We are the blade that is mightier than the pen

Our duty calls us to do what is impossible, and it must be done

Our duty requires complete self-sacrifice, and we must give it

We surrender our freedoms so that we may preserve them for others

We are the shadows hidden from the darkness itself

Our hands guide the absolutes of life and death

Our work is painful and it is thankless

Our deaths are forgotten

Our names are lost

We do not exist

We are Talons

-The Talon's Code-

Nighttime captured the sleepy forest, the heavy rain that fell threatened to flood the hilly woodland at any moment. A cloaked figure limped along below, the slick ground sent the man scrambling for steady footing. Harsh breaths wheezed from under the hood as quivering hands grasped for purchase.

A violent coughing fit racked the figure's frame, falling to their hands and knees as thick fingers gouged into the wet earth to combat the shaking.

Claws of lightning leapt across an inky black sky, the cannonade of thunder that followed shook the earth below.

"You're not goin' to die out here." The words were barely a whisper but written across his features was savage determination.

He was a dark smudge in the gloom of the woods; the canopy of branches marbled what little moonlight there was over him as it filtered through. Tattered black leathers clung to his body under a threadbare cloak, completely soaked through from the rain. Managing to pick himself back onto two legs, he staggered onward through the foliage, steadfast but aimless.

His head was swimming, vicious blurs following the slightest movement. He contributed that to the massive blood loss he had suffered, touching his hand gingerly to massive lacerations across his chest and abdomen. It took every ounce of his training and instinct to get him this far. The question on his mind now was how much further it would get him.

The figure pitched face first into the coarse bark of a tree, barely supporting him with an arm hastily slung around the trunk. He squeezed his eyes shut and painfully steadied himself as the world lurched around him.

Breathing became an agonizing chore, every gasp a knife in his chest and exhaling pulled it back out.

"Focus," he hissed through gritted teeth, eyes barely slits.

He attempted to scan his surroundings, finding naught but the dark pillars of trees and their spidery appendages clawing into obscurity above. Wispy clouds choked the brightness of the moon, numbing the light to a faint glow.

The man relinquished his grip on the tree and began to take uncertain steps forward, pain and utter exhaustion threatening to buckle his legs beneath him. The rain had not relented single a drop since his escape, nor did he have a single moment to rest or process the events of the last few days.

Through the downpour he heard something crunch in the brush a few meters behind him, instincts already drawing two long, cruel daggers from their sheaths. He pivoted to face it, ragged boots providing little more than a thin wet layer between his feet and the muddy ground.

More twigs cracked underfoot in the bushes just barely within his vision and whatever it was moved low. A broad lupine head and body emerged from the vegetation, hungry fluorescent eyes fixed as it began to stalk slowly toward him.

The man met the beast's gaze and locked eyes, blistered fingers tensed their grip on the daggers, leather handles frayed and unraveling.

For a timber wolf this one was unusually large, rain-slicked fur outlining its thick neck and shoulders roped in muscle. Its movements were slow and deliberate, shoulders hunched and hackles raised but the rain kept its fur down.

He twisted his mouth and spat to the side, hawking a glob of saliva threaded with blood but maintained his gaze. Drawing the blades close he tapped the points of his daggers together, the steel singing softly in the downpour.

"Come an' get it you mutt." He issued the challenge with a blood-streaked grin, darkness gaping from where teeth were chipped and missing.

The wolf stopped a few meters from the man, lips curled in a silent snarl beneath glowing orbs. However caution bolted down his spine as he had forgotten one of the first rules of predator mentality – the one you see is never alone.

Several brown-gray blurs leapt from the woods around him and closed in in a semi-circle, forcing his back to the tree he had recently left. These wolves were smaller and yet they felt more dangerous. They were thinner and hungrier than the alpha, eyes glinting with the promise of food as they edged closer.

The wolf closest to him on the left broke the pace of the others, eager to take down its prey and now stood just out of arms reach.

'Well let's see how this goes.'

He burst to the left and drove the point of his blade into the beast's skull with a sickening crunch, and as he yanked it out the others were already leaping toward him. He ducked low and thrust his other dagger underneath another's jaw, piercing it through the muzzle with a hard twist, warm blood gushing over his hand.

The man swung wide with his free hand to keep another two at bay while he freed the blade. He pivoted on his heel, nearly losing his balance from the slick earth, edging out as a third one attempted to catch him from behind. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, but despite the boost his body was threatening to shut down at any moment.

The wolves spread themselves around him, preventing him from keeping all three in his field of vision at once. He tensed momentarily and flashed to the beast behind him, hurling his dagger at it. He turned back around to hear a satisfying yelp and sprung to the one on his left, punching down on its muzzle and stabbing it in the side of the head.

The remaining one pounced forward and sunk its teeth into his leg, knocking him over, fangs piercing the ragged boot and sinking into his flesh. The man grimaced as the beast shook its head, his calf locked in its jaws. A throaty shout tore out of his throat and in one fluid motion he pulled the dagger free from the head of the dead wolf beside him and thrust it into the skull of his assailant. With a muted crunch the animal went slack, tensed muscles now slumped as the man struggled to pry its jaws open to release his leg, feeling the suction of the teeth as they slid. The wolf's fangs had punctured deep into his muscle and blood spouted freely from the wound, the heavy rain causing rivers of red to run down his leg. Retrieving his dagger, he slit the edge of his cloak and tore off a wide strip of fabric, fumbling with the knot as he tied a tourniquet over the wound.

He felt the numbing grip of total exhaustion as the adrenaline wore off, eyelids threatening to seal shut at any moment. Cold rain pelted his burnt out body as he sat in the mud churned up from the recent combat. With a shake of his head he mustered the will to stand back up, shakily but surely. He cleaned his blade by holding it up in the downpour, thick droplets spattering away the fur, blood and gray matter. He stretched and worked his limbs, skin raw and chafed where it wasn't bloody and torn.

The man looked over the corpses that lay strewn about and frowned.

"What a waste," he mumbled, thinking about his stomach for the first time in days. As he went to collect his other blade he suddenly stopped, looking over the wolves again, then again.

Six wolves, only five corpses.

The alpha leapt from a dense cluster of brush and brought him to the ground hard, closing his jaws around the man's arm. He dropped his daggers, hand seizing up from the bite as the wolf tried to tear his arm off. He frantically tried to grasp for anything within arm's reach of his other hand but only drew back mud. Grabbing a handful, he thrust it into the beast's face as he gouged its eyes with his thumb and index finger.

The wolf released him with a throaty bark, ducking and shaking its head in pain. He used this opportunity to grab his weapon from where it laid between the alpha's paws and retaliate. Bringing the blade down, he only managed a glancing blow against its face – but it was enough. The wolf yelped, reeling from the damage to its eyes then turned and scrambled away back into the brush.

Through gritted teeth he rolled over onto his stomach, eyes clenched in pain as he tried to push himself up. His arms, cold and numb, shook violently as he exerted what little effort he could expend to get back up. Back onto his knees he leaned forward, breath labored from the simple task, every muscle and bone screamed for rest.

No, no, no.

With a final breath his body tottered and slumped forward, shallow and bloodshot eyes rolling back. His body collapsed to the muddy earth and above the relentless downpour continued, white lightning arced with bitter thunder rumbling soon after.


"By the light, I can't see a damned thing."

"Kind of an ironic statement wouldn't you say?"

The man huffed. "Let's save the jokes til we know we're home safe and sound, hm?"

"If you say so dear," crossing her arms, a teasing smile twisting her lips.

The wagon rattled and creaked as it was towed through the mud, stacks of heavy wooden crates clunking in the bed. Two dark brown palominos trudged through the wet ground with their heads low and bodies strained forward, shoveling out muck with every step. The man whipped the reins to push the horses harder, muttering to himself.

"I hate dampness, and I hate damp clothes even more."

"Yoric I think this is a bit more than damp." She tugged on his dyed wool overcoat, soaked as though it was recently washed.

"You're right, it's a damned flood," eyes squinting to see in the heavy darkness.

The moon had disappeared behind a thick blanket of black and gray clouds, reducing the visibility of the night down to a few meters in any direction.

"Audrey next time we're in town remind me to throttle that shopkeeper in Darrowshire who sold us these shoddy lanterns." Yoric glared at the wet glass beside him. "Waterproof," he spat.

"Get in line," her brow furrowed as she turned the lantern over in her hands.

The pair continued on for a long while in silence, the sound of the deluge above occasionally broken up by thunder.

"Perhaps today wasn't the best day to go to market," Audrey called to her husband, refastening the crates as a heavy draft picked up.

"Storms like this usually have some telling in the air beforehand, I don't know how it sprung on us like this. I mean-" Lightning flashed overhead, the thunder catching up only a moment later with a loud crash.

Yoric pulled the reins tight, slick boots catching on the footholds below him for leverage. "Audrey! Get over here!" The steeds drew up, fretting and stepping nervously in place, unsure of themselves.

As the wagon rolled to a stop he leapt out of the jockey-box, an ungraceful landing spattering mud over his clothes.

"What is it Yoric?" She crawled out from the bed and looked down on the muddy smear of a road where her husband crouched in the darkness. He spoke in low tones to a large smudge that lay under him.

"Give me a hand Audrey, this lad's hurt bad."

She climbed down carefully and approached warily, resting her hand on Yoric's arm as she leaned over to inspect the man.

He was of average height, but curled in a loose fetal position that seemed to shrink him considerably. The rain plastered long blonde hair to his skull, framing a face that was cut, bruised and swollen almost beyond recognition. Yoric had turned him onto his back, revealing deep red wounds down his torso that were caked and crusted with filth. His black leather jerkin was falling to pieces, torn away at what looked to be a bite wound around an arm which matched another one on his leg. He was nicked and beaten up in too many ways to gauge the total damage accurately in the dark, but Audrey could plainly see he was in terrible condition.

She placed a gentle hand on his chest between the lacerations and stilled her breath for a moment to detect any sign of life within him. An irregular but faint heartbeat pumped beneath her palm and she gave a sigh of relief.

"He has to be hanging on by a thread," she said softly, raising a hand to her mouth.

"That's putting it nicely." Yoric slid strong arms under the figure and gingerly lifted him with a grunt. "He's heavier than he looks too." When the unconscious man made no objection to the treatment he moved over to the wagon and called out to Audrey.

"Unhitch the back, I'm gonna set him inside."

Without hesitation she stepped around him and undid the series of locks, letting down the long plank of wood. Yoric laid the man down on a thick blanket that was drawn up by his wife and closed up the back. It was a tight fit between the crates and the end of the wagon but it would have to do.

"Take a look at these. "

"What is it? " He finished hitching the wagon door and raised an arm up to keep the downpour out of his eyes. Audrey straightened up and held out two large daggers, slender fingers wrapped around the frayed handle grip. Yoric's brow knitted at the sight, taking a look back at where the man laid then to the weapons.

''Whoever this fella is, looks like he put up a fight.''

"Yeah, but those make me wonder whose side he was fighting on." A mask of concern crossed her features.

Yoric nodded, understanding her fear. "Well, regardless of how he got like this I don't think he'll be much of a problem considering the condition he's in." He held his hands out. "I'll hold on to them until our friend comes around."

"I suppose there's some truth in that," she admitted, handing over the blades to him. He turned them over in his hands for a brief inspection before heading back to the front of the wagon.

"Let's get going then, this rain isn't letting up and I'm starting to chafe."


White streaks of lightning leapt across the clouds, like veins through a dead sky.

"Crowe!"

"I told you to go!"

"How can you-"

"Now! That's an order!"