Disclaimer: I own everything that did not appear on the game. That means countries and people who appeared on the game are not mine. No duh.
AN: Well. I was away for a long time it feels. I was kinda feeling low and disappointed about my writings. I felt like scrapping it so many times, let me tell yeh. I felt they were not to standard. I still kinda do. Thanks to Gunlord500 who told me to give more. It helped a lot. Made me feel better. Why am I giving you a sob story? Here you go. Enjoy.
-x-x-x-x-
Levin
Cool down, Levin. Cool down. He released the arrow. The crow dropped from the sky. He walked over and picked it up. Right through the neck. Excellent. He dropped the catch into his sack and nocked another missile. He surveyed the sky.
There were no sky-dwellers in sight. With no prey to focus on, Levin's thought reverted to the source of his anger.
This morning, he had learned that his father, the town elder, had conspired with the rest of the town to supply more war horses to the Bern noble, Lord Macavre.
Had it been under different circumstances, Levin would have been delighted at the prospect of making business with nobles. His town may be better off than some other rural settlements in Bern, but were not in the position to be refusing income.
However, the situation was different. There was the Black Fang.
Being the major source of war horses used by nobles in Bern, his town was not favorably looked upon by the criminal group. They had already received threats about pursuing more business with nobles being detrimental to the town people's well being.
In the town meeting carried out to discuss the threat, Levin had made a strong stand for heeding the assassins' words. He had been a mercenary before, and knew ruthlessness of war. His father, however, had a different idea.
Once again, Levin felt his father was too idealistic. The man could not fathom the terribleness of people and did not really believe them possible. He made good, kind and honest decisions – traits a leader should have – but expected other people to be as good as him. Not believing the Black Fang's threat to attack a defenseless rural town, the man had decided to further having more business with Lord Macavre, the town's top customer. Levin felt frustrated at his father's naivety.
He did not want his town to suffer for this. He had a family here. A wife and a son. He did not want Nadia and Denning to come to any harm.
With a shriek, an eagle took to the sky. Levin's attention was on the creature immediately. He drew the bowstring to the limit and waited for an opportunity to present itself. Nobody ever gets to shoot a second arrow at eagles; they were too intelligent and agile.
What my father did cannot be helped. It's not like Lord Macavre would have allowed his best supply of local war horses to refuse him. He knew he should be clearing his thought for the shot, but they just kept coming.
What I can do is to make sure my town is saved from whatever the Fang chooses to do. Protect Nadia and Denning with the best of my abilities. He kept his eyes on the beast. He did not blink. The beast was rising; it must have spotted a prey and was gaining altitude to launch itself at its target.
If I do not do my best to protect those I treasure, I have nobody to blame but myself. The eagle reached its peak. Levin released the arrow.
The majestic creature fell.
-x-x-x-x-
As he was heading back, Levin was feeling quite good about himself. He had caught quite a handful today. Granted, they were all just small catches – except the eagle – but combined, they formed a decent pile.
He was thinking about whom in town would be willing to buy whatever he was willing to sell as he emerged from the wood. The town came into his view.
He dropped his hunting sack at the sight. The town was razed.
Many buildings only stood in its frames. A few areas where buildings used to be only had piles of ash instead. The entire town was coated with soot. There were no people in sight.
Without picking up his day's work, Levin dashed into the town.
-x-x-x-x-
It was a massacre.
The streets were littered with corpses with sword wounds and burns. Had he stopped to check, he would have recognized some of the corpses. However, Levin scarcely noticed them. He was running through the streets like mad, stepping over the ruins and the dead, heading for his home. Please be okay. Please be alright. Nadia, Denning. He sprinted and did not stop until he reached his house.
It was one of those rare buildings that were more or less untouched by the flames. The walls were only singed, but not down. Levin hoped this was a sign that his family was safe. He touched the metallic door knob to enter.
"Agh!" He quickly withdrew as the scorching heat assaulted his hand. The knob was far too hot to touch. He grimaced as the pain gradually appeared. I need to get in! He ignored the pain and launched a kick at the door. With a mighty crack, the door fell before its owner. He rushed in, shouting out his wife's name. "Nadia!" There was no reply. He began to search the rooms.
There was nobody. His family was gone. Panic began to set in. if there is no body, you cannot assume they are dead. The thought calmed him a little.
He headed out of his house and went to the neighboring house. He knew the neighbor, a scholar by the name Melvin. The man was a polite and gentle person and had been his wife's childhood friend. Levin had never liked the guy – he had seen the scholar look at Nadia and knew the man harbored affection for her – however, this also meant that if anybody were to know the fate of his wife and child, it would be the scholar, assuming the man was alive.
When he entered the house, which was also among those unconsumed by the blaze, there was Melvin, sitting against the wall, a pool of blood surrounding him.
Levin assumed he was dead, until he heard the man speak.
"Levin!" Melvin never had ill feelings towards him, despite Levin being the husband of the woman he loved.
"Melvin! You are alive?" Levin approached the man.
"Yeah," he gasped, pain searing from his stomach wound, "not for long though."
"Don't say that." Levin was surprised he meant those words.
"I know my wound." Levin opened his mouth to protest, but was cut short. "Listen to me, damn it!" Levin had never heard a profanity from the man before and was silent in surprise.
"You are here because you wanted to know what happened to Nadia, right? She's not dead. At least, as far as I know. She was taken. She and her… ugh… her son." Melvin was struggling to speak.
"Who took them? Was it the Fang?" He had never heard of Fang razing a town to ground before, but could not think of any other culprit.
"No." Melvin looked up. "It was… Look out!" The scholar was looking behind him.
Instinctively, Levin dodged to the side. A blade shot through where he had been a second ago and embedded itself into Melvin. He died instantly. Levin turned to face his assaulter, expecting to see the black garbs of the Black Fang.
What greeted his eyes was a soldier in the imperial armor wearing a symbol of the lord he was in service to: Lord Macavre's symbol.
The soldier sneered, "fast, eh? You filthy forest hare. Should not have consorted with the Fang, redneck!" The man launched into an attack.
Levin dropped his unstrung bow and dodged the swipes. Shit. His hunting knife was tied to the sack of games he had hunted. As far as the soldier was concerned, he was unarmed; an easy picking.
However, Levin had not survived his career as a mercenary by being incompetent.
Sidestepping the swipe, he threw a bunch of books by his side at the offender's face. The man blocked with his free arm. Before the books had fallen, Levin was charging the man, a thick tome in his injured hand. The soldier saw the rush, and swung his sword at him. Levin raised the tome and to block the weapon from cutting into him. Melvin had spent majority of his finances into his books, so the tome was of good quality material as well as content. The sword did not manage to slice through. However, the impact made his already burnt hand throb with pain. Letting go of the tome, Levin continued to rush the man. The man tried to swing again, but the additional weight slowed him. Before the blade reached him, Levin stabbed into the man's throat with an arrow from his quiver. The arrowhead pierced the flimsy skin and sliced through the windpipe.
The soldier died without giving a coherent word.
Levin looked at the body with no remorse. The soldier's words had told him the story. Lord Macavre had attacked his town. His town had chosen the noble over the Fang and the son of a bitch had rewarded them with death.
Wordlessly, Levin picked up his bow and strung the weapon. After a brief word of prayer for Melvin, he stepped out stealthily. He saw more soldiers now. They must be checking for survivors. He nocked an arrow. The hunt was not over yet.
-x-x-x-x-
It had been an easy battle. The noble's men were just thugs in armor. Decent in melee but simply idiotic in warfare. Against a ranged assault, they had not stood a chance. Levin had killed all he could, before the survivors fled likes dogs with their tails tucked between their legs.
I need more arrows. He was currently looking down on the sack of games he had caught. He picked it up and made way to his destination. He knew the general direction to Macavre's city. I'm sure the city can provide me with some. His wounded hand reminded him of its presence with pain. It's going to leave a scar.
He was going to kill that man. How was the question. If he found his family alive and well – despite being taken by Macavre's men – he was going to kill the scum quick. If not, the man was going to have an excruciating and lengthy death.
-x-x-x-x-
"Bar tender. A mug of ale. Strongest you have." Levin sat in the corner of the room. Many turned their gaze to him, only to quickly look away. It suited Levin fine. He was not here to make friends anyway. He never was.
Usually, Levin did not drink. His life was dangerous enough when he was at his sharpest mind. Being drunk only increased his chance of being caught or killed; although two were essentially the same. However, tonight was different. For some unimaginable reason, he kept remembering that night, despite it being more than a decade ago. He needed to forget.
He had killed the Macavre a few days after he reached the city. The noble died an excruciating and lengthy death. Ever since then, he became a vagabond, traveling around and looking for those he lost. He had never seen Nadia and Denning again.
After more than a decade, he no longer searched. However, he continued to wander, not willing to stay around civilizations; civilizations where families existed.
He had continued hunting nobles who were tyrant. He had a reputation. He was the Huntsman.
It was not such a terrible life. He was a hero among the oppressed. He was respected by people he cared about and feared by those he hated. He was well-known within and somewhat known outside Bern. There were many times he almost died, but Levin's skill of escaping surpassed that of his killing. He had killed quite a handful of scums who had treated the peasants like dirt and killed them without remorse. It was not so bad. Hell, even the Black Fang offered him a place once, although he had declined the offer in no uncertain terms.
However, tonight, his memories of that fateful day assaulted him, making him remember what he had lost. Making him feel his current life was pathetic, a result of his failure.
It burned painfully, just as his hand had. His gaze turned to the scar on his palm.
The ale arrived with a clang on his table, diverting his attention away from the wound. The serving girl's eye met with his. He saw her blush in shyness as well as fear before darting away. The girl is sweet on me. I think it's time I left this town. He had liked this town and was sorry he had to go.
He was about to drink the ale when the chilling wind entered as the tavern's door opened. Levin put down his drink and looked at the new comer. He was undoubtedly a swordsman; the man's elegant weapon could be seen. It was a deadly weapon designed for speed and accuracy. The man himself was dressed in a white garb of Sacaen design. His long black hair that was dancing in the wind also informed Levin the man was Sacaen. Sacaen swordmasters are deadly.
The man entered the building and shut the door. People did not return to their drinks. They had sensed that this man was dangerous.
The man ignored the rest and approached him.
"Are you the Huntsman?" Levin's heart began to beat faster in anticipation at the words. The smarter people got up and began leaving.
"Who wants to know?" His voice gave none of his tension away. His hand rested on the bow beside him. Many of the others in the tavern began to follow the smart ones.
"The Sword Demon."
-x-x-x-x-
AN: Alright then. This was kinda spontaneous work. I always liked the bad ass characters and decided to make one of my own. Maybe it's not as refreshing as unique characters, but I don't want to make all the non-fighters before I spew out the fighters. Please don't be disappointed. I assure you my next work is going to be more original.
Btw, offer me ideas and I will do my best to put them up too. Please?
desoldeben out.