Dark Chronicle: Chapter 4

The Dark Clan goes wolf hunting, meanwhile a menacing figure stalks the streets. The calm before the storm has finally arrived.

Time passed too quickly and Dex was in shock to see that he was staring into the eyes of a person who was there in that tavern during the epic death match. Axley paid him a well meaning compliment, “You have massive skills with the sword, much more your hands.” Axley then pantomimed the incident of how Dex took the blade from the beast and slew him with his own sword. He added to it, “A well done set of maneuvers, where did you learn to fight?”

 

Dex shirked at the complement. He wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of receiving it.

 

“Regardless, we have a situation to discuss, I want you to tell me all that happened from beginning to end.”

 

“How far back do you want me to go?” Dex asked.

 

“I want your first interaction with the gang, that would be a good place to start,”Void responded. “If you don’t mind, Lord Garo.”

 

“I just remember chaos, not much, I was in worse shape as I am now, it was on a full moon some weeks ago, there was a scuffle and where I was sleeping was raided. The next thing I knew I was forced infront of Master Zu, who had me gagged. They originaly wanted to kill me, saying I was too sickly to make for a good slave, but they decided to throw me into a fight. He did not speak to me, well not much.”

 

“What does that mean?” Garo interrupted the tale.

 

“It is just after I won three in one night, he saw me as a money maker. I may look like a stray but I know what I was to him. It sickened me.”

 

Void asked a question, “Did you know any of the day to day business?”

 

“Only what he told me. And that was merely him bragging about how I single handedly made him the most powerful boss in the western division. That and he constantly yelled at me for not killing my  opponents after my wins.”

 

Garo did a brief inhale chuckle, “So did you win often?”

 

“Well I am still alive.”

 

Void elaborated, “The matches were to the death. We have found several dead bodies on the trail with the Broken Gang.”

 

Axley also nodded as to confirm this. Garo dug into his disgust at the cruel nature. He then looked at Dex, perhaps understanding the poor stray, and the emotions he had to go through. Dex did not look like an individual with a soul of steel. Garo briefly dug deeper until he saw the reflecting lense in the back of Dex’s eye.

 

Dex had grabbed Garo by the throat and lifted him up by the neck. Gecko’s voice shuddered through Dex’s mouth, “How does it feel brother?” A grey hand withdrew from inside Garo’s abdomen, liquored with his blood. Fire in all its infernal form claimed all life in the room. Yet Dex stood, in his element, immortal.

 

Garo shook off this vision. What was that? He asked himself. Guilt? No. As if sensing Garo’s weakness, Dex arched his back strait, a sign of superiority. The gargoyle then shifted his gaze, as if allowing Garo to look in his direction, or perhaps to apologize.

 

Dark Lord Garo understood it, he just couldn’t admit it. “You, you never lost, did you? When you escaped, did they stand a chance against you?”

 

Everyone in the room shifted their gaze to the specifics of the conversation. Garo put the piece together. It wasn’t a mere illusion or a magic spell, the fire of his soul overcame the vampire. Axley just agreed, “The escape was magnificent my lord. With a wounded arm, he disarmed one guard, and slayed him with his own weapon. The Orc did not see it coming, nor I for that matter. The series of movements were strung in such a way that could be best described as both unpredictable and perfect.”

 

“Let us get back to the details. You were found and forced to be a fighter. You then fought and through those fights, your master, Chief Zhu, was able to outseat several organizations and expand his force to the biggest criminal syndicate in Exa.”

Everyone in the room who understood the intricacies agreed and nodded.

“Then,” Garo continued, “He opened a slave trade to the continent and was trying to sell you off as a slave with knowledge of this Anceint Scroll. This leads to two final questions before we can continue this investigation; one is simply how did you escape, two is who was behind the attack on the Broken Gang?”

Dex looked down and simply went into the details of the fight. “He helped me escape. When I came to, he was gone.”

“Who?” Garo enquired.

Axley added, “A werewolf. The two fought some rounds but randomly I just saw them coordinate together, by the time they killed their second guard, the attackers ambushed the place.”

Garo made Dex look him in the eye, “Now, tell me, this is important, most slaves have a marking on them to identify them. Can you describe him?” Dex simply shook his head to the negative. Garo looked disappointed.

“He had a grey streak of hair right by his right ear, he also had the mark of a coiled snake under his right elbow, it was hard to see during his transformation, but I would bet my life on it.”

Garo took a mental picture, “Coiled Snake, that is the Fire Syndicate. No? Okay, Bianca!” In less than moments, Bianca opened the door, bowed and entered.

“What is it?”

“We have a wolf hunt! Now write my orders.”

Within minutes, orders were relayed and a team of two were sent to the Eastern cities looking for traces of the Fire Syndicate. However they would not be able to properly cover the distance and return in time, so the majority of the Dark Clan were hitting the streets on the lookout for a werewolf, the sole survivor of the massacre.

Around the crooked allyways of the small pleasure district, a hooded figure was walking. He was inhaling hard. Any passerby would look to him and simply see nothing but red garb. The hood covered everything from the neck up, to the head back down on its arch. All he could see was the floor.

The chill breath was clouding his own vision as his feet splashed across the mud. He felt every small section give in under his own weight and strength. He felt the skin of his own body, huddling over his chest. Each step was a reason for being alive. Very few could survive death, he knew this all to well. But he knew that this was his third life, and this one had a very simple existence. Revenge.

He stopped half way through the street. There was another set of alleyways coming up on his right. He focused all his strength and fed it to his ears. His heart was pulsating, a mere distraction. He lifted part of the veil to magnify his hearing abilities. A set of scampers. Probably rats. However the sun was rising soon and he did not have enough time to let it go based on probabilities.

Within a flash he diseapered from the main streets. To his shame, the street was empty. There was an object on the ground. The figure leaned over and looked it over. It was a metal wire, scratching aganst the wall with the wind. It was time to sleep soon. The town was already washed with sleep.

A new sound caught his skillfull ear. Instantly he pulled back under the roof and saw a flight of gargoyles flying over head. Must be the Dark Clan at work. Things would be tricky now that they were going to be taking the street. Perhaps he could try talking to their lord, find some information. It would be an out of the box approach but ultimately too much of a gamble.

It would be best to leave town. Revenge could wait another day. Resigning himself to his failure, he set about to walk out of the alley. Despite the time of dawn, there were still females, caged up, dull eyes to the most of them, trying to find a sale. He passed by a gamble parlor.

Two knocks. He then scratched his hands down, as if in disappointment. No answer. Rotten time to collect debts but he knew with the Dark Clan on his tale that he would need a place to hide. He waited for nothing. He slammed the door down with a sharp elbow. It hurt, but the door was open. Now only if he hadn’t broken it to the point of being unable to lock shop up again;.

He walked in, no response meant either the territory went hostile or, as he looked down he saw the dead bodies. This place too was destroyed. The two owners were dead, cut up brutally. No signs that they were still here. However this would not be a safe haven. Less than shocked or sad, he was disappointed. Finding a place to sleep would not be easy.

The Hooded figure left. Time was running out, he would not be able to make it out of the city during daylight and if the clouds did not cover the sky, the first set of dawn light would be sparkling within moments.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

He got caught leaving the scene of a crime. What a moronic move on his part. If the locals were highly trained, this would be a lethal mistake. But he could sense the unsureness of the guards footsteps. He was a weakling.

The guard approached. The hooded figure felt for a small dagger at his waist. He could try talking this one out. It could be harder to get away quietely with a dead town guard member in the middle of the street. Plus there were likely going to be witnesses if he didn’t kill him quick enough.

“I said, what are you doing? What were you doing in there? Did you break that door down?”

He could hear the guard move between him and the door. This meant he was going to investigate inside and the hooded figure did not have enough patience for that. No, there was one solution that made the most sense. All he needed was to be one and a half step closer.

The guard walked one step.

The hooded figure pretended to stumble, then simply undid a long sleeve, and set a downward angle slash. It instantly cut through the guard. All the strength the poor creature had left was to scream in death. The hooded figure sliced through his vocal cords to prevent this. And then, the guard died in silence.

The hooded figure simply stood over his victim and made sure that everything was perfect with no visable faults. “Grow cold my friend,” was what he whispered in the dead one’s ear. It was time to move on. The search would have to wait. Right now he needed a place to hide.

He ran from the seemingly deserted streets. A couple were walking through the intersection and he hid against the wall. “Please don’t see me.” The whisper to himself was a bit too loud for his tastes but they noticed him. No time, he turned the corner and kept running.

The sun rose again and on this day, two gargoyles of the Dark Clan and two town guards were looking over the dead bodies.

“This is worse than we thought. This house was originally used to store illegal gains. Massacre in there. Some real sick monsters we have running on the loose.” The town guardsmen couldn’t believe what he had seen. One of the gargoyles just took a step forward and sized him up.

“And what about the guy over there? What is his story? You think they are connected?” The Dark Gargoyle gave him a look over. He then continued, “Do you know him?” It was a pointless question as the guard knelt down and then let out a loud gasp. He threw his helmet off better to examine him. He then began to weep.

This gargoyle rolled his eyes. He wished he didn’t ask that question. Also crying made him feel uneasy, likely due to all the death he himself had caused in the line of duty. It never felt well to ponder that killing was an act of tragedy.

The gargoyle bent over and gave the slain guard a good look. “Let me guess, brother?” the gargoyle gave the guard a shifty eye. The grey one did not want to admit, but sympathy was leaking out. The guard just shrugged. Ugh, he hated guessing games. Now it would bug him all day, “Come on, who was he!?”

The guard finally stopped. “He was my cousin. He saved my life once.”

“Whoever killed him was a master. There is an interesting curve in the blade, we are looking for one interesting individual. Don’t worry. We will get him. You tend to those nobodies inside, I will worry about our revenge.” The two shook hands.

“Out of curiosity, what kind of revenge?”

The gargoyle smiled, “The most bloody sort. This is underworld related, so all we have to do is track down which person in the underworld uses a speckled curve blade. His own dagger will give him away.”

 

The two walked their separate ways. The guard called out with a sign and instantly an armed escort stormed the dead building and the quarantined the area. After walking a block, the gargoyle looked around to see if anyone was watching. When there was a negative confirmation, he flew to the sky and took to his castle.

News spread through Exa that a Guard was murdered on duty and the inhabitants began to spread rumors of fear. Across the town, outside a small tavern, a makeshift community was built. They were a set of traveling performers and needed a place to bank for the day. They set up tents, and with what money they had earned performing for the Capital, they were able to rent out a two story Inn to use as they saw fit.

The troop was the Moonlight Brigade, a troupe known for their ability to mix traditional genres, to the silent makeup, dance, and operatic. Perhaps their most known feature was simply that they used males and females of different species, but the roles specified per performance did not restrict the casts. It was not unheard of for the people of the Moonlight Brigade to cast males as females and in reverse, as well as cast the lower class werewolves as high ranking Emperor Vampires.

Such things have gained them controversy and notoriety. Politically, they only attacked the far past or used parody that punned on everyone. They did their best not to make enemies and have a modest income depending on the places they go.

In the tavern, overlooking the actors, there was an individual on the run. He was an escaped slave, a werewolf.

They were nice enough to take him in. When he related his story, they agreed to help smuggle him out of the mountains and drop him off at their next destination when they went West. For now, he hid in a room, put a small sash over the small window, and just prayed the door infront of him never slid open. However he was rewarded with a knock.

“My friend, are you there?”

It was her. He made sure his suit was tied extra tight so not to look drabby. He then proceded to sit down and said with curtesy, “Come in.” He grinned. The door slid open and a female, werewolf, beautiful beyond words. He tried his best to have a nice smile.

She hid a hand over her face and did a simple laugh.  She asked, “Is something wrong?”

“I just thought you had brought up food. I apologize. So what is it you have come up here for?” He hated his own answer. Moron! Food? Really? Like she would believe he made an loon of himself over her bringing him food? There was free food downstairs! The very thought of his stupidity caused him pain. This was one memory he would not mind forgetting ever existed. She was trying to hold in a second round of laughter. His smile quickly vanished.

“I came to ask if you wanted to see our rehearsals. I would love for our honored guest to have his opinion.”

“Oh, for your play right? I don’t know. I am not much in the mood to go out at the moment. I am enjoying the solitude of the inside.” Again, a moronic statement. He accounted that this was due to him being used to talking through violence. Or he was an idiot, he could not get confirmation of being an idiot, however how he would speak in the tone of an individual who was learned in the art of being a moron infront of her did not give him cause to think he was smart. He dared to gaze her left eye. Upon making contact, he looked back down to the floor.

She was too beautiful and he was too dark of a figure. He came from sordid backgrounds, did things that would shadow her light and had memories that would take her smile. He could make her dim if she knew him. The floor however would not judge him. He fired a second brief glance her way. Yes, she was still smiling. He could smell something coming from her. He wasn’t sure what.

She sat down next to him and he realized the smell. He sneezed, then pretended to cover his nose.

“Oh, are you sick?”

He talked through his mouth only, “Yeah.” He lied. He could kill if he had to, but he couldn’t tell her that he found her to be a beautiful specimen. He hoped his own smell may not give it away and he notice no change in her behavior.

She was close to him, too close for his comfort, or rather perhaps he was overly comfortable and that alone was causing him a level of fear. “Okay,” he needed to get her away. “Okay, I will be down in a minute.” He wondered which she wanted more. She smiled and left. Did she want to be alone with him, or did she rather he come down to watch her rehearse? That smell, it meant she liked him too.

He got up to stretch his legs and a glass cup broke. Did that mean something? No, there were no omens that obvious. He changed his closthes and looked out the barred windows. It felt like a prison but he knew better, it was to keep criminals from breaking in. Yet it reminded him of his cage from some time ago. These bars however were meant for better things, like keeping them out. He was safe, the bars held the world prisoner while he was free to do as he wished in this small room.

Freedom, an odd thing when there is little to do with it. If he was truly free, he would walk out of the inn immediately and then he would roam the city for something to buy, although he had no money. Perhaps being poor meant you were not free. Then he would be free to get a job, or he would be a farmer. Live off the land. His fantasy died quickly as he knew how the tale of his freedom ended. It ended with him being hunted down and killed, and the odds were good he would not see it coming, he would enter the afterlife having no clue how he got there.

One thing he liked about fighting is he knew, if he died, he would see it coming, and as he would go, he would know what he did wrong to earn himself his death. He stitched together some extra cloth and together, tied it so that it created a hood. The wereworlf was ready to be unrecognizable to those who must be looking out for him. Capture was death, and deathw as not an option. He slid the door open and walked down the hallway.

He closed his eyes. The hallway was too narrow for his taste and the closed space was making him scared. Panic was not allowed. One step went infront of the other and soon he found himself moving in preparation for a descent. Before he knew it, his eyes were open and he was on the ground floor.

The person running the inn had a wide smile. “Thank you for coming. Is there anything I can do for you sir?” It was a fake smile. Years of him doing that to all those who come and go had created this permanent façade. Yet the werewolf did enjoy being called sir. He just nodded a salutation and walked on. He hoped he did not just offend. But the light of the outside came on.

The excuse would be, for the hood, that the light of the sun was unwelcoming and it was used to shield his eyes, from it. Fortunately he could claim to sleep soon. The actors however had no time to notice as they were running around and prepping for some thing that even he could not deduce what the play was about. One wore the makeup of a noble, a male was prepped like a female and his world of sanity now belonged to the insane.

The child in him started to feel happy though. He had seen a performance once in his time. His mother took him. He did not understand how the actors were conveying their meanings or the interpretive dance. He also did not remember what the play was about. He did have that moment etched into his head. It was a warm moment full of safety and love.

She found him before he found her. His eye spotted her smiling at him before he noticed she was even there infront of him. “So, what is this play about?” He asked.

She bowed before him as a salutation then took his hand to a seat. “The audience always sits infront of the stage.” That was her response. She clearly wanted him to be surprised. He just decided to give her a look that appeared to show his confusion. It was clearly time for sleep, and the sun was draining his living energy. But he enjoyed the sights of art being made. He decided in a moment of haste that if he is ever able to leave this village, he will dedicate himself to the art of becoming an artisan of sorts.

“I see our guest has decided to join us, this is a good thing. Alas we can test our work on an audience of one.” An actor, garbed in a females dress looked at the werewolf. The werewolf could not tell if the tone was condescending or if it was the nature of the actor. The actor continued talking, “I am Regi, the fourth master in our touring company. I have inherited it from some great stature individuals and hope one day that I myself may be counted in those stars.”

There werewolf introduced himself. “I am He Called Night. You can call me Night though. I am greatful that you took me in during my time of need.”

“He Called Night? Why, you must be from the continent!” Regi looked shocked.

“Yes.” Night responded. The first two words in his name were said as one name in his home country but here, the language barrier proved to be too ackward for conversation pieces. The reality was he was moved here before he could actually call the continent his home. Night didn’t even know which of the many kingdoms were actually his. He only remembered the boat ride and then, his mother.

“Must be close to the ocean too, not far, you have similar eyes, and the paleness is the same. Wow, I would not have noticed, I feel so guilty. It is a pleasure to meet you Night.”

The former slave just responded with a smile. The gentle breeze was soon on its approach and peace swept through his life. This moment, it was perfect. The gods themselves with all their wars and battles could not comprehend the divine nature of this moment. He stopped being afraid. He was not afraid of the light, nor had worry about the dark. In that instant, despite his initial fears, he took off the hood and let the sun beam down on him.

An outsider was playing a song on an instrument. It was a local custom, only in Exa, in which when the final vendor begins close, a song carries away any of the bad spirits that might have been brought upon him or her. The song is that of peace and somber. The serene sounds faded into the wind and Night could barely keep his eyes open.

Off to the side, he could see that the director was clearly overindulging in telling about all his grand schemes in the making of this performance piece. Night just leaned back. He shouldn’t even be awake. He felt her touch on his shoulder. In the inaudible world, he saw her, looked in her left eye, and smiled. He wanted to kiss her, talk noiseless words to ears, and so he did. His lips moved, saying nothing. She in turn responded.

Laughter, the director laughed hard. In his state of ease, he made a silly crack. She too chuckled. It was a nice one, a shame that he did not take the situation seriously for the sake of romance. But she tapped his shoulder again when she talked, “I will tell you what is going on until my cue.”

The director looked sad. Clearly this was his vision. “I am busy myself anyways. I have to make sure they get their parts right. Now, honored Night, our guest and host, please feel free to enjoy the show and leave any comments you may have for me after.”

Her finger brustled a bit on the top of his back through his hair. She reached back immediately when he looked at her. A slight look of shame came upon her. Their problem was they were both of the same interest and mind, and that was the beauty of the creature next to them. However neither really knew the other and it provided a wall they both were running at length for.

They both knew though, and they both understood all too well that the other knew as well. He never courted a maiden, but if he did, perhaps he would take her to see a play, and she in turn would tell him what the story was as it unfolded.

Someone said the cue and the play started. For a brief moment, the land of Blud was at total peace.

Author's Note

I couldnt decide where to end this chapter and let the next begin. I hope I made the right choice, which means in the next chapter, conflict is going to happen, but for now, lets end a chapter on perhaps a not so forboding and dark note.