Maria might have trouble returning this dress.

She also sort of missed beasts now. They never threw fire at her.

And speaking of fire, she should stop procrastinating on making pistols and cartridges.

All these regrets flashed through Maria's mind as she threw herself in a roll, then another roll as she felt more heat. There was an explosion behind her as the remaining bottles of oil on Demon Lionel's headless corpse boil and caught in the heat.

Rising smoothly to her feet, she lunged at him, her blade leading. Even as she crossed all the distance between then in a heartbeat, his burning blade was moving, and she felt her sword parried aside. Still, she caught the look of surprise on his face, having not expected her speed, but apparently he was skilled enough his body had moved on its own.

She could do that too. Even as her longsword was thrust aside, her offhand snapped up in a diagonal slash. This time it was he who threw himself in a roll, evading her blade, and she followed mercilessly, slashing down with both blades. She missed as he managed to move out of the way, and she had to dart back as he conjured a wave of fire at her, erupting so forcefully it seemed to propel him forward even as it drove her back.

Maria flashed back to her moth– no, she flashed back to the woman who had begat her in Cainhurst, and despite the lack of blood in the air to rend her, she knew distaste.

Maria grit her teeth, closed her eyes, and lunged, both blades before her. Her sweat flashed into steam as she dove into the flame, protecting her for precious moments, an then she was through, he long sword biting into something fleshy and she added an extra thrust from her shoulders, making the blade bite deep.

She jumped, her body moving instinctively as the smell of charred hair finally reached her nose. There was a burning fluttering as the flaming sword passed through where she'd been, only to be interrupted as her jump wrenched her sword upward, tearing through the flesh it was in. There was a cry. Her sword struck bone, and she twisted in midair, using the axial rotation to wrench her sword out, tearing the wound open. The familiar smell of blood filled the air as another cry burst out.

Maria landed behind her foe, but before she could spin and cleave his spine in a backhanded cut, he exploded in flames. Force and heat erupted in all directions, charring the ground, forcing her back, charring her apron. Maria flowed with the force, dropping into a roll. Thankfully the charring hadn't caught flame, and neither had the dress, but Maria made silent apology to the poor maid whose uniform she had ruined.

Her off-hand flashed to her belt pouch. Only three knives left from Rufus. She drew it, the move not made awkward by the short sword in that hand. After all, she was a hunter.

She was so tired…

She threw into the mass of fire, but was rewarded with the sound of metal on metal. There was a roar and heat as flame erupted as if from a dragon's throat.

To her surprise, her opponent flew at her, almost as fast as Maria herself, fire erupting from his back, sword tucked back and low as if in a sheath. He swung, and with the swing came force and fire.

Maria spun and leapt, the fire, force and sword passing beneath and shattering the tree that had hidden the Earth Magic wielder earlier. The entire tree immediately caught fire as it fell. Maria flipped to change direction and landed on the roof of the farmhouse. The sole living bowman there, his ruined elbow keeping frim from drawing his bow, stared at her in horror only long enough for her to pierce his throat with her blade. She gently brought him down, and with a light step, she leapt over the peak of the foot and crouched low.

As she rubbed at her face, making charred eyebrows and lashes fall off, calling her eldritch light to heal herself, she heard a roar of rage.

"Coward! Where are you, woman? I will char your skin to coal and use your fat as candles!"

Ah. The tree hadn't fallen on him. What a pity.

For a moment, she lay there as he raged. Already she could feel the treacherous shadow of tiredness creeping at her as her body whispered how it would be so pleasant to rest for a little while… and maybe a little longer…

She rubbed her eyes, ignoring how they wanted to close. She had a duty. She had to keep going.

Silently, she crept toward the peak of the roof. Ashmore was still shouting and was living up to his name as he set fire to the closest field, perhaps suspecting she had run there. Maria sheathed her bade, tucking the shortsword into her belt in lieu of anything else, and with familiar cautious, silent movements, she crept back to the other side of the roof and towards one of the fallen bowmen, using Ashmore's voice as a reference to keep the burning tree, blindingly bright, between the two of them.

Maria picked up the nearest bow, and frowned in disapproval. It was obviously badly cared for. She quickly cast her eyes about. One of the bowmen had seemingly dropped her bow and had it fall off the roof when he died, the other had fallen on his, and it appeared to be in better condition.

She took the quiver of the men and knocked an arrow. Hunters generally did not use bows. They were slow, weak, and, most importantly, did not stop beats, where was what mattered. But Maria of Cainhurst had been a noble, and had been taught. And Ashmore was merely a man, like any other.

Maria fired into the fields, getting a sense of the bow, noting its destination. Its destination soon caught fire as if Ashmore had seen the brief, flickering movement. His voice roared again, insulting her mother, her father, her species, her choice in lovers, all the usual nonsense.

Maria honed in on his voice and loosed.

It was not as swift on the reload as her old friend, but Maria managed to loose three more arrows, at least one drawing a cry of pain, before a ball of fire was thrown at her. Maria threw herself to the other side of the roof, rolling and falling off, and hitting the ground. The ground hit back, which hurt as Maria rolled to a stop next to what she found was the farm's well.

Maria winced, and looked down at her bow, snapped at the fall. There was a sound, and she instinctively drew her short sword.

A naked girl of Ashina-descent, seemingly Maria's age, was crouched over a basin of soapy water, apparently washing garments. She stared at Maria with frightened eyes. Pained eyes.

Burns shaped like hands covered her arms, her hips, her belly, her legs, and even in between. From a metal collar around her neck ran a chain that connected to a ring set into the side of the well.

Maria heard Ashmore's cry of rage coming towards her, heard his footsteps and she called her eldritch light, reaching for the girl.

Her hand covered the girl's mouth, stifling any cry, and Maria reached into the basin and flung one of the clothes in it over the woman's face, blinding her.

Then Maria hid.

She heard Ashmore's footsteps, felt his heat. His magic was strong, for him to be able to use it with such fury, for so long. She dearly missed her sweet Evelyn.

"Where is she?" she heard him rage. Close. He was close. "Speak wench! Where is she? You must have seen her!" He then barked several nonsensical sounds. The tongue of Ashina?

Maria felt the heat, saw the change of shadows in her hiding place.

The girl said something in the same Ashina tongue in tearful, fearful tones. Ashmore snarled, and fire flared. Maria saw the shadows change again and had a premonition.

With hands and feet, she launched herself out of the well, into an undefended Ashmore's side as he held his blade high to strike the girl down in petty anger. Her short sword entered under his ribs, rising up into her heart. In the other, she held a throwing knife. It slammed into the base of his skull, through his spine, and into his brain before the blade broke from the hilt.

Ashmore erupted in fire.

Closing her eyes, Maria twisted her whole body and threw Ashmore into the well. She heard him strike the stone coping, felt the short sword ripped from her hands. Yet heat still burned and she realized her clothes had caught alight. Distantly, she heard a splash as Ashmore hit bottom.

Then someone threw a large, wet piece of cloth on her. A moment later, a basin of soapy water and clothes doused the flames.

Kent Ashmore, The Fiery Ryu of the West

(_._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._)

Lady Maria Campbell, The Wandering Knight of Sorcier

(▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓_._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._._)

PREY SLAUGHTERED

Achivement Unlocked: 'Ryu' Slayer
Defeated Kent Ashmore

Dark Soul of a Vile Criminal
Soul of a vile criminal who profited off the suffering and degradation of others. He fancied himself a dragon, only to forget that the fate of a monstrous dragon is to be struck down by a noble hero.

Consumed to strengthen your soul. (+8999 Souls)

The Dark Soul is the source of all life, and even without undeath or hollowing, the Dark Soul seeks Dark Souls.