The Death Walker

The Hand of Justice

To the north side of Oracuse, across the river channel to the fisheries and wet markets, a middle-aged Sacratyr knight orders his men to gather a large portion of this cycle's fishing as tax. He waits in the emptied tavern of the town, drinking ale among few of the contemptuous villagers who have seen very few days of rest beneath the rule of Raider. Their shoulders are slumped and their clothes are stained in sweat. Nearly all of them have constant frowns in their faces, watching as outside Sacratyr carry all sorts of food supplies out to the docks south of the village.

Adriel Tullfrey is the Sacratyr's name; he is a knight renowned for his talent to kill Death Walkers, especially during the War of Gods and Daemons. It was from this that he was granted the role as Right Hand to Raider—an advisor responsible of the expansion and growth of the kingdom, making him the head of currency, training, and battle strategy. Though his title is that of an advisor to the king, he sees himself more as a simple trainer, a mentor responsible for readying the Sacratyr against the forces of Death.

He takes the wooden mug to his mouth. Droplets of the ale soak into his grey beard, until he eventually finishes the drink. He then has another two, and another, until eventually another Sacratyr who calls himself Vacalier enters the tavern and greets Adriel, "We've finished for the day Adriel. We should be heading back now."

"One more," Adriel mutters as he takes a swig.

Vacalier stares at him, then shakes his head. "You know you shouldn't be doing that." He eyes the wary villagers who sit silently in the corners of the tavern. He then strolls up beside the grey man and points out the window, "You should be out there, overseeing your men. Being in here—it's not a good look."

"I trust the men to do what they need to. They don't need me."

Vacalier silences and he glares at Adriel's helmet sitting on the table. The Sacratyr—at least those devoted to Raider who have been imposed with the virtues of lithean culture—are hardly ever allowed to show their faces to common folk. It makes the Sacratyr seem too human when they are to be regarded as something more than that. Sacratyr are meant to be better than common folk. They are men and women who have extinguished all forms of expediency, trained to forego their humanity by vowing never to marry, claim land, or show any emotion. Vacalier crosses his arms, "You should not allow these common folk to see your face Adriel. You should keep your mask on. I may have to report this to Raider—that his very own Right Hand is breaking the code of the Sacratyr."

Adriel lowers his mug, "Do not attempt to goad me Vacalier. I am going to have my last drink, and then we can all go," he nods slightly while waving the young man away.

"Do you really think you're above the code of the Sacratyr just because you're the Right Hand? One such as you should lead us by example. You should be out there, taxing the folk and punishing those who defy our god, not drowning yourself in ale because you feel sorry for yourself. "
Adriel stands up forcefully from his seat and stomps towards Vacalier. The others in the tavern look wide-eyed at the two. "Say one more thing Vacalier and I will personally ensure you're left with no rations for the next cycle." The knight stares at him with piercing eyes, pointing a gauntleted finger at his chest; but his anger quickly dissolves as a commotion emerges from outside.

The old knight sighs, then grabs his mask before moving past Vacalier and exiting the tavern. The younger Sacratyr hesitates and then scowls as he follows. In the centre of the town, between a few wet market tents and the long rows of wooden buildings, a group of Sacratyr surround a something, shouting the word kerek and other vulgar curses over and over again. They laugh and slam their fists and feet down at a lone Death Walker that recoils itself as it lays sideways in the cold dirt. Two women cry out its name as it tries to claw its way out from the Sacratyr who don't hold anything back, likely because of Death Walkers' propensity to withstand more pain due to their armour-like skin.