When the Titans fell, first we grieved. On the second day, we investigated. On the third day, we began to build.
-Recitations 1:30
The night was late, but the canals and streets of Stinjul were still full of people, the glowing blue streetlamps that dotted the city making it so the place never truly fell asleep. As they were getting to the edge of the West Quarter, Grey gestured towards a squat building, almost entirely underground with a staircase leading down.
“There,” she said, sniffing a bit.
As they got to the edge of the stairs, a set of doors old wine cellar doors were held open by locks, another door at the bottom of the stairs as the sound of drums and flutes drifted up from below. The smell of cigar smoke and alcohol was strong even from here.
As they descended, Zelith frowned, glancing over to Grey.
“…Is Conall alright?”
“Oh, your boatman? Should be, the old man is keeping an eye on him,” she said. “Asked him questions. Clear you were the brain with the plan.”
As the door swung open, the music became more clear. The entire front of the room was large barrels, like somebody had built a bar into a wine cellar, with a large area of tables and a stage with musicians expanding out from the back, clearly newer construction. The bar was full of sailors, crowding around drinks, a few raising mugs as they saw Grey and Zelith entering. Near the back, a few young men were chanting and hitting the table, Grey chuckling a bit as she spotted the group, starting to walk closer.
The crowd seemed to be gathered entirely on one man, five large tankards empty on the table and the ground nearby, a sixth almost vertical as he seemed to be chugging the contents. He was tall, that much was obvious even as he was sitting down, a solid wall of muscle. While he was dressed similarly to Grey, dark leather armor covering his torso and legs, his tattooed arms were entirely uncovered. Almost every visible inch of skin was covered in scars, and a mane of golden hair and beard hung down as he finished the tankard, slamming it to the table. His face was equally as scarred, his entire right eye nothing but a massive scar and an empty socket. His remaining yellow eye was dull and unfocused, clearly drunk, as he looked over and spotted Grey.
“One more,” he grumbled, his voice low.
“I’m not carrying you back,” Grey shot back, grabbing the last tankard as the crowd of young men let out a few sounds of disappointment while others were just staring at the hunter. As Grey sat down, she gestured between the man and Zelith.
“Dumbass, Witchblood. Witchblood, Dumbass.”
“Kevyn,” the man grumbled out.
“Zelith.”
There was a moment of silence as Grey took a long drink from the tankard before handing it to Zelith. Wrinkling her nose at the smell but never one to back down, Zelith started to drink, the strange honey taste hitting her like brick to the face as Grey turned to Kevyn.
“Find anything on the target? You know, before trying to drown yourself in booze,” she chuckled.
“No,” Kevyn said, glaring a bit before looking up to Zelith, still standing and trying to finish her drink. “You find anythin’? You know, ‘sides your bed warmer for the night.”
Zelith immediately coughed, some of the booze almost going up in nose as her brain immediately reeled in confusion.
“She broke into the ship, actually,” Grey responded, grinning, exposing those wolf canines. “Mage. Wanted money. We worked something out. She’s in the pack, for this hunt at least.”
Zelith nodded, latching onto the response as a way to ground herself. Her brain was running at a million miles an hour, jostled out of its headache induced daze.
“…You’re hunting a demon,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “She thought I was working for it. Witchblood, so, demon influence.”
Kevyn nodded, the movement slow and heavy with drink.
“Smart. Yeah, we got word of…stuff. Demon shit spreadin’ through slums. Clients are freaked, think it might be the start of a second Harbinger Crisis.”
“So we hunt and kill. Quietly. No fuss, no panic from citizens,” Grey replied. “Better for them Sunvaar deal with it. Less dead guards this way. Just gotta find the thing’s lair.”
Zelith started to pace, her mind continuing to speed forward as a few blue flames flickered around her horns.
“…The Harbinger opened rifts to Keinrii by building up infernal energy near Kein’s bones. Titan of War, war demons are born from his rotting corpse,” she said, brow furrowing. “Stinjul is built on the bones of Mindol. If this demon is trying to open up the rifts, it would build a lair as close to the core of Mindol as they can.”
“Mindol…mind,” Grey said, frowning. “If this is a demon from her, thing is going to be smart. Maybe smart enough to speak. Mindol demons are rare, not researched well.”
She waved at the bar, holding up two fingers.
“The Old Bear will have a field day dissecting this thing.”
As another two drinks were brought over, Grey handed on to Zelith, grinning.
“Well, tonight we drink. Tomorrow, we hunt.”
Hours later, the three were leaving, Kevyn grumbling something about a boat before wandering off. Zelith’s headache from all the casting had faded, dulled by the alcohol as a pleasant buzz had replaced it.
“So…meet up at the boat tomorrow?” Zelith said, looking at Grey as she leaned up by a wall. “Search then, yes?”
“Yes, yes,” Grey answered, her blue eyes flicking over to Zelith. “…Could get started earlier. You know, if we’re all at the boat.”
Zelith stopped, eyes narrowing a bit as her mind started to immediately try to find out what angle this was.
Could be a trap. Could be a way to make sure I’m somewhere they can watch. Gather information. Bait.
“You mean like…I sleep there,” Zelith said, measuring her words carefully. “I suppose that would make starting easier, but are you sure you have space? Don’t know how many are on that ship.”
Grey laughed at that, stepping a bit closer and shaking her head.
“You think so much, but miss many things,” Grey snorted, slowly reaching a clawed finger out and moving some of Zelith’s white hair behind her ear before moving it back. At the slight contact of the claw on her face, Zelith felt her heart starting to race again. Fear, like when she had fled Grey earlier that same night through Stinjul. But…something was different. A weird edge to the panic she couldn’t identify. It was like she was unmoored, trying to navigate a river she didn’t know in the dark.
A whistle cut through the air, her attention snapping back to Grey, those wolf eyes locked with hers.
“Stop the thinking. Feel. You know what I mean, somewhere in that head of yours. Buried under all the irrelevant things,” Grey said, almost whispering. “Do you want to, or not? Easy answer.”
Zelith stared back, the thoughts starting to fade into background noise as her mouth opened, an answer appearing on the tip of her tongue without a second thought.
It was almost midnight when Conall woke up, running a hand through his curly red hair as he looked around at the makeshift room he’d been sent to when he’d started feeling faint. The large, bear-like man was sitting in the corridor outside, glancing inside, smoke drifting out of a pipe in his mouth.
“Ah, you’re up. You can head home. If you’re going to help your accomplice, hunt’s tomorrow. Come early,” he said gruffly.
Conall rubbed his forehead, shaking his head as if to get the tiredness out.
“…Hunt?”
The bear laughed at that, a deep, throaty noise.
“Your witchblood friend is helping us hunt a demon,” he said, grinning, teeth almost all sharp.
Conall was just confused and overwhelmed, stepping out into the corridor.
“I’ll think about it,” he said weakly. “Thanks for not…killing me?”
“No problem,” the older man shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “See you tomorrow.”
Conall walked away, feeling no other words come to mind. As he was getting closer to the stairs to the upper deck, he squinted at a dark shape on the floor, picking it up.
A black shirt, one of the sleeves torn through. Zelith’s.
Biting back confusion and worry, Conall crumbled the shirt into a ball and put it under his arm, walking up the stairs into the moonlight.
Strike The Horizon 