“Word for the wise: don’t run from the Sunvaar. They like the chase, and they’re faster than you.”
-“Folk Wisdom”, Sekar Orious
The boat rocked back and forth in the waves, the boy staring at the ship Zelith had vanished into. Conall and Zelith had been friends ever since she and her folks had moved into the West Quarter years ago. The two had gotten jobs cleaning around the much fancier, cleaner Temple Quarter when they were ten, but Conall had been the only one allowed to clean the fountains. Zelith, being a witchblood and all, hadn’t been allowed to clean anything where the usual patrons of the temples would see her.
The stealing had started not too long after that. Coins they were meant to bring in from the fountains, tithes and offerings, whatever they were able to get their hands on. It was partially a game between them, to see who would go farther first, but the extra money was always appreciated in the crowded, destitute West Quarter.
Conall smiled thinking back on all of that, putting a hand to his hat as he glanced back towards the ship. He had been panicked all night, since Zelith had pulled him aside at the temple to tell him they weren’t hitting the temple, but a ship. It was a terrible idea, but Zelith was smart, smart enough she’d taken to learning magic from that book she’d bought years ago. If she thought something was a good idea, you’d agree in short order.
The panic faded as he looked at the ship, whistling a tune to himself and grinning.
They were going to be fine.
There was a crack of heat that shot out from the back of the ship, the boards smoldering as Conall winced, putting a hand over his face, as Zelith appeared on the boat. She had a sack clutched in her pink hand, but she looked panicked. Her entire left sleeve had been torn apart, a set of faint bleeding claw marks visible on her arm as she looked at Conall, eyes wide.
“Run.”
With another crack, the stars flaring around her bleeding hand, Zelith vanished, a rush of cold now rushing out, as Conall looked towards the ship.
An armored woman, her tied black hair glowing with streaks of bio-luminescent blue, stood on the deck, eyes fixed on him as a howl echoed across the water.
Zelith had been running along the narrow alleys of the slums that were her home, heart threatening to shatter her ribs. Her horns throbbed after the rapid casting, but she’d managed to get back to the shore. Much further then she’d planned, or ever practiced, but she’d made it.
Letting out a breath, she leaned against a wall, careful to not accidentally crush her own tail as she opened the satchel in her hands. She’d only just managed to find a chest and grab whatever she could before that woman had attacked her. She’d barely been able to cast to get out, just barely avoiding having wolf claws dug too far into her arm.
The coins that shimmered in the faint half-light of the lamps from the street filled her with a sense of awe, a tired smile coming to her face. This would be enough to get her family out of the West Quarter. Maybe even to get into Lahrii, to really learn magic. It was hard to think about anything else, although the pang of guilt for running from Conall did eat away at her. He was a smart guy. He’d be able to get out of there.
As Zelith spun the coin in her fingers, she paused, turning it back. A new reflection.
Blue.
Panic hit her again as Zelith’s eye flickered towards her right, already starting to stand up. The wolf woman was there, breathing heavily as she she grinned, white, sharp teeth almost illuminated from inside her mouth as her black and blue eyes gleamed out of the shadows.
“Thought I knew the smell. Witchblood,” she said, taking a step closer. “Protecting your master, hm? Don’t.”
As she got closer, Zelith let out a breath. Her hunter was almost an entire head taller then her, without counting the horns, and something in her mind was screaming at her that she had to run, now.
“I don’t have a master, I’m-” Zelith began, but the woman moved too quickly, a clawed hand shooting out to grab Zelith’s rising casting arm. The witchblood wasn’t fast enough, her arm clamped into an iron grip.
“Snuck in. Spying,” the hunter growled. Her breath was hot, smelling strongly of something Zelith couldn’t identify. “Heard Sunvaar were at the docks? Scared we’d find something?”
“I’m not…I wasn’t spying! I didn’t even know you were hunters!” Zelith yelped. Her mind was racing, trying to remember everything she could about the Sunvaar. Hunters, monster slayers for coin. Named after a god of the hunt.
The woman didn’t seem convinced, eyes narrowing as she reached down towards her belt, towards a vial of some clear liquid.
“…the Old Bear will figure you out,” she said eventually, uncorking the bottle as a strong smell began to waft out. Zelith was immediately drowsy, letting out another frantic breath as she struggled against the grip of her captor. How? How could she convince her?
Zelith tried to think, past the growing tired pain that was blossoming along with her headache. She was scared. She didn’t want to be captured, and no amount of money was worth that. But the wolf woman thought she was the servant of something. What? Why?
As she took an unsteady step, trying to stay upright, it hit her, looking at her own horned shadow.
“…Can help you find the demon,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “Don’t know who, where. But I can help. Mages…always helpful.”
Holding up the coin purse, she let the shiny coins become visible.
“My fee.”
As the hunter stared at her, her face eventually broke into a grin. A laugh, deep and almost like a bark, echoed through the alley as she closed the bottle.
“Guts. Break into our ship. Take a fee. Ask for a job,” the woman said, shaking her head and wiping a tear. “Strange one, you. But…yes. Sure. Assist.”
As she let go of Zelith’s arm, she gestured towards the street.
“But first. A test,” she said, taking a step out. “My fool of a packmate, Kevyn, is drowning loneliness at some bar. He always is. Come. We will find him, and we shall drink, and talk of monsters.”
As she began to walk, Zelith stared after her, rubbing her bleeding arm, looking at the aching cuts. The Sunvaar hunter seemed to be relaxed, an immediate shift from her more grim, terrifying posture in the alley. The injuries Zelith sported were minor, already clotting up, but the witchblood couldn’t help but look at them.
After a moment, she began to follow.
“…What’s your name?” she asked, moving her hair from her eyes as she moved to try to keep up, still a bit winded.
“The Grey Storm,” the wolf responded, looking back at Zelith with a toothy grin. “But most call me Grey.”
With that, she continued to walk, moving through the streets of Stinjul with a tired mage in tow.
<- UNWOUND: 1
Strike The Horizon 