Raven

Vestiges

The sprawling beast flew past Kaeias, and they skidded to a halt a number of meters away from the wreck of a creature; rare curios and alchemical compounds could often be harvested from such freaks.

But the freak would not be harvested yet.

The bloody mound shuddered, slowly dragging itself to its feet as Kaeias watched, incredulous at the beasts tenacity. They knew what should have been a killing blow when they saw one.

Indeed, the left limb of the creature dangled numbly at its side, swinging with each violent movement. It approached Kaeias now, lumbering forward with a front-heavy gait, seething with animalistic rage.

Kaeias unslung their small metal shield from their back, drawing the rod on their hip from its fastenings in one practiced movement. They had already made the assumption that none of the various knives hidden on their person could breach the monstrosity's thick hide.

The beast lunged, bringing its dead arm in a brutal horizontal arc, like some twisted mace. Kaeias neatly ducked under the vicious blow, the hammer barely grazing the feather in their hat.

Not one to toy with their prey, Kaeias brought the rod in their right hand upwards as it sprung into a short spear perhaps a meter long, with an ash-grey shaft and an angular tip about seven inches long, tempered an icy blue.

In an instant, the tip was stained a dark red, transfixed through the top of the monster's head. The white mask nearly touched the face of the beast, fixing the frothing thing with a blank, emotionless stare.

When Kaeias wrenched their spear out, it was as if a dam broke.

Meanwhile, Myrandus was occupied with the other horror, it not falling so easily to his same attack as its litter mate had. He had not readied his shield, instead hacking away the beast's limbs when it struck. The air grew heavy as spurts of lifeblood flew from the arms of the beast, its strikes meeting nothing but a cold adamantine edge; but the wounds were shallow, and the biting blade only served to inflame the berserk rage of the monster.

The beast reared upon its hind legs, preparing a blow that would crush the being of flesh and metal which stood beneath it. Myrandus brought his bloodied bastard sword back, aiming a thrust which would skewer the thing.

Before either combatant could strike, a streak of grey slammed into the red-eyed monster's flank, sending it crashing to the ground.

The newcomer darted off on four sinewy legs, a thick-pelted shape that wheeled around to face the abomination on the ground. It was a wolf, white teeth exposed in a snarl. An old scar ran across its right eye, a milky orb. Its functioning eye was a deep yellow, with a center of the slightest green; it shone like a gem born of the all-knowing earth.

Myrandus moved to finish the monster off, the rising sun dancing on his sword like a vengeful flame; the abomination turned to him, roaring defiantly a final time.

And then, by some primordial instinct, it turned. Perhaps it heard the footsteps of a phantom, or saw a flickering in the dawn's dappled light.

Perhaps death called its twisted name.

A white mask bobbed in the forest, the vermillion tear under its eye swaying like a pendulum. Kaeias closed the gap in a heartbeat, noting the creature moved to receive their charge, unflinching irregardless. Kaeias darted to the right, kicking off a rock and launching themself into the air. Time seemed to freeze as their silhouette eclipsed the sun.

Their spear was cocked over their shoulder, razor tip glistening like an arrow blessed by Artemis. Their body arched, reflecting the power of the approaching blow. Their dark cloak billowed in the breeze, the flag of a triumphant nation. The white mask grew grey as it fell into the shadows. The rising sun burst from behind the treeline, cloaking the hunter in the umbra and setting the dead trees ablaze.

If the monster could think, it might've pondered the majesty of its final vision.

It didn't think. It just died.

The grey wolf padded to Kaeias' side as they wrenched their spear from the earth to which it had pinned the beast's skull. Myrandus followed.

"Who trained you?"

Beneath their impassive mask, Kaeias may have smiled. "A jester".

The grey spear collapsed back into an inconspicuous rod. Its wielder secured it back to their side, returning their shield to their back.

"What's your sword's name?"

The wolf watched this exchange with curiosity, tilting its head to each party as they spoke, short pink tongue lolling innocently as it panted.

"It was called Gurlaain by my forebears, Dancing Steel".

The bright blade was a couple inches wide, and perhaps two and a half feet long. It was beautifully forged, the light tracing the watery folds of the flawless steel. At the base, flowing runes were etched, the words of a lost tongue. Each side of the silvery guard were carved as wings, each splayed in a vaguely triangular fashion, tips curled up to intercept an enemy's weapon.

The hilt was a hand and a half long, the top third bound in now-worn black leather and the bottom tapering off ever so slightly, the same gleaming material as the guard. It flared outward at the pommel, a graceful fleur de lis.

The sword was a flame captured in steel, a mote of light given deadly shape. Myrandus wiped away the last fleck of blood with his thumb.

"I call it Arekai. Memory."

Kaeias nodded.

"There are those who yet honor your house, Varisshalm."

A tuft of brown hair had escaped from the confines of Kaeias' hat.

"Perhaps there are some who yet live", Myrandus replied bitterly, quietly noting the stray lock. "A jester?"

A quiet chuckle echoed from behind the crying mask. "A true fool. I miss the old rogue."

The wolf barked, seeming to chastise the grey figure with the familiarity of a close friend.

"Pardon me, Arama." Kaeias turned to Myrandus, and he would be damned if he didn't see a wink from beneath the shadows of the mask. "I have spoken plenty. Come, let's collect your bounty."

The hunter crouched to pet Arama's head, who barked contentedly. They walked away as the wolf followed, an eager dog more than a cunning stalker.

Kaeias tucked the rebel brown hairs behind their ear in one smooth movement, emerging from the solemn forest as the sun bathed the duo in light.

Myrandus, shrugging bemusedly, followed his captor, shielding his eyes from the bright daylight.