Threads of Fate

Korin Vale: Year 580

The streets of Tharsis were alive with movement, bustling with people of every stripe—merchants, thieves, mages, and mercenaries. Lanterns flickered in the dim alleys, casting long shadows as the city-state pulsed with its usual gritty energy. It was a place where deals were made in whispers, and fortunes were won or lost in the blink of an eye. In this world of shifting allegiances and sharp blades, few thrived as well as Korin Vale.

Korin, a seasoned bounty hunter, moved through the streets like a predator stalking prey. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd, his hand resting casually on the hilt of the blade strapped to his back. His reputation preceded him—cold, calculating, efficient. There were few jobs too dangerous, too bloody, for him to take. And the reward was always worth the risk.

He wasn't a hero, nor did he pretend to be one. Justice held no sway over Korin's decisions; the thrill of the hunt and the weight of the coin in his pouch were his only motivations. He had long since learned that in a city like Tharsis, it was survival of the fittest. Anyone foolish enough to believe otherwise usually didn't last long.

The tavern, dimly lit and reeking of ale and smoke, was his usual haunt between jobs. It was a place where information flowed freely, where the right amount of gold could buy you all the secrets you needed. Korin slipped inside, his presence unnoticed by most, save for the few who knew the danger of crossing him. He made his way to a corner table, where a grizzled old man with a scarred face and a drink in hand sat waiting.

"Vale," the man said, his voice a rasp from too many years of hard living. "Heard you were looking for work."

"Always," Korin replied, sitting down and signaling for a drink. "Depends on the job."

The old man smirked. "This one's different. High risk, higher reward."

Korin raised an eyebrow. He had heard that before, but it rarely held up. "Go on."

The old man leaned in, his voice lowering. "You ever heard of the Blood Prince?"

Korin's eyes narrowed. The name was familiar, whispered in the darker corners of the city. The Blood Prince was a figure of legend—half myth, half nightmare. A dark mage who wielded forbidden blood magic, said to drain the life force from entire villages to fuel his power. It was the kind of tale that struck fear into most, but Korin wasn't most people.

"Can't say I've paid much attention to rumors," Korin said. "I deal in facts, not legends."

"This one's no legend," the old man replied, his tone serious. "The Blood Prince is real, and he's left a trail of bodies in his wake. Cults follow him, worship him like some twisted god. The city council's put a bounty on his head—enough gold to retire ten times over."

Korin's interest was piqued. He wasn't one to chase after ghosts, but the mention of blood magic stirred something deep within him—something personal. He hadn't thought about his hometown in years, not since it was wiped from the map by a wave of dark magic when he was young. The rumors had been vague back then, but he remembered whispers of blood magic being responsible.

"I take it you're not just telling me this out of kindness," Korin said, his voice cool.

"Far from it," the old man replied. "You're the best hunter in the city, and the council needs the best. They want the Blood Prince taken out, and they're willing to pay for it. Interested?"

Korin leaned back in his chair, his mind working through the possibilities. The reward alone was tempting enough, but the personal connection—the chance to finally put an end to the kind of magic that had destroyed his life—was what sealed the deal.

"I'm in," Korin said. "Where do I find him?"

"That's the tricky part," the old man replied. "He's hiding somewhere in the cursed forests to the west. His followers have turned the place into a death trap. You'll need a team if you're going to stand a chance."