Aibel | 2 Greentide, 1723 CE

It was a beautiful day, all things considered. The sun rays warmed the dirt below him, and seemed to absorb through the dark leather jacket that he wore. The cool breeze that settled in at mid-morning was enough to counteract the warming, leaving a pleasant spring temperature. 

Aibel walked along the rough path towards Mother Nanike’s orphanage. It led outside the main part of town, near the northern walls of Mistwick. The cobblestones this far outside the main townscape had been left unattended for so long that they had begun to sink into the dirt. Weeds sprouted from between gaps in the paving, and threatened to overtake the stone altogether. What may have originally looked like a paved roadway, now looked like an abandoned dirt path. Despite its condition, there was a surprising amount of two story homes and buildings stretched out on either side of the main walk.

The orphanage, however, resided up a small slope, the edges of which had been overtaken by berry bushes and wildflowers. The untamed brambles added an air of desertion to the orphanage, which looked to Aibel like a construction at risk of collapse. The building was quite large, but its size did not make up for the state of dilapidation that plagued large sections of the structure. It seemed that every other board on the road-facing wall was either heavily weathered or was at risk of splintering at the first good gust of wind that passed through. The roof appeared to sag in places. Wooden shingles looked faded and sunken in spots with water damage. The windows were probably the cleanest part of the building, almost immaculately clear, but starting to fade to tints of yellow in the corners.

The building was one sight, the mess of running and playing children was another. The softness and laughter was contrasted against the aging and unkempt dirt and patchy lawn out front of the orphanage. There weren’t many toys that he could see as he walked closer, but some of the boys had made due with using sticks as swords. They moved towards and away from one another, feigning a duel to the death in some fantastical imaginative adventure.

Aibel felt pity for the little ones. They would learn that their games were far too real as they grew up.

As he walked closer to the house, the children who noticed him, stopped their play, staring at his intimidating visage. In particular, he could hear the muffled whispers related to the large weapons he carried on this back. The harness he wore allowed him to carry both Cryptbane and his sword across his back. The hooks that held Cryptbane in place were easy to use, but they left the intricately decorated glaive on full display, creating a crossbones effect with the hilt of the sword. He knew he was a novelty to the children, compared to the poorly equipped guardsmen that patrolled the streets of Mistwick.

He found the matron of the house just off the main walk in the front of the building. Time had not been kind to her. Deep wrinkles cascaded down her forehead, and the sides of her mouth had begun to sag with age. Her body looked frail, but she moved with a practiced ease as she hung various garments over the clothesline. Beside her, a bucket of dirty water and a metallic washboard was ready for a stack of new clothing.

“Are you Mother Nanine?”

His voice visibly startled her, and she turned around, her hand over her chest as she regained her breath.

“I am. And you are?”

He didn’t respond, instead pulling the folded sheet of paper with the contract from the inside of his jacket. He unfolded it, and handed it over.

“I’m here about the children.”

There was a mixture of emotions that ran across mother Nanine’s face. The sigh that escaped her was one of relief, while her eyes held on to a skepticism that Aibel couldn’t quite place. He guessed that others had tried to take the contract and simply attempted to con the old woman out of the money, probably claiming something like “the trail ran cold,” without a shred of proof they had found the trail to begin with.

She finished clipping the clothing to the line, and gestured him inside.

“Please. Join me for some tea.”

The tea that she served him some minutes later was a bitter, herbal root flavor. She ripped her own cup, biting back a wince at the heat and aggressiveness of the blend.

“This doesn’t seem like a job worthy of someone of your stature. That equipment you're carrying doesn’t paint the picture of someone taking on simple contracts.”

“I’ve got my reasons.”

“Any of those reasons to tell me it’s a lost cause, or try to swindle me by insulting my intelligence?”

Aibel smirked and let out a small chuckle.

“No, Mother. The offer is legitimate. Now, tell me what you know. The more details you have, the better.”

She set the poorly formed ceramic cup on the table with a sliding thump. She leaned forward in her chair, almost on-edge with anticipation of Aibel’s service.

“It was about two weeks ago. Myself and a few of the smaller children were at the market near the east district. We were there a few hours, and everyone had been behaving, so I agreed to take them for a picnic on the hill just outside the gate,” she sighed, cursing herself at the thought.

“A few of the children decided to clobber one another with dirt clods, so I went to go deal with them. When I finished with them, I returned to my spot. One of the children was standing there, staring into the woods. I’ll never forget the look on his face. He told me that a monster with orange eyes and horns had spoken to him from the woods. I went to hold him, and he just started crying. He was so scared.”

The tears had begun to stream down Mother Nanine’s face as well. The droplets caught in the lines and folds of his skin, and cascaded almost like a waterfall.

“Take your time, Mother,” said Aibel. His voice was firm but unexpectant.

When she had collected herself a few moments later, she continued.

“Well, I decided I should take them back home. Sensible thing to do, right? The rest of the day went pretty normal. I put the children to bed, and retired for the evening myself. It was still dark when I woke up to a loud crashing noise downstairs.”

She pointed to a door frame and glassless window at the side of the kitchen. The door led to the back of the house, and the frame appeared to have been hastily repaired, recently. Missing splinters and uneven gouges in the wood suggested that the door had been taken off the frame violently and with great force.

“Of course, I went down stairs. And there were the children, standing in near perfect rows of two, shuffling out of the house. Before, I could scream at them to return to bed, I remember feeling a pain in the back of my head, and then nothing. One of the other children shook me awake the next morning.”

The tears started pouring out now.

“Do you have any enemies?”

“Enemies?

“Yes, people who may want to harm you, for any reason. Anyone that you owe money to? Anything like that?”

“No, master hunter. Nothing like that. Whatever we had is earned or donated. Nothing shady. I wouldn’t allow it!”

“I understand, Mother. I just needed to ask. With your permission, I’d like to take a look around the property. I’d also like to see the woodlands where you took your picnic. Can you show me where that was?”

Aibel produced a folded and discolored map, unfurling it to the local region, and set it on the table in front of her.

“Of course, look around at what you need.” She pointed to a spot on the map, just outside of town. “Here is where I took the children.”

Aibel stood, “Thank you, Mother. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Aren’t you going to ask about payment?”

“Do I need to? Your flier stated a modest sum. I trust you will pay a modest sum. We can settle up later.”

She began to protest, but he was already out the side door, breaching the still darkness of the kitchenette with sunlight. She did not follow him to continue her protest. Aibel searched the immediate vicinity of the house, but knew he would find no trace. The guardsmen who investigated, the fortnight of time between now and the incident, and the running of small children had trampled any evidence he may have found. The better bet, he knew, was the woods.

***

It was mid-afternoon when he reached the small hill just outside of town. The path rose easily into a small tangle of brush, tall grass, and woodlands, at the center of which was an open field. The view was inarguably stunning, just far enough from town to see it as depressingly beautiful in the daylight, and near enough that the rolling wheels of carts could be heard a small distance away on the main road.

The woods around Mistwick approached the grassy area abruptly, ending in a thick wall of green and brown. The grass gave way to dense underbrush and ferns that were almost entirely untamed. He could hear the calls of birds among the thick verdent evergreens.

He began the search at the edge of the treeline. Cryptbane swept back and forth through the bushes in wide, gentle strokes ahead of him. Aibel swept the ground with his eyes, looking for any disturbances in the soft dirt that was protected by the thick leaves. He knew that the thick leaves of these woods would shield some remnant of footprints from the weather. He began combing the foliage, taking stock of his radius by marking the edges of nearby trees with a knife.

It was a long time before he found anything. Whoever had taken the children was careful not to disturb too much. It was almost thirty minutes after beginning, that he found the first track. It was about the size  of a human foot, perhaps a few inches longer than his own. However, the weight was distributed forward, as if whoever it belonged two had crouched down on the balls of his feet.

Aibel moved forward, continuing to brush foliage aside in the opposite direction from the footprint, and was able to pick up another set of tracks. This time, the footprints were shallower, and far apart, as if his quarry had taken flight. Aibel followed with a steady pace, monitoring everything in this surroundings. Cryptbane was clutched expertly, his hand at the balance point for the hefty weapon. 

The day was warm, but not hot. However, the canopy of the trees added a humidity that left Aibel sweating under his thick leather jacket. It was uncomfortable, but he pressed on. The forest gave way to more sparse outcroppings of trees and shady glens as he breached the interior, and he followed the trail for nearly an hour. It led him through the thickets of berry bushes, and lines of evergreens, over narrow gullies, towards the base of a large hill. The shadow cast in the afternoon sun by the block of dirt was enough to bring the temperature down a few degrees as he neared it.

Ahead, the treeline broke abruptly again into a clearing at the base of the hill. He paused, and could see the outline of a shoulder-height stone wall about twenty meters from the trees. To say the wall was in poor condition would be an understatement. The only part of the main wall that remained intact was the gate frame. Everywhere, stones had come loose, spilling onto the shaded grass, consumed by years of wild growth. The framing timbers had rotten, and segments of the wall had begun to buckle and lean with shifting earth, wind, and rain. The paint, a once vibrant yellow, was faded to a dull parchment color where it still remained.

It was the sight behind it that game him pause. The wall, decrepit as it was, concealed a small vestibule in the rock of the hill. The near vertical rock face was rough and unworked, until it transformed seamlessly into a flint and hardened clay slanted roof, jutting straight out into the little courtyard.

Aibel paused a few dozen meters from the edge of the forest. Instinctively, he began searching the bases of trees, and the bushy ferns that coated the forest floor. Sure enough, resting just above the ground, high enough for a foot to catch underneath, was a set of wires. They were well concealed, invisible to the naked eye. He pulled back small branches and stems until he found the end point of the first wire. 

The alarm system was simple. The tripwire would spring, releasing a counterweight higher up in the tree. From there, a simple pulley would ring a copper bell that was hidden in a clump of foliage another person-length above Aibel’s head. Anyone not looking for it would have missed it, easily.

He moved close, taking a small hunting knife from his boot, and cutting the alarm cord. He wanted a clean exit, should things get complicated. With his way clear, he moved a little closer.

He moved swiftly, throwing his back against the outside of the wall to conceal himself. His sword fell loosely in his hand, his fingers loosening and tightening around the handle in anticipation. The likely tight quarters of the interior would prevent him from using Cryptbane effectively, but the sword would likely be manageable. He slinked around the edge of the stone, until he reached a small, easily climbable section of wall near the rock face.

He landed in the courtyard with a dull thump. It was empty, but he could see a small campfire snuffed out just under the eaves of a lean-to near the gate. It didn’t look like it had gotten use in the last few days. But, maybe in the last week? Using small bits of ruin, and overgrowth as cover, he slipped towards the entrance in the stone.

It was a small vestibule, jutting out perpendicular to the rock. The stonework was fair, but aged terribly over what he guessed was a few centuries. A set of narrow steps led about a foot of the ground towards the landing to a hallway like entrance. On both the inner and outer sides, murder holes had been inlaid into the masonry, giving a distinct and effective killing corridor to defenders. A decent last bastion for the hopeless.

Aibel paused, listening carefully for any indication of movement or alarm. There was none, so he proceeded, creeping stealthily down the entry corridor to a set of wide iron doors, leading inside. They were half-open, and creaked only slightly as he pushed his way past them like a thread through a needle’s eye.

There was something off about this place. He felt it from the instant his body crossed the threshold. A foul odor permeated the air, but it had no specific direction or origin that he could see. The hairs on his skin stood on end, and he gripped his sword a little tighter. The odor was that of rot and mildew, but he couldn’t distinguish what it was exactly that was rotting. The air was musty, filled with trickles of dust that seemed to flow down from the rafters above, even when undisturbed. This was an evil place, he could feel it in his bones, even if he could not yet identify how he knew this.

The room spread out rapidly from the main entryway. Before him stood a large common room lined with benches and massive wooden tables that had collapsed in on themselves or succumbed to mold. Mushrooms and moss coated the surfaces of the petrified wood, kept hydrated only by a steady stream of water dripping from the stone ceiling above.

The room was split into two floors. At ground level, the moldy tables and broken benches spread out across a deep, high-ceilinged common area. A small hearth was built into the front corner, with small runs of rusted out piping leading to the front face of the cliff. Two sets of decayed stairs led up to a second balcony level, and a single doorway could be seen leading deeper into the stone. Though Aibel couldn’t reach it, he guessed it had been the entrance to the main barracks.

There were four other doorways in total, leading out of the room. Two led to the small garrison rooms on either side of the entry corridor, and provided a more defensible and cordoned space for the forward defenders. The doorway to the right led off into a kitchen, which was thick with spiderwebs, and remnants of petrified foodstuffs. Fungi sprung out of every corner. The room in the back was the only one of interest on this level, opening up into a wide space with dilapidated bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling. Most were still in tact, surprisingly, but threatened to disintegrate at the slightest touch.

He leaned in, taking a new whiff of mildewed air into his lungs. The books that remained were damp, and faded beyond reading. He scanned a few more of the shelves, looking for anything of value. It made no sense. Why had the trail ended here? Why alarm the area? Most of all, why was there no trace of anyone being here?

That’s not entirely true, he thought, Someone made that fire out front.

But there was nothing. He pulled out groups of books that turned to slop in his hands. He slid his hands across walls, and kicked aside piles of rubble. Nothing.

But then, something. As he slid a small table away from the back wall, he became intensely aware of being watched. He stopped, his hand moving to the hilt of his weapon.

“We don’t  know you.”

He spun around immediately. The voice was little more than a whisper, faint and almost indistinct. But it was there, the words spoken into the back of his mind.

“Show yourself.” He commanded.

There was a shuffle against a wall, like nails being clicked on stone. A pile of dust spilled over the edge of a bookshelf onto the ground to his right.

His blade appeared, drawn with a practiced motion.

“That’s not very nice. We haven’t done anything to you. Why don’t you tell us your name? We can be friends then.”

He scanned the room. Still nothing. But he could sense a presence around him. As he focused, he realized it wasn’t just one. His flesh prickled.