(A/N: Okay, this fic will start out lighthearted, but trust me, it will darken up soon enough. It will get bloody, very bloody. I might even sneak in some foul language too. This is a recount, meaning it has already happened. Heh. Enjoy!)
Seven days ago…
Volks drained his beer mug with one drawn out draught, looking at the four additions to his table through the bottom of the glass. The white foamy dregs gathered at the sides of the glass, and he lowered the container, fixing a lopsided grin to his visage. He wiped the liquid residue away from his lips with a hand and leant over to talk with the other people present. "I 'spose you guys are the drifters I've been asking about?" He said, hiccuping at the closure of his sentence.
A young girl dressed in a purplish-pink dress smiled politely, cheerful personage brightening the inn. "Yes sir. We heard that you needed assistance on some sort of task. We want to help."
"For a price." Added the silver-haired boy who had previously remained silent throughout the entire evening. He had his arms resting behind his head, lazily shoving his boots on the table. A glass of half-drunk water sat nearby, as he was deemed still too young to drink with the others.
The girl sighed deeply, showing slight annoyance to the youth with a sideways glance. "Jet has a point. Please tell us the details of your commission and we can come to a fair deal for all involved."
Volks narrowed his eye, scratching at the eye patch covering part of his face. "First things first. I heard you guys are outlaws." He informed them gruffly, causing a reaction on one side of the table. Particularly, one person on the other side of the table.
"Hey now!" A burly youth clad in the garb of the Baskar tribe proclaimed, "That title is open to much speculation!" He declared, almost spilling his ale on the quiet older man seated next to him.
Volks smirked, "You know, I don't really care. I've seen you blokes before, you appear to be decent enough people." He clicked the butt of his crutch on the ground, laying the supporting instrument against the table. "But let me tell you, this job won't be decent at all. You see, the people in this here town are traders and travelers by nature. We're a port town, and trade's just decided to pick itself up from a pretty big slump, you get what I mean?"
The quiet man nodded his understanding with a jovial smile. "Indeed. We were present during the slump, it is pleasing to know that such inertia had ceased." He said, tapping the side of his beer glass with a finger.
The trader snorted. "It might start all over again if you all don't do something about it." He announced unhappily, brushing back a fold of his red cape with one hand. "Let me explain. This place is usually full of very superstitious men, sailors and the like. Anything can be taken as an omen, especially a bad one, and one such omen has recently cropped up and scared away all our trade. At this rate, the town'll be as empty as it was before, rejuvenation or no."
Filgaia was repairing itself, to a certain degree. The sediments in the quicksand had settled down to a much more watery state, rain came often and was absorbed by the earth, revitalizing the tender foliage scattered across the wasteland. Sure, there were still bitter climates and unbearable heat, deserts abounded and scars marked the planet, but things were greener now, and it was deeply appreciated. For many drifters, it made things decidedly more pleasant as they continued to travel the wasteland.
The quiet man took a sip of his beer, looking thoughtful. "It must be quite an omen, if it were to have such a direct effect on people as to scare them away. What is the nature of this omen?" He asked with curiosity.
"It's a monster." Informed Volks, sparking the interest of the sulking boy who had only been half-listening to the trader. He slid his legs off the table and sat down normally, flicking his bandanna across his shoulder, as it had decided to settle in an unwanted place. "It has been attacking merchants and roving parties around the ravine near this town. Actually, we think it may have a nest up in the forest close by. So far, no-one's been injured, but who knows when the attacks will increase in ferocity? What I need you to do is find the beast and kill it, for all our safety. There's a seventeen thousand gella reward if you can bring me proof of its demise."
Jet appeared to be perplexed. "That's an awful lotta money for just a search-and-kill job. What's the catch?" He calmly demanded.
"Jet! Watch your tact!" Virginia reprimanded the boy with an angry glare. Volks started laughing.
"Heheh. The kid's more perceptive than I thought. Yeah, there is a catch, a mighty big one." He explained, Jet looking smugly at Virginia. "It's Halloween today, you know." Volks added, receiving clueless looks from three out of the four drifters surrounding him.
"Oh," Said Gallows understandingly, "I guess that would explain a lot. Sailors and Baskars are the most superstitious people in Filgaia. Trust me, I know from first-hand experience."
"Gallows, what is 'Halloween'?" Virginia asked, always intrigued about things she didn't know.
"Well, it's …uh," Gallows took a moment to patch together an explanation, "It's like a day where just about anything can happen. The framework that separates the demons, humans and Guardians weakens just enough so that it can be breached with special effort. At least, that's what Granny says, although I never saw anything different about the day. Mostly mumbo-jumbo, if you ask me."
"Though," Virginia mused, "I expect the sailors would take the legend much more seriously. I see why you wish us to destroy the monster, and I would be more than happy to help bring back trade once again."
Jet ran through all the possibilities of receiving money this easily ever again, and came to a fairly quick conclusion. "I'm in." He announced.
"If our leader wants to accept the commission, I have no qualms about it. Monster eradication is my specialty, and I pledge my services as well." Said Clive, pushing the beer glass that he had recently emptied aside.
"I wanna see what Granny's been rambling on about, this Halloween thingy. I always spent it in the village, but now maybe I'll get to see some really bizarre stuff." Gallows pondered, "We all accept."
Volks tossed a three thousand gella bag onto the table. "Here, you get this in the beginning, the rest you get after you prove to me that the creature is dead." The trader took up his crutch and hauled himself to his feet. "I'm trusting your reputation, you better not die now, you hear? This monster is vicious."
"You can count on us." Said Virginia, smiling. Volks merely mumbled a surly goodbye and hobbled to his Inn room, peg leg thumping on the wooden floorboards. "When shall we get started?" The female drifter inquired brightly to the rest of her posse.
Jet downed the rest of his drink with speed and stood up, dusting off his hands on his jeans. "Now's a good enough time as any." He answered bluntly.
It was noon in the town of Jolly Roger. The luminous Filgaian sun burned down hotly on the surface of the planet, yet the scorching heat was ignored by its inhabitants, having gotten used to the climate long ago. The drifter group left the Inn for the outskirts of the town, rested enough to begin their job right away. It would be best for the town if they left as soon as possible, and they were a little glad to do so.
Virginia had found out, much to her misfortune, that being a wanted outlaw made it practically impossible to work for a decent and legitimate pay. Her incredible and undying devotion to maintaining her integrity in the wastelands disallowed her to follow the path of a bandit, and though she still called herself a bounty hunter, it was her own bounty that tempted far too many people. Work was hideous and difficult to find, at times she felt guilty that she had dragged three other men into her own predicament. Well, at least they got to run a lot, even if it was from people that were formerly her colleagues. This one commission would put them on easy street for a couple of weeks, perhaps allowing them some time for a much needed break.
Clive lifted his fingers to his lips, blowing a short whistle that echoed across the long plain, stretching out in front of their vision, seemingly boundless. He waited a few seconds, and repeated himself, scanning the horizon. "Hasufel!" Clive cried when he received no answer.
"Arod!" Jet copied Clive's motions, frowning. "Where is that lousy horse?" He grumbled, as his results emulated Clive's.
Stybba trotted casually up to Virginia, the pure white mare glad to see her mistress. Virginia stroked the horse's mane fondly. "You should tame your ride better." She taunted the two horseless men playfully as she swung herself onto the animal's back. Gallows had already mounted his steed, Mearas, the ebony stallion always as happy as a clam. Jet sometimes wondered why Gallows had it so easy, while his own horse enjoyed throwing him as often as one would play a game. The boy drew up the conclusion that it had something to do with Gallows's priestly lineage and left it at that. Jet was already aware that Clive was not a horse person, or any type of animal person, for that matter. At least he wasn't alone in his tribulation.
Gallows snickered, Mearas making a similar noise that was almost spooky to Jet. "Do we have to carry you two?" He politely questioned Jet, making the boy glower.
"No! I'll walk, if I have to." He declared, determined that his pride not suffer any injury.
"We could tie a rope 'round your waist and drag you along, couldn't we Gallows?" Virginia suggested cheekily to the oversized priest, grasping Stybba's reigns.
"Maybe." Gallows contemplated, looking serious enough to agitate Jet to a minor degree.
"There is no need." Clive smiled as he heard a familiar whinny stretch its pitch across the wasteland, its visual counterpart appearing soon after. A dark brown stallion, sturdy in build, galloped over to Clive, a lighter brown chestnut horse trailing behind it. "Hasufel." Clive patted him in greeting.
"Arod, where the hell have you been?" A disgruntled Jet took Arod's reins and hoisted himself up into the saddle. Luckily, Arod did not protest.
"He was probably off making a lot of little baby horsies." Said Virginia, offering her opinion and smiling at the thought of a bunch of baby ponies.
"Lucky little…" Gallows trailed off into muttering something about his love life as of late.
Clive could look at his companions levelly now that he was at their height, sitting on Hasufel. "So, I suppose we travel northeast to the ravine? I estimate we should make it there by nightfall if we make haste."
"This'll be a cinch." Jet cracked his knuckles airily. "I hope this monster won't die too easily." He spurred his horse, Arod rushing off in the direction of the ravine.
"Overconfident, isn't he?" Said Virginia, exasperated.
"We will see whether or not that is so when we get there." Said Clive, trotting at a much slower pace than Jet. Virginia and Gallows easily kept up with him. "Until then, let us enjoy the trip." He advised.
Gallows grinned and pulled out his ukulele. "How about a good 'ol sing-a-long?" He plucked a few tabs, uneasiness flitting across Virginia and Clive's faces. "Anybody here know 'Home on the Range'?"
Jet shuddered. Three voices behind him began to sing loudly and very out of tune to the sound of a ukulele. It was tragic on the ears. He pushed Arod faster, if only to get away from the sound.
Though unbeknownst to everyone, this would be the last bit of mirth they would get for a very long time…
For they were trotting into the heart of a nightmare.