Death's Successor Completed.

Chapter Twenty-Nine The Tournament of lore begins.

Grave sat waiting by the obsidian archway. Rust Hill beckoned with echoing voices from the past centuries. Luna sighed, feeling refreshed and better than the evening before. Grave set off in minutes. The sandstone walls of the village of Estonia beckoned. Grave slowed down. There were no guards stationed tonight, none at the open gates. The breeze blew through the empty village. Flapping decorations and flyers of an upcoming festival around, Luna grasped the scuff of her wolf's neck. As Luna walked on the cobblestones, she noticed the villagers had nailed shut the windows and doors of their houses shut.

The Lurkers broke some homes, dried blood stained the streets. Demonic figures watched, concealed in the shadows. The lurker left in depth claw marks within the stone, it's crimson eyes burned. Sliva dripped from it's mouth, wishing to devour Luna.
There were no signs of the villagers, either it disposed their bodies or devoured them. The remains of their clothes remind behind, with blood staining the copestones,
"The Lurkers love to leave their leftovers lying around. If anyone survived, they aren't walking around, near the jade fountain." Luna said.

Fires burned, locally barricaded the streets, she entered the abandoned eastern section, the muggers and thieves who lingered around. Waiting to jump, unsuspecting victims had fed the village, leaving their belongings behind.
A warm glow illuminated the abandon building. Luna hid behind a barrel, a wandering abyss hound, stalked the streets. It searched and scratched the steel door leading inside the warlord's residence; they damaged the entrance with dents' Lurkers tried to enter but failed in vain.

The hound gave up sniffing the Smokey air, catching the scent of an inspecting villager. Growling rushing out into the streets, alerting the lurker blocking the door. Who followed in the hound's wake?
Luna rushed across the street, pounding on the steel door. The doorman opened it, letting her in, pulling it shut and sealing the entrance.
"Glad to see you're alive, lightning girl. The others are downstairs."
"Thank you, Grave. Stay here." She ordered.

Luna descended the stairs. Music played from the band a lively melody. The mercenaries danced around to drunken; the survivors tapped the tavern's wooden tables to the tune, their hollow eyes devoid of joy and sleepless nights. Some danced to the music sway, grateful to be alive.
The warm glow of the chandlers bathed the bar in warm light. Business as usual, the waitresses served the mercenaries alcohol, the small-time criminals surrounded the tavern, protecting the vulnerable areas in case of demon attack. She walked up to the second floor. Hearing an argument from inside the warlord's office, Luna grinned. Racheal never changed. She thought about interfering, but knew Racheal hated interruptions. No matter, she knocked. "Come back later. I'm in the middle of a meeting." Savrous yelled Luna let herself in, fazing through the locked door.

"Glad you made it. I've just been trying to convince the warlord to help us." Racheal replied, her voice harsh. A dagger sat impaled into his hand, leaving splatters of blood to stain the desk. He glared, clenching his teeth, "You made your point, miss Dagon," as he opened a drawer. Pulling out a yellow aging flyer, frayed around the edges. "This is when the tournament began and they needed to advertise for contests. They randomly select people these days. "
" However, the location hasn't changed in over seven hundred years. They hide treasures within, more gold than anyone can lay their hands on." The warlord explained. Taking a draft of his cigar.
" We aren't treasure hunters; our goals are more personal." Racheal said, examining the flyer on his desk,
"It's across the sea? On the continent of Akita, where the first warrior transformed into death. Various dormant teleporters will send you directly to the island, as a fierce hurricane guards it year-round, destroying any boats attempting to cross."
The warlord poured himself a steaming cup of tea, offering the ladies one, which they declined. He sipped his cup.
"The island is a place unaffected by time. The reapers apparently have an ancient city there, before the war, and they fled, calling the realm of Raewyn a home."
"Be careful ladies, the weather will clear by tonight. I don't envy the chosen." The warlord said, shaking his head in bold laugher.
"The teleporter will activate at midday." Luna nodded to Racheal, who frowned.
"How do you know all this?"
"Immortality isn't just for dragon skins, dear scarlet blade. One you've been chosen you never forget. "
"You mean?"
"Some things are best forgotten." The warlord said. In a final tone, "Take whatever you need from my private equipment room. You'll need them," he said.
"Thank you." Luna said. Racheal nodded. The warlord opened the locked door. Racheal went in, choosing things, thinking of their survival. She came out with a backpack full of things they needed.
Racheal sat in the tavern across from Luna. With a glass of warm apple cider. She cleaned her blade delicately. Luna spoke him Matthew saying she was safe. Drinking a small glass of honey mead.
They were taking the time to relax; they did not know what to expect. As the time grew closer, a knot of anxiety crushed her stomach. They stood, leaving the comfortable warmth. Of the tavern and the lively music, they walked the deserted streets, when normally the drunkards would be staggering home, but Lurkers would kidnap them. They entered the town square, where the deactivated portal sat beside the jade fountain.