Story Two:
Zhanar, gentle flower.
Adventuring was not a lucrative business anymore, especially for "lower-level" freebooters and adventurers. Experienced veterans, on the other hand, still had challenges between the cities as the detritus of the Third Demon War still lingered, Shadow Demons and blood mages causing trouble and terrorizing small towns. But these paid well from both sides, even Dark Elven plantation owners were not monstrously evil to let their slaves be killed by them, many throwing in a dark elf daughter or a human slave wife into the offer as well to entice male adventurers.
So when the town of Rockwell had an incident about a mysterious raider, not many takers were present. Merchant caravans were raided by an extremely powerful, fast, and silent horseman who could shoot arrows that punched through trees, yet left people unmolested.
"Dark Elf slavers?" Gwain asked the mustachioed, robed man shuffling the papers. He shook his head.
"After the Ruby Pact, they kept their vile trade to themselves, and now accept money to free whomever we could afford. This one leaves men alone and doesn't even attack women, though a few merchant ladies reported a "black-robed horseman with a death's mask" robbing merchants of gold and jewelry.
"So it is a brigand."
"Seems to be that way."
Gwain scratched his head as Janice, the village's white-robed cleric joined in:
"I detected no malefic on the soil where people got attacked, so they must be a brigand of sorts, perhaps two. Merchants said arrows landed -after- the "scary horseman" attacked them with nary a scream or shout."
"Take Christine and five guards with pikes. Set up traps, and see what you can do. The brigand seems to flee at the earliest response by caravan guards, so under that armor may be a coward. We lost pounds of gold and the Merchant Fair is coming next week. We can't afford a disaster." He stamped the "Quest Form" an archaic term for an enchanted piece of paper with a cantrip to form a glowing exclamation mark on its back and tossed it to the young man.
"You'll get your bounty when the brigand is taken care of."
Then the cantrip would form a question mark by the arcane workings of truth and lies to his actions, and the local magistrate would pay Gwain after receiving the enchanted paper.
Time to get to work.
*-*-*-*
Gwain's scale mail was heavy, a local dwarven lady had laced the metal with quartz-and-lead amalgam. It gave greater weight to the whole suit, but the normally unnatural mixture held by magic could stop a normally lethal shot that would kill a human.
It wasn't much, but it would do, especially with the awkward, frog-mouth helmet with slits for eyes to prevent his head from getting blown off, almost awkwardly held in place by plates attached to his frugal scale mail and gambeson underneath.
He had Christine, and the town posse at least. Christine was a plain, brown-haired human girl who had migrated recently. A woman with bowmanship beyond elven skill, she was chosen to counter anyone trying anything funny from a distance. Her claims of being a ranger from a distant country were not questioned.
The five guards he knew from his childhood were busy setting up snares and traps, middle-aged men with not much to tell about, much less appreciate helping soft "adventurers" with no life experience to show for. They would just carry the stakes, and snares, wait behind them with halberds and that was it. Hopefully, they'd have a share of the bounty.
Gwain didn't mind. A fight was no game, no time reversal to do it all over again, no coming back from death barring divine intervention. Every action could kill him.
Finally, setting up their traps and making sure their tracks were covered, the seven defenders lay in ambush behind trees to see if the latest merchant mule caravan would get mugged. They had even put on a fake campfire with hay dolls sitting in shadows, as well as light, hay-filled sacks topped with picked marigolds and rocks to make sure the "travelers" seemed loaded with money.
But as usual, no plan ever survived contact with an enemy.
*-*-*-*
The uneasy wait was rewarded.
In only a few seconds, an impossibly fast figure rushed, and dove head first from the nearby thicket of trees, making the guards curse about how they failed to notice the galloping horseman. Even the horse's hooves made no sound.
When the fake campsite was rushed by the silent figure that impossibly made no sound as he swung a large spear and knocked over the "campers" with rapid blows to their heads, several flaming arrows slammed the ground behind him.
Christine yelled a challenge, emerging from the trees and shot the horseman's mount with an arrow, and to the bandit's confusion, disappeared behind her into the woods.
"I'LL FIND THE OTHER BANDITS! YOU DEAL WITH HIM!"
Grunting, the brigand horseman dove with his hands towards the sacks, a surprised reaction and a shocked growl were heard from his shadowy figure.
He was immense. Impossibly tall, the horseman was like a giant, seated on a horse that was almost too small for him, yet acted in perfect unison with the rider, head not even moving away from its prey, once.
Just when Gwain could shout a challenge and rush the bandit, with 5 men behind him, everything went wrong.
From another corner of the forest, the "most God-awful scream" could be heard, as later one of the guardsmen would put it. Every man freezing in his tracks, they saw a pitch-black, impossibly distorted figure crash into the ambush area and trigger every trap simultaneously, with wires and ropes, spikes and springs going haywire in a rain of shrapnel, pain, and snares.
The...thing for the lack of a better description was a mix of a buffalo covered in tar, with the face of a baboon with shining, green saliva emanating from its fangs, and almost walked upright.
"I'M NOT GETTING PAID ENOUGH FOR THIS!" was the angry protest of the guards who broke off and ran in cowardice, older men who knew when a fight was impossible to win: that's how they had lived.
The brigand horseman, in his terrifying black armor and skull-masked helmet, reared his horse and struck at the beast's face with all his might, creating a deep gash and spilling green venom everywhere.
*-*-*-*
Gwain could have run. Life was no game to restore from an earlier time. It was the right thing to do.
But part of his being felt like helping out. This was a Shadow Beast, a remainder of blood magic employed by Maou. A horrifying crossbreed, it had to go: it didn't belong to this world.
Grabbing a halberd, and sheathing his sword, Gwain yelled with all his might and swung down. The heavy weapon landed with a sickening crunch, with a wet noise: apparently, it lopped the rearing beast's hind leg clean off or maimed it enough to lose the limb with no blood flow possible.
The beast gurgled in agony with his face ruined too much to roar, swinging his left arm in panic and tossing Gwain aside like a ragdoll. Luckily the haphazard scale armor and helmet absorbed most of the blow, both items shattering like glass owing to the Shadow Beast's strength.
So much for armor. Gwain, lying on his back could see the horseman in his dark glory. Clad in pure black steel, the huge brigand's hidden eyes glowed like embers as he pointed at him before galloping off, his skull mask giving him a horrifying aura.
"I'm dead..." thought Gwain, the Shadow Beast would surely kill him now...
But then, Providence would show its benevolence. The monster roared, his face already regenerating, the grisly, misshapen skull knitting by every second. Screaming, he turned and started to stumble behind the brigand and chase him into the woods.
Gwain could recover, and head home: the bandit would surely die, and hopefully take the creature with it. It was an easy win. Christine was not his responsibility and had mentioned she would be chasing the other bandit. Pondering about the possibilities, the decision would be taken from him by a horrifying, female scream.
