Fate - First Reply Poor, Wayfaring Stranger

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Roselake, South of The Spine
Allir Reach
​

He arrived two days ago, and had solved a recent lake monster problem. A few fisherman had fallen victim to a shallow water Krakarl. The head placed on a pike near the water was put their by a local priest, as a reminder to the other sea monsters that the village would not tolerate any further attacks. And to their credit, it had worked.

Arnor had enjoyed his stay in Roselake- but found his time dwindling down, his patience low for thank-yous and trying to solve everyone's problem. The big Nordenfiir was not a man of many talents, and after helping a kindly old lady with a very attractive daughter thatch her roof, Arnor had taken his coin... and the daughter to bed. Despite this, he did not find much reason to stay at Roselake much longer.

However, Roselake seemed to find a reason to keep him here. Rhi, the King of Horses, was missing. And the townsfolk swore up and down that they had no idea where his horse had gone. The stablehand said that he checked prior to Arnor asking, not even a few hours before. Arnor had few reasons to doubt him. He in fact, held the skinny boy by his ankles over the lake, dunking his head in the water a few times.

And now, he had a problem. Rhi was no ordinary horse, Arnor had trained him to not ride unless it was him. And he was a stubborn bastard, and had a fondness for drinking. In fact, he would refuse to ride if he hadn't had a drink in a few days. That, and Rhi had another distinguishing feature- he was over twenty "hands" tall, and weighed more than eight men. He was not a small horse, he was a mighty beast.

But someone had wanted Arnor to stay, and had somehow managed to hide and take his horse. To that effect, Arnor was back in the tavern, holding the stable owner at the throat, the terrified residents frantically calling for the town guard. However, the town guard were little more than a militia, with naught but one battle between them. Arnor was a brute, a swordsman, a hunter, and experienced.

They were not, and so he was not afraid. He pinned him to the table, and asked him one simple question:

"Where is my god damn horse?" He said, the terrified Elf squirming under his mighty hand.



OOC:

Someone doesn't want Arnor to leave- and by extension, you.

Somethings amiss with the town. You can feel it. It fell over the town in the past two days. Something shifted. Something changed. Something lurks in the darkness....

 

[Farren]

Looking at the Krakarl head, Farren knew she had been too late. She knew if she had other means of transportation, she might have made it to the village in time to claim her prize and glory. The frown that painted her lips at the very idea showed her displeasure towards horses and their kind. Honestly, she would rather crawl through glass than depend on such ugly creatures. The Hunter is willing to take her losses due to her founded choices.

Comfortable enough to take a break from her wayward duties, the woman decided to take a relaxing dip in the village's humble offerings. There was little work to be found and what work there was, she tried to avoid it by occupying herself with friendly banter flouncing in the tavern. The tavern provided her with drink, a few games of cards, more than a handful of colorful stories told by drunken men, and just general pleasure of the mundane. For the first time in a long time, she felt welcomed, as if she were always part of the little village. The thought immediately unsettled her.

Farren is no imposing creature that demands a room to look her way, so it would be a shock when told she's often not a welcomed person. Monster hunters apparently have some weird hardness about them that makes people uncomfortable. There are those strange assumptions that they are wild and crazed, heathens mostly ... and they wouldn't be wrong to assume that about Farren. She didn't look the part, but she can proudly say she is an accomplished hunter.

But the village did not show their uncertainty about her. Instead, it felt as if she had always been here, like a piece of old furniture that's gathered dust over the years. The feeling of wrongness made her last visit to the tavern a quick one.

Having given away the last of her coin on food and drink, she had gotten up to make a sluggish exit before chaos overtook the tavern. A man held the stable owner by the throat before pinning him helplessly against the table. The sight was amusing enough to elicit a smile out of the Hunter and nothing more - this appeared to be a problem that the behemoth of a man could handle on his own. So, she continued to exit, only to be shoved back inside by terrified bystanders blocking her escape path.

"Will you tell the man where his horse is so we can go about our day?" she said, unwillingly shoved to the forefront by the gathered crowd. "Or else he's going to do something worse than break you over tables."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

"It- it disappeared!"

Arnor narrowed his eyes, icy blue eyes looking down at the terrified stable owner. But something told him he was telling the truth. He had done this enough to know that he was terrified, but also honest- Arnor relented, letting him go. He looked over at the townsfolk, who had, in their eyes- he had gone from savior and do-gooder, to rowdy and violent. It was like that for most of his jobs. People only tolerated monster hunters for so long.

After the monster was gone, you were chopped liver- no use for you there. Just a visitor.

"My horse disappeared. Explain."

The stable owner coughed and sputtered, collapsing to the floor before rising to a shaky stand, leaning on the table. Arnor kept his fists balled at his side, staring down at the man.

"Middle o' the night- hear it neighing and howling. Then, a big flash of light- and it was gone, and that was it. Didn't think anyone would believe me- was gonna tell you that it ran away, or someone stole it."

Arnor stared at him hatefully, but had no reason to doubt him. So, someone quite literally- poofed his fucking horse. Fantastic. He looked over at the woman who spoke not a moment ago, pegging her as a person in his line of work. Arnor wasn't strictly a Monster Hunter, though- he was a well established mercenary as well, this side of the Spine.

"Who would want to keep me here?"

He said, narrowing his eyes at the stable owner, then the newer woman. Just like before- he would have trouble trusting anyone. Secrets ran deep in these quiet villages. Something was amiss, foul in the air.

And it wasn't just the swamp smell coming in on the wind.

He barged out of the tavern, collecting his swords, curling his fists into a ball as he paced around the darkening streets, eyes frantically scanning the people he passed. Someone had to know where his horse went- and more importantly, where it went.

 

[Farren]

A horse doesn't disappear, and the man was just as skeptical as she. Why did the horse disappear? Was it that prized of a possession to the man he'd beat someone up over it? Could he not just get another horse? Her opinion of the smelly beasts tainted these silly questions, but one did remain serious: why this man's horse? He was rough around the edges and demanded their attention in the wildest ways. Keeping him around meant a disruption to their little village lifestyle.

The stable owner's answer just placed him in a deeper hole. He isn't wrong about them being suspicious about his answer, except when you deal with ruffians and their ilk, you can quickly tell what's a lie and what's truth. She and the man shared that assumption in common, as he allowed the stable owner to survive by the skin of his teeth.

When he looked at her again and asked a question she had no answer to, Farren just shrugged. Why would anyone want a sell-sword to stay around? Villages like this thrive on the courtesy of others, using hired hands to clean up outside messes and establish order. The last thing you want is people like that sticking around because it did not give the place an excellent impression to outsiders. Farren had no answers, only more questions that continued to stack as the seconds passed. Something clearly is amiss here.

When he stormed out of the tavern, she looked at the gathering in the tavern with scrutiny. Are they hiding more than Krakarl? Unfortunately, there are too many to question and far too little time before the man goes on a killing spree for his horse.

Slipping out of the hectic tavern, Farren looked around to see if she could spot her prey. Thankfully he's a little hard to miss, seeing as he towered over everyone and had a dark cloud over his head. "Hey! Hold on real quick!" She yelled, trying to catch his attention. "You should go back to the stables!" It was the best suggestion she could offer, considering that's where this all began, and there may be some clue or indication of what was going on. Hopefully, he wouldn't see her as an immediate threat; Farren had no weaponry on her; she only wore her leathers and armor with her hood down.

When she was close enough, she held up her hands in peace. He would notice how they shook and twitch randomly, but not out of fear. "Maybe there's a clue at the stables?"

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

He was big, mean, scary, armed, lethal, and pissed off.

And she just waltzed right up to him, giving him such a suggestion. He breathed deeply, fists curled at his side.

"Where do you think I looked first, miss?"

He spoke through gritted teeth, snarling almost. Bearlike. A little hint of his true nature. After all- not many Nordenfiir were running around these parts. Then again, he looked like a normal man. He just so happened to have a little secret.

A bear-ly kept secret. Furever on his mind. He always had to take paws-

He put puns out of his head, rubbing his head.

"This is too deliberate, there's no incantation circle, no... nothing like that." He said, running a hand through his short hair. He paused, putting a finger to his lips. Something moved in the growing darkness. A large, shadowy figure blazed across the alley from the tavern to the blacksmith.

He breathed in deeply, not seeing it as it was behind him- though Farren could. Something larger than he was, hunched- and black. Like a shadow, an oily shadow, mist almost.

Something foul and evil.

 

[Farren]

"Ah, no," she said, slightly caught off guard by the obvious. "I understand that's where you went, but I'm suggesting doing a full sweep - if you didn't already do that." She had assumed by his demeanor that maybe he didn't take the time to take a look around. Magic is a tricky, sneaky little thing, and there's no saying what may have been left behind and what he had missed.

"And my name is Farren."

Farren is a sprite compared to his big, mean, scary, armed, lethal, and pissed-off self. Not a short woman by any means, she has just enough height to make her taller than most; he obviously squashed her in the height department, and they surely looked a sight standing by one another. But she didn't move away, not even when his words were more like snarls and his grip on his weaponry was threatening.

When he further explained, she nodded her copper head. "Mn, it looks like this little honeymoon spot is hiding some deep, dark secrets." Farren sighed with her hands thoughtfully cupping her hips. Everything felt like it was getting turned upside down, and they were stuck trying to adjust against it. The creepy and mysterious often get handed over to individuals such as themselves because they're the only people willing to put themselves in the most random of dangers for a bit of coin. She feels the village has ticked them into some weird trap to save them from something.

Something large and shadowy.

Instincts caused her to move. She steps around him, facing the oily shadow hunched in a disfigured way. Farren reached around her back and then cursed, forgetting that she had left her bow behind - for reasons she suddenly couldn't remember. Having to improvise for a minute, she reached down and grabbed a rock, throwing it toward the shadowy thing.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

The area around the pair grew eerily silent, as the creature, demon- ghost, folded into the shadows, as if it was made of shadow itself. Arnor turned, watching her throw a rock at nothing discernable, before he narrowed his eyes, turning to face... what he assumed was a peeping tom, a curious onlooker that she disliked and threw a rock at.

There was no sound for about a minute, the shadows deepening in the alley, as if there was never light there at all. Arnor shifted in his stance, spreading his feet. He didn't appeared outwardly afraid- just ready. But something tugged at the fearful part of his mind, the spirits he carried with him advising him of danger.

Then, something leaned out of the darkness. A face and nothing more, contorted and vile.

"Missed me!"

It said, laughing before fading away, and taking away the darkening shadow with it. Arnor stood, petrified. He didn't know what to make of it, what to think of it. Something that he had never encountered before- something he did not understand, or even have a clue of what it was.

And it was intelligent enough to speak, and make a joke, and know who threw it. He stood in the town, which had somehow regained the sound around them.

"What- the hell was that."

 

[Farren]

Farren shuddered; whatever it was, it made her feel slimy and uncomfortable. A shaky hand was pressed against her beating heart, willing it to calm down, so caught off guard she and it was. The image of the melted face would be a vivid part of her nightmares for a while.

"I did not like that one bit," she finally says, releasing her withheld breath. "Whatever it was, I feel it's been here for a while."

Shaking off her unease, the woman takes in the area. The sounds were back, and the darkness was limited; everyone was going about their business, so it may have just been herself and the stranger who witnessed whatever the hell that thing was. Every little mote on this map has its secrets; she wonders how deep the secrets of this quaint village run. Going off basic assumption, Farren knows that the thing did not rise out of convenience - something brought it here. That kind of darkness had to of been meddled with.

"You're still without a horse; I have to head back to the stables to grab my things, so you may as well tag along."

Feeling more than rushed, she made her way back to the stables and hesitated. He wasn't going to leave without his horse, and she wasn't going to leave until her curiosity was sated. Whatever magic or scheme is at play here, it has them right where it wants them. Two strangers stuck together for better or worse; giving him a once over, she can at least be satisfied knowing he is capable.

Ready or not, she enters the stables and immediately goes to the right into an empty stall. It hadn't occurred to her at the time that leaving her weapons behind in the open was a bad idea, and thankfully her things were left alone, but she felt uneasy about how she had disarmed herself without a thought.

"I don't know about you, but I think we should ask the folks here about their little problem."

Her scimitar hung from her hip, and her bow and arrows were thrown over her back and shoulder; Farren felt prepared for just about anything now.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

Arnor wasn't often without words or thoughts, but that thing... mocking him after contorting the world around him, well. That bothered him.

He went to the stables with her, watching intently as she put on her weapons and gear. For some reason, Arnor found it just as attractive for women to put on armor as it was to take it off. Something about a capable woman.

Maybe there was more to her than he thought.

He crossed his arms, pacing around the stables, double checking that the pair was alone.

"I doubt that thing hasn't been seen before here. Did they mention anything to you about anything like that?" In the space behind Arnor, sunlight poked out through the beams of the barn, silhouetting the big man. Arnor wondered if that thing took his horse- or someone else did. He ran a finger over his marked-up face, thinking.

He paused for a while before speaking again.

"Do you think they know?"

 

[Farren]

And capable she is. Farren was raised by ruffians, grew up in the seediest of places throughout her youth, and still made it out with manners and a smile. The family she grew up with was a mix of slaves, heathens, and abandoned persons; it took her many years to respect the idea of trust and the feeling of comfort. She owes much to an elderly woman who had taken in the spiteful teen. Farren would have ended up somewhere dead or begging on the streets if it hadn't been for her. History and errant kindness made her capable.

As he paced, her hands found her hips again. She stood there, thinking, as his words rolled across her mind like a marble. "No, no one has mentioned anything like that."

It's not like they would, she thought to herself. It's not part of the job to learn about every little place you visit, but she felt like kicking herself for not doing at least some kind of research. This was supposed to be a quick and easy job before the next one; it didn't occur to her that she might get stuck here with a mystery at their feet. They're going to have to start somewhere. There's no way they'll get anyone to talk without persuasion; they may have to bonk some heads.

Looking at the man swathed in sunlight, she sighed. If she's going to be stuck in some mysterious dot on the map, she can at least enjoy the company and view. He's rough around the edges, but she's pretty sure he can get what he wants without being too mean.

"Maybe. It's obviously comfortable enough to roam around in the open. There's no way someone does not know something." Sighing, she goes on, "Maybe we should head back to the tavern? It's the best place as any to get answers."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

He paced around the stables, hands folded behind his back. What did he know about demons and monsters? They were conniving, if they could talk. They had to be, in order to survive. Arnor stopped, turning his head towards the woman. And then it dawned on him.

"There were no other travelers in the tavern, were there?" He said, turning his head towards the door, as the sunlight, fading in it's light, poked through the beams. He sat on a nearby stool that the workers took their breaks in, folding his hands, leaning forward.

"It's best people don't know where we are for the time being, in my opinion. No telling who to trust."

 

[Farren]

She sat down on the hay-covered ground at his feet, thinking about what he had said. It's hard to believe that it was only himself and her who answered the call of need; a monster hunter has to make a living on scraps most of the time, and the reward for killing the Krakarl was relatively reasonable. Other people had to see the posting or at least something said to keep adventurers away from Roselake, making it all that more appealing. Again, she can't recall anything noteworthy about Roselake.

As for staying under the radar, she finds that it may be a difficult thing to accomplish. His entire presence filled the room, and she was not skilled enough to hide them from the curious. But he was not wrong; the only ones to trust in this entire debacle are each other; everyone has been deemed untrustworthy.

"If there's something sneaky hiding in the shadows, then someone or something at least knows our every move."

They haven't been disturbed yet, leaving her to believe that something is waiting for them to make a move. Farren doesn't like waiting around and finding out, preferring to be more proactive when her life is in danger. In this case, she was itching to go back out and try to find the creature that dared to laugh and taunt her. It would probably only land them in some danger, but at least they'd be doing something instead of waiting for the problem to come to them.

"Have you tried leaving in the last few days?" The odd feeling of being pulled back into the grasp of the village has overcome her whenever she dared think about leaving. At the time, it wasn't unusual, as she had traveled a far way and wanted to rest her weariness away. Leaving was always going to happen. She just never felt compelled to hurry up and go - until now.

"I think something is keeping us here, and maybe we're not the only ones stuck."

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

He looked around the stables, not considering how far this thing was willing to go to watch them. If it was watching them now. He curled his hands into fists, rising to a stand from his seat, eerily looking around the barn, as if it was any use.

Shadows could lie, shadows could deceive.

"No, they had me hunting a Krakarl. They had postings all over about it." He said, walking to the door. He opened it, motioning for her to follow. Dusk had fallen, the sun fading behind the buildings. The town seemed empty, though a few watched from their houses and perched positions.

He stopped, looking down at his feet. Tracks. Several of them. Fresh. At this time of night- in a farming village? He could never stop being a hunter, a tracker. And he knew a tra-

Something came whizzing by their heads. Arnor instinctively moved as a crossbow bolt whizzed by, then another. One of the shooters, a wiry man- one of the blacksmith's aids, came from between one of the buildings. Arnor ran towards him- his arms outstretched. No weapons. And he tackled him into one of the timber buildings- and shoved the man through the building, Arnor following suit.

Arnor grabbed the man by the face, looking towards where more crossbow and arrows were ripping the house around him. He had tackled him into what appeared to be a makeshift mud or drying room, and had thrown him face-first into a pile of wet work clothes. His face was bloody and marred already, and he for sure had at least several broken bones from the impact alone.

Arnor stopped, the bolts stopping suddenly.

He wondered if the woman outside had anything to do with that, or if they weren't meant to take a casualty and retreated.

"I thank all my ancestors that you have poor aim. You're not a soldier or a hunter, why do you have a crossbow?" He grabbed his face harder, fingers digging into his skin.

"And why are you trying to kill us?"

"We do as he says- he is the ancient, he is the land."

Arnor stopped, his blood running cold.

"Wha- What did you say?"

Meanwhile, outside, the shadows returned, that same eerie face returning. This time, however, as soon as Farren turned her head- that face was right in hers, shadowy body and all.

"Miss me?"

The face opened wide, jaw unhinging and revealing rows upon rows of vicious, gnashing teeth. And the creature went straight for her.

 

[Farren]

They were no soldiers, let alone warriors, thus, they were little match for the woman. Arnor took care of one while a collection of three more made themselves known. An overwhelming amount for anyone but for Farren, it was annoying - and very unfortunate for them. Cornered, she stepped out of her shelter with her crossbow in hand, and an arrow knocked in preparation. Unlike them, who aimed to scare and not to hurt, she pointed her arrow at the nearest person and shot directly at his face.

Thankfully, the person was pulled away from the arrow that made its home in a tree. The rest of her assailants felt the threat, immediately becoming aware she would not let them escape their poor attempts. Before they could mull over their choices, Farren loaded another arrow and shot again. This time her arrow grazed the cheek of one of them, only because her hands did not have time to steady themselves and caused her to miss her target. Catching the hint, her attackers shuffled back into the shadows of the trees but not without leaving her a parting gift.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Again, the shadows pooled around her before gathering shape into the creature that had frightened them earlier. With no time to properly prepare herself for its attack, Farren withdrew the scimitar from her waist and slashed at the creature. With her crossbow dropped, she could slash hard and roll out of the creature's way. Her scimitar's blow caused the inky creature to split briefly in half before morphing back whole.

"What do you want?"

Farren rolled to her feet and faced the thing that apparently had an agenda. Her question came out strained; monsters and their kind are whole, mostly predictable, and you know if you cut and slash enough, they're going to die. But this thing has come directly out of the book of myths and legends, and those things are harder to kill. She certainly did not sign up to become some game to this inky blob; entertaining it any more than this means an unavoidable drop into history she hasn't the capacity for.

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

"You were what I wanted. You and him..."

As quick as it came, it left in that same shadowy mold, folding into the darkening spaces that the light did not seem to touch- or maybe even ever exist- while her slash with the scimitar, valiant, fell to the nothing but air and mist- though corporeal, somewhat, as it did rip.

Perhaps there was something there. But only a menacing cackle- everywhere and nowhere, filled the void of where it was.

Arnor and Farren were left with nothing but the man Arnor was holding nearby, repeating that same line.

He is the ancient, he is the land.

Arnor let him fall, terrified. He didn't see him be wrapped into the shadows, silently screaming as he was pulled into the night. Arnor stopped hearing him mutter- and turned to find nothing but the crossbow he was wielding. The creature did not drag him away, he dragged him... somewhere. Only the oily shadows remained.

Arnor took himself and more importantly, his sword outside, meeting with the other Hunter.

"Are you alright?"

Images of burning, fire, plagued his mind. He grimaced, grabbing his head. Fire. Burning. Death. Sacrifice. Ancient. He squinted his eyes, looking at the other woman. It felt like someone was holding fingers on his skull, in his mind. He could feel it in his Svalen, in his heart. Something was trying to penetrate his mind. And likely, just as likely, hers.

And it underestimated his resolve to remain his own.

Fire. Pitch. Water. Trap.

 

[Farren]

Were, the way the word was dropped made her stomach twist into an uncomfortable knot. What exactly did she and Arnor have in common that would interest the specter? Was it a matter of fate, or did the people of Roselake create an elaborate story to draw the two in? The Krakarl could have been the very thing the people needed to draw in individuals who've handled beasts. She and Arnor just happened to be the lucky couple to answer the call, and now they're trapped.

Left to chew on her thoughts, Farren sheathed her weapon and took a deep breath to settle her nerves. They will only be able to escape this place with some confrontation.

"No," she answered after a brief pause.

Farren looked at her hands, acknowledging them after doing her best to ignore them. For as long as she can remember, she has always had issues with them, from burning because of an unknown pain to constantly shaking. It's something she has learned to live with; the pain is managed, but the shaking has only worsened as she gets older, and soon enough, she won't be able to deal with the interruption to her living. All that to see that her hands barely shook now - a very, very concerning thing to see.

Whatever was trying to tickle her mind would have felt some wall being put in its way. Her mind wasn't some fortress, but there was just something that slowed the invasion down before reaching the core. Whatever the darkness that dared to encompass her would only be a shade, causing her to react slightly but deftly, placing the sensation aside as she looked at Arnor.

"That thing wants us for whatever reason. I feel we're lambs to the slaughter," she straightened her back and pinched the bridge of her nose to snuff the growing pain gathering there. "It's time we get some answers, don't you think?"