“Please!
You must do something!” a woman shrieked. People were scared. The unholy ritual—the Festival of Demoniacs—was
upon them.
The whole town had
gathered in the church by order of the mayor hoping that they would be safe
there. Many of the townsfolk wished that he would order the deputy and his
subordinates to hunt down the Demoniacs and end their pagan fests. But all
brave men became white before the bluffs, before the Tower; an old occult
structure reaching toward the sky in defiance to the Elder One. There they
would recite their blasphemies performing their arcane and perverse rituals to
summon forth harbingers of doom.
“Good people,” started
the mayor from the pulpit, “Let me assure you that we are doing all we can.”
“And yet our children go
missing, and our livestock dies!” shouted a frustrated farmer.
“Our women are raped by
demons and men are robbed of their courage,” added another. “Will God not help
us?”
“Peace to you, good
people,” said the vicar. “A town divided amongst itself cannot stand. And
though we are in the valley of the shadow of death, we will fear no evil for
the grace and peace of the Great One is upon us.”
“A lot of good our
prayers do,” said an elder. “Year by year we are prey to the wolves and our
holy shepherd doesn’t hear our cries!”
“Something
must be done!” shrieked the woman. “Hunt them down. Destroy them all!” The
people roared approval and moved in closer. “Hunt them down! Hunt them down!”
“Are
we heathens!?” shouted back the vicar. “Again and again this gutless mob has
proven itself fruitless against the Tower. What will ye do differently?”
“I
have an idea,” said a tailor. “Let’s offer the mayor and vicar as a sacrifice
to them. Maybe they’ll leave the rest of us alone.” Again, a roar of approval.
They then began to close in from all sides.
“Get
back, ye devils!” warned the vicar, swinging an incense burner. “Any sinner who
touches me with his bare hands will be brained and I’ll have his guts for
garters!” He swung the burner at one member who caught it and tore it from his
hand. Then the rest of the mob snatched them up and began tying them together.
Suddenly, the church door slammed open.
There
in the doorway stood two tall, dark and grizzled characters. They wore long
coats, tattered hats, and strapped to their waists were long, curved swords with
broad blades. “Put those men down,” ordered the first in a quiet and
acrimonious tone. The mob hesitated. “I said, put them down.” The mob obeyed.
“Who
are you?” asked the tailor.
“We
are hunters of the Old Oath.”
“The
Old Oath?!” some repeated, shivers shooting down their spines.
“We’ve
heard tell of your cult of watchers, baying at your doorstep.”
“We’re
here to slay your monsters,” said the second in a more human tone. “My name is
Hiram. And this is Logarius.”
“You
don’t mean, ‘Logarius, the Old Hunter’, do you?” asked the mayor.
“The
very same,” affirmed Logarius. Though the church was poorly lit, the townsfolk
could still make out the gnarled appearance of his face betraying the decades
of hunts and thousands of injuries received at the teeth and claws of malice
borne beasts. The man himself was feared for his brutal reputation and many
also feared that he had somehow become tainted by those that he so passionately
hunted. Very few men had such a blood-soaked past.
The
mayor stammered trying to put together a sentence. His voice would not come,
being choked by his apprehension at having not only hunters of the Old Oath in
his town, but also at having Logarius, the Old Hunter, before him. “P-please do
not be up-up-upset,” struggled the mayor. “B-but I really th-think, we have the
s-s-situation under control.”
“Why
would I be upset? I don’t care if Demoniacs torment and kill you. We merely
thought that you could use some help. But if you don’t want it… Hiram. Let’s be
on our way.”
“Please
wait!” shrieked the woman. She ran forward, but stopped short as Logarius’s
gaze fell upon her. The woman trembled clutching her chest. She forced herself
forward a few steps, shutting her eyes and bowing before Logarius. “Please save
our town!” Her eyes burned. “I know we can be difficult, but please… Someone
must do something.” She then felt a gloved hand on her face causing her to
whimper. The hand prodded her face up and she reluctantly opened her eyes
allowing the tears to flow. Thankfully, it was not Logarius, but Hiram she
faced. He was a much younger man, but his scarred face still betrayed years of
hunts.
“Dear
woman; do not be afraid.” His eyes greatly calmed her. “We will not bring harm
to you or your town. We are honor bound to the Old Oath to hunt this vermin and
protect all that is sacred.” The woman exhaled and her legs gave out. She felt
both relieved and faint: Hiram had touched her.
“Will
you really save us?” asked the mayor.
“We
shall.”
“Then,
please go. And Godspeed to you.”
“God
has nothing to do with it,” retorted Logarius. “If you’re finished with the woman,
Hiram...” Logarius turned and disappeared into the night.
Hiram
cast one last look to the townsfolk and then looked at the woman. “This will be
done,” he said before following Logarius into the night.
_________
As
the hunters stalked through the dense forest, night fell and the air became
frigid. They pressed on in spite of how dark the woods became. But as they
neared the Tower, a bloodied signpost came into view. Crucified to the post was
a creature like a wolf, but much more nightmarish with human-like hands, a face
in a perpetual snarl, and much less hair. Hiram walked around it as much as he
could without straying too far while Logarius didn’t even seem to notice
walking within inches of it.
As
they proceeded past the grizzly crucifixion, ghastly music could be heard.
There was a sound of something like a flute that sounded like a baby crying,
and drums being beaten to an executioner’s melody. Hiram crept closer to
Logarius who only pushed on.
Eventually,
the trees began to thin and a clearing could be seen. Hiram and Logarius took
cover from behind two wizened trees and looked on. There was the Tower; a tall,
strong stone structure that climbed upwards. It was settled on what appeared to
be the edge of a lake for it seemed that they had reached the end of world. But
both hunters knew, beyond the Tower was not still, black water, but a pit of
the abyss from which all manner of eldritch and otherworldly abominations descended.
In
front of the tower was a semi-circle of five stone pillars that increased in
height going for the outside in. Upon each pillar stood a maiden with long
black hair in a floor length skirt and a strange dark blouse that left their
middles bare. The five maidens were performing a lewd dance to the time of the
haunting music, whose source couldn’t be discovered. They shook and swayed
their hips in perfect synchronization in an attempt to appease their sinister
overlords. It didn’t matter for no matter how well their dancing pleased, once
the ritual ceased, these pagan whores would be given over to their demonic
masters to be raped and mutilated.
Lastly,
before the pillars stood an albino woman with pale skin and hair, and red eyes.
She was dressed in a blue, sheer robe that barely gave her any modesty. As the
hunters watched, Hiram noticed an ache stirring within his body aroused by the
mania caused by the dancers.
Suddenly, the music
escalated and along with it, the maidens intensified their dance. Finally, the
music reached its climax and a bolt of lightning struck the blue albino witch
igniting her in a pillar of flame. At the same time, the pagan dancers had
vanished from view, claimed by the pit.
As the pillar of fire
began to die, left in its place was a black shape that resembled a cocoon. It
wriggled and poked outwardly as whatever was within tried to free itself.
“Logarius,” said Hiram,
his voice trembling. “What is that?”
“A metamorphosis of some
kind. Stand your ground,” instructed Logarius, drawing his Hunter’s Cleaver.
Finally, a tear appeared
in the cocoon and a black ooze dribbled from it. Slender white fingers reached
out and grabbing either sides of the tear, ripped it open viciously. There stood
the figure of a shapely woman which slowly became more and more revealed as the
ooze ran off her leaving none of itself behind. Her skin and eyes were both
alabaster while her hair was black with a few white wisps. She was dressed in
only a loincloth, a partial dressing about her breast, nothing on her feet, and
a long, flowing black cape which gave Logarius the impression of skin. Once
clean of the ooze, she looked up at Hiram and Logarius.
“She knows we’re here,”
choked Hiram.
“Good,” replied Logarius.
“I abhor stealth.”
The woman then approached
the trees exaggerating her walk which accentuated her hips. Logarius focused in
on her and raised his sword, but just as he was about to charge, she
disappeared from view.
“Where did she go?” asked
Hiram. Then suddenly, she appeared beside him, hissing and spitting, showing a
face that could only be from the underworld. Hiram screamed and ran.
“Hiram!” shouted
Logarius, his fury rising. “Get back here, you piss-pant coward! Oath-givers
damn you!” Logarius looked to where the woman had appeared, but she was already
gone.
Logarius began to strafe
around in a circle with his blade raised. His pupils dilated and he was more
aware of everything around him. As he circled, he felt something lightly brush
his back. He turned, but nothing was there. He heard a whisper to his left, and
turning again, he saw nothing. Finally he heard the crunch of snow to his far
right. Turning again, he saw her in the distance, half hiding behind a tree and
peering between its branches coquettishly. She shook her hips slightly and
looked Logarius in the eye—his eyes narrowed and nostrils flared.
She disappeared again
only to reappear suddenly standing beside him grimacing fiercely. Logarius took
one step back and swung his sword, but it met empty air. He looked around the
trees again, this time spotting the creature a few yards away, their views of
each other completely unhindered. She draped her cape about her body as if to
appear modest only to peel it away slowly revealing her body. She then vanished
again and reappeared directly in front of him so close that their noses nearly
touched giving him an evil smile. Logarius retreated from surprise before
thrusting his sword forward. Again, she was gone.
As her strange act went
on, constantly disappearing and reappearing, exposure to her antics began to
build a tingly feeling below Logarius’s waist. But as this feeling grew, so did
his anger and he tried lashing out at her every time she appeared close to him.
Once when she had retreated, she gave him a hurtful look followed by an
arousing stare and pursed lips.
Logarius’s composure
snapped and he charged for her. She merely smiled and disappeared again, but
this time with a flash; and then she would reappear with a flash. Each time she
flashed before him, he ran at her screaming and swinging his cleaver wildly.
Every attack missed as she lured him deeper and deeper into the forest. Soon
they were in a very dark part of the forest and she continued to flash around
him, but instead of luring him further, she began to circle him and get closer
and closer. Logarius swung his sword in a circular motion at her. Eventually,
she flashed one last time, but did not reappear and Logarius stopped.
Logarius faced the night
and readied his sword. “Come on out, you harlot. I dare you.” Finally she did,
flashing right before his eyes. Logarius was so taken off guard that when he
jumped back, he tripped over a log and fell into a pit trap. He fell a good
dozen feet before landing hard on his back. The old hunter let out a wail and
was paralyzed in pain.
As he opened his eyes, he
saw her floating above him, her body parallel to his. She floated down to him
and he locked eyes with her. Her lips reached outward and once they met his, he
was hers.
***
