WitchHunter ✔️

Whiskey Breath

Ace

The boys move through the crowd, slowly migrating around the town circle. The city center is a large not-quite-circular area of cobble that could fit 3 Fortresses inside, and at the very center, the Cleansing bonfire roars. The fire is a story high, casting flickering shadows along the homes on the outer edge of the circle. A small raised stage stands in front of the fire; a storyteller clad in all shades of red, oranges, and blacks perches crouching atop a stool there. Golden bells hang from his long, dark hair and his bare feet sport red toenails and black paint in the form of ancient symbols from a time long since passed. His eyes are darkened with the same black color, a red stripe flowing from each eye, down over his cheeks and disappearing into his robes.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." his voice booms across the circle as he slowly speaks the words. "Allow your children to come to me. The Cleansing story they to see!" He throws a fistful of something I can't make out into one of the torches at the edge of the stage, and the small flame leaps up in a burst of blue before settling back into its cup. A good number of children already sit cross legged on the cobbles in front of the man, and they cheer and squeal in delight at the plume. More join them, pushing their way through the legs of the parents and neighbors. "Come sit and hear and gasp enthralled as I recount the tale of a night appalled."

The cold wind blows up off the ocean, carrying with it the heavy smell of salt. The snow has been fallen a week, no longer a fluffy white powder, but rather wet, muddy lumps lining the cobble streets of the hillside town. The moon is bright and full casting steady blue light over the five figures creeping through the streets of the upper town. It's more quiet than a normal night, as if Kindleridge itself can feel what's coming.

Far below the intruders, two patrolmen lay dead, their bodies cinders, at one of the lower arches.

The men skulk through the dark alleyways, keeping to the shadows, until they all stand, shoulder to shoulder at the edge of town, facing Fortress. One of them, their leader, lets out a shout, and the others join in, their voices entwining to form one loud battle cry. The flames creep from their skin, alighting in their pores, covering every inch of them. It rolls over them in waves, their shouts quickly turning to screams fo turture as the fiery tongues eat away at their bodies and lick up the nearest homes. One by one, the men collapse dead, but the damage has already been done.

The fire leaps from house to house, tearing down the hillside toward the port. Half of Kindleridge was consumed by hellfire that night, both in area, and in number. There was no need for graves or body identification however, as the flames burned hot and angry enough to totally consume the victims, the ashes setting into the cracks in the pavement, becoming the new foundation we build upon today.

The storyteller seems to float to the edge of the stage, pulling something up from the darkness. He displays it triumphantly above his head, and 2 red dots sparkle in the bonfire light. An effygy, with red emberite eyes. A Cinderous Lochri.

"19 years ago tomorrow, this world was cleansed of five stains, and today, we celebrate their destruction!" On his last word, he turns, and casts the effygy into the flames. Fire licks up into the sky, fueled by something inside the doll, in all colors of pinks, blues, and black. Cheers erupt from the crowd below me, and my eyes meet those of the lone still figure across the fire from me. The stable boy has seen me. He is jostled around by the raucous crowd, but holds his ground, stronger than he lets on.

My eyes leave the stable boy, landing once more on the increasingly drunk WitchHunters. The twins raise their tankards of liquid to the sky, cheering on the man between them as he chugs his mug without stopping for a breath. Hale finishes, tossing the thick glass triumphantly behind him, where it lands with a thud onto a thatched roof. A crowd has gathered around the three men, the shouts and peals of laughter from the rolling mass enough to drown out the band playing somewhere in the lower town. The storyteller has vanished from the stage, and children return to their parents. The stable boy has also disappeared.