Writing: Burning Ember (Chapters 1-3)

The sun slides lower down on the horizon, bathing the land in a blood red light. An errant breeze strikes through the evergreen, shaking loose needles that whip around in the air before falling to the ground. On and on he ran. Time meant nothing to him as he ran through the crimson forest. All he knew is that someone had to be warned about what was coming. His warning would never be heard. A howl pierced the air. Then another. The pack was closing in on their prey. They could taste his flesh; his blood. With keen, golden eyes they spotted him. They could hear the whimpering of terror coming from his lips at fifty feet. The pounding of his heart at thirty feet. The beads of sweat hitting the ground at five feet. All became quiet soon after. The hunters approached his corpse and watched their hounds feed, a horrid smile lighting their darkened faces. The hunters turned and melded into the faded light of the forest and with an unspoken command, the hounds left what was left of the man to rot in the darkness...a bloodstained letter still in his clutched fist.

Serrin did not like mornings. They always seemed to bring cheer and good fortune to everyone else but him. Of course, Serrins' occupation kept him from seeing morning most of the time. Professional killers have a certain disdain about working in the daylight, always seeming to prefer the velvet twilight. This morning was unlike most for Serrin. Hidden in an alleyway, he watched his contract. He noted his movements to the last detail. He studied his house from one end to the other. He was methodical about every last bit information. "Everything in its place and time" he would always say. In his profession, a rushed job, is a sloppy job. It was always better to plan everything out in advance so there would be no surprises or pitfalls when the duty was done. He scratched vigorously at his fledgling beard. Serrin was still young and growing, but thought that by growing a beard he would be treated more like a man. He shifted on the crutch he carried as he watched his contract do business. Using a disguise was one of his favorite parts of the job. He could flaunt in his creativity as much or as little as he wished. The target walked off and toward his house, with Serrin not far behind. Tonight would be the night. Tonight his man would die for reasons that Serrin didn't worry about. He is not paid to know the reasons, he is paid to kill. As he watched the poor man close his door, Serrin smiled. This would be his last contract. Then he could leave this dust choked city and finally see his brother again. He only hoped his note reached him.

"Serrin? You there?", a low voice from somewhere below him in the inky darkness. He jumped slightly, cursing his own inattention. He glanced down into the deep azure eyes of Alliana. "Yes, I am up here. Try to be a little quieter, I am working.", he said. "Wait here", and with that he slide through the window and landed with cat like feet on the deeply carpeted floor. He glanced around at the ornate furniture lining the walls and the expensive oil paintings hanging. Serrin did not have an eye for art, but they looked rather lovely in the moonlight. He chuckled soundlessly as he slowly crept down the hall to the room where his target slept. On the way to do something horrid, you come across beauty. He shook off that thought and coldly turned his mind to the matter at hand. He reached the door and stopped, listening for any sign of movement. Satisfied by the thunderous silence coming from the chamber, he slowly drew his long silver dagger. Gleaming in the pale moonlight, the dagger was one of his most prized possessions. A gift from his father when he was young, in case he ever ran into trouble. With a deep breath, Serrin turned the bronze door handle. If he had been half an inch closer, the cross-bow bolt would have hit him square in the temple. With a heavy thud, the bolt tore into the solid oak door. Without missing a step, Serrin dove to the ground as another bolt flew over his head. Apparently the target was tipped off and that upset Serrin more then anything. Only a shadow of the bowman could be seen as Serrin scrambled up, dagger in one hand and sword in the other. He swiftly jumped over a deeply cushioned couch toward the shooter, rolling as he hit the ground to dodge another bolt. As he came out of the roll he skillfully threw the dagger end over end to land with the solid sound of metal striking bone in the neck of the unknown assailant. Serrin rose to his feet and looked around the room for anyone else that may want to discuss the finer points of combat with him. His eyes stopped when he reached the four post bed. The person he was sent to kill was gutted like a freshly killed boar. It was all Serrin could do to keep from gagging as he looked at the dissected corpse of his would be target. No human would have done this. No human could have done this. Could it have been one of the Darkness? Certainly they could have sent a hunter for him, but why? Slightly light-headed from the obscene violence on the bed, Serrin walked over to his would be killer only to find no body, only his dagger broken in two. He looked around the room quickly to make sure no one was in the room and saw that the window was wide open, the curtains billowing in the night air. No sounds accept the sounds of crickets singing their mating tunes. Sooner or later someone would come to investigate the noise from earlier, some house servant or bodyguard most likely. Serrin did not feel up to trying to talk, or persuade other ways, his way out of the house. With a deft swipe of his hand, he grabbed his dagger pieces and slowly lowered himself down out the window and back to Alliana.

To say he was angry would have been an understatement. Serrin did not like being robbed, even though there would have been nothing he could have done to stop a hunter from getting to his prey. As he walked down the road, avoiding open areas where someone from the house could have seen him, he thought about the hunter he faced. Hunters, as they are called, were once men. Heroes of ages forever gone. The Magus Circle of Fire dabbled in necromancy a few hundred years back and were able to resurrect one warrior of the Silver Age. Wargiss, Warlord of Blackrend Peak. The Magi's hoped to resurrect him as a mindless slave, only alive again to do their bidding, unfortunately that is not what happened. Wargiss rose from the alter and raised his hand in the air, a sword of crystal formed in his hand. Not much is known about what happened after that as the tower of the Magus Circle of Fire was sealed so that none may enter. Or escape. When the doors opened again, the Magi's were changed. They no longer wore the robes of flame, but of deep crimson. They wandered the tombs and catacombs of the land, retrieving long dead warriors and returning them to the tower. So were born the Hunters. Sallis, Warlock of Ferrn Isle. Qiller, Bowman of Salesa. Nornn, Warrior Prince of Galisha. Pellris, Queen of Torn Vale. Lastly, Borne, Beast-master of Jallina Valley. All heroes in life, but relentless hunters in death. Serrin was in a foul mood when he reached the tree that Alliana was to stay at. He looked around, but could not see a sign of her."Must have headed home", he muttered under his breath. "Good. I am too tired to be chasing her half way around the city.". He turned to walk away, but turned into the cowled face of Qiller, Dark Bowman of Wargiss.

The burning eyes of Quillar seared into the mind of Serrin. A scream frozen at his lips, unable to escape. For a dreadfully long time they stayed locked, staring at each other, until Quillar rasped the statement that would stay with Serrin to the day he died."You will die before the coming of the new year, young human", the hunter said in his hollow voice. A sneer crossing his blood covered lips. Fresh blood, which spoke louder then words that he feasted on his last kill before leaving. "You belong to Master. Do not fight it, it will only end in doom.", the threat that the statement made was tinged with pity and sympathy. Serrin was not entirely sure the noble souls of the hunters have been washed away totally. Looking into the eyes of Quillar dismissed that possibility. The eyes, burning green with unholy flame, were filled with malice. The dark robed hunter drew in close and ran his bloody finger across Serrin's forehead. "Leave here and never return," with that, Quillar burst into flames and was gone. No ash or scorch marks marked the combustion, he just vanished. Frozen in shock, Serrin did not hear the footsteps approaching from behind him until a hand touched his shoulder. Without thinking, he drew his sword and swung with a wide arc only to find Alliana wide eyed, with the blade of his sword not one inch from her temple. The madness of Quillar was still in his mind as he looked at her, all he could see was horrors. With a blood chilling scream he scrambled away from her and ran down an alley. Blindly he ran, wanting only to escape, until a sharp rap to the back of his head brought lights to his eyes. He turned unsteadily, the world seen through a foggy haze, seeing only two burly shapes coming closer to him. Feebly he raised his sword and one of the dark assailants slapped it out of his hand."Oh no, 'Lil man!", the big man laughed. "You be commin' wit us!", with that he raised his arm again and then Serrin sank deeper into unconsciousness.

Serrin awoke with a start, only to immediately regret it. The sharp rap to the head he took set his head to pounding. His eyes stung when he tried to open them, his dried blood gave mute evidence into how long he was unconscious. Groping around futility for the sword he dropped however long ago, the solid ground he was on gave a sudden jolt and knocked the young man down onto his stomach. Straining to open his eyes through the blinding pain, Serrin slowly looked up and saw the dark outline of the large man who knocked him silly in the first place. Scurrying back wards as fast as he could, slamming hard into a wooden wall."Ho ho, Little man! Planning to leave us so soon?", the big man said. "Da' Boss no like us having chase you like little rabbit again!"With his vision clearing, Serrin looked closer at the figure only to freeze in fright. The giant man wasn't even a man at all, but a full sized Ogre. His hair caught in a leather thong at the top of his large head, streamed down his large shoulder and down his mailed chest. Two gleaming eyes burned under his heavy brow, and two yellowed tusks protruded from his mouth. If all that wasn't enough for Serrin, he also saw a rather large spiked mace sitting in the Ogre's lap with his hand laid gently on the hilt, ready to use the mace to dispense mighty blows on whoever got in his way. Looking to the opening in the front, of the now noticed, wagon, Serrin saw the second, smaller man, smirking back at him. Before he could say anything, the wagoner turned back to the front and said, with contempt in his voice, "Sit back and enjoy the ride, bucko. This might be the last one you ever take." The Ogre grinned at Serrin, showing yellowed, broken teeth, and laughed a laugh devoid of any humor. The wagon rolled on to who knows where.

For 3 days the wagon rolled on across the green-grey expanse of the Wellkin Marsh. Serrin never traveled outside the city limits so he had no real idea where his captors were taking him. Serrin could only see out through a small hole the Ogre cut in the flap for him, so for three days his only view was a sliver of ground or a giant Ogre, needless to say, he watched the ground. Late in the evening the wagon hit cobblestone and rumbled up a dark and uninviting street. The Ogre laid his hand on Serrin and gave him a light shove to wake him up. His eyes opened to the Ogre's crooked smile."Da boss is waiting," he said as he opened the flap. Serrin rolled out of the wagon and was grabbed by the smaller man who was leading the wagon. The Ogre lumbered out of the wagon and up to the door of a substantial looking house. Three heavy knocks, then two, then three and the door slowly opened. A Scarlet robed person stepped out and looked at the three of them, nodded and stepped aside to let them in."Move along, boyo", the small man said. Serrin noticed that the Ogre and the driver were nervously looking at the house, almost seeming reluctant to enter. He would soon find out why. Walking through the door, Serrin entered a world of pain. His mind felt as if it was going to burst out from his skull. His blood boiled within his body and his skin felt as if it was going to rip off into tattered remains onto the floor. With a cry of inhuman pain, Serrin sunk to the floor, curling up into a ball when with a faintly heard snap, the pain was gone. Struggling to get into a kneeling position, Serrin's burning eyes saw a man sitting at the end of a the marble hall he entered. The man was slim, but not all bones. His eyes had a mischievous look about them as they met with Serrin's. His clothes were made of the finest silks dyed into a rich blue color. He had nothing in his hands save a small gem that sat hovering over his open palm."Amazing isn't it, Serrin?", the enthroned man said in a deep baritone. "A simple little gem can cause so much pain. Yet... the pain is not real." Seeing the confusion on Serrin's face, the man stood up and walked toward him. Two guards came hurrying out of hidden alcoves to flank him as he walked down the suddenly torch lit hall. Serrin stood up as the torch next to him burst into flame and tried to take in everything he could before anyone could notice. The Ogre and the driver stood nervously in front of the door. The guards that flanked the man were heavily armed and armored. The man himself on the other hand, had no weapons visible except that gem, which is a weapon unto itself."What does that.. thing have to do with me? Why am I here?" Serrin said as the man reached him."Problems arise from time to time that require the services of a certain sect of people that were.. how can I say.. bred for this type of situation.", the man said quietly. He reached into his doublet and pulled out a small, blood stained envelope. "You, my young friend, are one of these people now." he sighed slowly as he gave Serrin the letter, "Your brother is dead, Serrin. It is your turn to take up where he left off. I am Lord Tallonvice, Serrin. I require your assistance, try not to mess up like your dearly departed brother. I would hate to have to end your families bloodline personally."

The house, full of wonders, confused Serrin as he was led deep within to the study of Tallonvice. His mind though, rang with those hated words, "Your brother is dead". They echoed deep in his soul, searing at him. Dashing away tears with the back of his hand, he realized the guards that escorted him were no longer with him. He soon saw why.
On both sides of the door to the study stood granite dragons. Each turned to look at the person approaching and kept a close eye as Serrin walked by them. He had no doubt they would rip him asunder if he tried to do anything to their master. Turning his attention away from the guardians, Serrin took in the room. Stacks of books stood in cluttered piles all over the place, plates and glasses were stacked messily to the side of a large table that was covered with maps and more books. Great statues stood in the four corners, staring down at Serrin with lifeless eyes.
"Amazing, are'nt they?", said Tallonvice from the doorway. Serrin turned quickly to him, still unsure what he had in store with him. Tallonvice looked around the room and smiled gently, "These are my greatest achievements. I have spent my life collecting one of the worlds largest libraries." Looking askew at Serrin he asked, "Do you read much, boy? I would guess your profession does not leave a lot of time to read. Sit, sit. I am sure you are... dying to know what I want you to do." Serrin did not like that statement, or the dark smile that lit up Tallonvice's face. Taking a seat at the table, Serrin thought it was time he got some answers.
"How did you know my brother? What did he do for you? What do you want from me? Why di-"
"Let me answer those for you before you rattle on and waste more time," Tallonvice said with a slightly angry expression. "Your brother was what you are. An assassin. He was one of the best I had ever seen. He was also a... thief, in some ways. His prey though, was not ordinary prey. He killed those that could not die. Those that had a penalty worse then death for those that killed them." The light in the room dimmed as the flames from the candles seemed to wain with his words. Serrin sat there, unwilling to believe what he was just told. His brother... a man who killed the The Crimson.

The Crimson, as everyone knew since the Circle of Fire fell, were touched by Wargiss himself. The return from the grave imbued his hand with power. One gift he bestowed upon all of the Magi and their followers was the Curse of the Crimson Blood. When a follower of Wargiss fell, he brought wrath down from the heavens and not only killed, but destroyed the soul of the murderer. Most heaped this story in with folklore, but people still stepped quietly around the followers of The Crimson.
"He got word to me that The Crimson finally caught up to him. He was to make his way to a safe house I know of in Corridon, but found the city in flames and," Tallonvice grimaced slightly, "and the people impaled on large bone spines coming from the ground. Men, women and children. All dead at Wargiss' hand. Anyway, He was on his way to Wellkin when he got ambushed in the forest. We found his body a few days later and the only thing that identified him was that letter and... a warning left there." Standing up, he went over to a cabinet and opened it up slowly. Serrin gasped and started from his chair when it opened. A flat, dark stone, the size of a man, stood inside of it. On the surface, an image played out the final moments of his brothers life as the beasts tore him apart. From the darkness behind where the body of his brother lay, a shape came out to look upon their meal. The hunter looked up and stared right at Serrin with burning green eyes. The Beast-master of Wargiss laughed and mouthed the word 'Serrin'. Turning slowly, Borne walked back into the darkness to vanish without a trace, followed soon after by his hounds.

Serrin sat down, fresh tears streaming down his face. His eyes burned but the voice that came from his lips had no sorrow. "I will be your hunter." Standing up and walked towards the stone, Serrin threw a punch straight at the replay, only to have the entire stone crumble to dust under his touch. Turning back to Tallonvice, Serrin no longer felt sorrow, but burning hatred. "Where do I start?"
Tallonvice looked at him with a slightly amused expression, "Why... your hometown, of course. A young girl known as Alliana, I am sure you know her, has a family with a dark secret. Go Serrin, her family is your target." Turning to leave Serrin, who stood with a slightly shocked expression, he looked over his shoulder with a smile and said, "Don't disappoint me, boy. I have a very long arm." and with that, he swept from the room.

Traveling east on the road to Wellkin, Joral was used to bandits and the like. He has lived through much worse in the years following the War of the Brothers, and during the war, he thought wryly. Giving up the sword years ago to take up a more normal life, he became a wagoneer. No dire straights for him anymore, just him, his horses and the road. Giving up his wagon for a small time to a pair of untrustworthy fellows a week back had put a sour taste in his gullet, yet the good blue tinged gold of Wellkin that they paid with quickly sweetened the taste. Take them to some manor house deep in the marshes and leave, that's all. A jolt from the horses brought Joral out of his musings and made him look up to see what spooked them. He would never have time to regret looking up.

The wagon had been searched from top to bottom by The Crimson and no sign. Only scent. Quillar knew his prey was near. A week. Maybe two. Where did this fool take him? Why would he have gone to Wellkin? He did'nt know the answers, but Wargiss did. Quillar knew his place and that place was one that was not to question Wargiss. Quillar failed him when he let the boy go back in the alley and Wargiss made it abuntantly clear the next time he failed, he would not be reborn after the torture. Living past your time was a writhing pain, but the silence of eternal slumber would drive him past the brink of insanity. Growling deep in his throat, he gave the flayed corpse of the driver a kick that snapped the spine in half. Not feeling much better then he did before he caught the wagon, Quillar knew he was close. Close enough to almost taste his prey, but something changed. The sent itself has changed. The boy was near something... old. Shrugging it off, Quillar turned and seemingly melted into the air along with the rest of The Crimson.

Borne sat for a little longer after Quillar left, to be sure he wouldn't turn back around and see him. Leaping from the tree he was perched in to land softly in the sun-dried grass, he strode up to the wagon to check on the blundering Quillar let The Crimson do. Quillar liked to put on airs and tell the others that he was beyond menial tasks. Borne never trusted anything but his own eyes. Between all of the others, Borne had Quillar on the top of the list to die if he ever got the opportunity. Searching the wagon revealed nothing accept a few trace hints that the boy was here. Shifting his attention to the drivers belongings, though, turned up Wellkin gold. Not many in Wellkin had much gold as the country itself was going broke, so who would have given a wagoneer this much of such a rare commodity? Picking through the remains of the clothes and skin revealed nothing more. Standing straight up, Borne looked up at the midday sun, burning wanly in the misty sky. There is not many places around, besides the city of Wellkin itself, only a few small towns not worth the land they sit upon. Ever the rational thinker, he decided to wait out the young man at Wellkin itself, reasoning that where ever he was to go, he would have to pass through to get there. Smiling at his cleverness, Borne went to fetch the horse he stole.

Alliana ran as fast as she could. Feeling the blade of Serrins short sword so close to her skin wasn't what made her run, but the look in his eyes. Fire burned in them as he swung the sword. Madness. Her father described that kind of fire before. He had seen it many times in his lifetime. Her father was a ex-member of The Crimson. Fighting for Wargiss for uncountable years, he finally turned on his former masters and struck a blow to Wargiss himself when he left. He never told her what he did that made him go into hiding, but the time for hiding was over. They had been found.

Scrambling over the wet stones on the road, she ran for the smithy, where her father toiled for hours on end to keep up appearances. Trust be told, they had no need for money, as before his fall from the eyes of Wargiss, her father was a wealthy captain of The Crimson. Composing herself before she rushed in, she took a few moments to collect her thoughts. The fire, the insanity, the smell. She stopped breathing altogether at that thought. The smell of blood, everywhere on that street. Even as she ran away, she could smell the blood. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, she slowly walked into the smithy.

"Father?", she spoke quietly, the effort of running across the town rendering her near speechless. Looking over the line of anvils, she saw her father hammering a wagon tongue into shape. "Father!" Looking up sharply, he was about to yell at her for interrupting him at work when he stopped with the words still on his lips. Staring at her, seeing the look of fear standing in her deep blue eyes, he let the hammer fall slowly from his hand to land on the hard stone floor with a loud clang.
"They found me.”

“Run home child, pack what you can.”
“How did they find us, father?”, Alliana said quietly as they quickly left the smithy. Oddly, she was more worried for his safety than for hers. Suddenly it came to her. When they came, they would come for him, not her.
“Hush child, go home and pack. You must be quick about it.” Her father glanced around quickly, making sure no-one was near. “I am going to have to steal a wagon for us. I will meet you at the gate.” And with that, he disappeared around a corner.

Alliana was about to call out to him, but stopped quickly. Any outbursts could draw them to us. She swiftly walked down the road to the small house they lived in. Tossing a few sets of clothes and some food in a large canvas sack, she made her way out into the chill night.
Before she made it to the gate, she caught the scent of something rotten. Not wanting to stop, she tried to move along faster, but her legs would not move beyond a snails pace.

“He is coming, Alliana,” said a steely voice from behind her. “There is nothing you can do to stop him. He will kill your father then he will kill again and again until I want him to stop.” The voice let out a blood chilling laugh and continued, “Tallonvice thinks he has the boy under his control, but I have him under control. I would not go to the gate tonight, Alliana. Your safer just returning home and forgetting about your dearly departed father.” Alliana felt her legs buckle as she was let go from that mysterious grip. Quickly she turned only to find the street empty, save only a dog vigorously scratching his ears under a stoop. She trembled from head to toe, not wanting to go forward, but unable to go back.
“I love you father,” she said softly into the night air. Picking up her sack, she continued to the gate, but in her heart she knew what she would find.

She ran for hours in the darkness. She did not care where she was going anymore. Her mind numb with grief; her limbs trembling with fear. He followed her the entire time, watching her, tasting her sweat in the air. He could hear the sound of her heart pumping. Thump. He could almost see her sweet blood flowing through her. Thump. He could taste her sweat on his lips. He wanted to catch her, drain her, tasting and enjoying every last drop of her innocent blood.
“Nornn,” a harsh voice whispers inside his mind. “That is not the task I set for you.” Nornn pushes the thought of feasting from his mind at the silent command of his master. He had a job to do. This young worm will lead us to the boy Serrin. Once Wargiss had the boy, the girl would be fair game. He would have to speak to his sister, knowing that she will want to feast on her as well.
“I could always just kill her, then this young one would be all mine,”
The girl froze in her tracks, looking about fearfully. Slinking into the shadowy cover of the foliage, Nornn cursed himself for being so careless. If she sees him, she would have to die, and no matter how grateful he would be for the feast that would follow, Wargiss would be considerably less pleased and possibly feast on him. . .eternally.
She begins moving again, quicker. The blood pumping through her terrified heart faster and faster. Nornn had to keep his head, stay focused, as they made their way through the brush. Cloaked in darkness, he silently followed her as she slowly made her way to the small town of Wellkin.

**Work In Progress**

The blood tasted fresh, though he knew it had dried days ago. The taste had kept him sane, kept him in the moment. Each metallic swallow told him he was still alive, still alive and still in danger. His sword dripped crimson, pooling at his feet as a memento to his his survival. Each ambush, though taking more and more strength to get through, he survived. With each ambush, he moved close to the man who was hunting him. Every muscle in his body screamed for sleep, but he knew that stopping meant death, death he was not ready to accept. The darkness was his ally, it embraced him, keep him alive. If he knew which God had domain over it, he would offer a prayer of thanks. A scuffling of leather over stone and the jingle of chain causes his eyes to narrow. No time for idle thought now, more lambs have come to the slaughter.

The feel of a blade passing through the chest of a person at a high velocity feels much like sticking a branch into a pool of mud. His sword drove through the man before he was able to shout for help. Spinning around the impaled body, he caught the second man solidly on the chin with his elbow, sending him spinning to the ground. Another quick dart to the left, dodging a hasty sword stroke, feeling the sparks from the blade hitting stone strike hotly on his neck, he muttered a quick spell, sending a flash of green flame toward the third attacker, enveloping him, leaving nothing but a smoldering pile of bone and armor. He turned and drove his knee into the face of the man still alive, sending him sprawling to the ground once more. He retrieved his sword from the first man and cleaned the blade on the fallen mans cloak. With a face harsher than the deepest winter, he slowly walked back to where the unconscious man lay, ready to get some answers.

"Wake up".
A kick to the ribs caused the man to stir, his glazed eyes slowly attempting to refocus as he struggled against his bonds/ He watched his captive struggle against the spectral bonds and saw the look of animalistic fear in his wild eyes. A fear intensified by the blood of his friends that was splattered across his face, though not a little bit of it was his as well.
"What's your name?"
He wiped the spit from his cheek and began to speak a spell in a low voice which, once released, caused the man to scream as the skin from around his fingers began to stretch and peel back from the bone. He ended the spell early as he could see that the man was about to pass out again and he didn't have the time to wait until he woke up again. Right now, time was his enemy.
"Name. Now,"
"W-W-William. . . please stop, I don't know anything!"
He squatted next to the writhing man and absently tried to brush the dried blood from his forehead. "I would love to let you go, William, and I will once you tell me who sent you after me."
"I don't know, sir! Honest! We were told to find a man who looks like you through a letter!"
He sighed. This wasn't going to be easy, but then again, it's not like it's been a cake walk so far. "Alright, Will, you're free."
As he walked away from the charred corpse of William the Bandit, he allowed himself a moment to laugh. Freedom can have so many meanings.