Once more, Loric confirmed that robbing that merchant paid off.
The bandit captain stood over his makeshift war table, prying over the map. His lantern was lit, casting a flickering light over the once rolled-up piece of yellow paper. The map itself was simple, but effective, detailing the routes the Silver Canaries would take; the company the robbed merchant belonged was part of. To save his own skin, the cowardly bastard coughed up the map and everything he had with him, so Loric rewarded his generosity with a ten second head start.
Unfortunately for him, his men were accurate. It only took one.
"Sir," he looked up. One of the other bandits stood in the entryway to the spacious hide tent. Dressed in the same, shoddy hide armor the lot of them wore, he couldn't remember the name of the man, nor did he care to. "the men finished setting up camp for the night, and we've already assigned patrols for the night."
"Good." Loric nodded. "See to it our little hobble goes undisturbed. We're right where we need to be, and I wanna make sure it stays that way." He tapped the map, a smile spreading across his face. "In two days, another one of those carriages will be passing through here, on the way to Neverwinter. We mob it, steal everything we can, and take the carriage itself to Waterdeep, where we can sell the lot of the goods." He leaned back, a blissful huff leaving his parted lips. "From there, we keep the carriage, pose as members of this little merchant company, and head right to their source to steal everything that isn't nailed down." It was a brilliant plan; the best he'd ever come up with! And if everything went well, they'd all live like kings for the rest of their days!
"Amazing, sir," the bandit nodded. "but we'll be able to get it, right? Because the one we robbed two days ago had some tough mercenaries protecting it—"
"Who you all dealt with, no?" Loric interjected. "Mercs act tough, but most are just men like us. Shoot the right spot, they die all the same. Same for gnomes and even those damned half-elves. Besides, we play it like we did last time, they won't even get a chance to fight back." Ambushing prey from the bushes was always a smart play. "For now, bring me a bottle of wine. I need a drink."
"Yes sir." The bandit bowed out of the tent and ventured off into the night. Loric resumed pouring over the map, pausing only from his scrying to take a little charcoal pencil and mark things down. Placements for his men, where to lay traps, and more. He almost wanted to send someone to the nearest town to fetch some gunpowder for a trap idea, but he settled for the usual tree in the road plan. Nothing beat the classics, after all.
Loric continued to scry over the map…and slowly, the bandit captain noticed the other man hadn't returned yet. It had been at least an hour! So, where the hell was he?
"…oh," Anger flashed across his face, as the bandit captain pushed away from the table. "that bastard better not be indulging in my wine…" He growled to himself, then turned to collect his sheathed scimitar. He strapped it to his belt in a hurry, as the bandit captain stepped out of his planning tent.
The rest of camp was spacious and quaint. Set up in a forest clearing, towering trees surrounded the place and stretched high above the hide tents. Said tents held a myriad of uses, as some were barracks for the men to sleep in, and others were for storage of treasures and goods, somewhere separate from the men, in case someone decided to have sticky fingers again. A roaring bonfire was settled in the center of it all, lighting up the night and allowing him and the men to see properly.
However, something felt…off. The men were still supposed to be preparing for their big heist, but instead, he didn't see anyone. His anger cooled completely, and Loric kept his hand closer to his scimitar, the bandit captain's eyes scanning the area. The man's eyes fell upon the loot tent, and the flaps were gently waving in the breeze. The flaps that were supposed to be tied down.
Loric took careful steps towards the tent before stepping inside. Inside were crates and boxes, most taken from the merchant they robbed. Right at the front, though, was the crate of premium wine bottles taken from the merchant. Called Lissandra's Kiss.
The crate was open, a bottle lay on the ground, and something was splattered over the front of the crate. Something dark. He knelt to pull a dagger from his boot, then press it against the wet smear. The liquid was collected, and Loric stepped out of the tent to hold the dagger in the fire's light.
He went stiff. Blood coated the dagger. And given how it moved, it was fresh. And he didn't even see a body either, so what happened? What took that man out? In fact, the loot tent was pretty much across from the planning one, and he didn't even hear anything happen!
Bushes rustled. Loric wasted no time and turned, pinching the bloodied dagger between gloved fingers, and launching it towards the source. "Ah, damnit! Who threw that?!" Came the gruff voice of one of his men. Sure enough, another bandit emerged from the bushes. A half-orc man who emerged with his crossbow at the ready, eyes narrowed to a glare. Said glare softened when he saw Loric. "C-Captain? Why'd you throw a damned knife at me?"
"That depends," he kept his hand close to the scimitar. "do you know what happened to the man I sent to grab wine? He vanished for an hour, and now there's blood all over the crate full of that premium wine."
The half-orc raised a brow. "Sir, we're from the afternoon patrol." As he said that, several more bandits emerged from the bushes. Armed with crossbows and shortswords, they looked worn and exhausted, and he counted at least eight of them in total. "None of those bastard night watch came to relieve us of duty, so we could come on back to camp."
"Afternoon…" Loric muttered, knitting his brow in confusion. That meant the night patrol never reached their intended destination, nor did they come out to relieve the others of their watch. But…the other bandit confirmed they had departed from camp. Hell, he even saw one off personally when he came back to collect his bolt quiver, having forgotten it. "…then something's terribly wrong, then. You," he motioned to one of the others. "go wake the men in the barracks. I think we're under attack, especially if our perimeter isn't secured." The man nodded and sauntered towards the tents where the men were resting for the night. Loric's eyes returned to the desecrated crate, where the blood had soaked the wood.
"Yeesh," he looked over at the half-orc, who stood next to him, eyeing the scene as well. "what the hell did this?"
"I've no idea," Loric said. "but whatever did it not only did so very recently, before you and the others arrived, but did so quietly."
"How quiet are we talking? Like kidnapping a man from the road quiet?" The half-orc asked.
"Like I didn't even hear the blade, nor the body hit the ground." He said, shaking his head. "Not even the best assassins I know are that good, and I've seen several in Waterdeep alone. So—"
"Sir! We've got a problem!" He turned. The bandit he sent off came running back, his face caked in sweat and heaving breaths leaving him. "T-T-The barracks men! T-T-T-The—"
"Slow down," the bandit captain said, as he stepped towards the terrified man. "deep breaths. What the hell did you see?"
The man took slower, composing breaths, trying his best to get himself under control. "Augh…huch…they're dead, sir," he finally said, and Loric's fears were renewed. "I checked every tent. The men in there were dead."
"All of them?" That was thirty men!
"All of them." The bandit confirmed. "I checked the bodies, too. Whatever did it did so a while ago and did it with a bladed weapon of some kind. A sword or knife, and it attacked them in their sleep, save for a few."
"A few?" Loric asked.
"Mhm. Some looked like they saw whatever did it and fought back. And…" he shook his head and sighed. "it did worse to them. I found a man halfway out the tent, with two horrifying slashes up his back. Like whatever killed him got him while he was trying to run."
And he didn't hear any of this. No commotion. No chaos. Sure, the sleeping tents are closer to the other side of their camp, but still! Bedlam like that's pretty damned hard to ignore! "Everyone, stay close. Whatever's out there, it's still here, and it's trying to pick us all off without a sound." The men were tense. Loric was too. Something was out there, stalking them from the shadows. Could it be an adventurer? He heard rumors of some rogues learning how to truly blend with the dark in ways he never thought possible, and stalk using the very shadows themselves! Could someone like that be pursuing them? If so, how did one learn of them so swiftly?
The men spaced out, keeping their crossbows and other weapons aloft. Loric drew his scimitar, holding it at the ready as the nine of them spaced out and surveyed the camp, looking for any signs of movement. Something to deduce the identity of their attacker, and when it would strike next.
"Help me…!" A distant, haggard voice called. The men all took aim towards the bushes. Towards the source of the sound. Loric pointed his scimitar the same direction. "Help me…!" The voice repeated.
"…s-s-sir," one bandit asked. "is that…one of the men?"
"It might be." The voice sounded like the man he sent off to the wine. He survived the attack. Loric kept his weapon in hand, and advanced towards the bushes. "You," he pointed to a bandit armed with a club. "with me. We need to question him. See what he knows." The two of them set off into the bushes and into the forest. The other man quickly produced a torch he lit, lighting the way so the two of them could see through the thicket.
"Sir," the bandit muttered. "I've got a bad feeling about this."
"You should." Loric admitted. "Nothing about this is right. But we need to find out what's happening, otherwise none of us are living through the night."
The two bandits continued, following the calls. They grew louder and louder, and Loric's fear peaked and grew until they reached the source. Reached the man he sent to fetch his wine, who was attacked.
…or rather, he didn't. For Loric found himself staring at nothing. Nothing except for a dagger stabbed into the base of a tree. "What the hell…?" He knelt to inspect it. It was a bone knife, short enough to be used for stabbing, yet almost light enough to be thrown.
"Help me…!" The sudden voice made him jump, as Loric realized it came from the weapon itself! It sounded again, like a damned raven repeating some lost traveler's words, and the bandit captain's confusion turned to ire.
Loric stood back up, slowly shaking his head. "Someone led us here." He sighed, then stood. "Which means we've been duped. Eyes up, and—" Something shoved him. Hard. The bandit captain fell to the ground, his scimitar cluttering from his hand as he met the forest floor. "Gods damnit! What's wrong with y—" He rolled over just as a bright flash shot by. Then the bandit slumped to the ground, leaned against the tree with the dagger embedded into it. Loric's voice caught in his throat, as he eyed the man's body.
His headless body. Something obliterated it. Like a hammer to a ripe pumpkin. Loric then realized he pushed him out the way of an attack. The man sacrificed his life to save his, and his corpse still clutched the torch illuminating the area…and something more. From where he was on the ground, Loric swore he saw something in the trees. A faint figure standing there, perched on a branch, reminding him of still water from a river; translucent and see-through. Unkeen eyes would easily miss it, but Loric spent years as a bandit. His eyes were trained to spot the faintest flicker of motion. And he saw it as something moved up there.
Loric darted his hand towards the dead man's hand to snatch the torch up and swipe his scimitar up as well. The bandit captain surged forward, just as something struck the spot he was moments ago. Panic swelled, his heart hammered in his chest, and the bandit captain fled the way he came. Something tried to bait him to his doom, and it damn near succeeded! He needed to regroup with the others, and figure something out!
The bandit captain smashed through the bushes and landed in the camp clearing once more. The men were still standing around, with the half-orc turning towards him, crossbow ready. "Eh? Boss? Where's the—"
"No one's out there," he cut him off. "except the thing that got him, and it got the other guy! And I think it's right behind me!" The trees rustled above. The men banded together, weapons raised, and eyes cast towards the rustling branches above. Something was moving through it. And that something was trying to close in on them!
The men fired, one by one, but their shots only met the canopy; their bolts only meeting leaves, bark, or air. Whatever was up there was still moving. Loric could still tell it was there, and it was moving around them. Repositioning.
The bandit captain's eyes darted to one of his men. One who hadn't fired yet. His eyes were darting about, his hands trembling like a newborn calf. Loric swiped the crossbow from his hands and took aim himself. A branch sagged just slightly, and Loric fired.
It struck something. And it certain wasn't a tree.
And slowly, something appeared, standing atop a branch. A lizardfolk, or at least he thought it was one. A reptilian humanoid, with leathery, scaly green skin and onyx black talons. It had a broad-shouldered, muscular build that made his own feel scrawny. It stood on two legs that reminded him of a hound's hind legs; digitigrade, with each foot sporting a menacing sickle talon that stabbed at the branch it stood upon. A long, powerful tail swished behind it, almost like it was coiling around its perch, as the reptilian creature bore a triangular head, much like those little ground hawks he saw hunting about further North.
And then he eyed the creature's armor. It wore a breastplate made from yellow colored bone, one covering its upper torso, with a hide shirt underneath for added protection. It wore a set of eerie pauldrons, one being a smoothed bone one, but the other pauldron looked to be the skull of a beast he didn't recognize. Blocky vambraces made from wood and bone clung to its forearms, with a bone tooth necklace dangling around its neck. It wore a set of dark hide pants that reached its jointed shins, with a fur loincloth dangling over it, and a set of bone shin-guards starting below its joints, like a bestial parody of greaves. Its knees were covered in bone pads, and it wore a belt covered in trinkets and tools he couldn't recognize. Lastly, it wore a helm that consisted of an axebeak's skull, with colorful feathers sticking out the back, and along the back of its head. The eyeholes of the skull were covered too. By opaque, red lenses.
"What the fuc—" The lizardfolk let out a gaunt, hollow sounding roar. One that rattled Loric to his core, as the armored reptile dropped to the forest floor. It raised its arm and seemingly flicked something before it swung its arm downward.
A set of blades erupted from its vambrace. Two of them, running parallel to one another and along the back of the lizard's scaly hand. Like two bone shortswords affixed to its arm, and they both had dangerous, serrated edges like a whaler's harpoon.
It all clicked as soon as he saw those blades; the lizard butchered his men with those, and it butchered the man he sent for the wine, too! And it did it all without a sound, and without even being seen, either! Until he hit it, the damned thing was completely invisible! Just what the hell were they dealing with?
The lizardfolk charged forward. The men's crossbows were all unloaded, and they worked to correct that in a panicked hurry. "Look out!" The lizardfolk rammed its arm forward, and an unfortunate man was its target. The blades ripped into him, and he cried out in agony. Despite the damned things being made from bone, they effortlessly punctured the man's armor, impaling him like a piece of meat. The demented reptile lifted him into the air, leaving his legs to dangle off the ground, as his crossbow clattered to the ground, his hands clutching the reptile's wrist, before his guttural struggles fell silent, and the lizardfolk flung its arm, sending the body off the blades and into the nighttime forest. Loric watched the body fly, his heart hammering in his chest and his eyes wide. Several of the bandits went for their shortswords and daggers, but many more were petrified in fear.
Loric's eyes jumped back to the lizardfolk, as it reached for something on its belt. It seemingly unsheathed something new. A menacing looking, double edged scimitar made from darkened bone. It was wide and thick, and the reptile held the blade like a thief held a knife, ready to stab an unsuspecting traveler in the back. In the demented lizard's case, they were the damned travelers in question.
The bone scimitar was clutched in its off-hand, and the lizardfolk stomped forward, swinging those blades in the blink of an eye, and cutting down another man with little effort. The reptile swung its blades and butchered several of his bandits, cutting them apart with efficiency he didn't even think possible! Not from a damned lizardfolk of all things!
"C'mon, let's get this damned bastard!" Loric looked over. The half-orc had snatched up a shortsword and called another bandit's attention to the lizardfolk. The two of them charged at the demented reptile, just as the monster wrenched its scimitar from another man and tossed the body away. It turned towards the charging bandits, and Loric caught the very subtle motion of it yanking something along its leftmost vambrace. It brought its bladed arm up in time to block the half-orc's swing, then point its vambrace at the other bandit.
And a net blasted from the front of the vambrace; a glowing blue net that wrapped around the other bandit and sent him crashing to the ground. "W-What the hell?!" He struggled against the glowing net, spasming like a trapped beast, but it was to no avail. Somehow, he was stuck against the ground, leaving only the half-orc to fight the lizardfolk.
"Ah hell, I'll get you outta ther—ACK!" The half-orc stumbled back, as the lizardfolk rammed its knee into his stomach. It swung that scimitar upwards and cleaved across his chest, leaving a bloody gash across the man's chest. He clutched his chest, one hand pointing the shortsword towards the lizardfolk, before he charged again, as the two clashed. Blades met and slammed together again and again, and while the half-orc fought viciously, Loric saw the lizardfolk slash and cut him every few seconds, whittling him down bit by bit. As capable of a fighter as he was, he wasn't going to win the fight.
But he was buying time.
The bandit captain dropped his scimitar and fled, sprinting into the forest.
"Sir?! What about the others?" He whipped his head back to see the terrified bandit from moments ago. The one too scared to take the shot. Loric wanted to tell the boy to run a different direction, but when he heard the half-orc's agonized, guttural cry, the bandit captain concluded that having him there was the better choice. At the worst, he could serve as bait.
The two men fled into the night. Even as his lungs burned and his legs ached, Loric didn't stop running. He couldn't, because doing so meant he'd die just like the rest of his men. The bandit captain, finally, forced himself to slow down. Huffing and wheezing, he looked over his shoulder to his sole surviving man. He looked even more exhausted than he; doubled over and trying to keep his rations down. "Haugh…s-sir—" And he failed, and the miserable retching sounds filled the small clearing. Loric groaned at the sight and turned away, working earnest to curb his own exhaustion so he could assess where they were, and if they were truly safe. With the moonlight flickering through the trees, he couldn't see perfectly, but he didn't see any rustling in the canopy above. Maybe it was satisfied with just the death of the others.
"Boy," he sighed, turning towards the still dry-heaving bandit. "pull yourself together. Look, we're not too far from the main road. We'll hit it, start traveling 'til we find a little town or even a village." He took a few steps away from the man, squinting his eyes and peering through the darkness. "We can easily threaten an innkeeper into letting us stay for free, and we'll work on building back up. I don't care how long it takes. We're gonna build right back up, and when we get a chance, we're coming back out here to kill that bastard lizard." Even with his confident words, he remained perturbed as to how a damned lizardfolk did all that. Turning invisible, wielding retractable blades, and so much more. Sure, gear like that could sell for a lot down in Waterdeep, it still begged the question as to how the scaled monster got it in the first place. They weren't smart enough to make them, so that meant it found the stuff off a dead adventurer, considering how resourceful lizardfolk allegedly were, or someone armed it. "So, get ready to head out," he shook his head and dropped his hand to his side. "if we move now, we can probably find somewhere to hole up for the rest of the night. Somewhere safe."
The bandit didn't respond. Loric turned and saw the boy on the ground, with a hole in his chest. So much for bait.
His breath caught in the back of his throat, and the damned monster emerged from the darkness. Finally, Loric saw how it was doing that; how it blew apart his men and killed them with that flash of blue. A small bone cannon that rested above its smooth pauldron. Supported by a small bone arm, it moved and whirled like a ballista, and the tip smoked, like a flintlock that just fired. And that cannon itself moved on its own, hands-free. That was even demonstrated as it sank out of sight, receding behind the lizardfolk's pauldron.
Of course, now, it was just him. With nowhere to run. "Who the fuck are you?" Loric finally shouted at the lizardfolk. "What the FUCK do you want?" He knew damn well the monster was about to go for him next. Who else was left? It was just the two of them, and with the way it fought, the way it butchered his men, what chance did he have?
He finally noticed something in its hand. Something it tossed to the ground, close to his feet. With the moonlight's glow, Loric recognized his scimitar. The bastard brought him his blade. Eyes darted back to the lizardfolk, and he saw its own armblades were still out. What's more, it moved to unsheathe its own scimitar, twisting it into that familiar reverse grip as its unseen eyes were on him. Was it challenging him? Giving him a chance to fight for his life?
Loric stared at the scimitar on the ground, his heart hammering in his chest. Run or fight? Die horribly or die quickly? Which was the more fucking idea option?!
The bandit captain turned away from the blade and sprinted away. There were plenty of trees in the area, so he could probably avoid being sho—
Sudden weight enveloped him, and Loric found himself on the ground. The bandit captain quickly realized he was ensnared in that same glowing blue net, one that felt real, but he knew straight away wasn't. Like an illusion, but real, and currently leaving him pinned to the ground. In a terrified panic, Loric rolled onto his back.
The lizardfolk was standing over him. Even with its eyes hidden under that helmet, Loric felt disappointment.
"S-So," he muttered. "i-is it too late to get the scimitar—"
And it thrust its blades down.
Another group of bandits were gone. Dealt with the same as he always did.
Pahuax trudged through the forest thicket, making the steady return to the lair. The hunt was over, the foes dealt with, and the huntsman's work done for the night. Removing bandits was crucial to his work, for they always brought trouble. They either hunted the wildlife he preyed on for food and sport, encroached too far and risked discovering his lair, and endlessly coveted riches that would lead them to defiling his home in search of said riches. So, it was wise to cull them before they had a chance to establish a foothold. Wise to halt them before they became a problem. He knew better now.
The huntsman stepped over a log, wincing from the pain to his thigh. From where the half-orc bandit managed to slash him when he and another rushed him. The unworthy one was dealt with through an arcane net, but the half-orc was worthy sport. Worthy prey. He did manage to cleave across his breastplate, but his armor absorbed the damage. Those Infusions once more proved their worth, alongside the Psionic Seals furthering his defense. It was why he structured his breastplate to be a thoracic cage, with the hide shirt underneath for added protection. Thanks to the two, he had maximum mobility, and maximum durability. Just what a hunter needed, when going after dangerous prey.
Pahuax pressed on, moving through the forest silently until he reached the tree line leading to his home. His lair.
An old, run-down hunting lodge. Centered in the middle of a small clearing, it was long-since claimed by the forest, with vegetation growing along the wood and stone exterior. Several windows bore hairline cracks, repaired as best he could. His mentor told him the place was meant for humans to gather. To feast on cooked exotic meats, drink pungent wines, and then venture into the forest to hunt great beasts. For sport, from what he saw in the lodge prior to him really making it home. According to his mentor, he did the same. He hunted beasts and man alike for worthy sport, and carved trophies from the worthy. The ones worth being remembered, while the unworthy were little more than food and parts.
Such was the way of the Skullsworn. And no matter how far he was from the tribe, their dogmas persisted in his cold-blooded mind.
Pahuax trudged forward, approaching the wooden front door. A key was produced from his pocket, and he unlocked it, letting the door creak inwards to present the lodge's lobby. Once a decorated, furnished forayer, with ruined carpeted floor and countless curios scattered about. He salvaged none of them, for they bore no use to him. The closest thing that he got use from was the ruined couch against the wall; a couch he dropped the body onto so he could turn and seal the door behind him. Two blinks later, and he could see perfectly once more, his innate Darkvision reducing the need for a light source to navigate his lair.
A rush of footsteps caught his attention. Pahuax closed and locked the door just as sudden weight met his side, and rapid pants drew his attention. The huntsman looked down at his faithful companion, Gobi. A large hound, the dog greeted him the same as ever, furiously wagging his tail and pawing at his side, his wide eyes on the huntsman, filled with everlasting joy. The dog has a shaggy gray coat, and had a bandana wrapped around his neck in the form of a collar, something his mentor said to place there to mark him. It was still amusing; Pahuax wanted to eat Gobi when they first met, but his mentor assured him the hound had his uses. Considering how many hunts Gobi aided him on, that couldn't have been truer.
"I thought you would still be asleep, Gobi," he told the beast. He knew he couldn't understand him, but he liked to think that he could. "but this Hunt took longer. I found more bandits this time, and only one who was worthy, so I had to give him a proper fight." The hound, naturally, said nothing. Just excited yips and more tail wagging. "…good boy." He gently brushed Gobi away and made his way to the kitchen. The dog followed loyally.
Said kitchen was easily reached, being the first room on the right. A quaint, but large kitchen, with a stone oven and a stove next to it. Counters were sprawled about the place, containing several amenities. A spice shelf rested against the wall, with many of said spices claimed from destroyed carts and caravans he found throughout the forest. Above all else, the room was tidied and clean; Pahuax did well to keep the kitchen clean, considering it was where he prepared his meals and trophies. His mentor used to discourage him from the latter, but eventually he got over it. Where else was he to clean trophies properly?
He reached over to a small bone trinket on the closest counter. He snatched it up and held it between his talons, giving it a firm twist and causing it to shed enough bright light to effortlessly illuminate the entire kitchen. As helpful as Darkvision was, he didn't depend on it when it came to precise tasks unless he lacked the choice. The trinket was set back down, and finally Pahuax motioned for Gobi to lay down in the corner. The hound obediently obeyed but kept his eyes on him the entire time, his tail idly wagging every time Pahuax looked his way. "…always the keen-eyed one between us, I see." The huntsman joked. He stooped down to collect a small cauldron from the spot next to the stove. The top was pulled off and set on the nearby countertop, and the iron cauldron was placed atop the stove, and a fire quickly lit via the Firestarter on the counter. The kindling in the stovetop caught fire quickly, licking along the underside of the cauldron. The metal tool was set aside, and Pahuax knelt once more, grabbing another curio from next to the stove.
His Alchemy Jug, one of the first items he learned to create when his mentor taught him the ways of Artificing. A clawed talon trailed along the runic glyphs etched into the small, grooved jar, and it grew heavy, magically filling with clean freshwater. He waited until the jug stopped filling, then tipped it to empty the contents into the cauldron, filling it halfway to the brim before the jug was empty, and he set it aside. The water would need a moment to boil, and that left him time to gather the final ingredients.
He left the cauldron uncovered and stepped over to the wooden spice shelf. He browsed and looked over the contents for a moment, drumming his fingers against his chin in thought before he plucked up what he needed. A glass flask filled with opaque, gray liquid. It swirled ominously, and a cork in the neck of the bottle sealed the contents tightly. An alchemical concoction his mentor taught him how to make, he knew to add only a little to boiling water. Too much and he risked rendering the room unbreathable. However, he also eyed a small glass of tea leaves. He pondered it for a moment, then plucked it up too, and returned to the cauldron.
By now, the water was beginning to bubble, but wasn't yet boiling. He set the two jars down on the countertop and moved to fetch a metal kettle for some tea. Gobi gave another warbled grunt. "I am preparing some tea for the night, Gobi," he informed the shaggy dog. "I need something to indulge in while I repair my armor, and work on the latest weapons. I need to finish Infusing that dagger with Returning Weapon, then find a way to bolster its lethality." A simple bone dagger would not kill much of his usual prey, but he could still see the utility in a thrown weapon that always returned to the hand.
The water had begun to boil. Pahuax raised the gray-tinted flask and carefully uncorked it, tipping the glass neck and letting a dollop of the gray fluid to fall into the water. Quickly, the water darkened considerably, and with the boiling heat the concoction had taken effect. It was ready for the trophy.
Pahuax reached to his side, plunging his hand into the Bag of Holding strapped there. With the bag's magic, he didn't need to rummage at all, and quickly withdrew his intended target. The trophy taken from the half-orc bandit who gave him a fitting hunt.
His severed head. Ripped straight from the body, after the huntsman impaled him on his wristblades. It was an ideal trophy to claim, from what his mentor always told him. A trophy was meant to remember the Hunt, and the prey, and what did that better than a severed head? However, the head itself wasn't what he wanted. He needed what lay below. And thus, he carefully set the head into the cauldron, submerging it into the boiling water. In an instant, flesh began to ooze and melt away from the head, as the caustic brew did its job. Aided by the boiling water, it would effortlessly strip the head clean, and leave the skull intact. That would join the wall of other trophies. Maybe it would go well underneath the displacer beast skull. Or perhaps even next to the owlbear claw.
With that, he set the lid over the cauldron, then worked quickly to fill the metal kettle with water too, setting it on the stove as well and setting it to boil. "…I knew I should have set the tea to boil before the head, Gobi." He told the dog, eyeing the metal kettle. "It seems Drohaz's instruction continues to elude me, even now."
Gobi simply yipped in response.
The tea was an excellent blend. A flavorful, lemony one that paired wondrously with the honey for sweetener.
Pahuax took another careful sip of the sweet, flavorful brew as he set the carved, stone mug down on his worktable. Settled in his workshop once more, the huntsman was ready to get some more work done before bed. He still needed to finish some hunting tools in progress and get started on some so they would be ready by tomorrow morning. While the tea was boiling, he had a look at the drying racks outside. As he suspected, he was low on meat, so he needed to hunt something. Hopefully, something big, like an owlbear. Pahuax almost found himself salivating at the thought, but he swiftly controlled himself.
The workshop itself was fashioned from what used to be a study. Where the hunters would gather and relax, with alcohol and conversations. He instead converted it into a place of preparations and reflection. Against the wall, adjacent to a crackling fireplace, his cluttered worktable rested. Bone tools in progress, open books, and so much more littered it, with sparse pockets of free space. A bookshelf rested next to it, filled with an assortment of curios, books, and more collected from around the forest, or left by Drohaz. Most of the original furniture rested in the room, including a leather chair facing the dormant fireplace. He saw no reason to vastly adjust the room. Besides, he liked the leather chair. It was nice to sit in and read before it was time to rest.
The huntsman moved to doff his armor, carefully slinging his breastplate over the armor rack next to the cluttered table. Next came his vambraces, both of which were set down on the table itself, so he could tune them up before bed. The rest of his armor was doffed and set upon the armor rack, as he changed into his nightclothes, a pair of comfortable hide shorts. The final piece of armor was doffed, and Pahuax looked towards a small mirror kept on the shelf. He eyed his small reflection and brought a hand up to smooth down the many black quill-like frills along the top of his head. It was funny; Drohaz always told him his head looked like a velociraptor's. A turkey-sized reptilian creature that hunted in packs and were exceptionally ruthless. Pahuax remembered finding one once in the forest, and he saw the resemblance personally, although it was covered in feathers. He wasn't. He also learned he bore the same sickle talon they did, though his was used for extra lethal when he chose to kick his prey. Which was exceptionally often. He was surprised with how many opportunities he had to do that.
With that, it was time for preparations. The huntsman sat down at the worktable, pushing away some of the clutter to clear space, as he placed both vambraces in front of him, along with his toolkit. The left was the first he pried open to have a look at, as the huntsman delicately inspected the retractable, internal mechanism inside, forged from sap-treated bone and wood to heighten their durability. Enclosing a miniaturized version of a crossbow's firing mechanism inside the vambrace itself was a risky move, but through his mentor's guidance, it worked well. It was Pahuax's idea, however, to turn it into a netgun, and his suggestion to try Infusing it with Repeating Shot. Needless to say, it was one of the few times he surprised his mentor with something that worked. Lizardfolk ingenuity was a boon, after all.
Thinking of that brought an amused hum from Pahuax, as the huntsman finished the turning, and moved to pick up a tiny leatherbound journal. He opened and thumbed through it quickly, finding the right page and setting it close by. A bone dagger was picked up, as well as a metal carving tool, and he worked to slowly etch along the blade. Tracing and trailing little glyphs into it with a steady, careful hand. His eyes darted to the opened page every few moments, ensuring he was planting the correct glyphs in place, before the work was finished, and he gently blew on the bone dagger, scattering the bone flecks.
Teal, runic glyphs lit up along the blade in response. Pahuax took the weapon into his hand and flung it by the blade, sending it into the wall across from him. The bone dagger flashed blue and appeared in his awaiting hand. The Infusion was applied properly. "I need to see all the utilities of a Returning Weapon," he thought aloud. The Infused weapon was set aside. Gobi perked up from his own little spot close to the dormant fireplace, giving a curious tilt of the head. "perhaps we can use it to kill prey from afar quietly. As much as I adore the Eldritch Cannon, it is not a quiet tool of the hunt." Gobi barked. Once again, Pahuax remained suspicious that Gobi could grasp what he was saying, but ultimately dismissed the thought.
He yawned. Perhaps he could sleep now and save the work for tomorrow. And that meant it was time for the visit before bed. "Come, Gobi." The dog perked up and walked over. The huntsman stood and plucked up his mug of tea. "It is time to visit, and then we can sleep for the night." He stepped out the workshop and down the hall. It took little time to reach the backdoor to the lodge and step through it, bringing him and Gobi outside.
Behind the lodge was a small "yard", with the forest's edge a mere few feet away from the rear of the lodge. And settled close to the forest's edge was a bone marker. For a grave.
"I am here, Drohaz." He spoke to the gravestone. He closed the door behind him and approached it. With how long his mentor passed, the soil was even again, and leafy green grass grown over it. He made certain to upkeep the bone marker as best he could, fixing it when it wore down, and replacing it when it needed to. Drohaz left him consistent final instruction before he passed, and Pahuax came to uphold one of those post-mortem instructions. To visit his grave every night before bed, and just…talk to it. It was an alien concept, even to him. The dead were dead, after all. However, Drohaz instructed him to do so regardless. He stated that it would help him. Put him at ease.
So, Pahuax knelt before the grave. Gobi sat next to him, the hound's tail thumping against the grassy floor. "Things are going well, Drohaz," he began. "I have done well to study the things you have left me. The tomes you kept on Artificing, and the book you translated for me, from your own alien tongue. It is hard to grasp at times, but I will figure it out, rest assured." He stated firmly. "I did finish the invention you saw before your passing. The Eldritch Cannon. I created it from the schematics left in the Artificing book and used your own Psionic Seals to tune the weapon to my very thoughts. Because of that, it can move and fire almost autonomously, but it can only be used if my helmet is on." He took a slow drink of his tea. "…as a failsafe. The weapon is controlled by my thoughts, after all. I deduced it would be unwise to give it a means to be used against me, should someone manage to rip it from my shoulder and aim it my direction." Some prey was crafty, after all. Like humans and halflings.
Another drink of tea was taken. "Your Psionic Seals are complicated, Drohaz. I do not fully grasp them, even with how intently I have studied the translated book. Just…psionic abilities, meant to be imbued into living flesh, yet instead you taught me how to inscribe them into my armor. And now, I have managed to inscribe one or two myself, albeit weaker versions of what they are meant to be." He shook his head. "Not like the ones you personally imbued into my armor yourself, like Nomadic Chameleon and Third Eye." The former being his source of invisibility, albeit limited. Keen-eyed prey could still see him. The latter was just allowing him to see unseen prey himself. Like a watered-down version of truesight, within a finite range.
"I suppose these are more boons I must bring back to the tribe. Once I have amassed all the information I need." He said, his eyes drawn to his mug of tea. The swirling, gold-tinted sweet brew that became a fixation of his this far from the Skullsworn.
"…I do worry, Drohaz," he said. "that the tribe may not accept me back. The elders always made it clear that a lizardfolk who finds himself seduced by the comforts of civilization will lose himself in the process. Comfort breeds weakness is what the chieftain used to always say. I do not believe I have been seduced by the temptations of civility, but…" he exhaled, then shook his head. "it will be fine. You have assured me as such when you were still here, and so I shall make it so." He declared to himself, then rose. Gobi perked up as well, mirroring his actions. "Thank you, Drohaz. For everything. We will speak again tomorrow."
And with that, he returned to the lair, his mind not at ease just yet.
Morning was a peaceful time.
Pahuax sat on the porch to the lodge, his stone mug in hand as he stared off towards the forest. Resting in one of the leather chairs from the study, the huntsman enjoyed the morning, as he watched coppery sunlight trickle between the trees, as the sun steadily rose. The air was still and quiet, with most of the forest's fauna waking up, ready to begin their own days.
Another sip, and another low breath. He looked away from the trees and towards Gobi, who ran around the clearing without a care in the world. Pahuax almost envied the hound in that regard. Just unabashed joy and happiness at being alive. The envy faded as quickly as it came. Envy was for those who lacked the means to obtain what they wanted. One of the first lessons Drohaz taught him.
For the time being, it was time to go hunting. The drying rack needed to be restocked, so he would have dried meat for when the winter came. He lacked a Psionic Seal to prevent cold from hurting him, so the less he was out and about during that time, the better.
"Gobi," he called the hound, halting him from his fun. "Come." He opened the door and stepped through it, waiting for half a second before Gobi sprinted through it, still as energetic as ever. That energy would be appreciated, considering they were after small game today. The front door was closed, and the huntsman moved to the workshop. His armor was plucked from the rack and steadily donned. The Eldritch Cannon was re-slotted onto its bone arm, ready to be used, now with an upgrade he gave it shortly before bed: he affixed a bone trinket to it. Normally meant to shed light within a few feet, he instead tweaked it to shine a fine, bright dot towards a target from far away. It would make it considerably easier to judge his shots with the weapon. Or, if the need arose, further intimidate the unworthy prey into fleeing.
The final thing he slid on was his helmet. Everything was on, and so he brought his arm up. The protective casing of his vambrace was lifted, revealing a selection of orange-colored glyphs embedded into a rectangular bone base. He tapped one, and the orange glow intensified, and he watched his arm vanish, as did the rest of him. Nomadic Chameleon was active, rendering him next to invisible. He always did a check to make sure the seals were working every time he donned his armor, lest he assume they were working, and go into a hunt without their boons.
"Gobi." He called. He waited for less than a minute before the dog came running in, as energetic as ever. Pahuax knelt to grab Gobi's bone vest from the side of the worktable. "Hold still. You need your armor too." He laid it on the ground, and carefully worked to slot Gobi's legs through it. As ever, the hound was too energetic, making the process take longer than he wanted to. Finally, he clicked it into place, leaving Gobi wearing a small harness, with some bone plating layered over it for protection. Not to mention, a Bag of Holding was affixed to the side, just in case. Everything was where it needed to be, and so the huntsman departed from the workshop and towards the front door.
His fingers touched the brass knob, just as a thought came to him. "Oh," he muttered, then stepped away from the door. "we need to check on the relic. Ensure it is still safe." Instead of leaving immediately, Pahuax navigated through the lair to reach the basement. Cleared out and empty, the only thing left in the room was a bone pedestal erected in the room's center. And placed atop it was a curio Drohaz issued him explicit orders to protect: the Runestone.
The size of a large tome and forged from obsidian rock. It was jagged, someone ripped it from something far larger. A large green glyph was etched into its front, not unlike the Psionic Seals he had gotten used to, one that brightened and dimmed a low green color. Like a beating heart. Out of all the instruction Drohaz gave before he passed, the one he stressed the most was that the Runestone needed to be protected at all costs, and not allowed to fall into the wrong hands. His mentor never specified what would happen if the Runestone was taken, but he could only assume it was extremely bad. So, it was another reason he didn't return home immediately. Not until he could ensure its safety. Or, better yet, deduce just why it was so important to Drohaz in the first place, and why he was so stringent on it being hidden.
None the less, he knew to uphold that key instruction, and he gave the room an intense once over before nodding, then resuming his departure. Maybe once he gained a better grasp of Artificing, he could leave something down there to protect the Runestone properly. But until then, he was the first, and only, line of defense for it.
And he would ensure no one lived to even see it.
The hunt was fruitful today.
Pahuax trekked through the forest thicket, cradling an elk across his shoulder, with Gobi walking alongside him. He spent much of the day out and about, both scouring for ideal game to feed on, and more baubles to add to his collection of knowledge. He found the former earlier, but unfortunately no signs of the latter. The huntsman supposed the usual travelers weren't moving through the forest today. That, or they were perhaps taking different routes. Dealing with the wildlife and bandits perhaps got exhausting, even if the latter were reduced in number. For the time being, at least.
The huntsman continued his trek, keeping the elk close as Gobi began to tread ahead, earnestly sniffing everything he could find. Once more, the hound proved his worth in locating the beast. From there, a simple ambush and saber to the chest ended the elk. The hound would get the dried bones to toy with, as a treat, and after Pahuax ate his own fill, the rest was going to be diced up, cooked, and dried for storage in the basement.
And with it being the early afternoon, there was still ample time to hunt something else. Something fitting, this time.
They passed through the tree line, bringing them to the lair once more. Pahuax paused, as his eyes studied the front door. The ajar front door, that he closed before he left. In an instant, the huntsman dropped the elk's body to the ground and drew his hunting saber. "Gobi," he firmly commanded the hound. "stay." He hissed between clenched teeth, as he approached the door and passed through it, into the foyer.
"Like, there's so much stuff here!" He heard a faint voice. Distant, but still in the lodge. "What kinda weirdo lives here?! An inventor?"
"Focus, Tristen. We shouldn't stay here any longer than we need to. Especially since we don't know what calls this place home."
"But LOOK at this stuff! It'd sell for a fortune back at the city!" He deduced that they were in his workshop. Pahuax opened his vambrace and tapped the seal, turning himself invisible as he trekked through the lodge and towards the workshop. Like the front door, the door was ajar, allowing him to easily peer into it.
Two people stood at his worktable. Two intruders. The first he recognized as a scrawny, short human man. He wore a padded cloth vest with form fitting cloth pants. His arms were left bare, with a set of fingerless cloth gloves over his hands. A pair of worn leather boots covered his feet, with a leather belt laden with tools attached to his waist. He had a very youthful face, with short brown hair and bright blue eyes, like he was little more than a boy playing hero. Two daggers dangled from his belt, among other tools, as he casually and flippantly held one of the huntsman's bone daggers. One he recently Infused. "I mean, that wizard didn't say we couldn't loot beforehand. Besides, he said we're getting paid when the job's done. What about now?" He spoke in a very dismissive, youthful voice. Like the gravity of the situation hadn't fully weighed on him.
"We're getting plenty as is," came the voice of his cohort. A firm, stern voice. She stood taller than him and wore rugged, form-fitting studded leather armor. An obscuring cloth hood was over her head, shrouding her face, but when she moved slightly, Pahuax caught a flicker of ghostly pale skin, and a set of glowing red eyes underneath that hood. A rapier was sheathed at her side, with a longsword resting on her back, suggesting she was the more experienced between the two. The more dangerous one. "and you misheard Sumner. We'd be compensated for each job, with a greater sum when we're finished. So, we need to stay focused and leave. Before we find out just what calls this place home."
"Aw c'mon! Look at this stuff!" The rogue gestured to his inventions and tools in progress. He moved to set something down so he could round the table and snatch up a hollow bone needle.
Pahuax realized the rogue just set down the Runestone. They were trying to steal the damned Runestone! Not only did they defile his abode and trek about as if they owned the place but were in the process of stealing the Runestone! The one thing he was sworn to protect! There was no time to waste. No time to delay! Both needed to die.
The Eldritch Cannon lifted, and finally he had a chance to test the light, as a teal blue dot flickered to life. It rested on the Runestone for a moment, following his gaze and his mental commands, before it slowly moved to rest on the rogue's hand, as he messed with one of the books. "Eh?" He paused from fiddling with one of Pahuax's books and eyed the glowing dot. "What is this? Nox, this one of your usual tricks?"
"Do wha…" she trailed off, her red eyes on the dot. Her nose wrinkled, her eyes narrowed, before they darted his way. She could sense his presence, and so he had to act. "Get down!" She grabbed him by the scruff of his vest and yanked him aside just as the force blast flew, striking the corner of the table and scattering things everywhere as she flung the rogue across the room and out of the way.
"WHOA! What's going on—"
"I found the one who lives here," she hissed between clenched teeth. Clenched fangs, even. "and I don't think he's happy about us being here." Pahuax stepped into the room proper, blocking the doorway with his invisible bulk. She moved to plant herself in front of the prone rogue, her eyes glued to his visage. He knew keen-eyed foes could still perceive his location, but something about the way she stared. Like she could effortlessly still see where he was.
"Fuckin'…augh…" the rogue rolled and sat up. He seemingly muttered something, before his eyes glowed a brilliant blue color. "Whoa! A lizardfolk?!" He cried, as he got to his feet. "No way a lizardfolk did all this; aren't they a buncha backwards swamp morons?" He flippantly referred to his kin. "Either way, Nox, I see it. And yeah, you're right. He's not happy…I-I think. Can't exactly tell with the whole lizard thing."
"Well then do something. If he can turn invisible, there's no telling what else he can do." Pahuax didn't bother freeing his wristblades. The saber would be enough. The huntsman advanced into the workshop proper, maintaining his invisibility as he approached the two intruders. "Use one of your fancy rogue spells."
He scoffed. "Firstly, I'm an Arcane Trickster…because I stole that wizard's spellbook and learned magic ain't that hard. Secondly, I only memorized a few spells, like See Invisibility and, y'know, Charm Person. I did learn a buncha cantrips, but—"
His fist met the rogue's jaw with a crack, sending him crashing against the wall. "Awgggh…mhy jhawww…" he whimpered. Almost pathetically. As he suspected, he was a boy playing hero.
Something lashed across his back. Something that burned. A furious snarl escaped Pahuax's maw, and he whirled around, seeing the other intruder standing there, clutching her rapier. One that was enflamed. While his armor absorbed the burning slash's damage, it was enough to cause his invisibility to flicker, and to reveal him to the intruders. "Found you." She hissed. The blade was swung again, and Pahuax met it with his saber, as the two clashed and fought in his workshop. Annoyingly, she was a gifted fighter, able to effortlessly match his strikes, parrying the stronger ones and dodging past the weaker ones.
He drove his knee upwards, and she sidestepped the attack. She raised her rapier and plunged it into his thigh, causing unfathomable pain to erupt through the huntsman's form, as he roared in pain. "Get the Runestone and get outside, Tristen," she instructed the rogue. "I'll slow him down."
"Why? Whe're whinning!" He exclaimed, clutching his bruised jaw. "Owwww…y-yha ghot—" she tossed him a health potion in the blink of an eye. The rogue uncorked and downed the ruby red drink, as Pahuax's attention remained on the other. The one he couldn't get a read on. "Ahhh…much better! Now, as I was saying—" Pahuax swished his saber upwards, striking the rapier from his foe's hand. His foot met her stomach, kicking her against the wall, and in that same instant he withdrew his wristblades, locking them into place and raising his bladed arm above his head. "Oh crap! Hang on, I got an idea!" Out the corner of his eye, he saw the rogue swing his hands together, and his mouth move. The next second was agony, as thunderous force struck him from behind, sending him crashing against the wall. His ears rang, his body ached, and his head throbbed. His vision unblurred, and he realized his workshop was devastated. The table destroyed, the shelves destroyed. It was all ruined!
"…oh right." The rogue muttered. "Thunderwave…does a lot of damage." The rogue was still standing, with a confused look on his face.
"Grr…no shit, idiot," the other rose to her feet, bracing herself against the wall. "I told you never to cast that when one of us is nearby! It damages everyone!"
"W-Well, I'm still getting the hang of these spells. P-Plus, it stopped the lizard, so that's good, right?"
Pahuax staggered to his feet, quieting the throbbing pain to his head, as he reached down to collect his saber, clutching it tightly in his off-hand. The other foe sighed. "Well apparently not. He's still standing! And he's—" Rapid footsteps caught his attention. Pahuax turned his head just as Gobi came sprinting through the door, and the hound planted himself in front of the huntsman, frantically barking his head off at the two intruders. "…got a dog."
"…so? It's just a dog." The rogue huffed. "Look, this lizard's stuff can sell for a lot, so why don't we just kill him, swipe it, and profit? You can even do your blood-thing with the dog. No one'll care."
"You will not harm Gobi." Pahuax finally snarled, advancing towards the two. Pained be damned. They were going to die. The Eldritch Cannon charged crackling force energy, with the teal laser centered on the rogue's chest. "And you will not leave here with the Runestone."
"Oh yeah? You're already busted up pretty badly. What're you gonna do—"
"Get out the way you idiot—" She shoved him. The blast fired. And the charged blast of force energy struck her shoulder, tearing through her shoulder and blowing it apart. She collapsed against the wall, clutching her ruined shoulder, as the cloth hood fell back at last.
He confirmed at last she wasn't human. Lilac hair spilled down to her shoulders, her eyes were black with her pupils a glowing red, and her skin was as pale as bedsheets. Most importantly, as haggard breaths left her, he saw several of her teeth were elongated. Like fangs. She was a damned dhampir.
"…oh crap." The rogue fumbled to wrench something from his pocket. It was a gilded, gold Amulet, one bearing a signet he couldn't recognize. The terrified boy clenched his hand, and the Runestone flew from the destroyed table and into his hand, before he crouched next to the critically wounded dhampir, clutching the amulet tightly. "To Gauntla!"
Pahuax swung his blades downwards, only for his vision to blur. Blur, distort, twist and more. Dazzling colors hurtled and swirled around him, at a breathtaking pace, as a wave of nausea overcame the huntsman for a moment. Within a few long seconds, it was done…and he was not in the lair.
Now, he stood on a wide, stone platform, with a myriad of runic glyphs etched along its sprawling surface. Beyond it, he realized he was in some sort of highly furnished room, like a castle keep. Regardless, he wasn't at home. And judging from the confused growling nearby, neither was Gobi. He was relieved the hound was still with him, but concerned as to where they were taken.
"…oh fuck." His eyes darted back to the terrified rogue, who stared up at him with wide eyes. "T-T-That bastard wizard never said the amulet teleports anyone! I thought it would just be us!" The urge to kill the boy persisted, but instead he sheathed his saber, and reached down to snatch the Runestone from him. "H-Hey! We need that—"
"You stole this from me." He curtly said. "And now I claim it back." He reached up to retract his wristblades as well, now no longer caring for the intruders. How could he? They whisked him away, to somewhere else. Somewhere he didn't know. Somewhere far from home.
"Ah, so you own the Runestone." A new voice spoke. A warning hiss came, and he turned towards a set of double doors. Doors that were parted, as a new face stepped inside. A human man, he bore a tall, lanky frame, and came dressed in armored, yellow robes. A pointed, yellow hat rested atop his head, and a winding white beard stretched down to his chest. His hands rested behind his back, and as he approached, Pahuax saw the man's eyes were devoid of pupils. "And something tells me this," he gestured to the terrified rogue and the wounded dhampir. "was reactive over proactive. Defensive, rather offensive."
"The Runestone is not your concern." He growled, clutching the relic. "Where am I? And who are you?" He made certain to frame that as both a question and a readied threat.
"I can answer both questions at once. I am Sumner, High King of Gauntla. And that's where you are presently." He gestured to a window on his right. Reluctantly, he glanced through it.
And glanced upon a massive city. Stone buildings of all sizes stretched further than the eye could see, far more sophisticated than anything he had ever seen in his whole life. It made his own home village look tiny in comparison, and that was large enough to surround a lake! He never even heard of a place called Gauntla before but seeing the massive city personally…it was daunting. Utterly daunting.
His eyes returned to the robed man. The High King of the place. "Those two over there, you sent them to steal from me? To pilfer what I have been told to protect?"
"I sent them to recover the Runestone, yes," he said. "and if was in someone's hands, negotiate its safe release. And as I said, it sounds like you were defending it, rather than trying outwardly to kill them."
"And what gives you that idea?" He questioned, prodding at the man's statement.
"Because you would have tried to finish the job even when you were brought here. Instead, your priority was reclaiming the Runestone, which supports what you said. You're trying to protect it."
"From the wrong hands." He confirmed. "Are you?"
The man stared up at him. His hands returned to resting behind his back. "No," he finally said. "but there's something you need to see. I can assure you; no harm will come to you."
Pahuax regarded his offer for a moment. "Gobi," he called, prompting the hound to come bounding over, clinging to his side once more. His eyes returned to the robed man. "if this is a trap…"
"It isn't." His eyes turned to the two who brought him. "Tristen, get Nox over to Durlock. Have him heal her. We'll discuss this when I'm done." The man turned to leave. Reluctantly, he followed.
The huntsman found himself treading down a spacious hallway. Furnished and ornate looking, it was fancier than anything he had seen before, but he didn't let his wonderment detract from his caution. He was in unfamiliar territory. "So," the man spoke. "let me be the first to apologize. For the two adventurers I've hired attacking you, and for Tristen to unexpectantly teleport you all the way back here. I've warned him before, the Amulets of Recall should only be used in an open space. Away from enemies. Otherwise, they get whisked back here, and you can understand how troublesome that can be."
"Mhm." Pahuax grunted. "And why did you send them?"
"Because I've put together a team of adventurers, from across Faerun, to handle a discrete quest. One that's exceptionally risky, but one with great importance to me." He came to a stop outside a room, then gestured to the doorway. "Here we go. This should put things into better perspective." Cautious, Pahuax approached and poked his head into the room.
The interior was considerably smaller than the other, and it also bore a runic stone floor. More importantly, two Runestones rested on it! Pressed against one another, they rested in the floor, and bore the same pulsating glow his own did. The sight was baffling, and he found himself stealing glances between his own Runestone and the two extras, resting on the ground. "…what madness is this?" Pahuax questioned the man.
"No madness. There are thirteen Runestones in total, not simply one. Alone, they are useless aside from being interesting conversational pieces, but together," he gestured to the Runestone in his hands. "you pave the way to something wonderous."
It clicked. "You have hired these adventurers to collect and find all the Runestones," he finally stated. "but for what?"
"Because with all Thirteen Runestones of the Realms, one can utilize an advanced form of Plane Shift. One that allows one to traverse to any plane in existence, including demiplanes. And in one of those demiplanes rests my goal." The man curled his finger, and the door closed. "Where an evil demon Skorne rests."
"And why do you covet a demon's realm?"
"Because he currently holds my brother's soul." The man sighed. "Decades ago, in an ancient time, my brother, Garn, tried to use the power of the Runestones to summon forth a mighty demon, with plans to tether his power to his. This demon, Skorne, arrived in the mortal plane with enough power to resist the relic my brother tried to use, then kill him. Out of malice for even attempting to usurp his powers, Skrone imprisoned my brother's soul in his demiplane, separate from the planes at large, and scattered the Runestones, to ensure no one could try the same tactic." He sighed. "Every attempt I made to breach Skorne's demiplane ended in failure. No matter how powerful I became, breaching the demon's realm proved impossible. So," his pupilless eyes focused on the Runestone in Pahuax's hand. "I was given no choice but to repeat my brother's ritual, but instead of bringing Skorne here, I planned to travel to his plane, and get my brother's soul back." He was determined to save his sibling. Considering a demon held his soul, Pahuax could see why. There was no way for it to pass on unless it was freed.
"Why inform me of this?" The huntsman asked.
"Because I've promised considerable things to the adventurers in my service, in exchange for undertaking this perilous task. Promises I intend to fulfill when all is said and done. So, I offer you the same deal. Aid them in finding the Runestones, and I will grant your greatest wishes, lizardfolk."
That was enough to bring him pause. Naturally, he was skeptical to trust the man's words, but at the same time, things did feel like a misunderstanding. And his goals were altruistic. Besides, the promise of anything he sought was tempting. Including the knowledge he needed to bring back to the tribe.
"And if I accept," he questioned. "will I be expected to work with the two I fought?" He suspected there would be some bad blood there.
"You may, but rest assured, it'll be fine. I know Nox well enough to know she doesn't normally hold grudges…and Tristen was instructed to talk things out anyhow, so he knows better. I will admit, this is a dangerous quest. With the odds of you not returning to us."
"It is a threat I face with every hunt." He stated. "And one I have made peace with…fine. Gobi and I will join your quest. In exchange, I covet all the knowledge this city has to offer, so I can aid my tribe."
"It will be done…and thank you. I meant to ask, though, what is your name? If you are to be working with me for this great task, it seems wise to know your name."
He nodded, his mind finally at ease. "Pahuax, of the Skullsworn, and when does my Hunt begin?"
(So, here's a redux and re-upload of a story I've done here a long time ago. I opted to come back to it a long time later and really spice it up, producing this redo. I hope you'll enjoy it. This story's been one I've wanted to do here for a long time!)