Cruel and Pretty

         The clouds lifted, and though they had not parted, the occasional gaps meant the storms were finally over. For two passings of the sun the rains fell, and for two passings this cloaked man stayed dry. Water fell from the branches and leaves; they slid down his cloak, splashing almost silently upon the ground. Hearing a flutter of wings, he looked through the lenses set in his mask to see two birds meeting on a single branch. They shook vigorously their damp feathers. The blue birds chirped at each other, the occasional whistle escaping their beaks. They hopped about the branch for a few moments before returning to flight, chasing each other overhead.

         "The flight of love, no doubt," he mused with a whisper. He could feel the soft earth beneath, the grass as it moved over his boots, and the fallen foliage underfoot. He could feel the indentation of his steps in the ground. The earth rose, undisturbed by his presence. Between the wet trees, his movements were swift and certain. He had ventured further than he had in many months, searching for signs of his most hated enemy: orc.

         The unseen hunter had come to the small town of Eodor a few cycles prior. Having left the town of his birth, he sought a new life away from the turmoil of his younger age. The time he spent in this adopted home would bring him the peace he had been searching for, and he would swear an oath to protect it, no matter the cost. It did not come without its share of warfare, however.

         The orc tribes of the north had often plagued Eodor. Every cycle they would send their newly amassed troops and shaman, destroying what they could. With every season, his strength grew. With each arrival, his hatred intensified. Those he had learned to call friend had helped to eradicate the annual war, but still some tribes persisted. By this time, the hunter had become too powerful for even their most formidable warrior. They were forced west, seeking out larger tribes and less protected game. They had not returned for a half-cycle.

         The expert tracker had stumbled upon a trail before the rains had started; determining five sets had dared to tempt fate. One set was different from the others; its footprint was wider, heavier, and the stride was longer. This meant a large creature perhaps a cubit taller than the rest. The steps were also more certain as they moved quickly through thick brush, while the others staggered or sometimes fell.

         Ducking low beneath thicker tree cover, the tall man was ever careful of his heavier belongings. A shield was slung over his shoulders, covered by the long, gray cloak. The cloak was held loosely in place by a strap from the greatsword's sheath. His gloved hands deftly moved the branches from the path, carefully returning them in near silence.

         The bottom of the cloak flowed forward, its wearer stopping suddenly. Lowering the tall body to the ground, he slowly opened the hood. His eyes closed and his ears opened, but there were no unusual vibrations. The breeze had all but stopped, and there were no animals upon the ground or in the sky. Water trickled off of the branches, the damp melody echoing uninterrupted.

         The hood was let go, and the deep eyes beneath the lenses opened, latching themselves onto a section of leaves. The darkness meant nothing to the eyes, but the lenses were preventing detail. They protected his eyes against the sunlight, but they were more of a burden when the sun had lowered beyond the horizon. The mask turned back and forth, tilting ever so slightly. Brown leather gloves reached up and pulled the hood away from the smooth, shadowed head.

         The whole length of his face was covered, the material reaching around to press against his cheeks. He deftly untied it and slowly pulled the mask from his face. His eyes, deeper than any abyss, blinked rapidly before the nostrils beneath took in the night air. The near sculpted mouth had a thin line of hair surrounding it, his chin bearded lightly.

         He stood slowly, looking over the area once more before tucking the mask into a pocket on his finely tanned leather backpack. The pocket did not appear to be deep enough to hold the mask, but it slipped in without any effort. Blood had covered the area before him, moving violently up a tree. It had stopped several feet above the ground, and a single item lay within the mess. A thin leather necklace was neatly tied around a single tooth.

         "A bear's tooth," the lips parted ever so slightly. He clutched it deeply in his hand, tucking it into a different pocket on the other side of the backpack. The abyssal orbs took in a different sight: another set of footprints. This set was different from the five he had been following. It was smaller, but the stride was longer. Replacing the hood, he traced this other trail back only a hundred reeds. There were gaps in the footsteps; places where the right foot jumped in front of a log, and the left landed several feet later. There were visible signs of slipping upon the muddy areas.

         "What were you hunting?" asked the dark face. Looking closer, there were marks in some of the trees that resembled bear claws. Except, these claws were several inches further apart than any bear this experienced woodsman had ever seen. He found a single claw, inches long and as thick as a finger, protruding from a tree. "What was hunting you?"

         Returning to the blood, he noted the five did their own check of the area, but they continued east. Four of the tracks had followed a trail of red, but that trickled off only a few hundred cubits later. The fifth one, the largest of them, had mysteriously disappeared. There were no scorches on the ground to indicate arcane interference, nor was there any evidence of large wings unfurling. Sliding his hand back into the pocket, he picked out the mask and tied it quickly.

         I must be cautious, he thought.

         Each set of prints revealed something different about their owners. One had been putting forth more effort than the rest, carefully choosing each step. Another was trying, but this trail required less effort for the dark man to locate. The last two sets moved practically as one, never more than a few feet apart at any time. They trampled all that came before them, crushing grass and flower, breaking branches and splashing mud. The feet were the same size, the strides were almost identical in length, and yet they would often walk over each other. The cloaked tracker wondered if these two were at odds, or if one was a prisoner.

         Another hour had passed before the trails led into a clearing. The cloak ruffled again as the figure stopped, standing perfectly still. The black eyes blinked, scanning the area slowly. The grass grew tall here, and a single rock jutted from the ground near the center. There was a cool breeze here, though he felt not the cold.

         He circled the perimeter of the clearing, staying within the trees. On the side opposite his approach, he found where his quarry had continued further east. Something about the rock troubled the visitor, and the cloak spun silently back to the stone.

         He stepped slowly into the clearing. Looking up, the clouds had finally scattered, revealing the starlit night. As the eyes looked back downward, again he stopped instinctively. Only a few strides from the clearly bloodstained rock, another approached: a bear. This was no ordinary bear, the stunned shadow realized. This bear's shoulder was at least a dwarf's height higher than his head, and the hunter was one of the tallest humans he'd ever known.

         I've faced shorter giants, he thought anxiously.

         The beast ambled slowly into the clearing, his large head swaying back and forth carelessly. Two bone-white horns protruded its skull just above the eyes, sticking forward just beyond the snout but barely arched beyond its forehead. Smaller, more numerous bones poked out of its lower jaw. Claws scraped the ground, separating the dirt where it stepped. It stopped and sniffed the air. The huge nostrils took in as much air as would fit its certainly massive lungs, all the while the head moving back and forth slowly. It grunted. Sadly.

         "It would be a shame if I were trespassing," spoke the potential interloper. The bear's ears shifted, and it paused for a moment before the tree-like limbs continued forward. It reached the rock, sniffing it vigorously. It licked the blood, but much of it had dried. It looked up from its place and stared directly at the dark figure. The hunter dared not to breathe.

         "So," spoke a voice that echoed from the trees. "You are the Shadow of Eodor."

         He nodded.

         "I see you have met my new friend, Jävel." Another nod.

         "Do not be afraid to speak, Shadow. Do you have a name?"

         The eyes never moved from Jävel's, though the bear did not see them. "Gideon."

         "Gideon, Shadow of Eodor." The distinctly female voice no longer echoed from the trees, but spoke clearly from where the trail of four had entered the clearing. Gideon allowed his eyes to move, but saw no one. "You have journeyed into the wood beyond the reach of Eodor. What is your purpose here?"

         Gideon continued to stare. "I hunt."

         "You kill them indiscriminately?" she asked after a short silence.

         "It is more than they deserve," his voice was thick with venom.

         "You should be careful of the darkness within your heart, my friend. I can hear it in your voice, though I cannot see it in your eyes. Jävel hears it as well. Vengeance is a dangerous path, one that few survive. You would be wise to consider your actions before striking out in hatred."

         Gideon managed to turn his head towards the voice, a look of shock invisible to the lady. "I will take heed of your warnings, but my decisions are my own."

         "As your will desires." Her voice turned to an echo that faded with every breath, "'Nature gives no purpose to respect human life, no distinction between good and evil'. You have shown respect for the woods and those who live within it. 'Leva i fred.' Live in peace."

         Gideon recognized the Druidic saying, though he knew not its meaning before now. His head leaned forward with lips parted, but the hulking beast walked right up to him. Gideon had to tilt his head upward. It sniffed the area beside him, above him, and before him. It grunted as it had before then turned towards the voice. It sauntered as casually as it had come, leaving behind deep scratch marks in the ground. He noticed that one of the claws left only three lines behind. Gideon watched it disappear into the woods and waited for a few moments before following. Once it reached the tree line, the beast's claw marks disappeared.

         "I thank you, Druid," he spoke. Spinning the cloak around, he silently moved through the tall, damp grass. His body once again lowered to the ground, searching for the trail. He knew that they would be near his home in mere hours, and this was not to be allowed.

         An hour later, the four trails separated. While all of them ultimately continued south, they widened their advance. The outside two were a hundred rods apart, while the two with matching steps were somewhere in between. The largest was nowhere to be found.

         Gideon sighed defiantly, knowing he was running short on time. He decided to follow the middle pair. Their direction shifted often, heading further east or west on a whim. They crashed into trees, stepped roughly on the grass, and tossed remains of whatever food they had killed along the way. He shook his head and picked up the pace, looking for converging tracks from the rest of the party. Something moved overhead; a shooting star.

         "And smoke," he mumbled. He brought himself to one knee, looking around frantically. The smoke couldn't have been more than seventy-five rods away. He slowly moved to find the tracks of the outer two orc. They had started towards the middle tracks minutes after the smoke began its ascent.

         They must have seen the signal fire. His movements became more cautious, and his thoughts drifted towards his sword and shield. Not until necessary, he resisted.

________________________________________

         Grikk was a full head taller than his companions, his shoulders twice as broad, and his body thicker. His eyes were also different, a difference that did not go unnoticed by his tribe. They resembled a human's, but the pupils were twice as large.

         Grikk had led them to a clearing that was barely eight cubits in diameter, which would make it all the more challenging to defend. Donk cursed Grikk for every warm breeze; its passing soothed his body, relaxing him. He thanked Forsch the Strong, the son of Juwel and Hassen, lords of Love and Hate, for every cold breeze, as it awoke his tired muscles.

         Donk, Grikk's second, wore furs much like Grikk's, wet and heavy. He had tried to shake the moisture off of them, but the poorly tanned hide soaked it up like a sponge. His boots were muddy, his loincloth was soiled, and his stomach was empty. He stood silently, watching the perimeter of their tiny encampment.

         Agor, the youngest, wore lighter furs than Donk or Grikk, but they were just as wet and uncomfortable. The scars covering his face and body had come from the tribe's strict combat training. He wore them proudly, but wished they had been from battle. He whispered a silent thanks to Forsch, Juwel, and Hassen for his time of trial. The moon was almost full.

         Drag and Trag were identical, and affectionately known as "The Rag Twins". Twins were an oddity in orc procreation, as were their actions beyond the womb. They could fight well, but only together. They were in constant competitions: drinking contests, flatulence contests, races, fights, whatever they could find to compete over. They argued constantly over which one was older, though no one truly knows. They have even competed over who has a larger fecal pile, and have often been seen hurling it at each other when they can't agree. They were expert hunters, at least when the prey was moving sluggishly or there was an open field for them to use their longbows. They had good eyes, but couldn't handle their swords very well.

         The group had been part of a larger hunting party. Thanks to the Hunter, the animals had been safe in these woods. With less meat where the tribes now lived, they had to expand their hunts more and more each season. They also had to be very careful about how far away they traveled; if they went too far, the meat would spoil and they would have to cook it in order to eat it. This would mean less meat and less taste, as most of the juices would sizzle away from the carcass instead of being properly savored.

         The individual groups had split up to follow after different prey. Grikk's party never found their quarry, and all but the twins knew they never would. After the rains started, none of them would be able to find their own way back, except for Grikk, who hadn't said a word since they found the freshly blooded tree. The disappearance of their scout was no longer in question.

         Grikk knew the others would want fire, but there had been very little to work with: the occasional dried leaves, some underbrush that hadn't been soaked by the rains, and some smelly liquid the shaman had given him. He spat onto the flames, tossing the few sticks he had managed to dry. The smoke bothered him, but the others could not find him without it. Grikk was cooking the two rabbits he had caught on a rock placed in the center of the small blaze.

         "Why Grikk burn?" asked Drag, with Trag nodding furiously.

         "Why Grikk ruin?" asked Trag, with Drag nodding furiously.

         Grikk's eyes looked up from his meal and adjusted his position on the rock. "Grikk ruins nothing. Eat. In silence." He motioned to a deer with his skinning dagger. The twins ran into each other trying to reach the catch, but Donk had gotten to it first. The three of them tore it apart hungrily.

         Agor looked up from his sitting log. "Where home?" he asked quietly. Grikk's eyes slowly moved to Agor's and held their gaze for a long moment. Grikk lifted his dagger, still covered in blood. He licked the flat edge of his blade clean, flipping it over to lick the other side. He then spit into the fire and went back to his rabbit. Agor nodded silently. His ears twitched and he leaned forward. He picked up his bow slowly, sliding an arrow against the line. Grikk raised his dagger from the meat and exposed his teeth. Agor loosed the arrow and it sailed over Grikk's shoulder and into the woods, striking a tree.

         The others dropped their still bloody meat and looked over. Agor had already grabbed another arrow and was standing up. The twins, confused, stood their ground. Donk dashed for his bow, which he had left on the opposite side of the clearing. It was gone. Agor kept his bow level while the twins fumbled about grabbing theirs. Grikk lifted his large weapon, which resembled two double-bladed axes welded together in the middle. This construct was sturdy, and as tall as the other four orc.

         Gideon's eyes widened.

         Grikk, with his other hand, motioned with simple gestures. All of them nodded and turned to face a different portion of the clearing. They waited at the ready while Agor investigated more thoroughly. He crouched and advanced cautiously. The waiting assailant smiled and slipped around to the other side. He reached his hand up to his sword, but something else caught his attention.

         "We see you," the twins smiled. Gideon sneered darkly as they pulled back their bows. They paused for a long moment before releasing the taut strings. By then it was too late. Gideon's torso vanished as white smoke, followed quickly by his shoulders and waist, then his arms, his head, and the tops of his legs; finally, his feet and hands. Traveling to what should have been Gideon's chest, the arrows continued their flight until they lodged solidly into a thick tree. Both of the twins blinked, confused.

         "Axes! Back to back!" roared Grikk. They formed a circle around the fire, their backs to the flame. Agor stepped closer to the tree line, his bow extended, his grip wavering.

         Donk felt his back penetrated, and he looked down to see blood trickling down the edge of a translucent sword before a wound in his stomach. He had no strength to scream, and blood gurgled out. Agor turned swiftly and loosed his arrow. It went clear over the fire and into Trag's shoulder. The unintentional victim bellowed in pain.

         There came a shout from Donk as the blade inside of him turned horizontally. Both Grikk and Drag struck the area over the fire at the same time. Grikk's powerful weapon found only burning logs beneath, but Drag's sliced dully through material and found flesh. The ghost howled in pain. Agor picked up his axe and swung at the same area, but it soared effortlessly through the smoke.

         Gideon yanked his sword from the wounded orc, letting the body drop carelessly. He moved through the falling orc's body and beyond the fire, turning to face the remaining enemies. The sword suddenly took shape and its dull color could not hide its strength or sharp edges. His extremities manifested, followed by his limbs, head, and finally his midsection. The cut in his arm was darkly visible through the wounded cloak, but the blood began to clot, and his skin was sealing itself shut. Smiling, Gideon held his sword outward, feigning weakness.

         Agor was the first to charge, but his axe was easily deflected. The figure spun on his heels, heaving the powerful sword into Agor's shoulder. It sliced through flesh and muscle, separating ribs and cracking his spine. Exiting Agor's body near his pelvis, he fell to the ground with his waiting entrails.

         Drag and Trag tried to flank the enemy, but that would prove to be their undoing. Striking at the same time, Trag felt a strong hand grab his wrist, pulling his swing forward. Drag was unable to defend himself in time, and he watched the axe dive into his shoulder. As it was the twins' nature to never sharpen their weapons, the dull blade lodged itself into bone. Trag tried to pull it out, but Drag swung, his own dull axe getting stuck in Trag's stomach.

         Gideon turned to face the largest of them. The orc was taller than he, and his shoulders were impressively wider. In a guttural Basic, the orc growled at him, "You will not hobble me as you did my father. Forsch take you!" Grikk stared hard into the eyes of his enemy, but it was not his enemy that he saw under the hood; it was his own face, smiling back at him malevolently.

         Gideon knew what his enemy saw; the mask he wore protected the bearer by reflecting the features of whoever gazed upon it. The dark figure stepped forward to swing, taking advantage of his enemy's distraction. Their blades bounced off each other.

         Grikk turned on the offensive almost immediately, trying to keep the other off guard. He managed to circle the clearing, swinging blindly forward. The greatsword was ever in his way, preventing purchase of the flesh he so intensely desired. Vengeance swelled within his breast, his heart beat stronger and faster, and his eyes pierced with the rage of a thousand hatreds.

         The axe managed a path unabated at Gideon. His head managed to lean back far enough that the blade found only the silent chain beneath his shirt. Part of the wooden handle cracked and pieces splintered off. He saw the orc's strength ebbing; his time to strike was now.

         A single blow from Drag was enough to distract the cloaked killer. Drag had released his axe and lashed out with his fist, striking the man in the shoulder. It caused little pain, but the hood turned. Drag looked hard for the face beneath, but he saw only his own face staring back. Grikk chopped deeply into the enemy's leg, and the dark figure howled once more in pain.

         Gideon could feel his leg trying to go limp, but the darkness had begun to heal his wound. He dodged another strike from the vicious axe, its wielder spinning the multiple blades in his direction. Gideon rolled with one of the swings, the sharp edge coming nearer to his face. Gideon used the momentum to swing about and slice through the skull of the one that punched him.

         Trag, realizing his brother was dead, screamed in rage and pulled free his weapon. He then pulled hard on the axe in his waist, screaming violently as he yanked it free. Bleeding profusely, he charged at his brother's killer, swinging both weapons with reckless abandon.

         The largest orc had pressed Gideon back against some thicker trees, further hampering his movement. The two-handed axe barely missed him, but the handler was being careful not to get it stuck in any trees. Gideon saw the other orc charging up to him, axes flailing. He dropped to one knee and pushed himself off of the tree. He ran as best he could, further slicing open the belly of the mortally wounded berserker. He turned to face the leader once more.

         Grikk tried to move around the falling body, but the injured shadow was desperately fast. Both of them were breathing heavy, and Grikk could see the wounded leg healing with every second. His eyes blinked rapidly, moving from the leg to the sword to the face that stared back at him; like looking in a pond, it rippled with his own features. He shrieked and spun his massive weapon skillfully high into the night. The figure stood straight, pointing the tip of his blade at Grikk.

         The two advanced on each other rapidly, swinging and dodging, deflecting and missing. The orc thought his skill unbeatable, but the cloaked figure was proving to be better. With one final stroke, the straight blade silently sliced through the body of the large orc. The inertia separated the upper torso from the lower, sending it to the ground several steps away.

         Gideon did not turn back. Blood hung proudly upon his weapon. He pulled some material free from the clothing of the orc that lay by his feet and wiped the blade clean. An echo sang through the trees, a familiar voice upon the whispering wind.

         "Will their deaths not haunt you? Will your family's death continue to feed your lust?"

         "Their deaths, Druidess," he seethed, looking slowly around the clearing. "Will be forgotten."