Jarrad's Initiation
The undergrowth parts with barely a sound and the young man jogs into the
small clearing. Staggering
slightly, he drops to one knee and it’s easy to see that he is close to
exhaustion, very close. Taking a
deep breath, he forces himself to stand upright, knowing that if he was to sit
down, even for a moment, he would be hard pressed to get up again.
The
greens and browns of his clothing seem to mingle with the colours of the forest.
The strange spiralling tattoos on his face give him a feral, dangerous
look and the fine bow that he carries in his right hand lets you know that this
is surely a hunter of some kind. And
that is exactly what he is, a hunter, one of the best hunters in the known
world. Jarrad is FeyBane!
For
four days, he has been on the trail of the killer, the monster that slaughtered
dozens of villagers for no apparent reason.
Prince Arion had been begged for help from the village elder, begged to
do something about the madman who was plaguing the area.
For weeks this man, if truly a man he was, had been attacking the
village, killing as many as he could, burning their homes and then fleeing back
into the wild forest again. No one
in the village had the skill or the courage to go after him, no one dared to
venture away from the feeble safety of their poor homes.
And the killer was allowed free reign to do as he pleased.
Until
Prince Arion decided that enough was enough and sent in the FeyBane.
It
seems that lately the land is being torn and plagued by trouble in a thousand
different ways. No sooner has one
problem been dealt with then you get another one springing up.
The FeyBane have been busy, very busy over the last few months on House
business and the Prince could only spare Jarrad, the youngest and newest of the
hunters. This would be his first
solo task, not an easy one, but Jarrad is FeyBane, what more need be said?
And so
it is that Jarrad finds himself in this position. He is tired and hungry, weak from his days of running but not
wanting to take the time to rest. He
has been trailing his prey, getting closer and closer, every passing minute
bringing him nearer to the end of his search and now he knows that it is almost
over.
The
tracks that let him to the clearing and fresh, telling Jarrad that his prey can
only be an hour in front of him at most. Limbs
shaking with exhaustion, the FeyBane pushes himself onwards, knowing that if he
stops now it might be days before he can get this close again.
But one thing is worrying him. His
prey is human, a mere human, so how in Lordhel’s name is he managing to move
so swiftly? From another FeyBane
this would be no surprise, from a StillWalker certainly, possibly even from one
of the House soldiers. But not a
human!
Pushing
aside his doubts, Jarrad shifts his
shortsword in its scabbard, takes a firmer grip on his bow and heads onwards
again. The day is bright and clear,
there is no hint of wind and, in other circumstances, he could have taken a
simple pleasure at being in the woods. Like
all FeyBane, Jarrad is much more comfortable in natural surroundings, far from
the cold, false stone walls that mankind seems to erect everywhere it goes.
A brief smile crosses his face as he takes a deep breath and readies
himself for the chore that lies ahead.
A
noise to the right of him, the faintest hint of branches being moved.
The merest suggestion of stale sweat, some other warning that he can’t
put a name to. Whatever it is,
it’s enough to send Jarrad diving forward, hitting the ground in a roll and
coming to his feet with his shortsword in his hand.
The spot where he had been only seconds ago has exploded in a ball of
flame, the heat scorching the soil and igniting the scrub around it.
Fear
grips Jarrad, fear and shock. What
in all the nine hells is going on?
The
being that moves out of the undergrowth is no more human than Jarrad is, but
he’s certain that this is the thing that he’s been tracking for so long.
The thing looks vaguely human, vaguely, but its skin is covered with
boils and weeping sores that steadily ooze a trickle of foul, yellow liquid.
Most of it’s hair has fallen out long ago, it’s clothes are ragged
and torn but it’s the eyes that truly set it aside.
They are just orbs of flame, burning and smoking in the sockets and
searing the flesh of the creatures face.
Swallowing
in a dry throat, Jarrad tightens his grip on his sword and moves forward,
refusing to allow himself to be intimidated by this …. thing.
And as he does so, the creatures steps forward, mimicking the FeyBane’s
actions exactly. Every move that Jarrad made, no matter how small or fast is
copied by this thing, copied to perfection and the fear within the FeyBane is
slowly replaced by anger. This
monstrosity is mocking him, laughing at him.
At him!
Diving
forward, the FeyBane lashes out with his blade, hoping against hope to catch the
creature unawares. The razor sharp
edge of the sword cuts easily through the torn and filthy jerkin that the
creature is wearing but when it meets the monster’s skin, it bounces away
harmlessly, jarring the fingers of the FeyBane’s hand but having no effect on
the beast.
Springing
backwards, it takes Jarrad a moment to realise that the high pitched howling
that the creature is making is actually laughter. This thing is laughing at him, mocking the attack of a
FeyBane. Narrowing his eyes, Jarrad
moves forward again, refusing to allow this insult to go unpunished.
And
the next thing he knows he’s lying on his back, the flesh of his face torn and
burned in the shape of the beast’s hand.
It had slapped him with such power that he was thrown half a dozen yards
backwards, slapped him so quickly that Jarrad had not even seen the attack
coming. Slapped him and left a
burning handprint where it had struck.
The
howling sound that creature makes gets louder and louder, echoing around the
empty forest and, as Jarrad lies there, stunned and unable to catch his breath,
he realises that he is going to die. With
that realisation comes a vague disappointment, the knowledge that he has failed
his Prince and that he has failed Saru.
The
beast, whatever it is, raises its arms and screams its victory into the uncaring
sky. Birds scramble to the air,
frightened by this alien sound and Jarrad just had time to notice one single
raven circling high above him before the creature leaps forward, determined to
finish this uneven fight.
Scrabbling
backwards, Jarrad reaches for the only weapon he has left, his House Sannon.
As soon as he touches the handle of this sacred blade he knows that he
has done the right thing, he knows that Lordhel will aid him!
“Lordhel!”
he screams as he drives the blade forward.
“Lordhel!”
With
terrifying ease, the House blade cuts through the skin and flesh of the monster
that is crashing down onto the FeyBane. Jared's
desperation and the creature’s own attack cause the blade to sink deep into
its chest. Instantly, flames erupt
from the ruptured flesh and, within a heartbeat, the creature is writhing on the
ground, fire engulfing it.
Struggling
backwards, Jarrad can feel the intense heat of the flames scorching his skin
but, for the moment, he doesn’t even realise how badly his hand and arm have
been burned. When the shock wears
off he’s going to be in a great deal of pain but, for now, all he can do is
stare at the remains of the thing that he has spent so long hunting.
The
flames burn high and hot, consuming everything, leaving no evidence, no clue as
to what this thing was. Within
moments, the blackened earth and the mark on Jarrad's face are the only signs
that this thing ever existed. Pushing
himself to his feet, the FeyBane grimaces as he slowly realises just how badly
he’s been burnt. It will be a
long time before he can handle a weapon with anything close to competence, but
that doesn’t matter.
He’s
done his job, he’s brought down his prey.
He has completed the task he was given by Prince Arion and he shown Saru
that he is capable. The tears that
run down his face are just the results of the wounds that he has taken, there is
no way that they can be anything other than that, is there?
Staggering
and exhausted, Jarrad turns and begins to walk back the way he came.
It’s a long journey back to the House stronghold but he has no doubt
that he’ll make it.
He is
FeyBane.
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