Two burly men stood side by side on the narrow palisade, careful not to look inward lest their night vision be ruined. The sweet smell of pocky smoke was heavy on the air, mixing with the stench of cheap liquor. Boisterous laughter filled the air, overlapping with the sounds of a poorly played lute.
"This is bullshit, James. Why do we always get the short end of the straw?" the first said, spitting off the escarpment.
"Stop bitching, Kyle. It's better than the pits," James grunted, resting his longbow on one shoulder.
"Very true… Anything is better than that shithole. Getting to feel the touch of an actual woman is nice too, even if we have to share," Kyle replied.
James chuckled.
"The pillaging and filling of hot blood on my face was nice as well. I never would have guessed they would have let us go back to plying our trade," James said.
Kyle frowned thoughtfully. "What's with that, anyway? That bastard of a warden swore he was going to work us to death for our crimes, but then he just let us go? It doesn't make sense," Kyle said.
James shrugged. "I have no idea, but whoever got us released knows people in very high places. They must be powerful indeed. Why else would they send us to rob a caravan with belonging to such prominent people? Didn't you see that crest on their attire? They clearly belong to a noble house, though I don't know which one," James said.
"Think we should bug out? Some very dangerous people might be bearing down on us as we speak. What if they are influential enough to move the Order? They might send a blade Cardinal after us. We will be slaughtered like sheep," Kyle replied.
Just then, a nearby ghastly wail echoed through the night, pausing their conversation.
"What the fuck was that?" James asked, chills running up his spine as he watched the dark treeline.
"Must be a monster," Kyle said.
"Thanks, Captain Obvious, I would have never guessed that," James retorted.
Kyle scowled. "Hey, you want an arrow in your face?"
"Try it dumbass, i'll even stand still, do it, i bet you wont even hit me," James replied.
"Don't tempt me, my aim has been getting a lot better," Kyle snorted, knocking an arrow, staring intently over the palisade.
When the expected snide retort from James didn't come, Kyle turned. James was gone, no longer on the wall walk. He had been there not a moment before, but now he was gone.
"James? Where did you go? I'm not actually going to shoot an arrow at you," Kyle said, more annoyed than concerned.
There was a wet thud behind him, and he whirled, spotting something rolling on the edge of the palisade. It was dark, so he couldn't really make out what it was.
"I swear if this is another one of your practical jokes, I really will shoot you," Kyle said, as he leaned over and grabbed the shadowy object.
He grasped it by what felt like hair, hoisting it up until the light from the camp behind him could illuminate it.
Kyle's annoyance turned to surprise as he hoisted the object, revealing it in all of its gruesome glory. It was Jamese's head, locked in a look of surprise as it dripped blood from the stump at his neck, where it had been sheared by a brutal weapon.
Kyle opened and closed his mouth in mute incomprehension, unable to come to terms with the sight of his friend's death in such a gruesome manner.
The palisade shuddered slightly. Reeling internally, he turned, still clutching the head in a white knuckled grip. Kyle could have sworn he was dreaming, or perhaps having a nightmare as he took in the creature in front of him.
Cloaked in shadows, a tall figure loomed over him, its ribs visible, its arms gangly, with wiry muscle looking made from steel rather than flesh. Only vaguely humanoid, it had long, greyish silver hair, with a monstrous smile that made chills run up his spine.
He was so stunned that he didn't even register the ax in its clawed hand until it was too late.
Hot blood spattered Archivualds bare chest, his ax smashing through the man's collar bone and into his heart. The second lookout died in brutal fashion, his ax making a sickening squelch as he ripped it free.
Two down, an unknown amount left. Crouching on the edge of the palisade, Archivuald looked inward, ice already spreading from his body. To call the bandits hideout a fortress would be gross overstatement. It was a wooden palisade around a stone house and a half dozen tents.
The interior was dimly lit, most of the other bandits gathered around a large fire on the far side of the building. Many of the people were clearly high, or drunk, but that didn't mean he could just run in.
No, that was a good way to get surrounded, and overwhelmed. Archivauld might be out for blood, but that didn't mean he had to be an idiot about it.
Crouching low, he walked along the palisade wall, careful to keep to the shadows. Much of the wall was veiled in darkness, but that only held true until he was out from behind the shadows cast by the two story building in the middle.
At that point, the building no longer blocked the light, which illuminated the other side of the wall, and the guard up there.
He swore inwardly. Getting rid of that one was going to be a bit more challenging than the first two. To one side, he caught movement, as Foxy leapt up onto the wall, and jumped down like it was nothing. Difficult to track, she moved in a low fast crouch, pausing behind a latrine mostly shrouded in shadows as it was in the eve of the building.
What a clever Fox. As if on cue, one of the bandits rounded the corner. The man was clearly drunk, his voice audible to Archivauld who crouched as low as he could atop the wall, careful not to move too quickly. He really hoped the man didn't look up, cursing himself as he waited atop the palisade. Damned wall walk only had protection from one side, meaning he was a sitting duck if the man looked up.
Thankfully, the man had other problems, namely his belt, as he tried to release the clasp, stumbling toward the latrine. A patient hunter, Foxy didn't move, keeping her cover until the man entered.
Archivauld grinned. When the bandit came back out, he wasn't going to know what hit him. Backing away from the lit sections of the wall walk, he hung from the edge, dropping to the dirt with a soft thud.
Leaving Foxy to do her thing, he crept past the latrine, towards the back of the house, straining all of his senses. It was difficult to tell if anyone was inside.
Only a single window was visible from this side, up on the second floor. He frowned, looking up at the window. He cocked his head. Was that crying? Even over the sounds of a poorly played lute and laughter, he could swear he heard crying. It was coming from the top floor, drifting from a partially open window.
The building, made mostly from brick, unfortunately didn't have a door on this side, but who needed doors when you had claws like a cats. It was a risk to climb the wall, and expose himself, but he deemed it was worth it. If it came down to the wire, he could leap down.
Looping his ax on his belt, he found cracks between the brick, and began to climb. With the gaps for the mortar, it was much easier than that death defying climb he did to enter the city of stronghold.
With his long arms, it didn't even take a minute to reach his mark, just under the window. Feeling around, he found the cracks in the brickwork with his hooked claws, pulling himself up. Carefully, he pulled himself up until he peek inside the dark window.
His eyes roved the dark interior, landing on a huddled form on a small bed. It was just a mattress and a bedframe, the girl huddled in a ball.
Given her size, was perhaps fourteen or fifteen, with a bruised face and arms, her once rich clothing tattered.
Archviuald paused, debating on what to do. Should he talk to her, or confront the bandits first? Making his presence know could cause problems, but he needed information, and she might have it.
Deciding to take the risk, he cleared his throat, hoping she didn't scream upon hearing his gravelly voice.
"Hey," Archivauld whispered speaking quietly
She jumped at his words, the crying stopping as she frantically looked around.
"Who is it, where are you?" She asked, startled.
"Quiet down, i'm out the window," Archivauld said softly.
Her gaze honed in on the window, and he thanked the heavens that it was dark out. She might start screaming if she saw his face in his monster form.
"Did my grandfather send you?" she asked with a sniffle, cautiously getting to her feet, glancing back at the door as she moved towards the window.
Archivauld moved lower, wary of being seen. "No, I have no idea who you are.. But I am here to help," Archivuald said.
She paused.
"My grandpa didn't send you?" She asked hesitantly.
"No, but I'm here to help," Archviauld replied.
"Who are you, and are there more of you?" She asked.
What a persistent kid. He grumbled inwardly. "My name is Alex, and no, it's just me. What's your name?" he asked, hoping the mundane conversation would help alleviate her concerns..
She seemed hesitant, but thankfully answered. "My name is Estacia, but since you're my knight in shining armor, you can call me Stacy," she replied.
Archivuald was more of a monster that stalked the darkness than a knight in shining armor, but he supposed he could at least pretend for the time being.
"Well, Stacy, I would like to say it's a pleasure, but this place is a shithole. How about we get you out of here," Archivauld replied.
She laughed softly, wiping at her swollen red eyes.
"No complaints here. So, how are you going to get us out of here?" she replied.
"Us? There are more of you?" He asked, surprised.
she nodded. "Three more. Two of them are my maids, and there is Jervony, a friend of mine," she replied.
Well, that was just perfect. Now he had three more people to worry about saving. Clutching tightly to the cracks with his claws, Archivauld took a deep calming breath. "Stacy, do you know how many people are inside this little compound, or why they captured you?" Archivauld asked.
She nodded. "There are ten, maybe twelve of them, I think. And they have made their intentions clear. They are trying to ransom me back to my family," she said with a sniffle.
Archivuald raised an eyebrow. This girl was incredibly well spoken for a kid, surprisingly inquisitive too.
"Who are they.. Do you know who kidnapped you?" Archivauld asked.
"They call themselves the red star bandits," she said, fidgeting nervously as she glanced back towards the door yet again.
That name gave him pause. It was the name he recognized. After all, it was the name of his former group, Yurlan's bandit gang. It could be a coincidence, but how likely was that?
"Did you catch any names?" Archivauld asked, his heart skipping a beat at the prospect.
Inside the dark room, she shook her head. "No, sorry, they won't answer any of my questions," she replied, her breath misting as the air rapidly cooled, ice creeping across the window cill
Archivauld sighed. "That's okay. Are you able to run? We might need to flee quickly," Archivauld asked.
"I think I can run," she replied, leaning against the window, seeming to try and peer down at him through the cracked glass.
"That's good to hear. Be ready, things might go south quickly," Archivauld replied, lowering himself further, not wanting her to see his monstrous visage.
"What are you going to do? You can't fight them alone, they will kill you," she said.
"Don't worry about me, I have Foxy," Archivauld said.
"Whose Foxy?" Stacy asked, the chatter of her teeth audible.
Ahh, well, it was about time he left. His pervasive domain was already spreading inside, anylonger and it would become harmful to the girl..
He sighed audibly. "Don't worry about Foxy. Estacia, you are going to have to trust me. Stay quiet, hide under your bed if you have to, I'll be back for you when I'm done," Archivauld said.
With that, he climbed back down the brick wall, his claws finding easy purchase in the small cracks. He was uncertain if she was going to listen or even if he would even have the opportunity to save her.
That all depended on just how fierce the opposition was. His feet touched the ground, and he looked back. It didn't take him long to spot Foxie's faint outline behind the latrine, clutching her kill by the back of his neck.
Foxy was way too sneaky for her own good.. He hadn't even heard her kill the bandit when the man left the latrine.
Nodding to himself, Archivuald crouched low as he moved, reaching the edge of the building. Taking a deep breath, he slowly peeked around the corner. It was risky, considering the firelight lit up the far side of the building, but it was a risk he would have to take.
The party was in full swing, with at least seven bandits visible. He was almost immediately able to confirm that both of the maids Estacia mentioned were still alive, though the boy was nowhere to be seen.
By the looks of it, the maids were not in a good way. Beaten and bruised, one was being manhandled on a man's lap, while the other was refilling drinks, the bandits groping her as she stumbled past them. The sight made his anger burn even hotter, but he quashed the urge to rush in blindly. His eyes flitted around the faces, his mind coming to a screeching halt as he recognized one of them.
Grizzled and scarred, the man had dirty blond hair, and fierce brown eyes. He was average height with the burly build of a fighter, a bearded ax tucked in a loop at his belt. It was Yurlan, the leader of the Red star bandits. Stunned, Archivuald's eyes frantically scanned the others, finding the burly Tanur and his morning star without much effort. His heartbeat rapidly as his eyes traced over the crowd, resting on an innocuous figure with a rusted and chipped two handed ax leaning beside him.
The man was facing away, but it didn't take long for the man to turn, replying to one of the others.
It was like looking in a mirror, seeing his old face looking back. What was going on here? Who were these people, and why were they pretending to be the red star bandits?
He had so many questions, but couldn't get answers just standing around. His eyes roved over the other five bandits, not recognizing any of them. Where was he? Where was that rotten bastard…. His eyes flicked back to the bandit who was manhandling one of the maids.
He hadn't recognized him at first with his longer hair, and given the fact he was partially turned away, but he did now. Burly, with a hawk face, and hooked nose, it was Parcival. For some reason, Archviauld didn't think this one was a fake.
No….. That one was the rotten bastard himself, Parcival Blackwood. Even from this distance, he could see it in the man's eyes, that boundless cruelty. The man whose back was turned to him...
Before he knew what he was doing, rage overcame his reason. Archivuald was already on the move, his clawed toes making little sound as he made a B Line for the vile man.
The raucous cheer and the poorly played lute made more than enough racket to cover the sounds of his approach. Even so, half the bandits around thefire were facing him, and even drunk and high, they were not blind. One of them, the Yurlan imposter, swayed on the log he was using as a chair.
"By the dark gods hairy balls, what's that?" Yurlan slurred. Several more of the bandits turned, not all of them, but enough. Archivuald didn't hesitate, funneling over half of his essence into his most Destructive emblem. A horrific, otherworldly eye rapidly formed above his head, growing until it was the size of the wheel on a cart.
The swirling darkness split vertically, exposing all who looked to the eye of oblivion, to the endless nothing of the dark gods' realm. Streamers of blue and black essence were ripped from the eyes and mouths of all who were foolish enough to gaze inside, their vital essence dragged into that hellish domain.
In only seconds, the men, and one of the maids who had looked as well, were turned into lifeless husks, collapsing to the dirt.
Archivuald couldn't pause to celebrate taking out over half in one go, including the Yurlan and Tanur imposters, as there were still four more.
An arrow zipped past his face as the bandit on the palisade boardwalk shot at him. Archivauld grimaced, hot blood trickling down his neck as the arrow gouged a furrow along his cheek. Already in motion, he shot forwards, closing the gap to Parcival, who was frantically trying to throw off his terrified captive, reaching for his spear. In an ironic twist of fate, the woman who he had been tormenting moments before grabbed onto him with all her strength. She grabbed at his arms, even biting his ear as hard as she could.
Parcival shouted in pain and anger, but her effort to slow him worked as intended. Archviauld was there as Parcival slapped the woman in the face, frantically reaching for his spear.
Archviualds ax fell, and the man's right arm was cut off at the wrist just as it grasped the spear.
Parcival screamed in pain, his eyes filled with fear as Archviauld's ax rose to deal the killing blow. Archivuald could see the dawning realization in the Parcival's eyes as the axe cleaved towards his face.
Much to Archviauld's dismay, there was a loud clang, as one of the other bandits intervened, robbing him of ridding the world of that vile man. Archivuald was thrown back by an unseen force, tumbling head over heels.
Head spinning, he frantically rolled to his feet, his axe still clutched in a white knuckled grip. Fury burned in his chest as he clambered back to his feet, pain blooming in his side as he eyed his opponents.
The bowman on the wall was already knocking another arrow, while Parcival clutched at his bleeding stump.
Archivauld's eyes locked onto the one who had just repelled his attack, his eyes oozing a hateful chill.
"Out of my way, this isn't your fight," Archivuald said, his voice gravelly and sinister.
The one who faced him, was no other than his own doppelganger, axe and all. The imposter cocked his head, glancing back to Parcival curiously.
"You know this monster?" the imposter asked, not seeming bothered at all that Archivuald had just killed most of their companions.
Parcival scowled, taking his belt in his teeth, and cinching it tightly just above his severed hand.
"That's the real Archivauld," Parcival said through gritted teeth.
The imposter cracked a wide, sinister smile.
"You don't say? You never mentioned he was a literal monster, I always thought you were speaking rhetorically," the imposter replied.
Parcival growled.
"He's a right bastard, but we outnumber him four to one. Both of you block him while Vikram fills him full of arrows," Parcival ordered, wincing from the pain..
When no arrows came, he swore. 'Hey! Vikram! What are you waiting for? Shoot the bastard!" Parcival shouted, never taking his eyes from Archviauld.
When the bowman didn't reply and no arrows came, Parcival finally glanced back towards the wall walk.
It was just in time as a blood-curdling scream filled the air. Archviuald's display had been the perfect distraction. The archer had spotted Foxy creeping along the wall walk too late, his arrow going wide as he frantically tried to shoot her.
Once he missed, he was done for. She bounded forward and pounced, those vice like jaws pushing aside his flailing arms and finding his throat. Parcival's face paled further as Foxy shook the archer like a rag doll, his neck audibly snapping from the motion.
When Parcival turned back, Archivuald was grinning a truly monstrous smile.
"It looks like the odds have evened out. Only two and a half of you left. How about I cut off your other hand and even it out?" Archivuald said, raising his ax.
"What the fuck is that?" the third bandit swore, his eyes wide as he stared at the blood covered Foxy peering down at them from the wall walk.
"It's a Nightingale, you daft bastard. Stop freaking out, and focus up," Parcival swore.
Archviuald let out a dark laugh, channeling his inner monster.
"What do you say, boys? No need for all of you to die. If the two of you stand aside and give me Parcival, I'll let you go," Archivuald offered.
Parcival swore aloud. "Don't listen to this asshole, he will kill you after he deals with me. The only way we survive this is by working together," Parcival replied, his gaze frantic. With his good arm, he leaned over, grasping the maid, who was crying in the dirt by the hair. She cried out, as he dragged her by the hair, pulling her in front of him, using her as a shield.
Archivauld rolled his shoulders, gripping his axe tighter as Foxy discarded her latest kill like a sack of garbage and leapt down from the wall walk.
She lit silently on the ground, baring her long canines as she growled. The three bandits instinctively huddled closer together. They were boxed in, and they knew it. Most of their comrades were dead, and help was unlikely to come. Even so, the three wouldn't go down without a fight. They were like trapped monsters, backed into a corner, and what kind of monsters would go down without a fight?