The sun was setting.
It yellowed the outlines of the roofs, the cranes at the docks, sent narrow strips of brightness between the crates and the mice slinking in the dark at the warehouse. The hazy ripple shivered on the water in runaway blinding splotches.
Walter looked down onto the bustling street from the narrow window in the attic of 'William's Whale', a drinkery established from what seemed like a butchered and built-over carcass of a much larger ship that held by weave and prayer thirty years later once it had been dragged ashore. An ambitious project, undercooked for reasons lost to history. Light sifted through some cracks in the walls. Beside him, Ilyn was at the washing basin, splashing with an occasional loud huff.
The plans have already been laid, sooner than the lord himself arrived. They kept the masking wards going and scattered to the winds. He handled what came after dusk, as family tradition prescribed. The higher undead were not to be suffered to live for what they became with time showed in countless tragedies.
He'd tried to argue that, once or twice. Must have fallen into the same trap as the rest of the von Bremen bloodline, whoever they were.
All violent things would meet the same end.
With how quickly the adversary moved after the deed, however, it had to be tonight.
And for the rest of the men's disagreement, he was fully intending to go alone.
"Let me leave you the brews at least, milord," Ilyn tried again. He'd been at it more insistently the closer the hour drew for him to depart. Walter shook his head. The man would not relent. "'T least the hazemist, eh? Doesn't sit right with me, none of it."
Walter shook his head again. The dimming dust-yellow outlined his face, played against the bright and contrasting color of the iris, got tangled in the silver-threaded black curls. His neck was covered by a scarf. He wore leathers, but no shoulder guard on the left, no traditional armored vestments. No point in armor with creatures that tend to move faster than average man and hit like battering rams. Metal would get crushed inward from the blows, he'd seen it himself. Cause more than a bruise. Set him on the backfoot. Couldn't afford that with anything that kept moving until properly stopped.
"Ilyn, don't linger. I have this well in hand." One or the other. "Wash up, leave, keep an eye out. You and your girl should come to Elkhart after your moon had passed, so let's convene there in three weeks." Two for travel, one for issues.
Eyes lowered to the signet ring, bronze looking so much duller as the light receded. Fox on crescent, briar rose on its back.
Would have been silver if they were only military. Grandfather's known history made it sound that way, for sure.
But it was bronze. Unassuming, un-prestigious, and as symbolic as the shape of the dagger he carried as a spare, where the heraldry has been set into the framing of a large tree.
Boards creaked under the heavy man's steps. The Huntsman bowed, offered him the ghost lantern, freshly reignited.
"Good hunting, milord."
"Be well and travel safely," Walter echoed, turning his eyes to see the man off.
It was going to be a long patrol along the streets once night fell.
Perhaps he'd feel the Call before the blood started spilling.
Perhaps he'd even make the distance before the blood was done spilling, too.
It yellowed the outlines of the roofs, the cranes at the docks, sent narrow strips of brightness between the crates and the mice slinking in the dark at the warehouse. The hazy ripple shivered on the water in runaway blinding splotches.
Walter looked down onto the bustling street from the narrow window in the attic of 'William's Whale', a drinkery established from what seemed like a butchered and built-over carcass of a much larger ship that held by weave and prayer thirty years later once it had been dragged ashore. An ambitious project, undercooked for reasons lost to history. Light sifted through some cracks in the walls. Beside him, Ilyn was at the washing basin, splashing with an occasional loud huff.
The plans have already been laid, sooner than the lord himself arrived. They kept the masking wards going and scattered to the winds. He handled what came after dusk, as family tradition prescribed. The higher undead were not to be suffered to live for what they became with time showed in countless tragedies.
He'd tried to argue that, once or twice. Must have fallen into the same trap as the rest of the von Bremen bloodline, whoever they were.
All violent things would meet the same end.
With how quickly the adversary moved after the deed, however, it had to be tonight.
And for the rest of the men's disagreement, he was fully intending to go alone.
"Let me leave you the brews at least, milord," Ilyn tried again. He'd been at it more insistently the closer the hour drew for him to depart. Walter shook his head. The man would not relent. "'T least the hazemist, eh? Doesn't sit right with me, none of it."
Walter shook his head again. The dimming dust-yellow outlined his face, played against the bright and contrasting color of the iris, got tangled in the silver-threaded black curls. His neck was covered by a scarf. He wore leathers, but no shoulder guard on the left, no traditional armored vestments. No point in armor with creatures that tend to move faster than average man and hit like battering rams. Metal would get crushed inward from the blows, he'd seen it himself. Cause more than a bruise. Set him on the backfoot. Couldn't afford that with anything that kept moving until properly stopped.
"Ilyn, don't linger. I have this well in hand." One or the other. "Wash up, leave, keep an eye out. You and your girl should come to Elkhart after your moon had passed, so let's convene there in three weeks." Two for travel, one for issues.
Eyes lowered to the signet ring, bronze looking so much duller as the light receded. Fox on crescent, briar rose on its back.
Would have been silver if they were only military. Grandfather's known history made it sound that way, for sure.
But it was bronze. Unassuming, un-prestigious, and as symbolic as the shape of the dagger he carried as a spare, where the heraldry has been set into the framing of a large tree.
Boards creaked under the heavy man's steps. The Huntsman bowed, offered him the ghost lantern, freshly reignited.
"Good hunting, milord."
"Be well and travel safely," Walter echoed, turning his eyes to see the man off.
It was going to be a long patrol along the streets once night fell.
Perhaps he'd feel the Call before the blood started spilling.
Perhaps he'd even make the distance before the blood was done spilling, too.