Chapter 14
14
Curse the Fiends
Cyril would meet Lord Henderson twice more as the week went on and the Union Festival drew ever closer to its debut. The Hunter immediately knew that whatever he expected to happen, it was not going to be pretty. The Good Hunter sighed as he sat down in the middle of town, having gone on break from the Prancing Pony.
Guiltily, he found that he had been ignoring Sierra for the past few days. Henderson had specifically asked him to keep their dealings secret, but the Lord understood that he really wanted to be left in peace. The Hunter found himself respecting the man; unlike the other gutter slime that was infesting the bourgeoisie Lord Henderson was in no way like the self serving aristocrats that often plagued the continent. The man put the safety of the subjects here first, instead of serving himself.
The Hunter pulled his hood back up. No time for sulking, he had a certain someone to placate and Sierra Underhill was someone he did not want to upset. It pained him, honestly, to know that she would find out one day that she was in love with a shadow. Cyril exhaled as he walked into the Prancing Pony, already feeling the stares but the tavern quickly went back to its more boisterous atmosphere. Seems like everyone was getting used to his presence now, which was a good thing he supposed.
Cyril greeted Emil who was busy with a barrel of ale that he was currently getting ready for service. He and other workers had lifted it into place so Sierra could start. She glanced at him briefly, smiling coyly. Cyril waved at her, politely but distantly, and made his way into the back to finish chopping more firewood. The Good Hunter let his thoughts drift as he chopped the first piece of firewood in half. Eventually, time passed and he continued chopping firewood.
The Hunter kept cutting firewood, even as flashes of memory went through his mind. Sometimes, he was back in Yharnam fighting against beasts and madmen, other times the memory was that of an old life he had thought he left behind. The axe in his hand was a halberd, and he stood before the corpse of a soldier.
Sometimes he heard gunfire, the clashing of steel, the sound of orders being given. Cyril did not know where they came from, these memories… Was he truly someone who was once a soldier? The Hunter did not try to remember again. Cyril brought the axe down hard on the wooden log, splitting it in half. Cyril reached down to the pile and nearly stumbled. He realized that he had just finished chopping all of the firewood up.
"Shit." He muttered. The Hunter set the axe down and pulled up a chair to sit down, just to have a quiet moment to himself. Nial Henderson had him keeping an eye out for zealot activity but during his time in the city, he had neither seen hair or hide of the dumb bastards.
That one portly priest whose face he had sliced open, however, he had seen lurking around the streets. He reported it to Nial Henderson and asked for more information.
Lord Nial Henderson's office, a day ago…
"That one?"
Nial Henderson leaned back in his chair as he faced the Good Hunter. The man just asked about the ever infamous Father Zachariah. "The man is as dumb as a rock; a braggart who believes that the existence of the League is an affront to the world." The lord took a sip out of his tankard of brandy. In front of Cyril was a hot cup of tea. The man claimed that he drank, but seeing as he was all business, Lord Nial let him have his tea.
It wasn't hard to do, the other choice was having his spine removed from his body by a clearly dangerous man.
"And yet… he has been a thorn in your side for a long time." Cyril noted.
"He has friends in the Ludendorf Company, and several others." Nial said. "Not to mention the ears of other groups who have their interests shared with the Order, hence why I have not been able to take punitive action until now." The Lord frowned, frustration and anger apparent on his face. Cyril didn't care, his concern was the task that he had been saddled with. Any information that made his job a lot easier was something he wanted right now.
"To be clear, Hunter, our enemy is a zealous bastard with a penchant for brutality. Something that our city has not faced in a long, long time." Nial continued. "He'd be a bigger threat if he wasn't so stupid enough to act so brazenly."
"Why haven't you killed him yet?" Cyril asked.
"The other lords are getting skittish about it, but they won't allow me to act." Nial answered. "And as you know a war waged by committee is a guaranteed war that you are going to lose."
Cyril leaned back. "Your colleagues are idiots." He said bluntly.
Nial chuckled humorlessly. "Indeed they are, but now that I have you on the streets… we may be able to prevent casualties. The Order is going to act, I know that. What I want to be able to do is to keep them from doing as much damage as possible."
"You have other agents?" Cyril asked.
"Yes." Nial took another sip from his brandy. "Four in total, and that includes you. An errant knight, a former highway man and…"
"Lord Nial, I have my report ready-"
The door opened and Cyril found himself looking into the eyes of Sasha Fullmoon. The former Order cleric had cut her hair short it seemed, into a more fashionable, utilitarian bob underneath a white habit. She wore robes of gray, a far cry from the white raiment she wore back in Lescatie.
Sasha let out a small, frightened gasp as she stumbled back at the sight of the very same man who slaughtered his way through monsters in Lescatie. Her heart was conflicted still, for Cyril had helped her and those children she managed to rescue escape the sacking of Lescatie.
Her eyes wide, Sasha continued staring at Cyril.
Nial raised a brow at her reaction. "Miss Sasha?" He asked. "Are you unwell?"
Sasha ignored him, as she composed herself briefly. She hadn't expected to meet him here it looked like. Cyril kept his face impassive but there was no doubt that he was just as surprised as she was.
"I'm fine, my lord. I see that you're busy, I shall return later to make my report." Sasha spoke, bowing before swiftly making herself scarce. Cyril turned his attention back to Nial who shrugged and sighed.
"I assume that you knew each other?" Nial asked.
"Not that well. We are not friends." Cyril answered. He was going to be seeing a lot of Sasha Fullmoon these coming days… he was very sure of that.
Presently…
Cyril heard the knocking on his door, blinking in confusion. He realized that he had been sleeping for quite a while. Emil had thought that he was ill, and so let the Hunter go back to his room to take a break. Sierra was worried, of course and told him not to help her finish closing the tavern. The Hunter got up, sitting at the edge of his bed. Sighing to himself, Cyril stood up to open the door.
Sierra had a tray of food and a tankard of ale. "Um… Mister Klaus?"
Cyril blinked. "Oh. Is it… time for dinner then?" He asked sounding very tired.
Sierra smiled at him. "Yes. You didn't come down, Emil thought you had come down with something."
Cyril shook his head and the High Elf noticed how tired he seemed. "I just had some trouble sleeping." He told her. "It will pass, I assure you." He did take the food though and started eating. Sierra watched him eat, still concerned as to her coworker's health but she was nonetheless glad that he was eating. Cyril noticed all of this while he ate his supper.
The Hunter turned his attention to filling his stomach with food. A few days until the festival and there was nothing forthcoming. Even Nial was starting to lose hope but he was not complacent. Cyril knew that complacency was a mistake, Hunters greater than he was had fallen to the claws of beasts or to Cyril's own blade when they thought that he was weaker than they.
Cyril counted on the zealots being the same, thinking that inaction on the part of the city guards meant the lack of resolve. He finished his ale and his supper with a low sigh. "That was good. Thank you." He said to Sierra, stopping her from taking the tray. "I can take care of this for you, we should probably start closing up."
"Oh." Sierra lowered her hands. "Right."
The pair headed down. Already the last of the tavern's customers were either heading out or preparing to find some rooms in the establishment. Sierra and Cyril began their work, closing up the bar. Cyril swept the floors and put the bar stools up on the bar. He helped out wiping all of the tables down.
Sierra watched him from her place behind the bar with a gentle smile. The smile faded a but however as she nervously thought about the gift she was going to give him. Thomasin had jokingly suggested wearing something rather racy after the festival was over and when they were completely alone but she put her foot down with the Cyclops, saying that she wanted something more appropriate for the occasion. A gift that would show her appreciation to Klaus, and one that could hopefully protect him as well.
The High Elf went back to her task of wiping down the bar.
The next day…
The Prancing Pony was closed on account of it being scrubbed clean by the other workers. Sierra was among those working but Cyril had to go see Lord Henderson again. The Hunter pulled his hood over his head as he departed for Sheffield's central keep.
Cyril exhaled as he walked inside. Already, he saw several of the noble class discussing what they were going to do for the festival. Good for them, he mused to himself. The adjutant of Lord Henderson led the Hunter through the crowd, the conversations beginning to wane as they saw the rather intimidating man in the gray coat. Cyril ignored the crowd staring at him and just concentrated on what was going to happen.
He was here not just to meet Lord Nial, but also his agents who had been gathered from around the city-state. He had already seen Sasha… and that was going to be an extremely awkward the moment Nial allowed him into the office.
The adjutant stopped at the door to Nial's office. Already he heard voices inside the room. Cyril lowered his hood and walked in, ignoring the protests of the adjutant. Inside Nial was standing behind his desk, looking at a map alongside two other men. Sasha wasn't here yet.
The man to the left was obviously a knight and yet he held no heraldry save for the sigil of twin crows embroidered on his surcoat, which was solid green on one side and checkered with black on the other. The man was a bit older than Cyril, with dark brown hair and a well trimmed goatee.
Next to him was a younger man around Cyril's age, with sandy colored hair and dark green eyes. He himself wore a duster coat over nondescript clothes, not unlike a hunter. His armaments consisted of a pair of knives, a short hacking blade and what looked like a pistol holstered at his back.
Nial noticed the newcomer and gave a smile. The two men stepped aside to let their employer walk over to Cyril. The younger one nudged the older man with a grin, one the armored warrior did not return.
"The hero of the hour!" Nial had a smile on his face, which faded as he saw Cyril's dead eyed gaze on him. The lord cleared his throat and gestured for the Hunter to go inside. He quietly dismissed his adjutant, telling him to get Sasha when she arrived.
"Welcome, Master Cyril. These two are my other agents you will be working with for the Festival." Nial said. "This is Hastur, Knight Errant."
The armored warrior nodded. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance." Hastur spoke. The errant knight's tone was neutral and distant. Cyril could understand if the man was trying to find weaknesses. He had been doing the same thing.
"The charming rogue you see to your right is Dimas." Nial introduced the other agent under his employ.
"Charmed." Dimas grinned. The young man had an easy grin on his face, marred as it was by a large scar. "Heard a lot about the strange guard in the Prancing Pony. I was surprised to hear that he was someone else…"
Cyril did not respond. "What have you heard about me then?" He asked, he was just curious… nothing more.
"The Butcher of Lescatie, in the flesh." Dimas grinned. "It's about time you turned up. Now the Order and the Monsters won't mess with us when they find out that you're on the field eh?"
"Miss Sasha would be upset to hear you talk like that, Dimas." Hastur commented. "And you are pissing off our newest member."
Dimas frowned at Hastur. "Me? My feelings are hurt, good sir Hastur!" He said with fake outrage.
"Enough, you fool." Nial said to Dimas "We have a meeting remember?"
"Yes, Dimas." Hastur spoke. He turned to Cyril. "Master Cyril, I apologize for my partner's foolish demeanor."
"No offense was taken." Cyril answered. "Just tell me what needs to be done."
There was a knock at the door before it opened, revealing Sasha Fullmoon in her gray habit.
"Ah, good. Miss Fullmoon's here." Dimas smiled. "That means the meeting's a good thing right?"
Hastur shook his head. Off to the side, Cyril's eyes met with Sasha's. The former Hero of the Order looked away. Cyril said nothing, merely crossing his arms as he sat through his first meeting with another employer.
"No word yet?"
"No, my lord… Neither Slavia or Kilsev have found anything of note…"
Sasha Fullmoon paid close attention to Nial as he put the agents under his command to the question. Hastur had ridden out to the other territories of the Oberon League in order to warn them of the danger of having the Union Festival in Sheffield for this year. The other territories had refused; Nabarus, Kilsev, and Slavia were not capable of holding such festivities as they had just endured several months of plague that ravaged their crops. Sheffield alone had escaped such misfortune but had sent aid to its neighbors as a gesture of good faith.
Erebus, a small kingdom north of Slavia and the most recent addition to the League, had undergone a horrific power struggle where its Twelfth King, Uriel, and his Queen Arella the Succubus, were deposed by his own son the now Thirteenth King Samael. A terrible situation but King Samael had assured the League that it would not move against their interests in the region.
Regardless, her thoughts were more focused on the fact that she had not expected to encounter the Good Hunter himself here. She was conflicted, definitely conflicted at his presence here and now. Cyril Sutherland did indeed help her and her orphans out of Lescatie.
And yet, his reputation as a bloodthirsty maniac terrified her. When Lord Nial had mentioned bringing in a new agent, she had dreaded who it was and hoped that it had not been Cyril. Fate had seen fit to dash away her hopes.
Sasha did not really blame Cyril for what he had done in Lescatie. The monsters had destroyed her home city, and yet her guilt truly only extended towards the poor people. She could not find herself to care about the clergy and the nobility.
Elt… I'm so sorry… She thought to herself.
"And you, Dimas?" Nial asked the highwayman who took a long drought of his ale. "Anything on the road towards Lescatie?"
"A lot of refugees filling up the towns beyond it." Dimas said, seriously this time. Sasha watched him, she had worked with both Dimas and Hastur long before Cyril had arrived here. It was mostly as a supporting healer but she knew that while Dimas was a playful soul, he worked twice as hard as Hastur did.
The highwayman traced the road from Lescatie to Oppenheimer. "Lots of folk here are pissed at the situation." He said. "At the Order, at the Monsters… hell, everyone might be blaming the gods for all I have heard."
Dimas sighed. "All I'm betting is that these guys were probably from that area." He said, circling the area. "No way Zachariah, fucking pig priest that he is, is the leader in all of this. He's getting his orders from someone." He turned to Sasha and sheepishly apologized.
"No offense, Miss Sasha."
Sasha shook her head gracefully. "No offense taken." She said. She was never going to get used to Dimas' flippant mannerisms but she did enjoy it.
"And you, master Cyril?" Nial's question was now given to the newest agent. "Anything you've seen in the city?"
"A lot more firebrand preachers are out and about." Cyril answered. "Other than that, I have heard nothing."
Nial scratched at his cheek with a frown. "Regardless, we all need to be vigilant. There are only a few days before the festival." The lord looked at his agents. "I will dismiss you all for now, but remember that lives are at stake here. That and the First will be coming back here after a month's journey. Let me tell you this: A disappointed Dragon is a lot easier to handle than an angry Dragon."
Sasha saw the grim understanding in the eyes of the other agents. Cyril no doubt had heard of the ruler of Sheffield itself. The city-state may be ruled by its committees of powerful nobles and its military under the command of Nial and his veteran captains, but Ancalagon the Grim held the allegiance of all of them.
Said to be a massive, massive, Black Dragon, Ancalagon was one of the founding members of the Oberon League and as such demanded respect from all who encountered her. No one dared to oppose her whims whenever she made a monthly trip to the great nation of Dragonia, the land of Dragons and the ancestral home of the Grim.
The Order told tales of the huge Black Dragon, who conquered the territory that would become Sheffield and the absolute depths she would sink to defend it from all who tried to take it. There were even rumors that the current Demon Lord was wary of her, considering that Ancalagon had been there when the last one fell.
Sasha had only seen Ancalagon once before, the Dragon rarely making public appearances in human and dragon form, but it was a sight that she would remember always. The dragon's magnificent wings an enormous shadow over the city as she flew away to Dragonia.
She turned to Cyril who was speaking to both Hastur and Dimas about something. How different he was… he inspired dread, not awe. But he was tired… Sasha saw that the moment he passed by her orphanage in Lescatie. He was tired, and an ocean's worth of burdens lay on his shoulders.
When they dispersed Sasha followed Cyril out. As they exited the central keep, Cyril stopped.
"You survived that night." He commented, not facing Sasha.
"I did." Sasha answered, warily. Magic came to her as easily as it used to but with the Moon Scented Hunter, she was not so sure about her chances of surviving. Winning a fight against the Hunter was an incredibly laughable notion, almost as fleeting as a dream.
"How are the children?" Cyril asked neutrally. He stepped aside so he wasn't in the way. Sasha followed him.
"They're fine. Ember and Aran are helping me take care of the little ones." Sasha answered warily. "You do remember them right?"
Cyril shrugged. "Somewhat." He said quietly as he leaned against the wall.
"Are you… still an adventurer?" Sasha asked him.
"I thought it best to lay low." Cyril answered, civilly much to Sasha's surprise. "I go by the name Klaus Tennstedt, for now at least. I work at a tavern."
"I see." Sasha said. She noted that Cyril seemed… relaxed. More at peace than anything. Maybe the tavern he worked with was a lot more special than she thought. "What tavern? The Pony?"
Cyril nodded. Sasha saw it then. The Hunter had mentioned looking for a home, and he had probably found it in Sheffield. She exhaled, realizing why he had agreed so readily to working with Lord Nial. The Order was in the city and they were planning to unleash violence, claiming a crusade…
Sasha honestly pitied them. Once, such zealots would have been comrades in arms. After the hypocrisy of Lescatie and its clergy… and its subsequent sacking by the monsters, much of her ideals had been shattered that night. Now? She wished to protect those who truly mattered, the people who lived here. Cyril had a stake here, but the lengths he would go to…
It would become a massacre. And pity the poor souls who would face off against the Moon Scented Hunter.
Fina Brusilov exhaled furiously as she plastered a smile on her face and thanked the receptionist at the Guild before departing, throwing the hood of her cloak over her head. Nothing. In fact, the Guild had assumed the Hunter was dead when news of the attack on Lescatie spread throughout the nation.
The Dhampir swore under her breath. There was record of the Moon Scented Hunter ever passing through Marienburg the past few months. What was worse? Apparently anything that was not essential was closing up shop due to the festival that was beginning tomorrow. Fina didn't know if it was an opportunity or a detriment to their cause but the party needed to be in the city of Sheffield before anyone was alerted.
Perhaps it was an opportunity after all…
Wilmarina had to be warned.
Now or never.
The Union Festival.
Wilmarina had learned about it from a kindhearted merchant giving her and her companions a ride into Sheffield, passing under one of the great gates and under the watchful eye of the soldiers standing guard. No doubt the men and women garbed in steel would not be able to participate in the celebrations of the founding of the city.
Elt, Primera and Mimil were in awe of so many men and monsters congregating. Sheffield did not care where one came from, the merchant had told Wilmarina as she and Ursula kept an eye out. So long as you followed the rules of the Four: No monster may harm and coerce a man into slavery, and neither will a man harm a monster without good cause. Unlike the Order, it placed no great importance on faith in the gods. What mattered was the worth of good men and women, those who helped their neighbors helped themselves.
There was a boom up above as fireworks erupted. The city dwellers were reveling, chatter was abundant as was food and drink. Everyone was happy it seemed, whether for the city or for other reasons the people of Sheffield were finally allowed to celebrate for a week.
"Damn… this is a really big festival." Elt said after whistling in astonishment. He kept his hood up, same as Ursula and the others. Wilmarina, Fina and Elt could still pass for humans but Ursula, Primera and Mimil needed to be more careful. Even with glamour charms, their quarry was made of sterner stuff.
There was no doubt that if he found out the party was here, he would stop at nothing to destroy them all.
"Will we really find him here?" Ursula asked Wilmarina. "In any case, even if we do, how are we supposed to get him out of the city? Let alone defeat him in battle?"
Fina snorted. "Yeah, you asked the right questions. I'm sure you'd like to volunteer for the job then?"
Ursula stayed quiet, seeing the seething rage in Fina's eyes.
"Enough. We're here now, so we must plan accordingly." Wilmarina put a stop to whatever argument was about to begin between the both of them. "Although… We do have a week or two to proceed as planned, right now I want someone to scout out the area."
"I'll go." Primera was off within one moment. She laid a paw on Elt's shoulder before leaning in to give him a brief kiss on the cheek. "Wait for me," She panted, eyes wet before she headed out hooded and cloaked.
Wilmarina gave a playful pout to Elt, who scratched his cheek embarrassed. Mimil rolled her eyes, although there was a glimpse of a smile on her young face.
Time to get to work.
Cyril allowed himself to be dragged along by Sierra who excitedly chattered about what was going on in the festival. Despite himself, he was enjoying the Elf's enthusiasm. He heard chuckling and looked down at Emil, the Dwarf having caught up to the much taller pair. He winked at Cyril who let out an embarrassed smile.
The Union Festival had begun, and the people celebrated not just the founding of the city-state of Sheffield but also the good fortune it had been blessed with to have reached this point. Men and monster reveled in the streets, music and chatter abundant through the city.
Cyril had never heard such things, he found it… rather exciting but at the same time he couldn't help but feel overly cautious. The words of Nial Henderson still ran through his mind. There was a threat here, waiting for its chance to strike. Cyril wished it was so easy to put it down.
Zealots… Cyril was not impressed at all. But he knew the damage that fanaticism and faith could do.
"Klaus?"
Cyril blinked then turned his attention to Sierra. "What would you like to do first?"
The Hunter blinked again and then heard a pop. He turned over to one of the stalls where people were shooting targets with what looked like a toy crossbow. Cyril walked over, Sierra and Emil following curiously.
"Ah, you there sir!" The stall owner said as he waved the Hunter forward. "Would you like a try? A strapping young man such as yourself would surely win at least one prize right?"
Cyril looked at the toy crossbow being offered. "What are the rules?" He asked.
"Hit all three targets and you win a prize!" The owner said with a foxy smile. "Hit the six that you get glimpses of and you get a little bag of gold for your trouble."
Cyril thought about it, nodded and took up the crossbow. The targets were all in a row, but the owner pulled on a lever and they began moving in very strange patterns.
"Ready?" The stall owner asked him.
Cyril took aim.
"Well, lad… I can say this." Emil commented as Sierra cooed over a new stuffed bear. Cyril paid the stall owner who was still gaping at him alongside a small crowd of people. "You are one dead eye shot that I don't wanna mess with."
Cyril turned to the dwarf. "I liked the crossbow." He stated.
Emil sighed. Cyril didn't let the triumphant smile on his face show. The Hunter was enjoying himself for once in his life and he would like to continue. But Sierra was hungry, and so was Emil. The trio ate and made merry with Emil telling stories of his adventures when he was but a Dwarf miner in one of the holds of the Dwarves.
Sierra laughed and Cyril listened to Emil Goldgather's tales as he and his band of miners not only fought off subterranean creatures never seen above ground but also the gloomy darkness that all dwarves faced in the world's mountains. Cyril made a note to visit one of the holds, just to see it for himself.
Maybe one day, when all things had settled, he would write a book about his adventures.
The tale of Cyril Sutherland, the Hunter.
Cyril would have laughed out loud had he been alone. He pushed out those thoughts for now as Sierra asked Emil for another story. The Hunter looked at the unlikely pair, observing them. He wished he could bring the Doll here, he was sure that she would have enjoyed it. Maybe she too would enjoy a friendship with Sierra and Emil?
The Hunter leaned back, closing his eyes briefly. So much to do… And yet he could not bring himself to fully enjoy today.
Cyril opened his eyes as Emil told a rather bawdy joke that Sierra had just figured out. The Hunter turned his gaze over to the meandering crowd. That was when he saw her.
A monster, for no human could ever have skin that pale, garbed in deep black robes and a hood. A circlet was placed gracefully on her raven hair.
The Banshee gave him a sorrowful look, Cyril's eyes narrowed as he made to stand up.
"Klaus?" Sierra asked as she saw Cyril stand up and walked over to the crowd.
There was a shout, and a young woman; a Were-rabbit pointed and screamed as a group of brown robed men emerged into the spotlight.
"For the Order!" The leader roared as he drew a club and smashed it into the head of a wandering civilian.
"FOR THE ORDER! AND THE CHIEF GOD!"
"HERESY! WITCHCRAFT! MONSTERS!"
Emil grabbed Sierra by the hand, the High Elf paled as the slaughter began. Soldiers, bearing the crest of Sheffield struggled to contain the threat as zealots charged into the crowds, killing indiscriminantly. Cyril had drawn his own weapon, cursing his inaction as he realized that he had lost Emil and Sierra in the confusion.
A brown robed maggot rushed him with a club, spewing hate and scripture. With a bestial snarl, Cyril cut him down, hacking the man's arm and head from his body with two swift swings of his sword. The Hunter was alone, but that didn't matter.
He had to find Emil and Sierra. They would not be hurt on his watch.
Cyril slaughtered another zealot that dared get in his way. Already, the clash of steel was getting louder. Cyril smelled smoke but he was focused on protecting his two friends in this city. The Hunter was on the move, Nial Henderson be damned.
Dimas shot another man in the face. The zealots were pressing hard, fighting with a ferocity born of the true faithful. The former highwayman smashed aside another enemy with his pistol, drawing his knife in the process. Behind him, on her knees Sasha was whispering a chant; a healing spell for the man who was screaming in pain.
"This is nuts." Dimas said to her. "How many of these bastards are there!?"
Sasha didn't answer, her focus centered on saving a man's life. When she finished she looked over to where there were more wounded. Ruined wagons were used as barricades as the soldiers of Sheffield held back the Order attacks.
With the foot soldiers using the length of their pikes to keep the Order zealots back, the musketeers of the home guard used the devastating volleys to make short work of the Order attackers. Faith and fury made for a frightening combo however and the advance of the guard was slowed.
Dimas couldn't support such a large group but he damned well did the best that he could. When a musketeer fell, a throwing axe embedded into his skull, Dimas took his place. He looked briefly back at Sasha, still healing who she could. She carried a spike mace strapped to her belt.
Dimas prayed she didn't have to use it.
"Keep those flanks secure!"
Hastur gripped his sword as he stood his ground with the company of soldiers he was stuck in.
An attack, and it was during the start of the Union Festival. Hastur thanked whatever god was out there in helping him make the decision to move his wife and daughters out in the countryside for now. They would have entered the city on the second day…
The knight errant shuddered to think about what would have happened if they were here.
"Here they come!"
Hastur saw the enemy coming in, and they were fiends who wore the masks of men. The Knight Errant charged with the men at his side, roaring in anger and vengeance against those who would dare defile this city with their evil.
Two lines of warriors slammed into each other, spears splintering and shields breaking. One side sought to defend their home in the name of its people, the other side sought to destroy it in the name of their gods.
They weren't moving.
Cyril Sutherland stared at the still forms of Sierra Underwood and of Emil Goldgather.
"Ah, another heretic!"
A fat man with a huge scar on his face grinned as he lifted a bloody club. This was Father Zachariah, mastermind of the attack on Sheffield. "I see now that you are seeing the error of your ways-"
" Curse the fiends…"
Cyril stepped forward, his sword drawn as he held out his hand. Ashes gathered in his hand, forming into a gruesome weapon; the fusion of a saw and cleaver that was recognizable as the weapon of a madman.
The Hunter moved, even as the tattered tricorne hat was born from the same ashes as his Saw Cleaver.
" And their children too…"
The Hunter's arm swept out. The Saw Cleaver unfolded into a mighty blade, fit only to kill until there was nothing left.
The man to the left of him, who was approaching to surround the lone killer, died instantly as his head separated from his shoulders. Another tried to go for Cyril's head only for the Hunter to impale the man on the length of the sword in his other hand. With a bestial snarl, Cyril tore the man apart before turning his attention on the fat priest that dared to show a smile on his face during this atrocity.
Father Zachariah froze as Cyril's deep red eyes met his, filled with nothing but pure hatred.
Hate that burned cold. Hate that promised pain. Hate that promised suffering and slaughter.
" And their children, forever true…"
Zachariah screamed in terror.