Finding the path again in the dark proved a lot more difficult in the twilight hours, but as the low-light suddenly faded to black, it took just a moment to shift back into a clearer vision of what was. The trees and bushes along the way took on their nighttime shapes, each more identifiable than the last. This was one of the rare nights where both moons didn't shine, happening only twice a year, the extreme miasma of fog and bleak nothingness permeated everything. For the wandering shadow, whose pace increased as this change took affect, this was familiar territory once again and the path shined to him as lit by a strange glow. Another shadow watched from the trees just up the path, slowly easing into extreme still as the lone figure approached, breathing inert and the sound of a heartbeat dwindling quieter than the creaks of the tree's boughs.
There grew an extreme quiet suddenly, as if Death reared its head, the path petered out for a moment, a momentary distraction. Faster than what should be possible, the lone shadow threw his hips forward and landed on his back, pulling a crossbolt thrower and his punch blade out in either hand, firing straight up to where the figure had just been. The bolt struck the thick branch above where the stalker was hiding, yet there was no stalker. Rolling on to his side, ever more wary, he then assumed a knee down firing position and had another bolt ready to fire in a fraction of a second. His senses were alive, palpable, there was something following him, of this he now knew.
Feeling two light taps on his shoulder, shooting his dagger in a quick punch over his right side, he tucks the crossbow under and around his flying fist, readying to aim from his back-on-ground position once again. The bolt never fires and nothing connects as a metal rod locks his two arms from moving. A leg as hard as a tree trunk stops his hips from rolling with his body, effectively disabling his movements and leaving him all to vulnerable. A fact that does not miss the path man. He drops his crossbow and uses the soft dirt beneath him to provide momentum to spring with one foot off that massively strong leg, his dagger hand throwing the pole out of the way in the process, enough time for him to create distance. Able to release himself from a near-fatal position, he finishes his slide with a rear tumble, righting himself and drawing his secondary punch mid-way. He cant remember the last time he needed both blades, but it reassuring to still be capable. It has been a long time since someone was able to read his movements, let alone as dark a night as this.
"Who are you Stalker? Come now, tell me why must we fight?"
The eerie silence fades into bug droning and the sounds of nature's undulations assuming precedence once again.
"Well, Stalker, either try to kill me or tell me your aims, but dont leave me wondering on such a night as this!"
Another second or two passes before a creak in the bough he shot at initially draws his gaze to the tree, perched as though hunting, was a lithe figure in enveloping folds of dark cloth, playing with his crossbow and lazily holding it towards his head.
A voice like ice and quiet in tempo chills the air around him, "It would be a mistake to think you are more capable a hunter, but you move as though an animal wounded. It would be a pity to kill game that is not able."
Tossing the crossbolt thrower down, the man instinctively attempts to keep it from breaking as it soars to the ground, as his gaze returns to the spot, his Hunter is no longer waiting.
Feeling the pressure of his errand once again, he is relatively certain he is no longer being followed, at least for the time being, and smiles to himself halfheartedly as his winces from the pain in his abdomen.
Drawing along the path, grievously exhausted, the path man finally arrives at his destination in the form of a maw-like mouth of a cave. Deep inside, clutching to the walls when his stomach forces him to double over, he drags himself back up and rushes to finish his mission. Finally, as he nears the all to familiar sounds of underground water flowing, the rush intensifying as he draws closer, the path opens wide to view the single most beautiful and terrifying place he ever wanted to see.
Trees of black tar are enveloped with white opalescent petals on the island in the center of the large cavern pond. There is one path of stones, larger than any city craftsman could create, which leads to the island, the drop below into the tepid clear waters would seem invigorating if it weren't for the large creatures seen whipping about under the rolling surface, predators fighting for prey. The walls are sheered vertical and domed at the roof, throughout the different areas water is rushing out as a waterfall, constantly filling the pools that never seem to rise or lower. No matter how many times he must return here, it always fills him with wonderment and awe, sadly that lasts for only a brief moment as his stomach starts to tear itself apart, his feels his insides warping and fighting from blacking out is the only thing on his mind.
A few seconds later he starts muttering under his breath a slew of words that start distorting the air around him. He pulls his body in to a bowed position and chants can be heard weaving themselves in his devotional prayers, focusing his willpower and well being into a single point. Time stops for a moment, the path man continues his journey, he absorbs the fear and moves forward.
Crossing the bridge of stones, the waters below start crashing in a frenzied state, the leviathans awaiting prey feel anxious as the traveler makes his way across. The monsters used to scare him, he thinks, but what's about to come is so much more terrifying. Each step towards the island with the obsidian trees and opalescent leaves is heavier and that much harder to make. He feels his willpower waning as the destination is finally at hand. He has only one thing to do as his feet step foot on the small black and white stones making up the island. He sinks softly as he walks forward, placing himself in front of the largest tree on the island, his prayers have not stopped muttering since he began his final walk, even now they never cease.
He hugs the tar trunk, feeling his body becoming absorbed in the fibers, feeling himself become one with the tree. It is after some time that he finally feels his willpower exhaust. He laughs quietly about the hunter never getting a chance to face him at full strength and shakes his head as the pain starts to alleviate from his body. The last thoughts, as he is finally brought into the tree, is that he completed his mission. The life of a vessel is to follow the path, the closer he gets to the end of his journey the harder it is to move forward. In time he will be brought back, renewed to collect more evil and return it to the source. Until then though, his hunter will have to keep hunting if they think to take him from his journey.
-T
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