Closed//The Challenge

A darkness came. It seemed to devour the mornings poor light as it approached, a blot on the otherwise green landscape that surrounded the castle walls. It moved slowly, deliberately like a tide of blackness approaching the shore that could not be stopped. As it drew closer one could make out the silhouette of a man, a man driven by a terrible purpose that burned behind the darkness of his eyes. Closer he came to the front entrance of the castle walls, his strides slow yet long and deliberate as the jagged edge of his cloak brushed against the life giving green that his boots tread upon.

At long last he reached the large fountain that bordered the courtyard entrance. He never even paused, instead stepping directly into the dark depths. Plunging up to his knees, he continued forward, his passage sending ripples that shattered the mirror of the cloudy sky above. The tip of steel trailed along the waters rippling surface at each of his sides, slicing through with its razor edge to leave smaller trails in their wake. Reaching the other side, he stepped from the fountain, water cascading down his legs to leave him soaked and dripping the life giving substance. Perhaps this was a foreshadow of what was to come or a glimpse into his bloody past, no man knew but Sarthas...was no longer a man. There would be no tomorrow. Death had ceased screaming his name, instead he had become death and he had come bearing a message.

A single tear of water fell from his knife to strike the earth with a silent yet life shattering sound, bringing the man at last to a pause. His head was tilted down slightly leaving the upper half of his face shrouded in the darkness of his cowl. Only his mouth and chin were visible and his lips were twisted into a terrible scowl. Tightening his grip on what he had found only hours ago, his arms held out at his sides while the blades flashed as he twisted them until the steel mirrored both the castle and the forest behind him. The image broken with trails of tears that ran down the steel's surface. Anger, born of madness that screamed release echoed in the single name he roared from his lips.....

”AILIS!”

His voice boomed, slamming the name into the castle stone as if he could shatter it. The word echoed again and again until at last fading into oblivion. Those lips twisted more, the hate flooding his mind like a river of flame. If he could not go to her, than she would come to him.

“AILIS!!” He roared again, the name splitting open the air about them as it bled into every pore of the castles walls. “You will come to me or I will bleed your precious students until you drown in their blood!” It was not a threat, there was too much conviction in the dead man's voice. It was a promise, to be kept perhaps even if she answered his call.

“AILIS!”

She would come, they would die. All of them, they would all pay for their part in this sad twisted story. The creature of a man barred his teeth. Yes.....all of them even her.

“Something evil’s comin’,” muttered Gunnar under his breath, the sentence falling in the silent hall like a needle dropped to the floor. If he had spoken a second later, it would have been as hard to hear the sound of words as if he’d dropped that same needle into a haystack and had to find it again as the roar of a single name bellowed in the courtyard filled the corridor. The echo rebounded into the hall in which Gunnar stood through an open window and he could feel more than hear the madness and fury that was soaked into the two syllables. For a moment, he thought that those emotions that were so intense in the outcry might even overwhelm him so that he would become lost in sympathetic suffering for the speaker. Gunnar grit his teeth as he set his jaw, refusing to let the insanity infect him. How susceptible men seemed to the conditions of their brothers. While the weathered cowboy was resistant to the elements, his skin toughened by nature’s harshness, he was sometimes unaccustomed and unguarded when it came to dealing with other people. Even as the sound of the name died, Gunnar was barely managing to keep his wits about him.

Then he heard the next yell, a challenge to whoever it was that the man cried out for in his desperate rage. The threats chilled Gunnar’s blood as he recognized the speaker despite the distortion in his voice from his anguish. It was the shadowy assassin who had unnerved him once before. It was the man who had signed in blood and drew knives upon another at the university. He had not seen nor heard of the man since that day in the registration office, but to ever see or hear him again was far too soon for Gunnar’s tastes. But it seemed that he wasn’t so lucky. Only a wall of stone and panes of glass protected him from the shade’s gaze. And how naked Gunnar felt even with that solid shield.

He drew a ragged breath through clenched teeth and swallowed even though his mouth was dry. There had been horrors in his past and he had hoped that by answering the mysterious missive he had received and traveling partway around the globe, he might avoid facing again horrors in his future—but he was wrong. With a silence uncommon for the cowboy, he mouthed a prayer to any god that was listening and drew his revolvers. He knew that while the courtyard had quieted again, that the silence was the most fragile thing in the world. But what would break it? Would the man yell again or would it be the thunder of Gunnar’s Colts. Gunnar approached the nearest window, eyeing the glimmering glass suspended in a spider web of steel. As he crept closer, he peered out through the opened window and saw the shadowy man standing in front of the fountain. It was him: Sarthas.

Echo’s bounced off the walls while continuing down the hall; it wasn’t every day that you hear a voice come back from the dead. Smirking gently she slowly stood placing the book that she read on the table beside the bed.

Stepping lightly with she headed towards the door, stopping to the left retreating into another room, carefully moving over towards the closet without brooms. Inside the closet was a small box, cover in chains and bound with locks, labeled ‘Kindly do not touch… its war’.

Carefully reaching in having a subtle steady grin over those summer glossy lips, if he wanted to call her out to test her wits, she was not going to go alone she would take the whole lot of it and set it out to roam.

Chocolate layers of hair brushed around her shoulders in the breeze without a care, with ease she took the box bound with chains and locked with locks, labeled ‘kindly do not touch.. its war.’

Moving down the stairs wondering if he really even cared the disturbance he as causing would send out quit a scare. The students she loved, but they would have to learn that life is not just given but earned. With each passing moment as she cleared the stairs, wondering exactly what this being dared. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rested the box against her right hip and continued towards the door.

The dress was simple as it always was giving off the slight hint of royal blood, blood was the key and blood was the game. Little did this being know exactly what was her claim, stepping out onto the cobblestone rocks, listening to the threats playfully gasping in shock, a hand gently rested itself against her face while she protected it against the other race.

Smiling widely she would speak to the one devil who called her out as if she was a piece of meat. He would soon learn who he now was and what he why he was here. If it was the angel he wished to save there was but only one way.

“Creature…You have not been given the right to speak. In the shadows you do creep, you will never win over the hells deep. The threats you dish come with only one wish…”

She adjusted the box once again against her hips. Waiting to see what he would dare. If he would just stand there….

The silence was harsh, it beat upon his ears like the heavy thump of drums but he did not break it. Sarthas only waited for what would come, for he knew that it would come. The quiet moan of the hinges as they moved brought the faintest hint of a smile to the man's lips. A twisted thing, more evil and more terrible than such a gesture should have been capable of. It was as if the man could take even the good and just things in the world and twist and torture them until they were a dark shadow of what they had once been. Just as they had tortured his mind into near madness so too could he do unto others.

Words cut into the air, shattering the silence to send shards of their deadly intent deep into his already torn and jagged soul. She was mocking him? Treating him as nothing more than a toy to be tossed away when he was no longer of any use. Threats? Oh how very wrong she was...the man was beyond such simple things. The fire within raged into a frenzy of madness.

A long silence filled the space between them when she had spoken the last of her words. At last that scowl twisted into more of a smile and words slipped from his lips dripping in vile hatred. “Oh but my dear lady, I have given myself leave.” Still he did not move, frozen in place like a statue. A dark fortress standing against the morning light. “But you are right on one account...I have come for one single purpose.” The man at last moved, slowly lifting his left hand to his ear, extending his fingers while holding the hilt of the blade against his palm with only his thumb. Cupping that hand he tilted his head ever so slightly as if he were listening to something intently. “Can't you hear the music my dear lady? She sings for us, our pain and our sorrow.” He lowered his hand, letting his arm drop to his side lifelessly. “It is but a tiny voice nearly drown with the sound of life in this wrenched world. But fear not, I will douse that life. I will cut away at it until all that is left is her voice.” The man took a single step forward, his eyes still shrouded in darkness. “So let us dance to this tune of agony, let us waltz to the music of despair. For I am death and I have come....” Suddenly the man's head tilted up, exposing those orbs of darkness. There was fire behind them, a raging inferno that consumed all other emotion and left only room for its bitterness.


“...For you Ailis.”

Suddenly, he moved. Sarthas had once been a man, and as a man he had devoted his life to his craft, the craft of death. So dedicated was he that he had seemed near inhuman to his victims but now, now he was no longer limited by his frail body. Now, he was less human and more the monster of nightmares. Capable of things that only monsters could. It happened in the blink of an eye. One moment the man was standing, like a statue in front of the fountain and the next he was rushing toward her at impossible speed. Both blades screamed out with impossible precession, his left aimed at her right eye while his right sought to slash across her stomach and spill her intestines upon the cold hard stone. To any normal person who might have been watching, it would seem that he had simply vanished and appeared in front of her, but this was not a dance between two humans. This was between two monsters and Sarthas intended to lead.

With a Colt in each hand, the wood handles warming against his palms, Gunnar threaded his index fingers through the trigger guards. Whatever confrontation was about to take place in the courtyard, he wanted to be prepared for it. He pressed the pads of his fingers on the triggers, sweeping his fingertips along the curves for a moment before letting them settle into their familiar places on the metal. How long had it been since he’d held the twin guns together? As he gripped both revolvers while his pulse quickened in answer to a pending threat, he should have been reminded of horrors in his own history. He should have frozen up like the last time he had encountered Sarthas, but instead, he focused and relaxed, drawing upon the familiar comfort of his revolvers in his hands.

From his vantage point inside the corridor, peering through the open window, Gunnar watched as a door swung open and a woman he had never seen before stepped out onto the cobblestone path that spanned the lawn. Who was she? Gunnar wondered and what had she done to incite the frenzied fury of the dark demon in the courtyard. He heard her speak. Creature, she called Sarthas. Gunnar pondered the term a moment. When Gunnar had last seen Sarthas, he had known the man to be evil but he was just that—a man. Did her label reveal that there had been some change in the man? Gunnar felt suddenly ignorant of the school and its students. He had walked the halls and met a few of the inhabitants, but what did he truly know about them? When he heard her other words, he wondered at them as well. Was she reprimanding Sarthas, trying to command him? What was the relation between the two he observed? They were questions that Gunnar had no answers to, and he doubted that he would know the answers before the situation resolved.

Sarthas spoke again, ending Gunnar’s contemplation and drawing his attention. The devil’s statements reflected the insanity that his voice had contained when he had first uttered his challenge. The words themselves carried no meaning for Gunnar, but the way Sarthas spoke them, the tone of his enraged voice, let the ex-ranch hand know all he needed to know before deciding upon his course of action. For a few seconds longer, his eyes lingered on the pair, only for him to witness Sarthas’s disappearance and sudden reappearance in front of the woman. Gunnar’s eyes widened. There were two possibilities to explain what had happened, and he’d seen both before. Either the man had ‘blinked’, teleporting from one place to the other, nearby location in a second, or he had moved so quickly that Gunnar with his damnable human eyes could not follow the motion. Experience told him it was the latter, which in Gunnar’s mind was the more dangerous of the two. A man who could move that fast could attack just as quickly whereas a man who teleported was most likely still limited to human speeds for his actual movements.

All that mattered in that second though to Gunnar was not how fast Sarthas could move, but instead that a woman stood before the assassin, seemingly at his mercy—and Gunnar didn’t think that Sarthas knew the meaning of the word. The cowboy whispered a prayer for his aging body to not fail him when he felt he needed it most, and in a matter of minutes he would know whether or not his words had fallen on deaf ears. Gunnar leapt up onto the stone ledge with the soft sound of stone gritting beneath the soles of his boot and stood in the alcove in which the window was set. For probably the first time since it had been made, the large, ornate window proved practical as Gunnar ducked through the opening with no more difficulty than if he passing through a small, narrow doorway. He stood on the outer sill of the window, his head nearly bumping the arched ceiling of the recess in the stone wall. In the next second, he landed on his feet on the lush grass of the lawn with a quiet thud.

Despite his experience with his firearms, to which he had entrusted his life on many occasions, Gunnar did not dare risk taking a shot at the shadow looming in front of the mysterious woman. His aim was good but no marksman worth his salt would pull the trigger when his target was draped in draped in dark cloth with an innocent on the other side. It would be so easy for a bullet to pierce cloth and pass through to innocent flesh beyond. But yet, Gunnar could not stand by and do nothing. Raising his right hand, barrel aimed at the sky, he fired his revolver. The revolver kicked in his hand with the force of its namesake, forcing his arm jerk with the recoil. Thunder cracked in the courtyard, echoing as loudly as Sarthas’s enraged roar had minutes before. “That’s far enough,” called the cowboy. “I think yah should simmer down, partna.”

Fingertips silently laced against the box’s interface just barely touching the chains holding the box together. Watching the entire scene from a distance that was not even that hard to weather, softened features teased the angry Sarthas. Though what was he upset over she saved his life giving him another chance to finish his bidding. He knew his purpose here and he knew why he must stay, the two of them plotted together like angel’s sitting on a bell of hay. Perhaps she had been to hell before, and met his angel none the less how else would of creature of her nature meet with him and nearly impress what she knew.

Sarthas only believed in what he had seen never what might become; this was the power card she would play as he came to her betting at his drum. Calling her out to play his game did he really think he had any chance to win her over by being insane? Maybe now he understood that, things happen for a reason she knew what resided in hell there was a reason long ago she was put over guard of the hounds. Very precious creatures until they are disturbed, but the reason behind their attacking without cause could not be right. The hell hounds are supposed to be protects and never put up much a fight. They could always predict the death of those living of blood.

They were sort of the angels to those damned creatures who walk among the living. The box would shake in her arms as if it wanted to be set free. Though the time was not right as she watched the other man enter the scene, shooting his guns attempting to interfere, she would not of minded so much but this situation was quite a mere mess. Lifting a hand in the air using the gesture hoping it would stop the both of them so that what was needed to be said could do so. Now, the creature of the night was going to give a really good fight, but what he did not know is that she had the ability to just disappear from sight.
He should remember the time before when he came knocking on the gardens door…

“Sartha’s my intention was to save you from what lies in the depth of hell’s deep. You are not meant to go there without another lesson to keep. You have a monster to defeat and the only way you can beat them is learn, what I have to offer. Coming here was no mistake; you knew the risks that were at stake. You cannot blame me for your actions that lead to death”

Slowly her feet would become nothing of a mist against the ground while the rest of her form stood there very proud and resound. Eyes moved towards the man with the blaring guns shaking her head a bit, as to send the single to stop and perhaps maybe run? A tightness rose in the back of her throat she had no intention on controlling this bloke.

“One must know what thy wishes for…”

Fingers never left the box tied with chains and box with locks labeled ‘kindly do not touch it is war’. Taking a large breath her face slowly watched the two of them, something was going to happen that was for sure but could she deter it.

“I can send you right back to hell if that is your wish…Though know that there are things in life you must complete before you can reside there with your angel of dreams.”

The knives screamed forward with inhuman speed, intent on reaching their mark. This was only the first step towards salvation in Sarthas's mind. Ailis's death was only the beginning of the end and when she at last lay dieing at his feet the others would soon follow. He could not stop himself if he wished too, he was lost somewhere in a pit of madness that was eating away at his mind like acid and so it was that the blades continued. They screamed through the air as they shed the last hint of water they had taken from the fountain only moments before. The world slowed to a crawl and the monster watched with a detached fascination as they inched their way forward.

Deep in the man's mind, he stood on a precipice of darkness. The last shred of his humanity looked down into the infinite well of blackness before him as a terrible storm raged around him. Wind beat icy rain against the bare skin of the small boy with savage intensity as he huddled on the edge of the cliff.

***********

The blades inched forward.....

***********

Somewhere far in the distance he heard the voice of a small girl. The music of her words was barely audible in the awful tempest and he had to strain to hear her. She had always been a comfort for him, on those countless dark days when the monster took control. When the evil destroyed those around him again and again, the evil created and nurtured by the only parents he had ever known. But this voice was different now, it began to warp and twist until her usual soft words of comfort became screams of agony and despair.

**********

The edge of the blades were nearly against Ailis's skin now....

...and still she did not move.

**********

The child screamed in agony, echoing the girl far away in a world he could not touch. The ground beneath his feet cracking and breaking apart as lightning shattered the weeping sky. The boy fell, into the darkness plunging into its inky depths his eyes looking to the heavens above as the tears of angles beat upon his agony filled face. For a moment they changed, twisted just as the voice had only seconds before. They were not the eyes of a frightened little boy, they were the eyes of an unspeakable evil...an evil that had been bound by a tiny thread of humanity. A strand of that very thread snapped, its breaking shattering the man's mind with its powerful sound. But the whole of it did not break apart, it held and as the boy fell he caught hold of that thread, a lifeline that kept him from the hungry maw of darkness below.

Far in the distance, beyond the borders of his mind into the world of the living a thread tied around a young woman's neck beat the stead rhythm of life a rhythm that could not be stopped as long as the thread remained intact. The ring, bound to that thread burned brightly as its first owner endured endless suffering at the hands of a merciless evil.

**********

The blades froze in place, a razors edge from kissing the skin of her stomach having torn through the fabric of her dress. The second blade poised with its point just as close to her eye yet he could not finish it. The echo of a gunshot revealing that the loud cracking sound had not only been in his mind but was real. He stood there, poised to take the life of one of them that had taken her from him but his body did not obey his commands. His muscles fought against themselves in a battle of wills yet still they did not budge. Unbridled fury bled from his eyes as he battled against this new enemy but it was a battle he was loosing. The logical part of his mind was screaming for his attention. That gunshot had been close, very close but the madness ate away these thoughts until only anger remained. She spoke, calm and collected but he could not hear the words, they seemed distant as if he were hearing them from another room.

Shrieking in rage he jerked the blades back and then in again, yet they froze once more only a hairs breath from her body. Again and again he jerked the blades away then froward. His movements were frighteningly fast. So fast in fact they could not even be seen by the naked eye, only a blur of motion as they shot forward again and again shredding her dress to ribbons. But it was a futile effort, no matter how he tried he could not draw blood. He was chained by the dust that filled his veins. He was a man bound in so many awful ways. He was bound by fate, by death, by life and by madness. He was bound by rage and sorrow, hate and blood. He was chained more tightly than this mysterious box that Ailis clutched too. He was nothing more than a prisoner to to his own principals and the principles of others.

It was infuriating...

Stepping back he gripped the cowl that covered his head and tore it from its place tossing it aside. Revealing his pale skin and the long scratches on his face. Clutching at his head, his hands gripped full of hair ripping it out by the roots as he dropped the blades to the hard stone at his feet. The metallic ringing sound now replacing the echo of the earlier gunshot. He tore at his face, tearing other long lines into the dead flesh of his face before lunging forward again at the center of all of his hatred. He forced his face forward, nearly an inch from her own and screamed. It all came out, like a flood of emotion that had been damned for far too long. He poured it all into that blood curdling howl. Rage, a river of endless fire burning into the minds eye. Hate, a well of fathomless darkness spat up from the deepest depths of a tortured soul. Frustration, at having come so far and yet failed dispute it all. Despair, at having lost everything in a single agonizing moment of weakness. Reaching forward he attempted to claw at her dress as if he could rip her apart with his bare hands.

“WHY?!!” He screamed into her face, madness devouring his mind. “WHY WON'T YOU DIE?!!” It all meant nothing if he couldn't kill her. If he couldn't destroy her than how could he hope to fight something that was not of this world? It was all for nothing, all his plans had fallen to pieces, shattered just as his mind was now shattered. It seemed that the end had come at last and no matter how much he fought against fate's chains he was bound by her laws and her will alone. He was as helpless as a tiny boat in a stormy ocean's currents. For the first time in his life, his strength and skill meant nothing. He was like a child, playing in a world of greater powers but he had lost his only comfort and now he was truly alone and for the first time in his horrible life, he was actually afraid.

Gunnar stood unwavering as the crack of his gunshot echoed in the courtyard, the sound rebounding across stone to fill the empty air. It seemed that the area had the acoustics of an amphitheatre, allowing every sound to extend well beyond what should have been the normal audible range so that he could hear both Sartha’s screams and the soft-spoken words of the mysterious woman.

Throughout his body, Gunnar’s muscles tensed in response to the threat before the woman, demanding that he take action. Fight or flight! Fight or flight! screamed instincts buried in every molecule of his being. Spying the scene before him, where a man moved at speeds beyond human capabilities and swung knives with the intention to sever flesh, a bestial impulse cried out for Gunnar to run. If he stayed, it reasoned, he would face a foe he could not defeat. The animal inside every man that laid buried and bound by intellect cowered within the cowboy and pleaded for him to leave. It strengthened his legs, coiling the muscles so that he could perform feats of flight beyond his normal abilities. But Gunnar denied the frightened beast and silenced its doubt. He was a man. He was in control.

A soft hiss seeped from his mouth as he drew a breath through clenched teeth and composed himself. Do not give, he thought to himself, shoving the animalistic fear deep into the back of his mind. He tucked that terror away and shut the door on it, locking it in a dark closet. There were boogey men in the world, monsters that instilled an undeniable madness and horror in mortals, but he was a hunter. Or he had been in years past. The very revolvers he held in his hands had brought down wolves and bats, and far worse things that went bump in the night. He had also killed men who had become deranged by the denizens of darkness. But those days were supposed to be behind him. He was growing older and his perilous profession had aged him beyond his actual years. Was it any wonder that hunters rarely lived to senility where their secrets might slip? Those who did not die fulfilling their duties often took their own lives rather than live with demons they could not slay, the memories that haunted their sleep, twisting dreams into nightmares. Gunnar had come to Caislin Hallows to hang up his guns, so to say, but yet, he had still worn them holstered at his side out of habit. Routines were hard to break out of, and every morning after a fitful sleep broken by cold sweats and screams in the night, he would rise and train—push-ups, chin-ups, sit-ups, running, shadowboxing, so much more, and of course target practice on makeshift shooting ranges in the woods.

Behind him, he mentally sneered with a curse to whatever gods were listening. How could he say his past was behind him when it stood in front of him as plainly as the sun in the sky. Gunnar watched as the shadow stabbed at the woman, eyes narrowing on the man. The daggers hung in the air, the sunlight glinting on the sharp blades, and Gunnar brought both firearms even with the assailant. The steel levers were warm against his fingertips as he applied the lightest of pressure, preparing to fire… And then he saw the woman’s gaze on him. For a moment, he thought he was mistaken, thought that what he saw was distorted by distance and adrenaline that made his heartbeat pound in his ears. Her gaze gave Gunnar pause, his fingers halting their backward pull on the triggers. Whatever was going on in front of him, was bigger than hunter, monster, and victim. Despite his realization, Gunnar only stabled one of his Colts in its holster—the one he had not fired. The other, he kept in hand and with a flick of his thumb across the chamber mechanism, the cylindar swung out to the left. Pointing the gun to the ground, he plucked the empty shell of the fired round from its burrow. Gunnar slid the spent round into his pocket and drew a fresh one from its where his ammo was nestled in tiny sleeves across his broad leather belt. He pressed the round into its new home and then snapped his revolver shut. He doubted that he would shoot again, but damn them both if they thought he was going to leave when Sarthas was out for blood. Gunnar stayed as the silent witness, even as Sarthas seemed to break down and try to rend the woman’s gown from her flesh in an attempt at violence against her. If they asked nicely, he’d even consider signing his John Hancock a paper for them at the notary to document whatever the heck they were doing had officially happened.

Hearing the smooth tones of the gunslinger that was now in the picture, very lithe and delicate smile shimmer on her lips under the casting beams. The tension could easily be felt as could the reasoning in her mind why this creature was coming after her. In the end she had taken something he held dear but she knew more than she would let on at this point and time. Living eyes watched his hands move in slow motion coming forward to send the song whispering soaring slicing the air into halves upon is destination reach. She stood this time like a tree unmoving and even bending at her knees. Holding the box in her right arm she looked just for a moment in the direction of the moving man. Seeing that he took to the corners to be protected, chivalry was the duty and she could respect such a wager.

Humanity had long ago left her if this was a battle to the death she would meet it head on and leave the world behind, the only problem she knew she couldn’t die no matter the case. Only, few knew the ways and she never feared the path she walked and would not start now. Keen eyes watched the inching blade moving to her it would appear slow, though she debated for a moment before the choice was made. If he wanted to create pain she would give it freely, but die she would not. Stepping forward as the blade came forward, meeting it before it stopped, coming into contact with her flesh slicing through and embedding itself in the pit of stomach bending over as it hit only to slowly stand once again, eyes darting to look at him.

Blood would began to coat the now ruined garment still she stood like of tower unshaken and unmoving. Holding the box clutched in her hand the still as the color in her eyes began to only change into a deep crimson red. Step by step she would walk closer towards him, one in front of another the blade would tear the flesh of her stomach as the blood flow now was greater, a trail began to follow her. Flowing locks of chocolate hair brushed past her eyes as she finally began to speak.

“Do you feel better now creature? You see pain…. You see torment…”

Holding the box in her right hand she would carefully once again reach up to the key that was laying against her chest, she had only used one before and Sarthas was now one of the carriers. The box chained in chains and tied in locks would shake violently in her arms. One by one she would slowly unlock the many padded locks her eyes never leaving the creature before her. Still she stood bleeding still she dared him to come closer. With each lock unbound the chain would began to fall away from the box tied with chains and locked with locks, it’s as if she was about to open something of horror. It was a base of horror that he would not be able to take if she made it through all of those locks.

Keeping a half of the locks together and tight she put the key back around her neck and looked to her right. Then with her free hand once more she would pull the handle of the knife and pull it out from her flesh. A groan is heard but nothing more and less. The color of her eyes is now a glowing red for the loss of blood has called the creature inside her, needs to be fed.

In a very precise quick flick of her wrist the knife once again went sailing down the playing field this time in perfect alignment with its owner. If he did not move it would strike…..

In darkness the ring bore light, in darkness the thread became visible. As the child with white eyes stared at these items of lore. The rush of light only gave the following actions a reason to play on, slipping the ring to her finger as the thread wrapped around it fitted snuggly on her finger. In a moments gaze, pain came to the surface. Causing her to double over, falling to her knees in wrenching pain that burned from the inside. In a moments daze the pain would come to rest at a bare-able rise. Standing to her feet, finding the surroundings of the pathway from the graveyard. Darkness had passed and the suns light raised high. Sounds of gun shots had awoken her rest in the road, and sounds of yells echoed through the forest still.

In this rude awakening, the pain that burned carried on with her and forced a moments bliss as she ran beneath the shadow of the trees, the illuminating form dipping beneath branches as she trolled on through the forest. Her feet carried her in a daze, not knowing where she was running to , but glad she was getting away from the graveyard of many nightmares finally. Her feet made barely any noise as she trampled over the green grass that grew so long in these woods. She had made her way to the edge of the forest, coming to the courtyard, something so familiar to her at this point. Her memories were fading from her as the days gone on, and she started to recollect them as she moved along.

The burning of the hot sun against bare feet and a fading white dress was almost too much as she stepped out from the shade of the trees. Blurs of creatures laid before her, and to this she walked in a daze still. Coming closer she found the fountain and pool of water that rushed back so many thoughts of the past, which made her smile in a crooked evil way. The reminder of other beings caught her attention, watching the three souls that laid before her.

In a calling pain, the force of monsters pressed on the will. Almost a white shadow now as the cloud dusted through the path, finding her way through the trees into a familiar state again. The first moment of weakness , the finding of a dark shadow. Now she came to see three beings in the courtyard she found so familiar. A being she had not seen before, the smell of danger and death came pouring from this woman that stood still so far away. Gunnar, someone she recognized slightly from times in pass. And a dark shadow, a looming soul, a dark shadow that she could not place if it was demon or if it was still Sarthas beneath that shadow.

The ring on her finger tightened and seemed to melt into her skin, the pain subsiding with the burning sensation she still carried from her awakening. Watching these two creatures in their current state only made her want to stay in her spot all the more. Getting closer to either of them would cause not only pain but death that came entrapped with the consequence. She stood there, helpless and fading. The power to hold back was growing weak, hands collected and cupped around her mouth. ‘’Sarthas!’’ That was all she could think to say, or to do at this point. There was so much evil in the air, so much tension that you could see it between them. The white eyed girl stood on the side lines once again, with the burn of the ring and thread in her soul.

“Do you feel better now creature? You see pain…. You see torment…” The voice carried with it a sadness of sorts and a weight of responsibility that could not be defined with simple words. The sound of locks breaking free of their shackles rattled his mind as each and every click of the key seemed far too loud in the darkness that blinded him. Yet he was bound by madness and could do nothing but steal from his senses to catch glimpses of the horror that surrounded him. This wasn't he....this wasn't Sarthas....he was something else now, something of which he could not control.

It began as all life began, a single flash in the vast expanse of darkness. A tiny point of light that seemed so frail it might be strangled by the shadows that weighed down upon it. And yet it did not falter, it did not fade away and leave the small child to his fate...no it grew. It grew in size and intensity, its white brilliance pressing back the madness that gnawed upon the boys very existence. It was but a thin line, a tiny thread that was wound around the soul of this child as tightly as any man might imagine. It held him against the tides of hate that tried desperately to drown him, it held him against the darkness that threatened to devour his sanity. This one single thread frayed by the storm that raged around somehow held him aloft over a pit of endless despair. The boy had never asked for help, for had never needed it. For as long as he could remember it was his strength alone that held the beast at bay. The evil that lived within the hearts of man, an evil that he had been burdened with from the moment of his conception. But that evil was a part of him, just as this tiny thread that now held him over the darkness was a part of him. Without the darkness he was not whole and yet with it, he could never be free. It was a paradox and yet no greater than the one that defined every man woman or child that had ever walked the earth. He was the man and he was the monster, nothing could change this.

His fingers began to slip away...

...the grip on the thread weakening as his strength at last began to fail.


What more was there? Was he not destined to fade into that madness, had he not claimed it would take him those long years ago? These questions seemed pointless now, on the brink of utter and complete destruction. And yet he asked them, like a drowning man might cling to a slack rope in hopes that someone would be there to pull him to safety but there was no one. He was alone and there was nothing but the strand to hold him and only he with the strength to hold to the strand.

Far in the distance a sound echoed, catching the wild and untamed wind and riding down into the swirling depths of the chasm over which the boy hung. It was quiet at first but it grew in strength with each repeat of its own echo. The strand bathed in light began to pulse in time with this voice....this word. He knew it, it beat against his ravaged soul like the drum of an army a thousand strong, this.....name. Stronger, and louder and stronger until this one word drown out all other sound in the vast infinity of emptiness that filled his soul. The reverberations of its echo beat against the glowing strand sending shock-waves into the child that hung at its end. He did not simply hear it....he felt it, clearer than anything else he had ever felt in his life. The name had only been uttered once and yet felt as if it had been screamed over and over again to this pitiful soul.


“Sarthas!”

That was his name, that was who he was. Sarthas was the man who could not be broken, he was a man driven to succeed above all else. He was as unyielding as the ocean's currents as it beat against the tiny island's shores. The smallest smile twisted the corner of the boys lips in a very familiar look of defiance. He could not fail he would not break, he would not yield a single inch to the winds of fate. Slowly, the child raised his eyes to the stormy clouds above as the wind lashed the rain against his face. There was a new look within them, new and yet old. The same look that so many had seen in the past, a look of stalwart resolve. Those fingers curled around the lifeline as it continued to beat its rhythm into his soul and suddenly he jerked his free arm up catching hold of the line with both hands now. No...

He would not fall.

Sarthas awoke to find himself standing in front of Ailis, his eyes fixed upon a dagger that was buried to the hilt into her stomach, his dagger. He had struck her? But when? How and what did it mean? She did not answer these questions only gripping the hilt slowly she pulled the blade free, her blood staining the ragged remains of what had once been an elegant dress not so long ago. There was barely a moan in protest as she accepted the pain for what it was and his eyes trailed to the box she held in her arm, now half unleashed. His mind was trying desperately to make sense of it all, of everything that had happened in the past few minutes. But time would not stand still for the confused man and the very same blade he had embedded into her body seconds before came hurling toward him. There was no time to think, it was simply instinct and the endless training of the body over a lifetime that reacted to this new threat. His right arm came up, swatting the blade aside to his right while stepping back and to the left with the matching foot. The deadly edge shot past his shoulder hurling itself beyond and toward a man who had only been a spectator moments before. The contact of his hand had slowed it considerably, enough that even a human might react in time if he were on his toes. Sarthas snapped back to the woman in front of him, that awful smile once more comfortably back upon his lips as if it had never left. He was himself again, the man he had always known. The insanity was caged, held in check by a will that was bound in iron chains. Lifting his hand he shook his finger at the woman, his words slipping from his lips with that hallmark sarcasm. “Tisk, Tisk....didn't your mother teach you its impolite to throw things.”

It was difficult to say what might have happened had not the voice intervened. But it seemed that fate was not finished playing her games this evening. The name slammed into him in a hurricane of emotion that nearly brought him to his knees. And Sarthas turned to catch the glimpse of a woman who carried something very dear to him. He knew that voice, he remembered it as clearly as he could recall his own name as she spoke it. Yet that was impossible wasn't it? She had only just arrived and she had only just spoken that name allowed had she not? Or had she spoken it before, without the use of words. Had she spoken to him in some other way?

The man's smile faltered a moment as he glanced between the two women in confusion. One pulled at the dark madness that still threatened to consume him at any moment and another offered madness in another way yet no less deadly. At last, he seemed to make up his mind about what was to be done. Taking a step back, but keeping his eyes fixed upon both of these two very powerful emotional magnets he forced that smile back upon his lips. “It seems....” He began, keeping his voice loud enough that anyone and everyone present could hear his words. “...that I have underestimated things this morning.” Flourishing a rather formal bow to no one in particular he lifted his head with that awful smile still plastered in place. “But don't worry....I'll be seeing you again.” Though it was questionable to whom he was referring, perhaps it meant one of the three or all of them. One could only guess as he himself wasn't even sure of the answer. And with that he turned and slowly began to make his way toward the shelter of the forest trees. He felt drained, tired beyond measure as if that simple exchange had been the greatest battle of his life.


And perhaps it had....only time would tell.

(Exit Thread Unless stopped.)

Crimson gushed from the woman’s midriff as Gunnar watched the blade sink into her flesh. Only seconds before it had seemed the assassin’s assault would never succeed but then the mysterious maiden had done something Gunnar had not expected. She had stepped into the attack. The muscles in Gunnar’s gut tightened sympathetically when her blood spurted from the slash. Despite the obvious tension taking hold of his body, the ex-ranch hand stood his ground after taking only half a step forward. His back straightened and he shifted his weight but kept his silent promise to the woman. The glint of the steel not embedded in her flesh caught Gunnar’s eyes when the shadow’s hand fell away to leave the weapon sheathed in her abdomen.

Maintaining his role of silent spectator, Gunnar turned his head to watch as another actor step foot onto the stage that the courtyard had become as the drama unfolded. It was the girl he’d met at the well. Hold yer horses, missy, this is bigger than you, he thought. Don’t do anything rash. Gunnar did not want to have to step in to rescue the clumsy girl from the enraged specter. The fingers of his free hand rested on the handle of his holstered revolver, ready to draw it, while his grip tightened on the other already drawn handgun. Should the need arise, he was ready to snap off a shot with the one to cover his drawing the other.

The need for action arose, but not in the way Gunnar had expected. The deflected dagger whirled towards him, following an arched trajectory. The former hunter lifted his revolver. Just like shooting skeet. Bang. Clank. Metal crashed into metal. The collision altered the course of the dagger and it fell short, thumping into the lawn a few feet in front of Gunnar. As the shade spoke, Gunnar narrowed his eyes on him. He knew that the assassin was skilled and there was no doubt in his mind that what had just happened wasn’t intentional. The muscles in Gunnar’s jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth, lips spreading in a silent sneer. Sarthas spoke a more words and then he was gone. The shadow disappeared from Gunnar’s sight in between the trunks of the trees in the distance. “Good riddance,” grumbled the ex-ranch hand. “Girl, best yah just stay back—odd goin’s on ‘round here,” called Gunnar to Merisa. He waved his revolver to her, indicating that she should hang back until he gave her another signal.

“Miss, how yah doin’ over there?” shouted Gunnar to the mysterious maiden. Gunnar’s gaze swept up and down her body. Other than her stomach, she herself seemed intact, though her dress was in far worse shape. Careful as always, he kept his one revolver drawn as he walked towards her. “Yer gonna probably need to get to the infirmary as quick as possible,” he stated as he strode across the courtyard. He still didn’t know what she was—human seemed unlikely—but she didn’t seem malicious, so he figured that it was safe enough to approach. Just in case, he kept his index finger threaded through the trigger guard.

Living eyes watched as another came into the scene the girl from before if she could she would smile, but now was not the time. She had not meant to harm the girl in the actions in which she commanded her servant Riley Simmons to abound but she would do her best to clear his name.

Watching as Sarthas deflected the incoming blade a smirk would quirk on her lips, though she stood silently as it went straight towards the direction of the gunslinger, she did not move she did not budge. Fingers very slowly started to wrap the chains around the box once more carefully making sure that every corner wasn’t ignored. Lightly you could hear the locks clicking back in place as it seemed that Sarthas slowly moved away. This did not worry her she knew they would meet again and perhaps this next time with a friend.

The darkness coming to the school was a bit of a surprise she knew that one day however it would come. She would have to play detective to figure out who or what was behind all of its fun. The living eyes moved towards the girl who stood way in front of her. Closing her eyes as the human’s blood was much of a temptation for her inner beast she fought it off. Clenching her teeth together as best she could she would finish locking up the box, and started heading towards the wood.

Like the whispering child of the night in a very soft voice she would speak to the girl it would not be able to be heard by anyone else. “You are part of the key to his survival. Forgive me for putting your life along with the others in danger… I assure you though it will not be the last danger you will find on these grounds. “

Bloodstained the beautiful dress she wore this would be the end of its glory days as her hand would gently touch her stomach. In the rip that the blades had made the flesh was mended back together as if nothing happened. Though she was a creature of the night she was weakened in this state, if she did not move quickly away from the slinger and the girl they would become the next victims of prey.

Casting a look over her shoulder she spoke to the gunslinger once more, “I will be fine…” Just as she had appeared she would slowly walk the opposite direction of the oncoming gunslinger and that which Sarthas had took slowly moving towards the campus of the school, this was a feet she hopped that no more students would come. She was at her wits end. Holding the key and the box in her right hand with her free she would walk over to the castle walk and push against it and disappear from the scene.

(Exit, will disappear if not stopped)

With the moments of tension receeding, Gunnar voice hitting her ears as she listened to his advice this time. Stepping back she started to head back into the forest from whence she came. But as what was assumed to be Sarthas took off running into the shadows of the trees, she stood there in confusion thinking of what to do next. This creature that stood in the fairway held a box that seemed to control Sarthas' anger level with some magic of sorts. As confused as she was, she stood there assuming the worst of course in this kind of situation.

Then hums of a voice entered upon her mind, forcing their way onto her ears from a distance this creature spoke to her with a warning it would seem but a confusing riddle at the same moment. But with her history on the Castle ground this far, things could not have gotten any stranger. The last few days she survived on water and small fruits as she ran through trials of torn aggression, finally she made her way back to the Castle. All she wanted to do was finally sleep, but now with these words spoken to her, she became tiched in the moment and confused on where to go now.

This creature could be doing anything, and perhaps from the vibe she got from the two, it would not be a good idea to follow after it into the castle. Then she remembered a place she hid in the beginning, that was beautiful and comfy all in the moment of nature. So with a quick wave to Gunnar across the fairway from her, she took a gentle bow and smiled slightly. ''This is enough for me, I need to find rest.'' Quickly she spoke before she jetted off back where she came from, but took down towards the path towards the Rivers of Blood. Here she felt safer for the time being, so close to death yet so securely set apart from it.

[Exit.]

“Hey now, where do you think yer goin’?” called out Gunnar when he saw the mysterious maiden turn towards the door from which she had come. He forgot about Sarthas to whom his back technically was to if the man decided to come out of the woods again. He forgot about the girl who always seemed a few bullets shy of a full chamber. And he turned all of his attention to the obvious orchestrator. She had done something to get Sarthas riled up, and he wanted to know what it was.

He walked forward, heavy work boots thumping on the lush lawn and then on the cobblestones as he stepped onto the path that led to the woman and the door she was heading towards. The ex-ranch hand still his revolver in hand, and he waved the barrel to indicate the woman in front of him. “Now, I don’t mean no disrespect, but I’ve gotta ask that ya hold yer horses for a few minutes. If yer fine like ya say ya are, then I’ve got some questions that are gonna get answered. And it seems like yer the only one who can do that.” Some were about Sarthas and some were about her. It was hard to not notice that she’d manage to survive what should have been a fatal wound and that the blood flow had even stopped. The lifeblood dying her tattered gown crimson looked mostly dry as he approached her. Gunnar tightened his grip on his gun, ready to use it should she try one of two things: attacking him or fleeing. Just like most of the populace as Caislin Hallows, the woman in front of him didn’t seem human. The question that was on the top of his mind as he caught up with her but dared not ask aloud was: Is she a threat?

Living eyes continued to change shades of color against the sky; they were in limbo for the need of blood was great. The ability to get away from the scene was all that she would need at this point and yet in the distance he called, and she shook her head in all. Fingers tightened as the nails racked against the stone of the wall, she was trying to figure out the best way to answer his becoming call. He would not let her leave it appeared that he wanted to tend to her need. But tending to a need would come at a great price to pay, and she was so sure that the gunslinger would want it that way. Keeping a very tight hold on the box bond with chains and locked with locks gritting through the back of her teeth she would speak, very humbly and meek.

“Please…just let me go…”

The living darkness slowly started to consume her very being she would fight it the best she could but the amount of blood that was lost was not so easily repaired without a drink. The colorless face turned towards the gunslinger once more as he continued to ask questions of her, while her body started to shake.

“Another time.. another place… “

Softened whispers left the ageless lips she while the colors danced like a kaleidoscope switching their hues from blues to green and everything of in between. Stepping into the barrier of the secret chamber she left her hand on the door as she fought the urge to take him and drink into her lore. Thus the burning sensation only continued within the consumption had only started to begin. There was only a few minutes left for him to bet this score and there he continued to stand stubbornly at the door.

“ Silent Wonder.. Silent wait.. for the love of god leave this place.”

She would plead once last time this would be the resting moments before the beast sought him with hungry eyes….

“This is the first time I’ve seen yah ‘round, Miss, and in this first meetin’ a looney was out for blood, screamin’ only what I can gather was yer name, yah or that other young miss did something to quell his troubled soul, but only after he did to yah injuries that shoulda killed yah.” Gunnar eyed the woman as he drew up behind her while she still planned on passing over the threshold into the school. He had a revolver in one of his hands, finger poised over the trigger. “Something seem’s off here, Miss, and I’ve got a mind to get to the bottom of this situation ‘fore it comes to violence ‘gain.”

Gunnar’s gaze fixed upon the woman, noticing that she was trembling. “Yah got the jitters, Miss?” he asked, turning the barrel of his revolver towards her. Already, he could feel the warmth of magic welling up in his core. It would take just a second to send that energy down his arm and into the gun in his hand. He watched her body shake. Trembling could mean anything. She could be just weak. She could be cold. Or she could be changing, mentally or physically. Gunnar just couldn’t tell from what he saw. Any option seemed possible at this point, but he was prepared for the worst with a gun trained on her.

When she turned to face him, the sight of her visage forced Gunnar to retreat half a step. The eyes lost in inhuman need, the skin as pallid as a corpse. Every clue was cutting down the possibilities in his mind as to what she was. But years of experience had built up so many. The obvious question that popped into Gunnar’s mind was: Did he let her go or not? But it wasn’t for his own safety he wondered. Gunnar was used to living a life in dire straits, but did he want to risk the safety of the others at Caislin Hallows by turning such a monster loose in the halls? “I think it’s just best if yah hang ‘round a spell, ‘til we get some things sorted out.”

Violence of this situation was all at hand, she would make sure not to bite this man. Against her desire and against her fate she would not at all make that mistake. The beast within clawing to get out, it ripped at her inside’s and preyed about. Still silent lips would wait as she had already chosen this man’s fate. The continuing of his questions she would just simply ignore she hated to do such since he wasn’t even a bore. He was just concerned for her well being, and he was being protective, his passionate heart would not go undetected. She would make sure that he would come out ahead of the game, no matter the reason it was all the same.

Simply shaking her head she had not the time to explain to him that she was of the undead. A very silent yet attempted smile she would once more try to speak in a very humble and meek tone. All the while the living eyes were searching of something that could pack a punch this man she would to clock out so she didn’t eat him for lunch. A small hesitation would occur as she would gasp she had totally forgotten the box within her grasp. Holding the box that was bound with chains and locked with locks she would watch him as he came to her aid. Once again she would step forward as if she was rendering him aide, the guns did not scare her one bit, and even in her state now she could take a hit.

But a hit was exactly what she had planned to do; those living eyes switch colors like a rainbow that was high. Dancing they would seem as if they were part of a dream her mind would softly whisper in a charm to keep him coming closer her, making him believe she did not mean any harm.

“Come with me into the lands of dreams.. Come let me take you away…into the land of enchantment. Come comes to me how, we will find a way to get their somehow…Come with me Gunnar… lets sail away”

Using her ability to charm she would hope that he would come close enough to be at arms distance as she would move quickly with lightening speed. Sending the corner of the box tied with chains and locked with locks towards the man’s face in attempt to knock him out so she could get out of this place. If the box hit where its intended target would be he would be knocked out for all the world to see. He would only remember what he saw moments before, as she would move quickly and disappear into the door. Her only hope was that he would forgive her of her deed.. and hopefully lend a hand another time when she was in need….

(Will exit thread if the hit was taken if not, she will remain there)

Gunnar watched the woman in front of him, his gun still raised with the muzzle pointed towards her heart. He wasn’t sure if it was still considered a lethal shot, whether the muscle buried deeply within her chest still drummed the ancient rhythm of life, but it was good place to start and easier to hit than the head.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. He could hear his own pulse in his ears as adrenaline accelerated his heartbeat, filling the silences that slipped in between their words. The sound was a call to arms, awakening every muscle in his body, keeping all of his senses on full alert. Now was not a time to slack off, to be caught off guard. In truth, he considered the mysterious maiden just as dangerous as the man that had threatened a horrific slaughter minutes before. She was an unknown, her nature and motives in question as far as he was concerned.

When she shifted, his finger tightened across the trigger. A seemingly infinite well of power flared to life inside him, spreading through his body like wildfire. Every molecule of in his being became dry prairie grass that ignited as the energy of his magic swelled inside him. It felt as if his heart pumped oil through his veins and that the spark of his magic had lit it. The heat blazed through his arm, raw elemental energy burning towards his fingertips, ready to imbue his bullet with additional lethalness—what could generally kill a human, wasn’t always enough to take down what he used to hunt.

But when she spoke, the drumbeat of his pulse began to slow and quiet in his ears. The oil turned to molasses. His magic fizzled inside him with an almost audible hiss as the supernatural calm she instilled in him quenched the fire. How could she be dangerous? The woman standing before him was nothing more than a porcelain statue, as fragile as she was beautiful. The tatters of her dress hung about her form, shredded by Sarthas’s blades, only to reveal more pale, delicate flesh. Her skin is without scars or blemishes—it is perfection. Even while Gunnar thought that mystery was wrapped as tightly around her as an all-concealing cloak, he could not help but look upon her and see only a vulnerable, exposed woman beckoning him closer. Perhaps she needs aid after all. Perhaps she just needed the comfort that his presence, the presence of a strong man, offered to one so frail and weak. Gunnar lowered his revolver and drew closer.

Thunk! The tiny chest in her hand cracked against his head, landing a glancing blow on his temple. Supernatural compulsions could only go so far, and Gunnar knew a hostile move when he saw one, even one so quick. Had she been human, he would’ve have been able to dodge, but she was definitely something else, something far more dangerous. The attack dispelled her charm and he saw her for what she was: a threat. But with his brain rattling in his skull, he couldn’t focus long enough to call forth any spells to augment his bullets. Heck, I can barely get a bead on her to begin with right now. While he knew it was wrong, as far as he could tell, there were two maidens standing in front of him.

A groan leaked from his lips as he lifted his empty hand to rub at his bruised temple. The pain lancing through his head seemed to beg him to shut his eyes, to give them respite so that he might see normally again, but he was too worried to give her even a moment. Truthfully though, blind or not, he was still helpless. For as sure on his feet as he felt, she could just run away and he’d not dare to take a step to give chase, knowing he was more likely to topple over than to follow. “That’s playin’ dirty, yah rotten varmint!” he growled, his voice seeded with rage. He squinted at the wobbly pair of women standing in front of him, trying to figure out which was real and which was just a delusion. With a swipe of his revolver, he hoped to find his answer. Should she still be standing in range, as soon as the barrel of his gun bumped something solid, he would give half a second before pulling the trigger so that the continued motion would carry the muzzle into the body of whatever it had collide with—it was his only chance of burying a bullet in her not-so-fragile flesh.

A like the twisted vines of rose bush those lips would curl feeling the power of the trunk hit its intended spot. Quickly with haste she would still attempt to retreat this place, this was a terrible thing to do to hurt someone that only wanted to help. She knew this and knew that she would do her best to make it up to him in given time. Perhaps, she will arrange a meeting and explain herself more clearly, so that he will understand what the intentions where before. A silent blood stained tear streaked her cheeks, as the lonely maiden stood there so humble and yet meek. She would not let the monster out… not here….

Hearing the words billow in the air the lids of her eyes opened and closed slowly as she stood there, to him she was barely even seen, she would appear like a ghost perhaps in the middle of a bad dream. It was the cocking of the gun that caught her attention she was not one for bullet shots, shielding the box bound with chains and locked with locks she would turn in the direction of the bullet fired. There was no time to do anything other than continue to move the idea was to run with the bullet. Without haste she headed towards the doorway to see who would make it their first feeling, a strike in on her right side she would outcry in hurt….

This would not stop the queen.. as she disappeared into the night without being seen…
(Exit thread)

She’s gone. For a few seconds after he had fired his revolver, that was the only thought that registered in Gunnar’s rattled brain. The ache clouded his mind, each of his thoughts seeming lost in a swirling mist of pain as thick as the fog that swelled across the Irish landscape every morning. Gunnar reached up with his empty hand to brush his fingertips across the throbbing temple that she had struck with her chest. It had seemed so small and delicate, but just like the maiden, it had only been a guise. Both woman and box seemed to be made of sterner stuff than their appearances had led Gunnar to believe when he’d first laid eyes upon them. Beneath his fingertips, the flesh of his temple was already darkening like the sky around a sunset, staining his skin a purple shade as a knot began to puff up like a growing plum.

Gunnar stared into the darkened doorway through which the woman had fled, his vision still doubled and wavy as if he was peering through dual facets of warped glass. Once a few minutes had passed and his vision cleared, he questioned chasing after her. With a soft sigh, he decided that given her speed, it was unlikely he could catch up to her. Unwittingly, he had released a monster on the Hallows, it seemed. A second potentially violent creature of questionable origins. Gunnar holstered his gun and lowered his head for a moment, still rubbing his temple. It was then that he noticed something he had missed before. Crimson glistened on the threshold, and beyond, a trail of trickled blood led deeper into the school. It seemed that his shot must have wounded her.

Carried by a slow, unsteady shuffle, Gunnar crept into the school after her with the intent of tracking her down. His empty hand pressed to the cold stone of the wall as he braced himself against it for support. With his head still throbbing, he just didn’t feel very sure of himself to walk unaided. He kept his gaze lowered as he walked down the hall, following the still glistening droplets of blood. The farther along he went though, the smaller the trail became as if the trickle was dwindling until… It stopped. Gunnar halted, one hand on the wall, his other on the handle of his holstered revolver, ready to draw it. Seconds passed in silence. “Ailis!” he called out, shouting the name that Sarthas had used to summon the woman to the courtyard. The word came back to him, the echoed reply of the school. Again, he shouted out her name. Nothing but the stones answered him. No ambush. No attack. Not even soft spoken words from the maiden’s lips. His quarry had escaped. He prayed to whatever gods were listening that she didn’t turn out to be a monster as he feared she might be, and then continued down the hall with no trail to follow on his way to the infirmary.
[Exits]