jackal is one not to be trifled with which is why I'm deploying you Irithiel. He needs to be taken out with an Elven blade, The Jackal was last located near The Spine, that's a 3-week trek from where this drop zone is. Our scouts reported that he's surrounded himself with Sphinx Warriors and a mercenary company called: The Knights of The Fallen. You've fought against them before Irithiel: Disgraced Knights looking to get back on the good graces of a human lord. You've made a name for yourself killing them and they sure remember you. As much as the Knights what to chop off your head and present them to the Vel Anir King, you can handle them.

You won't be working alone, I have someone who is also seeking the death of The Jackal. By someone I mean your lover, It's the least I can do for you since you agreed to sacrifice your vacation time to take this mission. She'll meet you at the drop zone.

Mara Mesta Aldwine, (Safe journey old friend)

Lieutenant Baldor.

Irithrel closed the letter and slumped onto the wooden chair. Sledge is coming here, he hadn't seen her in over 4 years. Would she miss him? Certainly, Sledge understood the delicacies of being an Elven commando for the Elven government but she was very passionate about their relationship. Irithel then waited for Sledge remembering their time together,

 

[Sledge]

Sledge had a dip in the sea for a few hours. The sun-warmed waters. Her initial thought to simply soak in the water and soak in the sun but then she figured 'fuck it, I'm here' and she waded through the water, got dressed, walked dripping wet back to her room and retrieved her soap, then back out to the waters to undress and submerge herself again.

If there was one thing she seldom spared any expense on, it was soap. That shit that was basically a fistful of animal fat she bought and used in desperate times only. Humans tended to think it was 'good enough'. Fortunately, many of her fellow elves went out of their way to secure a steady supply of pumice and sweet-smelling extracts.

Ah. And this was one of the good ones. Sure it'd make her smell like a dainty little shit for a while--some kind of flower extract in this bar--but in this case she hardly minded. The smell of sweat was far more abhorrent to her than any delicate scent some soapmaker put in his or her creation. And. Well. She hadn't been sweating, but she had decided to treat herself anyway.

Might as well. Leisure time was getting cut short. Had to make up for that.

* * * * *​

Sledge, her armor donned now and her winged maces at her belt, was escorted inside Lord Havelholme's manor. And damn if the manor didn't stick out. A big, blocky stain of human architecture among all those elven. There were others instances of it in Elyr'Adith but this one was the most egregious. And there was no more solid indication that Vel Anir tacitly owned the town. It had happened before Sledge was even born. Heh. Maybe if Fal'Addas wasn't so mealy-mouthed in politics then Elyr'Adith would still be ruled by elves.

Make your thoughts known, assert yourself, or get trampled. That's how the world worked in Sledge's view.

Servants were preparing dinner in the kitchen as the guard led her past it. Up the stairs then. Down a hallway and the guard knocked on the door of the study. A call from inside. The guard opened the door.

A big and gaudy room. Books in shelves. Some maps on the walls. An elaborate scriptorium where Lord Havelholme sat now with parchment before him, quill in hand, some other open books to his left and right.

"Come in," Havelholme said. "Shut the door, if you would."

Sledge walked in and the guard shut the door and she stood watching him write.

"You asked to see me," she said.

"Yes," he said, looking up from the parchment. "I do love the craft of writing. Hmph. Most men of my stature would look down upon it as a menial thing meant for scribes and others of lowborn pursuits. But I...I am taken by literature. The stories of old, those long before the Age of Chronicles. Can you read, Sledge? Shall I call you Sledge?"

"That's the name. And yes, I can read."

"Hmm. Sledge it is, then. Forgive me if I thought it odd. A ill-matching of expectation, with such a name and your appearance."

"I get that a lot."

Havelholme gestured to a chair in the study. "Please. Sit."

Sledge walked to it and sat down. This fuckin' bloke. It had to be something nobility was accustomed to; this preamble of varying length they always seemed to give, this overblown exchange of pleasantries before actually talking about what the fuck really mattered. She loathed it, but put up with it. It was like an extra obstacle to an above-average payment.

"Good," said Havelholme. "There are many of your ilk I presume who simply eschew education of any form save martial. After our business is concluded, to which I have no doubt in your ability as it was so recommended to me, consider yourself free to my study to browse my collection at your leisure. Your lovely countenance would be welcome."

Sledge crossed her arms. A firm glance. "Did you want to fuck?"

"Pardon?"

"Most people don't come out and say it. And I'm fairly sure my assumption is correct, you saying 'lovely countenance' and all. So is that what you're really asking me?"

Havelholme straightened his back and smiled like a man who'd been bested at a game yet appreciated the manner in which it was done. "You are...quite straightforward."

"Hence the name."

Havelholme took in a slow breath through his nose. "Well, I must say that discussing such carnal matters out loud and in such direct vernacular is a touch uncouth, but...yes, that was the ultimate implication of my offer."

"Good. And no. Not interested. Now we can discuss business, sans sexual tension."

"You can hardly fault a man his baser urges, can you?"

"No hard feelings." At least he took it in stride. Usually being so blunt with noble and aristocratic clientele cost her the job. They normally didn't have to deal with rejection, and didn't take it well.

Havelholme cleared his throat. "Business. Then. I've a bounty on a man that has become an inconvenience for me. This I have not published widely, for he is bounty hunter like yourself. My ignorance is such of the bounty hunting culture, should you all have a cohesive one or at least perhaps honor among your trade, that I do not know if you might have any reservations about this. Have you any objections about pursuing a bounty on a fellow bounty hunter?"

The Lord had a point. It was a bit fucked to take a bounty on another bounty hunter. She wasn't superstitious, but it felt like doing that was to invite it being done to you.

Well. That's how it went, she supposed. Mercenaries knew the score; sometimes it came down to fighting other mercenaries, and whichever side had thrown more money at their mercs often had more and therefore won. Just part of the deal. Had to be the same for bounty hunters. One day for some reason you'll have crossed a line you may or may not have known you've crossed, and then you've got a bounty on your own head. And then a bitch like Sledge will be on your tail.

Just part of the deal.

"No objections," she said.

A smirk from the Lord. "Very good. The hunter in question's name, so far as I could tell, is The Jackal. He, like you, seems to have permanently adopted a moniker in lieu of his given name."

"'The Jackal'? That's got to be common."

"Yes, I'm aware. Fortunately, he is not a common man. He is very tall, much taller than even you with your elven height, and has the physical stature of an orc. He has straight brown hair and a long beard. Black eyes, and soulless ones, if you understand my meaning. He wears a large hat and, most notably, he wears a coat with only one sleeve, the right one, the left perhaps having been torn off or consciously removed for reasons I'll never comprehend. He was here in Elyr'Adith four days ago and made it known that he was going north to Vel Anir. Perhaps you will find him there."

And Lord Havelholme divulged what other details he could and they discussed payment. What he did not tell this bounty hunter named Sledge was the reason. The reason for him wanting The Jackal only dead, and by no means alive. He did not tell, and she did not ask, and that endeared her services to him even more.

For The Jackal had been contaminated with knowledge. Knowledge of Havelholme's bastard son and daughter, foolish as they were in initially hiring the bounty hunter to kill Havelholme himself. Well. Coin won the day. That, and The Jackal seeming to have something against bastards in general. His son and daughter had been removed from the board now, but still, The Jackal was directly aware of them having existed.

And the potential of him telling others, however slight, just wouldn't do.

* * * * *​

Sledge left Havelholme's manor. Walked down the fine cobblestone street back toward the Cortosi Sail as the sun dipped low in the sky and turned it pink.

Probably head out in the morning. First light.

 

[Irithiel]

Squirrel on a stick, it has become a delicacy for Irithel over the years as a commando especially when doused in honey after it has been thoroughly cooked. Irithel is certain that the average Elf doesn't see it that way and he doesn't blame them, for the majority of his long life, Irithel was a solider specifically a black ops commando who was committed to protecting Elven interests. He has committed atrocities, assassinated leaders and other things that Irithel dare not think about again.

The Elf was tortured, beaten to near death and was hung by the racist bigots of Vel Anir. He even lost an eye to those people, Irithel ran his fingers across the place where his eye has been gouged out another memory he wished he could purge. If there was one thing Irithel envy humans was their short lifespan. They can come into the world and easily die out not Irithel, 450 years of constant fighting and warfare and he can remember it all and the worst part is Irithel needed the battlefield it was all he knew.

Getting up, Irithel held out his palms and symbols started to form around them. The Elf clasped them together and immediately multiple portals started to pop up. "Irithel is that you?" A yawning voice echoed through the portal as the creatures he Irithel summoned emerged.

"Yeah it's me," Irithel sat back down and began eating his Squirrel on a Stick. The summoned Dogs began to stretch as soon as the portal closed sniffing around the place to get a feel for where they are. "It's been years Cedric."

The brown Pug leaped near Irithel and smirked. "Indeed it has," he said looking around. "Five years to be exact."

"I didn't know you were counting."

"There's no war this time," Cedric said sniffing around. "Last time you summoned us it was against Vel Anir soldiers at a settlement near The Spine. I got wiped out by Dreadlord's fire spell what was the outcome of the battle."

Irithel continued to eat. "An Elven victory," Irithel said. "We managed to get a foothold on the Spine, The Dreadlords have been poking their noses in the lost Elven ruins. Our archeologists are now working to decipher the information."

Cedric shook his head. "Well that's going to result in a pogrom," he said licking his paw.

"It did," Irithel said. "There was a massive purge in Vel Anir where 500 Elves, Dwarves and other nonhumans were slaughtered in streets." The Elf snorted. "Vel Anirians," he said spitting near the campfire. "They lose all they commit atrocities as a result. Violence is all Vel Anir knows. It's their nature, if they could they'll kill all of the nonhumans and then they'll turn on each other."

Cedric raised a brow ridge. "That sounds like you," he said.

Irithel growled. "Don't compare me to a human," he replied.

"Elves and Humans have more in common than you think Irithel," Cedric said sitting straight. "Anyway you've summoned us here for a reason and I don't think it's to catch up on old times."

Irithel handed the Pug a letter that was wrapped in a green string. "It's for Sledge," he said. "She is to meet me here, we are going to undertake a mission to kill a man named The Jackal."

Cedric nodded. "I see," he said. "Your current girlfriend yes? I'm surprised you two are still together." The Pitbull walked in between them and took the letter in his mouth. "So this Jackal?" Cedric asked. "How much do you know this target?"

"Enough to know that I need Sledge's help."

"This missions came from the top."

"As always."

Cedric jumped down from the seat sighing. "Irithel," he said. "You need to say no sometimes it won't kill ya you know?"

Irithel continued to stare at his half-eaten Squirell on a stick. "You have her scent," he said. "She shouldn't be far.

"Oh I know her scent," Cedric said beginning to exit the cave. "The way you two sleep with each other....."

The Dogs ran out of the cave at an astonishing speed leaving Irithel alone to continue eating his meal.

 

[Sledge]

Sunlight on her face. In through the window of her room.

Sledge clenched her eyes a bit more before she opened them. She lay in a sprawl on the bed, one leg hanging over the edge. Sheets partially covering her in a haphazard manner and her silk underclothes all in twisted wrinkles. A wet spot on the pillow and a string of spit hanging from her open mouth. She wiped it away and sat up. Goddamn it. Again. Funny to think, but this bed was too comfortable, and that shit happened all the time when she slept in comfort. At least she wasn't sleeping in the company of a bunch of bored mercs with nothing better to do than to stick various things in her open mouth for a laugh. Ha, ha. Real fucking funny, you jackasses.

She got out of bed. Stretched. Reached for her elven reed-pipe and firestarter kit and sparked it and lit it and took a quick smoke. Quick note. Stock up on more packets of sweet-smokes before leaving Elyr'Adith. Straight tobacco was tolerable but rough. Like beer compared to wine. She caught a lot of ribbing for it in Blair Company, naturally. They took to calling wines "Fufu drinks" and sweet smokes "Fufu smokes", thanks in large part to the efforts of her brother to keep the pet-names alive. That dick.

Damn, did she ever owe that crazy old orc more than she could possibly repay. After eighty and some odd years, finally gave her a name she could be happy with. Bless that ornery old bastard. Hopefully he was wrecking endless foes in the battlefields of the orcish afterlife.

Sledge got dressed and armored and armed herself and collected her things and tossed them into her traveling pack. She swept her hair behind her left ear like she usually did and called it a day. And she left the Cortosi Sail.

She made it to the edge of town before--shit, the smokes. So she jogged back into town and visited the shop in question and purchased enough to satisfy her need and left the shop and then walked back to the edge of town.

Reed-pipe in her hand, a trail of smoke dissipating in her wake, pack on her shoulder, riding atop her Falwood Moa Strider Mace, she set out north for Vel Anir.

No hard feelings, Jackal. You know the score.

 

[Irithiel]

Cedric and the rest of the pack moved through the forest with liquid precision. Cedric knew Irithel from the time when he was a green boy who was part of the elite cavalry division for the Elven army almost 350 years ago. Irithel's unit was ambushed Vel Anir Dreadlords during Vel Anir's wars against the Falwood Elves near some portal stones. Irithel was struck by one of them and accidentally activated one of the portal stones transporting him to Cedric's land. Cedric found the boy and nursed him back to health and Irithel made a summoning pact with Cedric resulting him Cedric and Irithel working together for years.

Irithel is a war-weary Elf who as much as he doesn't want to admit it is addicted to war. He lives and breathes the battlefield and whenever Irithel tries to live a peaceful life, the allure of fighting draws him back. His most recent girlfriend, Sledge isn't exactly helping matters since she is a mercenary who lives for fighting. Speaking of Sledge, Cedric finally ran into her at the docks heading somewhere north. The smell never lies, Cedric isn't like other dogs, they can speak have enhanced senses that far surpasses Dogs and is capable of magic. Cedric turned to the Bulldog. "Robert!" he said. "Signal Sledge!" The Bulldog gave an ear-shattering Bark to get Sledge's attention.

"Ahoy matey!" Cedric smiled. "We have a message from your boyfriend!"

 

[Sledge]

The dirt road before her. The trees about her.

And the sun peeking through the canopy above like a son of a bitch. Granted, it wasn't as bad as it could be while she rode in her armor. There was a nice, eastward breeze coming from the waters of the Cortosi Coast. Even though she'd left the waters behind in Elyr'Adith, she still felt their effect. The breeze was great, the weather warm but not hot as it often was in Alliria this time of year. Humid, sure, but overall cooler than, say, traveling north of Vel Anir and across the sweltering Savannah.

Sledge rode along on Mace. The giant bi-pedal bird walking along at a steady pace.

Maybe she ought to invest in a parasol. The problem really was the sun. Direct sunlight often brought on sweating moreso than simply ambient temperature. The shade provided by the canopy, spotty in some areas sure, helped.

Auch. But really though, a parasol? Tons of utility from one. Tons. Her own easy-to-carry, portable, on-demand shade. Great. Fantastic. Excellent for times like these when she was just riding and smoking and going from one place to another. It was purely awful to sweat on account of simply wearing plate armor, but that was one of the costs of the added protection. And she sure as fuck wasn't as quick and agile as she could be; the plate helped when her dodging and evading failed. And, well, just wearing the bloody ensemble of plate toughened her up. Made her stronger, made her endure longer. All that.

But a parasol. Ladies and princesses and duchesses and all the rest who fancied themselves nobility carried and used parasols. They didn't exactly send the kind of visual message Sledge preferred. But the instant shade though.

This would need some more thought put into it.

A bark. What the fuck was barking?

Sledge glanced back, as did Mace, the bird stopping at Sledge's prompting in the middle of the dirt road and twisting its long neck around to look.

Dogs. More over, talking dogs. At least one of them could talk, anyway. A look of skepticism from Sledge, and she raised her reed-pipe to her mouth and inhaled and lowered it and blew a stream of smoke from her lips. Unexpected? Yeah. Dogs and wolves, normal ones anyway, didn't talk. But mages sure liked familiars, and there were shape-shifting creatures on Arethil, and hell, the Komodi were a thing. So it wasn't too jarring.

The dog's use of 'Ahoy matey' was the strangest thing about it.

"I don't have a boyfriend," Sledge said.

And she gave a tug on Mace's reins and the bird started looking and walking forward again.

"And I'm busy."