The Wanderer's Path: Return of the Beasts

Chapter 7

Thick mossy grass crunched underfoot as Reaper stopped on the outskirts of the forest of the elves, or as he remembered it named, Tellaniel Liechadimiere. What was left of the imperial road had long since fallen prey to the ever stretching reach of the forest, as if their Elder God Liandreth’iel wasn’t satisfied until Tae’iel was buried beneath the haunted shade of his jungle.

Peering through the eerie shadows of ancient trees covered in moss, Reaper felt a sudden chill rush over his skin despite the increasing humidity. Buried memories began to seep through his skin. I hope their memories aren’t as good as mine.

Taking a deep breath Reaper stepped into the forest, ploughing into the dark underbrush of the ancient jungle with a foreboding dread. The forest had changed dramatically since he had last visited as if reflecting its residents newfound outlook on outsiders. The once beautiful and opening garden of life had become a dark and gloomy portrait displaying the tragedy of existence, just like my life.

Croaking frogs rippled through the forest, and the ridiculed laughter of birds echoed from the canopies as he stepped over fallen logs and moss covered, carved rocks, the only remaining signs of now dilapidated roads. I can feel it in my soul, death walks these lands, and for once, it’s not me. As if the thought called out to the wild, Reaper froze as he sensed something trailing behind him. It seems my shadow is careless today. He waited as the creature drew closer, oblivious to his discovered presence.

Hiding behind a tree trunk twice as wide as he was, Reaper waited patiently as the prey moved ever closer. Reaching down he pulled the elven hunting knife from his boot and held it blade out, ready to slice across the stalker’s neck. He heard the crunching of leaves under the forest floor as his shadow moved closer to his position.

Reaper leapt from behind the tree his knife already sweeping to slice across the man’s throat. His blade met nothing but air as his target ducked under the blow. Before Reaper knew it, he could feel the man pressed up against his back, the sharp keen edge of a blade against his throat. Oh, this is going to be fun.

“This is pointless,” the man said, shifting the blade tighter around Reaper’s neck to ensure he knew exactly what was meant.

“For you? Or for me?” Reaper asked, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. You’re getting me excited here human.

“We both know the answer to that,” the man replied. “I’m here to talk,” he spoke in Hazarn, yet his accent was short and sharp like a Draknarian, a Sylix educated man then.

“And what would the Sylix Empire want of its most wanted criminal, besides what it has already been denied?” Reaper wondered out loud.

“Who said anything about the Sylix Empire?”

“You did,” Reaper replied without elaborating further.

“I will remove this knife if you promise not to kill me,” the man offered.

“You should be more concerned about what will happen if you do not remove it,” Reaper warned as he battled the excitement that had been building within him. He knew it was pointless, even if the man killed him, he would still return again, he’s amusing, but not capable. I grow excited too easily these days. Reaper felt the cold bite of the imperial steel gently pull away from his throat.

Turning to face his stalker he was surprised to see a man much younger than he had imagined. He wore a blue and orange turban that had a single length of material flowing from it like a tail in the wind. The man was nearly a foot shorter than Reaper, yet his impressive physic suggested a man with incredible athleticism. His short brown hair was splayed out in tufts underneath his turban with matching bright brown eyes which studied him carefully, taking in every slight twitch of muscle.