Echoes - A Tale From Allegro

A short story that takes place in a friend's world, Allegro, that she created and we use for playing Dungeons And Dragons. It's about a Hunter of monsters taking a special contract.

The air was still, the snowfall had stopped and was now a pristine blanket draped through the forest. The trip north to Fort Rend had taken much longer than I had anticipated. Knowing we were close to our destination was fairly simple. Stone walls began rising from the horizon at a shocking distance away. I had finally arrived in Fort Rend, the main defensive Fort along the Baphome Mountain range, looking for work.  

When choosing locations to travel to once my training had finished, the mountains were a solid choice as news of the ever growing Orc population would result in regular contracts.  

While the Fort had a fairly diverse community, many stared, having not seen my kind before, a surprising number of people though recognized the emblem engraved on the hilt of the silver sword. This proved to me that our contact in the Worldsongs was doing his job, spreading the stories of The Venari, the corrupted monster hunters. But while they knew enough about me, the only thing I knew about our bard friend was his name, Feng. 

The Dreven soldiers stationed at the large gate were decent enough to point me in the direction of Feng, turns out there was a small stage near the marketplace at the far end of the Fort. It was legitimately surprising to find Feng was a Half-Orc with a thing for garish clothes. He was doing a “show” with elaborate hand puppets for a few street children, once he noticed me, he stood from behind his little puppet stage, revealing his almost Goliath height and his, “vibrant vermillion vestments” as he later put it. 

He began yelling across the crowd, “Ah, Miss Mishann Nemmonis I presume!” Giving an exaggerated bow, “I was told you were arriving, just not so soon!” 

A couple dozen eyes all fell on me as I cringed at hearing my full name. “Just Mis please,” I called back, “Just call me Mis.” 

Feng waved me over and I was already regretting this decision as he then continued. I could hear giggling next to me and a pat on the back as I walked to the stage. 

“Mis here is a GREAT Hunter of evil!” He bellowed, puffing out his chest, a bit of hair poking out of the V neck cut of his tunic. “A Dragonborn of Copper scales dear children, which means to not get her angry.” Feng put his hand to his mouth, “She may breathe acid on ya!” He mimed a heavy breath, multi-colour streamers burst from his sleeve. The crowd applauded, but many proceeded to give me more space as I approached the stage. “But fret not dear children, for she is also...” He gave a dramatic pause, then in a loud whisper, “A blade of The Venari!” Feng leaned down to take my hand, helping me onto the makeshift stage, whispering in my ear, “That’ll be another five gold of influence.” 

I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. Sadly he continued, continuing to rope in the audience. “Now how can you tell dear friends if one is of The Venari?” His hand dramatically cupped his ear. 

Murmurs from the crowd were a mix of “emblem”, “silver”, “hunt”, and “apprentice”. All things listed were correct. There were however, other keywords that I did not hear from the children. I feel Feng had strategically left out the more mature parts of our work like blood, devils, curses, and death. 

Regardless of the more disturbing aspects of it, I do not regret any decisions I made in leaving my training as a Monk to join the hunt. My family had been killed and then had returned undead in the Calamity of Rangur. During my mourning, I had heard of a group forming to hunt down such evil, there was no option for my own sanity but to pursue joining their ranks. 

Through a few years of hard work, dedication, and training at the hands of Master Alexander, I was ready to risk my life. With no hesitation, I drank the Hunter’s Bane. I had lived through the corruption, becoming a true member of The Venari. I was the only survivor of the Hunter’s Bane that year. 

I snapped back into the present, having not missed a thing. Feng had continued with his dramatics and closed off with a positive story for the children, a story of how a man heroically saved a child from a burning building. 

Feng invited me to his quarters, its decorations as obnoxious to look at as his clothes, clearly a man who not just played the Jester, but lived and breathed as one. 

“Make yourself at home” He said, gesturing to a set of three wicker chairs around a table covered in pages of music and other writings. When taking my boots off was when I noticed Feng had been barefoot the whole time. I had heard of Worldsongs going barefoot as part of their dedication to their beliefs, but I never believed even in this place, where it was still getting snow when the rest of the world was well into spring, a place of stone, morning frost, and chicken s**t, that anyone would choose to forego footwear. 

I placed my pack on the floor and sat in a chair. Feng brought over two glasses of what I found out was the only Orcish brew I could keep down. He sat down across from me and began cleaning a pair of glasses. He leaned towards me, “Thank Mother I was right that was you out there.” He put them on, the nose rest seemingly designed with his Orcish nose in mind. “I seem to be getting a bad case of age. You looked more like two grey blobs than a Hunter who takes themselves way to seriously.” He let out a hearty laugh followed by a deep scathing cough. It’s not something you actively think about, how his kind live much shorter lives than many of the other races of the world, I was probably years older than him yet still considered to be just reaching adulthood. 

Trying to not get defensive about his remark, I opted for being polite. “Sorry if I wasn’t engaging enough on stage, I’m clearly not a people person.” I reached for my coin purse. “You mentioned gold right?” 

Feng, with a reaction speed that could put myself to shame, reached across the space between us to lightly put his hand on mine, “Oh no, no.” Shaking his head, “That was just some fun.” He pulled his hand away, a large smile across his face. “This area has seen enough violence to give Yomi shivers. I’m just a simple madman when it comes to getting a laugh. That’s also why I thought to come here to lighten things up in such a dark place and time.” I could sense his jovial tone had been of skill and discipline, not of being the Jester I previously thought. He continued, “But that’s where you thrive, don’t you?” 

He was right, we solved problems, people died. The key thing is, don’t think about it. I simply replied. “The Venari thank you for helping us spread the word of our work. I did bring actual compensation for you-” 

Feng held up his hand to stop me and with effort, stood from his chair. “You keep the gold. I actually have something to ask of you.” He said, crossing his arms. I had known him for less than an hour and could tell this was personal. My curiosity peaked, I leaned forward, there was no hint of his calculated Fool persona in his voice. “There is something happening in one of the northern settlements, Fort Whiteguard, it sits near the base of Mount Zorum.” Despite his massive stature, his bare feet made little sound as he began pacing, years of being light on his feet. “At least a dozen Orphans over the last six months have wandered here with the regular supply caravan and the supply orders for the fort are getting smaller each month. What unsettles me is that the orphans seem to have no hardened look of someone who has spent their whole life fighting for survival, or the more common look of emptiness from losing family. I ask them who their family or parents are and each one says they never had any.” 

I leaned back in my chair, nearly letting out a chuckle. “You want me to trek up north further, all because a few kids aren’t reacting to trauma?” I couldn’t help but remember back to the countless distraught people fleeing from the North after the Calamity and snapped at him. “News flash, trauma affects people differently, that fort’s near Zorum right?” I emphasized Zorum’s nickname with air quotations. “The Mountain of Madness. Wouldn’t that explain everything you’re talking about?” I wasn’t aware that I had crossed my own arms till Feng kneeled down in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders. 

He let out a deep sigh and looked through his glasses, deeply into my eyes. “I can see the void in you too you know. I am telling you something evil is afoot and it is leading to more children who will become like you, another who has had part of them lost at the hands of something they cannot defend against. I’m simply asking you to investigate Whiteguard and do what the Venari do brilliantly in the stories I’ve told. Track down evil like the hunters you are and slay it before it spreads.” 

F*****g bards and their one real weapon. Words. 

The glasses of Orcish ale were finished and next thing I knew I was on the next supply run to Fort Whiteguard. The Bastion-era Fort in the north that these Orphans were flooding from.  

The three day venture had felt as long as the entire trip to Rend. The supplies being transported contained enough for 10 families for the next two weeks, I made sure to hunt for my share, was able to kill some easy game along the way, even earning some extra pay helping the caravan avoid a Yeti clan.  

It was a crisp clear day when the caravan finally arrived. You could tell even from a distance that Fort Whiteguard was ancient. Many of the walls were in disrepair regardless of their immaculate craftsmanship. I would have to assume Dwarves had built this to help defend Bastion from roaming Orc hordes in ages past. 

Once we were let in through the gate, I could actually feel something in the air. Begrudgingly I had to give Feng credit, after being in the area for just a moment I knew he was right, even the air was simply...wrong. 

The caravan of supplies stopped in the middle of the Fort where a group of about twenty people were waiting. Men, women, children, and Dreven soldiers all were waiting for us to arrive. The commanding officer of the fort stood at the front of the group, ready to receive. She was definitely military. Cropped black hair, covered mostly in military issue armour and various furs, with a nice face for a human. She pleasantly greeted the caravan driver and their usual helping hands, then she took note of me in the back. She didn’t look pleased at my presence. She made sure another guard was at her side as she approached me. 

I chose a pre-emptive tact and introduced myself first. “My name’s Mis” My hand went for a shake to be polite. 

Ignoring my hand, she responded. “Commander Lyra Moss of the Dreven 88th forward battalion.” Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword as she asked her question. “What’s your business here?” 

As I had told Feng, I am not a people person, let alone charismatic. “I’m a simple hunter, travelling north for some interesting kills.” 

She looked me over. It wasn’t a complete lie, and my equipment supported it, but I’m certain she saw through it. “This is not an Inn, but if you help with our food stores as compensation then I’ll allow it.” Her authoritative finger was pointed at my face, close enough to lick. “But anywhere that’s not your quarters or the common areas are off limits, understand?” 

I nodded. 

Without looking away from me, nudged the guard that had accompanied her. “Set this woman up with a room, any of the spare’s will do.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He responded. 

She gave me one last look over before going back to overseeing the supplies.  

The sconce lit hallways were as rustic as the exterior. The way the fort was set up seemed to be horseshoe shaped, with a single long corridor of rooms on the 2nd floor along the inner perimeter. 

“So how many rooms are there?” I asked, hoping to get some info.

  “There are 20 rooms ma’am.” 

“Damn, that is quite a bit of extra space. Must be just the skeleton crew here now with only the ten families.” 

The guard paused his march to look at me. “Ten families ma’am?” He sounded legitimately confused by that number. 

I repeated and elaborated that the order was for ten families. 

While he took a moment to process what I said, I glanced at some of the other doors. Many had a light layer of dust on the handle. 

The guard then continued his walk. “Commander Moss must have ordered extra in case of weather. There’s only been 9 families here the past few months.” 

“Few months...” I whispered to myself, checking each door handle we passed. 

My room was fully furnished, just smaller than a room at your average inn, two beds, two chests, a table, and a desk. 

“If you need anything ma’am, just ask one of the guard, or if there are any major complaints, you can take it up with Commander Moss at her office at the end of the hall.” He marched off before I could thank him. 

Once he was out of sight down the hall, I put my pack on the far bed and made my way quickly and quietly to Lyra’s office. I only had as long as they needed to sort the supplies and I had to see if there was a ledger on the residents here. 

To no surprise, the office was locked. Looking through the keyhole was useless as the lock was a heavy iron lock, no time to pick it and I was not skilled enough to get the key from Lyra. However, it seemed there was enough of a gap at the foot of the door that I had an idea.  

In my room on the desk was a small hand mirror, once I got it back to the office, I held the mirror to the gap under the door. Not the best view, but there was a bright rectangle of white light. A window. 

On my way out to the common area I swung by my room to grab anything I may need to climb from my pack. While putting the mirror back I noticed an engraving on the back. 

“To remind you how beautiful you are my love.”

 -Warren 

Multiple voices were yelling from the common area. Upon getting outside, the cloudless sky had been filled with an approaching storm. Lyra was between two men who themselves were being held back by guards. 

I felt a strong tension in my back around my shoulders, something wasn't right. While everyone was looking at the commotion, I looked around where no one had been watching. 

There was a figure by the Fort entrance, just watching the fight unfold. Whatever it was had noticed me and moved out of view. As much as I wanted to dash after it, I didn’t want to attract the attention of anyone, and I didn’t want to rush into something I didn’t fully prepare for. 

There was only one treaded path in the snow that moved away from the entrance that wasn’t in armoured boots. The deeper prints were too shuffled to tell what they were wearing, but the slug like drag told me whoever had been standing there had been wearing robes or a heavy cloak, which in itself isn’t out of the ordinary being the cold climate. Alongside the track was a recurring small hole of a cane or walking stick. The way the tracks were shuffled solidified the idea that the figure had been someone older. The more concerning aspect of the tracks was the sudden stop 10 feet away. Placing my bare hand along the last of the tracks, I began concentrating on the details, lightly sliding my fingers into the deeper footprints. I looked up towards the leafless trees and could see some broken branches. After running through all the training I had received, my mind came to the most possible conclusion. 

A Hag. 

I began saying my thoughts aloud. “If this is a hag, I need to find out what exactly it’s been doing before killing it. They’re dirty, compulsive deal makers. I’ll need to see if anyone has already made contact.” 

It was entirely possible that even with a hag in the area, the thing could have nothing to do with whatever’s actually going on here. 

Climbing the wall to Lyra’s window was simple enough with how ragged the old wall was. A quick peek in revealed an empty room. The window itself was unlocked and I slipped myself in. 

Turns out the office doubled as Lyra’s quarters, the door to her bedroom was open. A large bed was in the centre, covered in quilts, and there was enough furniture for two. Maybe Commander Lyra Moss was Ms.Commander Lyra Moss. 

Searching through the desk lead me to a locked drawer, which unlike the door, was a simple lock. Footsteps began coming down the hall as I successfully picked the lock, finding what I needed, a logbook of the fort. I stashed it away and slid out the window, trying not to panic as I heard keys being fiddled with just outside the door. On my way back to the main gate I did my best to brush snow over the two sets of tracks to Lyra’s window. 

Once I got to my room safely I locked the door, laid in the farthest of the two beds, and opened the ledger. It only contained logs of important things, when supplies came in, any incidents, new people, injuries, extreme weather, that sort of thing. I skipped through most of the last year as it had been very interspersed with an entry only every other week for the supplies. I started reading once I got to about six months ago where I spotted a change compared to the normal logs.

Icecloak 3- 

A winter storm arrived earlier than anyone had anticipated. Most of the Fort had to go into lockdown for the next few days, extra rations are being given out now before lockup, incase it lasts longer than overnight. 

Icecloak 7- 

Two men, Warren Highlen and Bjor Ondar, the resident hunters, had gone out shortly before the storm on the 4th and have not returned. Ms.Highlen, Susan, regularly had gone out searching and today has been bedridden with mild frostbite. 

Icecloak 15- 

Supplies came in today. Accounted for 18 families. Sent request to return in 2 weeks for another 18 families.  

Icecloak 30- 

Supplies came in today. Accounted for 18 families. Sent request to return in 2 weeks for another 18 families.  

Frostgrip 7- 

Praise the gods. Warren Highlen wandered back into the fort this morning. Our outfit’s Cleric and Medic were forced to remove part of the poor Man’s legs as they were black as night from frostbite. The man could barely speak. I will be talking with him soon to find out what had happened.  

Frostgrip 11- 

It took effort, but through talks with Warren along with the slivers of information his wife was able to get from him, I believe I have the whole story. The poor men were forced to find shelter within a cave at the very foot of the Mount. In the storm an avalanche covered the entrance, leaving them with little to keep them warm and fed, they had tried the tunnels deeper in the cave but only found dead ends. Bjor died first, Warren told me it was due to sickness and Bjor being fairly older, he told his wife the truth. It was about 2 days after being frozen in that Warren did the unspeakable. Be it instinct, fear, or that mountain of insanity itself, but Warren killed Bjor and proceeded to use every piece of him to survive the cold. The official story is Bjor died of illness and had to be buried in the snow. 

Frostgrip 13- 

A fight broke out today, people just couldn’t wait for the supply cart tomorrow for some damned reason.  

Frostgrip 15- 

Supplies came in today. Accounted for 18 families. Seems they sent extra due to poor weather. Sent request to return in 2 weeks for another 17 families. Storm is on the horizon.  

Frostgrip 20- 

Ms. Susan Highlen asked permission to take over Warren’s hunting duties till we hire someone new for supplemental hunting duties. I gave her my blessing. 

Frostgrip 25- 

Another fight broke out, people are on edge. That will happen in regular poor weather and not much to do.  

Frostgrip 30- 

Supplies came in today. Accounted for 17 families. Seem they sent extra due to poor weather. Sent request to return in 2 weeks for another 16 families.  

Winterwane 2- 

Warren Highlen passed away today. Our Cleric buried him with a prayer. Shame he never married, no one but my Husband and I to see him go.  

The ledger then lists more poor weather, low morale, and fighting. Each time the supplies come in, the “request” number gets smaller until the most recent one at 9 families. 

Deep in thought, I couldn’t help but talk aloud. “She says Warren Highlen had a wife, but when he died, Lyra writes he never married. ” I paused to process for a moment. “It seems like there was an increase in poor morale and bad weather after Warren’s cannibal incident. Now that could be just the season or…” I stood from the bed and began pacing. “It could be a Bheur Hag. It could’ve been attracted by the cannibal incident. They’re shtick is to cause problems, send people over the edge, especially in harsh climates like this. They can even make weather worse…” I stopped pacing. “It would explain the disappearances as they straight up eat people, but that wouldn’t explain these weird holes in the ledger.” 

I still needed more information. Confronting Lyra in the morning would be a must, she may be hiding information on purpose. I just had one more thing to do before calling it a day.  

Once the night shift began, I made my way down the hall to some of the dust covered doors. Not having my lantern seen was simple enough, not making a sound was difficult. The slightest movement of the door would send out an echoing song of poor door hinges. Once inside one of the doors, I took a moment to listen for anything, be it guards coming down the hall, or something being in the room I just broke into. 

The entire place had a layer of dust over everything. This room had a window thankfully, I had to open it in order to not begin coughing from the stagnant air. The living space had little of interest, a table, some books, a small shrine to one of the gods, Viorana I think. The bedroom was different. Children’s toys were scattered on the floor, jewellry sitting on a dresser, other valuables in appropriate places. Why would these things just be here? 

That’s when I heard the door open. I blew out the lanturn and simply stood in the dark of the bedroom. I slowed my breath as I listened intently. Footsteps, boots, someone casually walking in. They then closed the door, not bothering to hide the screech of the hinges. When I heard keys then locking the door, I knew the safest option was to simply own up.  

Commander Lyra Moss stood in front of the door, still in uniform, sword at her side. There was no surprise from her when I walked into the main living space. 

She pointed to the window I had opened.“You were careless to leave it.” 

I couldn’t help but smirk. “Walls are that bad you have ground patrols outside?” I asked. 

Lyra shrugged. “You can actually blame yourself. A new, well equipped face appeared, so I increased the night patrol.” She proceeded to walk up to me, asking the golden question. “So why are you actually here?” 

I decided to be too honest with her to keep her on her feet. “I’ve been sent up here to investigate some odd happenings. A trend of less supplies and more orphans.” I brought my hands up as if for her to put shackles on them, only to flick my wrists to extend the dagger from each sleeve. My weapons of choice, the reason my Venari training took only 3 years instead of a decade. I had been training as a monk, in the arts of the blade. 

Lyra placed her hand on the hilt of her sword but her expression was one of indifference. I continued, “I am a member of a hunters guild that specializes in special contracts.” 

“You’re special contract brought you here.” She concluded. 

I took the ledger from my pack and tapped her nose with it. “I looked through your ledger and have questions,” I said, “I believe the recent bad weather and regular fighting may be at the hands of a Bheur Hag.” 

She snapped the book from my hands. “You’re going to come with me to my office and fully explain yourself.” 

I complied.  

After the short silent walk back to her office, I gave her the whole story on exactly why Feng asked me to investigate and of my findings so far. Lyra was attentive the whole time, after lighting a fire, she began pacing the office, eventually staring out the window, and finally sitting in her chair across from me, hands crossed in thought. It took her a moment after the story was told for her to talk. 

Her voice carried a wave of concern and legitimate confusion. “I’ve never been married.” I tapped my finger on the ledger sitting on the desk between us. “In your own handwriting you wrote that you and your husband were the only ones to attend Warren Highlen’s funeral.” 

“I guess I did…” She relented. 

“What’s going on here Lyra-” 

She interrupted me, “Do not mistake this conversation with a personal one. It is Commander Moss and you are here to explain why you have come here and within a single day have broken multiple laws.” 

She was right, I had to keep in mind how more formal and by the book military people were compared to my own organization where the only rule is to kill the thing. 

I continued, trying to sell her on why I shouldn’t spend the rest of the night in a cell. “I’m certain a Bheur Hag was attracted by what Warren did after the storm and has been causing most of the problems, but hags don’t have any known ability to cause these gaps. At least none this seemingly powerful.” 

Lyra reached to open the ledger, once open, her eyes would never focus on it. “I haven’t read it.” She said, pushing it away from herself. “I never read it. Not anymore.” 

“Why?” I asked. 

“I’ve never been married. Yet in my room are drawers of clothes that aren’t mine, there’s even a box of love letters to me in handwriting I’ve never seen before.” Her eyes had begun getting glassy with tears, yet she continued. “To be honest, I’ve been scared. Scared to look through the ledger, of the personnel manifest, and see what...who else may have been forgotten.” She stood from the desk, picking up the book. “These damn pages are just echoes of whoever these lost souls were anyway. Looking through it wouldn’t solve anything.” She tossed the book into the fire, making me jump out of my seat to instinctively rescue it, to no avail. Lyra didn’t look back, just out her window into the dark void. “I have my soldiers, their families, and the entirety of our country to protect. I cannot afford hunting down thing’s I don’t understand.” 

The book, the written remnants of who those people were, now a pile of ash. It was obvious she hadn’t lied to me. For now it seemed the next step was to track down the hag, it might have the remaining answers. Before I left, I looked back to Lyra. “I’ll hunt down the Bheur Hag and leave when finished. Keep your people safe Lyra.” While I didn’t agree with her actions in burning the book, as I left her office, I couldn’t help but crack a smile. This is exactly what I set out to do when I left my home. 

In the morning I returned to the point the tracks had ended at the previous day. A guard had been gracious enough to point me in the direction where the cave Warren had been stuck in was located. “No one’s been up that way since poor ole Warren and Bjor.” He told me. It took the whole day to reach the cave, when getting closer to the base of the mountain, I began to find wooden effigies fixed to branches in the trees, a Hag’s calling card. They thrived on visitors, and what a better way to seem inviting. 

The sun had gone down past the horizon, with using most of my strength trudging through the deep snow I chose to find a safe place nearby, yet out of view on the cave opening, to set up camp for the night. While keeping watch during the first few hours of the night, I mixed a concoction from my training in the Venari, toxic to others, but to those who had taken the Hunter’s Bane, it was an enhancement to our reflexes. Both my wrist blades were checked and fine tuned as I wanted to be sure I had the precision to kill the thing in the morning. 

At the crack of dawn I was at the mouth of the cave, carefully peeking in. It wasn’t a large opening, just wide enough for two people. In the dirt was remnants of similar tracks from Whiteguard, it was definitely here. It took less than an hour to fasten a net from my pack over the entrance, if it tried to escape, this could buy a few seconds. No sound came from the cave as it curved deeper in. Quietly, I made my way through the corridor. As Warren had said, there were multiple branching pathways every few minutes or so down the cave, to the untrained, it would easily be possible to forever be lost, but I had my target, telling which pathways were correct and which were dead ends or loops was still a difficult task, but with time I eventually began hearing sounds from deeper into the tunnel, singing. 

As I got closer, I finally heard it. “Come further in dearies!” It sang. 

My shoulders tensed up again. It was expecting me, I didn’t like the thought that the Hag may have wanted me to see it the other day. The tunnel ended at an ornate, intricately carved wooden door. The carvings were of the effigies I had seen on my way in along with hideous faces, endlessly screaming nothing but silence. It opened with a long echoing creak. The smell hit me first, sickly sweet of rotting meat. 

There across the large room, sat the Hag in a rotting rocking chair in front of a fireplace of bone. It was hunched over, covered head to toe in a robe that looked to be made of furs and various humanoid skin, various pieces of “jewellry” made of bones hung from it. No amount of cloth could hide its fat, this Hag had been eating well. It beckoned me inside with a long, blue finger, a massive, talon sized fingernail at the tip. The thing seemed to have no lips, just stained black teeth like frostbite. “I’ve been waiting. Come to me for help? What troubles you?” It asked. 

The rocking chair creaked in pain as the Hag attempted to stand, the thing leaving its wooden staff by the fireplace as it waddled towards me. Step by step, it fired off questions, each phase accompanying a tilt of its head. “Did a man leave you? Is his dick is too small? Are you infertile? Desperate for a child?” 

Caution never left me as I walked to meet the thing. “None of those things. I’m a member-” 

It held up it’s finger to stop me, I was beginning to get tired of interruptions since I arrived in the north. It’s darting eyes were black but you could still make out the movements. 

At a panicked pace it began whispering. “Venari. Yes. Gossip runs fast. Even to me. Silly dickless babies. Think blood’s the answer. No no no no. Only deals spin wheels.” The thing paused, now looking me up and down, then to the door behind me, possibly plotting an escape. With the amount of fat bulging from its neck, a swift blade to the throat wasn’t enough of a guarantee for me to kill it and I still had to confirm if this thing was somehow behind the missing. 

“You ran away from home. You want your parents back! The f*****g that brought you life, you want them back!” 

That was my opening. “I want them erased.” I pleaded. 

This perked its head up. The Hag waddled even closer to me, looking into me. As it got closer, the stench of it got stronger, I could see dead insects braided into the white straw-like hair. 

“Erased you say? Erased erased. Memory a fickle thing. But Old Ethel has exactly what you want.” It began shuffling over to a large bookshelf. There was no order to their placement and half of them seemed covered in frozen mold.  

The Hag continued. “Got this recently, still good, still good. Still has dead man's notes. Helps Old Ethel read.” 

The old tome had hundreds of notes in common almost spilling out of its pages. As the Hag opened it, I moved closer. In large letters written on the inside cover, “Memoracrum”. That's what I needed. 

As Ethel shuffled through the pages, I concentrated. The blood was old and frozen, but still flowing through the Hag, the moment I felt it pulse through, I gestured with my hand and cursed the disgusting thing. Old Ethel fell over paralyzed. The blades up my sleeves had been waiting patiently for me to act. But it was the moment I flicked my wrists to extend the small blades that everything went to s**t. Ethel’s staff which had been against the fireplace flew in from behind me. But before it could impale me, something brushed past me and knocked me to my knees. The staff rushed to her hand and like a serpent, the Hag slipped to her feet. With a single word from her mouth, a mass of black clouds formed above us, generating a blizzard in the home. The burst of wind blew me back out through the door, into the tunnel, the door then slamming shut. Ethel’s laugh echoed through the tunnels, followed by what sounded like an incantation of somesort. Before I could think to rush to the door to see what was happening, the sound of moans came from every tunnel surrounding me. Once on my feet, I had but a moment to down the concoction I had brewed earlier and extended both wrist blades. 

From the tunnels shambled a collection of half eaten body parts. Hands, legless torsos, and the wandering spirits to accompany them. My concentration went straight to my weapons, an extension of my being, one with the blades. 

The tunnel I had originally come from was clear, I ran back to funnel the undead into the corridor. Once the tunnel was packed with moving remains, I took a deep breath, heaved my chest, and exhaled from my throat a long shot of acidic destructive energy, all the smaller shambling pieces began convulsing and rotting. Rushing through the dead flesh now breaking down, I sliced through any remainders that would try to reach for me. In front of Ethel’s door was now a trio of spirits. Two rushed towards toward me, while I dashed to meet them. Lunging at them with my blades,cut through their ethereal forms, as they dissipated, the last one was able to plunge itself into my being. In a flash I saw parts of her life, living at the fort, the love she felt when marrying her lover, the fear she felt when he told her a story of cannibalism. I resisted her will, the will to go home, the will to possess my body. As her ghostly form was rejected from my being, I stabbed both blades into her chest. She faded and for a moment I hoped she would be with Warren again. 

During the moment to catch my breath, I still heard the magical blizzard on the other side of the door, and the sound of Ethel eating. As long as the hag was eating, it was vulnerable. Using a bone from one of the shamblers I killed, I turned the handle of the door, the moment it could open, the sheer force of the wind snapped the bone as the door swung open, slamming into the wall behind it, breaking it off the hinges. 

Wrapping a piece of cloth around my face to protect from the snow and ice, I got on the ground, digging my claws into the fresh ice and started crawling in against the wind. Snow blindness was instant in the lair. The wind made it so that crawling was the equivalent of climbing a sheer cliff face. The pain in my arms from the cold and the wind was diminishing my hope of reaching the Hag who I could still hear ripping flesh and meat off of bone. I could tell I was a few paces away from the thing, but unsure if I’d even be able to make that small distance. One of the most frightening sounds you’ll ever hear, is silence. 

Everything had stopped. The snow, wind, and the sound of eating. Removing the cloth from my face allowed me to see the mess of bones, clothes, and a silver sword where the eating had taken place, but Ethel was absent.  

A small shard of ice fell on my hand. As I looked up, Ethel had climbed on the ceiling like a spider, and dropped on top of me, her sheer weight seeming to have squeezed every gasp of air from my lungs, in that moment, she grabbed me with one hand, grabbed her staff in another, and began dragging me out through the door and the tunnels while flying on her stick. The frozen dirt and rocks scraping along my back was agonizing. Still weak from the blizzard crawl I tried to grip onto the arm that was holding me, get her off balance somehow. We were nearing the curve to the entrance when I screamed, “A deal!” 

She looked at me for the second I needed for her to fly right into the net. We were engulfed by it and tumbling down the small embankment. Making sure to roll up the best I could in the net, I was spared some of the pain. It was difficult to tell if the snaps I heard were twigs or Ethel’s bones. Once stopped, without hesitation, I slammed by blades into the hags cold, fat flesh, pulling out, and plunging in again. Lukewarm blood slowly oozed out, some spraying each time I ripped my blade out of the corpse. There had been over twenty stab wounds before my heart slowed from it’s warhorse pace. Old Ethel the Bheur Hag, was finally dead.  

Laying on the cold ground on my chest, covered in blood, it felt refreshing to let my torn up back breathe the cold air. It took longer than ever to simply walk to the small camp I had set up to go into my pack and pull out an emergency healing tonic. While I gave the potion time to do its job, I set Ethel’s head to finish bleeding out before I stuff it in a sack. Making my way back to Ethel’s lair took even more time, though now all I had to do was follow the drag marks. After the magical blizzard, every inch of the hovel was covered in ice, except her trinkets, books, and the rocking chair, as if nothing had happened. 

The “Memoracrum” was fascinating. None of it was legible for me except for the notes in Common on every page, a work in progress translation. 

 

“From the personal library of 

 Archmage Kalen La’shay of Bastion.” 

The notes in common explained that the book was ancient, even in Bastion-era. It was dedicated to spells involving memory and perception. One page had the answer I needed, it’s condition was noticeably worse from usage. 

“A spell I call ‘Erase', an advanced ‘Modify Memory’ type spell. According to my notes, we had a test subject, William. Apparently we used the spell on him. No one can recall who he is, except himself. Even when he says he has known us since our examination of this tome, no one apart of our team show a single flair of remembrance. There appears to be no reversal either.”  

I continued aloud with my own thoughts. 

“Ethel must have been using the spell to ‘Erase' victims and then eat them. No one would come looking because no one would remember. What a f*****g terrible way to go, not even leaving memories, just empty echoes no one understands.” 

Closing the book, I glanced over at what Ethel had been eating before I had rushed back in. Something didn’t sit right. After I was ejected from the room, she definitely had cast an older spell before eating. Ethel’s staff had flown at me, yet something else brushed me out of the way. Why was the sword amongst the clothes a silvered sword, with the symbol of the Venari engraved on it? I could never handle a full length blade after being trained as a monk for so long. Did I always have a habit of talking to myself? I began piecing it together. My room at Whiteguard had two beds. When talking to people, many would glance behind me. Did Feng drink at all from the second cup of ale? When the kids were describing the Venari they said “Apprentice”. 

Whoever it was who risked their life to save me. Whoever Ethel had cursed, then consumed...with no reversal of the spell possible, I will never remember who you are, so I can apologize. I failed as your mentor. 

The Hag’s lair took awhile to completely set aflame. I had to be sure none of the books or trinkets could be salvaged. Too many souls were truly lost. Everything was destroyed and my things packed in a matter of hours. When returning to Fort Whiteguard I simply shot a glance to Lyra and held up the head sized bag. 

As I left with the supply caravan, I sat on the back of the cart, feet lightly dragging in the snow, thinking. Evil beings such as Old Ethel, are exactly the reason I now hunt. Exactly the reason the entirety of Vanguard needs a group like The Venari. Those who can track and kill evil before it spreads.  

Who knows how long it would’ve been before Ethel ate up the entirety of Whiteguard and travel elsewhere to start again, or worse, found more hags and started a coven. Without the training given to me, all of that may have happened. 

As the walls of Whiteguard slowly sank below the horizon, I took a deep breath. The air was crisp, the snow was a pristine blanket through the forest. My contract was clear.

Author's Note

Looking for feedback on how to improve my writing. No spelling or grammar errors unless it's a regular grammar mistake.