Retrieving the Package

In this day and age, Mythal Ragnos had become much more than he – or anyone – ever thought he would become. But there was a time, not that long ago, where he was just a traveling vagabond, orphaned due to tragedy and secluded due to pain. Turning the clock back some twelve years, the God Slayer wasn’t much more than a teenager…

It was nighttime. The moon was hidden by several dark clouds as thick as a brick wall. Only thin, weak streams of light broke past the edges of the plumes, illuminating small areas of the land below. The roads didn’t have much light, save for the lanterns and magical creations that the drivers themselves could provide. Anyone walking would do well to either set up camp deep in the wooded area or turn back around and find a tavern. This road was not meant for strangers to travel at night, especially on such a dark evening where one could barely see a foot in front of them. It was the perfect time to catch travelers and wagons by surprise and no doubt, many had already fallen victim to the bandits who prowled the area.

One particular band of brigands was the White Hood Bandits, who had recently begun to gain notoriety on the border of Fiore and Bosco. There was an expanse of roads that were used by merchants as a quick route between the two kingdoms but the routes had been discovered by several bands of thieves. Slowly they began to bond together until they became the White Hood, now stronger by the sheer number of their members. Several traders had opted against taking this route due to the danger but then again, several of them still preferred the hastiness of the roads over the safety of the drivers.

One such unfortunate wagon had been cut off and robbed only a few hours prior, with its sole occupant killed for attempting to fight back. The wagon itself had been pushed up into several bushes to mask it from any other prying eyes, now no more than a means of creating a barricade in the road. The body had been ditched and the crew that had done the deed had retreated back into their hiding spots, with the two leaders perched up in the trees. A thin, scraggly man along with a portly, short man rested against the branches, looking out over the area through the narrow eye slits in their hoods.

“Not much going on tonight,” the taller one said with a sigh, leaning on his hand.

“We’re gonna have to find a new spot before long. This place is nearly dried up,” the portly one said with a nod, carving into a small piece of wood with his knife. “Boss ain’t gonna like it.”

“He doesn’t have to like it for it to be true. The merchants are starting to learn. I’m surprised we got even one major haul tonight. All this spot is good for is grabbing idiots coming in from Bosco who don’t know better,” the taller one reached up under his hood and scratched his jawline. “Maybe he’ll go through with his other plan.”

The other bandit stopped witling “What other plan?”

“He wanted to spread us out, you know? Scout other places to set up shop so we could cover more ground and so if the Knights ever come sniffing around, we can get away easier. Basically make us a criminal empire. He used to be a business man, y’know?”

The large man snorted. “Business man? He was legit?”

The thin man nodded. “You got it. Ended up losing his business and went broke. Lost everything. So he turned to our life. Turned out he had some skill there too – probably more.”

“Crazy how life is, huh?” As he finished speaking, his eyes narrowed. He had glanced down the road and thought he saw something. He activated his magic, which gave him enhanced vision at night. And sure enough; he could see a figure making its way down the road, heading right towards them. A humanoid by the look of it. “Looks like we got a straggler,” he informed the other bandit. He reached up and tapped the trunk of the tree they were in with the back of his knife, creating a soft popping noise. It was the alert for the other bandits that another victim was coming.

They were dead quiet as the figure made its way under the canopy of branches and leaves where they were stowed. Just before it was about to pass through, the cart came rolling down out of its hiding place, slamming to a skid right in the middle of the road. The figure jumped back a step as the wooden frame blocked his way forward. Lanterns sparked to life all around the area as the bandits swarmed in from all sides, surrounding the poor soul.

The thin and large man hopped down out of the trees, slowly making their way through the group of brigands. “Sorry there, buddy, but you’ve found yourself in our territory. And we don’t take kindly to free roamers,” the thin one said, idly patting the back of his sword against his shoulder.

“So unless you got something really valuable to tell us, you might want to start praying to your god for sanctuary,” the large one said with a chortle.

The man that had been surrounded casually turned towards the two that had started talking to him, idly glancing between the tall and short. He was a young man, nineteen years of age and had just started to show some signs of adulthood. There was darkening on his cheeks and chin from where hair threatened to peek out but it only barely showed color. His hair was a scraggly mess that hung in front of his face and all around the bulb of his head, unkempt and medium length. Crimson gems clung to the tops of his eyes almost in nonchalance as he took in the predicament he had walked into. His body was as thin as it was long, hidden behind the dark blue jacket he wore and the black undershirt beneath that.

The teenage Mythal sighed as he slowly dropped the pack on his shoulder to the ground. “Listen, I’m gonna only say this once,” he said softly, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Get lost before this gets messy. I’ve been walkin’ all day and the last thing I need is a bunch of wanna-be thieves tryin’ to hold me up over a bedroll and some dry bread.”

A ripple of laughter echoed throughout the bandits quietly as they glanced at one another. The thin leader chuckled the loudest. “Bold words there, fellow but words don’t mean much in these parts. But you’re good for a laugh so how about only half of us jump in and tear you to shreds?” As if queued for the response, four of the bandits took step forward, each one sporting a different kind of weapon.

Mythal glanced at them and then back to the leader. “Can’t say I didn’t warn ya,” he offered with a simply shrug before he ripped his right hand out from his pocket. It dove into his jacket and brought out a long, extremely foreign blade. The blade itself was nearly a foot long, with undulating curves that came to sharp points both on the front and back. The guard folded down over the handle with long talons, each one as sharp as the weapon itself. A pointed pommel lay resting on the butt of the blade, completing the deadly ensemble. As soon as it was freed from the confines of his jacket, the blade lit up and electricity began to crackle and spark all around it. Long, jagged bolts erupted out further, thrusting into several of the bandits around him and forcing them to the ground. Each one of them jerked and shook as the magical lightning played fiddle with their nervous system.

Despite three of the men going down instantly upon unsheathing, Mythal stood tall and unguarded, the crackling weapon resting near his side. “Last chance. Then I get serious.”

The thin bandit looked around at the three that had been struck down, his eyes wide. This punk had a magical weapon! With a snarl he thrust his sword forward at Mythal, screeching “Get him!”

It seemed Mythal wasn’t going to be intimidating any of these guys away. He bent into a crouch and brought the dagger up in time to block the first sword as it swung in towards him, the blade of his weapon shooting electricity into the metal blade and down into the bandit’s hand. The teenager curled around the stunned man and kicked him in the rear, sending him staggering forward and into the blades of the other weapons that had been coming in towards Mythal. Four of the bandits nearly fell back as the newly skewered man coughed up blood and went limp on them, forcing them backwards.

Meanwhile Mythal turned his attention to the closest bandit, leaping in on him. He had a warhammer, something that would not be easily parried by the teenager’s knife. Mythal glanced up at him as he swung the hammer up in preparation to crush the teenager underneath it. He waited until the last possible moment to leap under the bandit’s arm, barely dodging the heavy head of the hammer. Mythal came out from the roll and sliced at the man’s back, releasing another bolt of electricity right into his core. The bandit screeched and froze up as his body suffered the pangs of the magical attack.

The teenage God Slayer let out a breath, already feeling wear on his body. His survival skills and instincts were the only true training he had when it came to combat, having only relied on his limited ability to use a knife. There was his ‘trump’ card per se but that was something he couldn’t just activate of his own free will. If he got pushed back enough in this fight, there was a chance it would come out but that was neither here nor there at the moment. Instead the street rat dodged a few slashes from two swords before he could an opening, swinging the dagger inwards towards two more of the bandits and carving open their chests. Electricity was crackling so loudly from all the injured men around him that it was like the droning in night bugs. His focus was lost for a moment and a sword swung in towards him. He managed to get his knife up in time but the size difference sent Mythal flying back into the road. It also managed to cut a line over his forehead, fresh blood pooling into the opening and running down the side of his head.

The thin bandit had made his move and, now that he had Mythal on the defensive, he charged forward. Instincts roared in the teenager’s ears as he fell back several steps, avoiding the stabs and slashes meant to cleave and impale. He managed to land some palpable stabs with the pommel of the dagger but the wounds seemed to only egg the man on. It wasn’t until Mythal found himself pinned against a tree that he managed to duck under a swing, embedding the sword into the trunk. The teenager pushed off from the tree and shoulder blocked man to the ground, rolling off of him and spinning around to stab the blade down into his chest. That was a hit strong enough to take the fight out of the thin bandit.

The sound of something moving behind him forced Mythal to extract the dagger out from the previously impaled bandit and toss it on a whim as he spun. The fat bandit wasn’t expecting a thrown weapon to come flying at him and could do nothing to prevent it from flying into his neck. His own dagger fell to the forest floor as he reached up to his impaled trachea, blood already staining the bottom of his hood. A few gurgles escaped his mouth before he toppled backwards, his body unwilling to keep standing as it perished.

Mythal sighed as he feel back onto his hands, breathing heavily as he inhaled air back into his lungs. It’d been a few months since he had lost gotten into a fight and frankly, it was exhausting. If it had happened earlier in the day, he may not have done so well. The damn sun had a fantastic way of draining him of his energy along with blinding him. But at the same time, he wasn’t exactly teeming with energy after having walked several miles. “Fuckin’ bandits,” he breathed out as he finally got himself to his feet and walked over to the fat bandit. He pulled the knife free of his neck and cleaned it off on the bandit’s shirt, not wanting the stench or stain of blood on him anymore than it already was. He reached up and felt the thin river of blood that had trailed down the side of his face, groaning in annoyance.

The one benefit was the loot. Bandits like this were always trying to get the jump on people and steal their stuff. That meant that they probably had some pretty good stash that Mythal could take back. He looted through each one of the bodies carefully, finding the odd trinket here and there but nothing really of substance. But then he got to the thin bandit and within one of his pockets was a hand drawn map. It was crude and a bit beleaguered from constantly being unfolded and folded but still decipherable. And a large black circle seemed to indicate a basecamp. “And where there’s a basecamp, there’s stolen goods.” Mythal muttered softly as he noted where the camp seemed to be.

He looked around at the group of bandits, all lying on the ground in differing states of defeat. They seemed to be the whole force but were there others? Was it worth the aggravation of going all the way there to discover more of the same? He sighed as he walked over to his pack, picking it up and feeling just how light it was. He’d been low on food for several days now, barely scraping by with what he’d bought over a week ago. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed whatever he could get. With another sigh, he reached down and grabbed the torch of the closest bandit, taking a moment to go around and douse the rest of them. He didn’t need the assistance of the light but maybe if he came with the torch, the bandits would think twice about attacking him at first.

Or they would just kill him on the spot. At this point, he wasn’t holding his breath for either option.

The trip through the wooded area was about as fun as anyone could imagine. The only real benefit to his trip was that fact that the sun had set quite some time ago. But it had weighed on him all day and, after having fought several bandits already, Mythal wasn’t exactly glowing with excitement at the prospect of finding more. He figured his odds were fifty-fifty that he ran into more, already opting to believe on the side that went against him. His luck happened to always work against him rather than to his benefit. And all he really wanted to do was curl up and sleep. But he knew one thing for sure; hard, practically moldy bread wasn’t going to fill his stomach and he wouldn’t sleep well if he didn’t eat something. He’d already gone a day or two without ingesting anything. So it was either head back to the road and probably pass out and die somewhere down the way… or try his luck at the bandit camp.

He was only a mile out when he started to hear them. Voices of people gabbing away at one another. The area in front of him began to lighten as well from an open campfire that was burning just beyond the trunks. Mythal sighed as he slowed his walk, cursing whatever gods decided to weigh against him once more. Well, better to get this over with then, right? He pulled up his magic dagger and tucked it into his shirt on his back; that way he had easy access to it without looking like he was armed. Lighting the torch would be inviting a barrage of arrows and magic spells at this point. He tossed the worn wooden item aside and continued to move through the trees, walking significantly softer than before. As he walked among the wooden trunks, melting into their shadows, the voices were easier to distinguish.

“- some find roast pork would be nice, is all I’m saying.”

“We got crates of all kinds of food stuffs. Bread, snacks – damn chocolates. Yet you’re too good for all of that. You need yourself some meat.”

“Hey, leave Hara alone. He ain’t saying what we got isn’t good enough. He’s just thinking about that food we smelled the other day in Hargeon.”

“Mmm now that smelled good. And the fish they had frying down by the pier. Someday I hope we’re big and important enough to get that kind of food in hauls.”

“Well, if we keep on growing like we are, that won’t be a problem. Soon the White Hood Bandits will be known as the greatest thieves all over the land and no one will stand in our way!”

“White Hood Bandits?” Mythal’s intrusive voice cut through the conversation, causing five separate gasps from around the campfire. As the figures jumped to their feet, the Darkness Slayer stepped into the perimeter of the light, revealing himself. Where most people may have put up their hands to show they weren’t armed or were attempting to enter the area peacefully, Mythal’s hands were shoved into his pockets, giving the illusion that he was bored more than anything. His head raised slightly to look at the five men gathered around the fire, a distilled and sober stare that met each man’s gaze. “I’ve heard some lame things before but… that takes the cake.”

“Who the hell are you?” The one on the far right demanded, brandishing a scimitar.

“I was a guy that was just tryin’ to make my way to Bosco when yer idiot group of thieves jumped me. Apparently, despite the fact that I look like a wet rag, they took exception to my existence.”

“What… where are they now?!” Another demanded – the one in the middle. He was pulling out what looked like a flintlock pistol, the weapon lighting up with magical symbols as it was activated.

“Dead, mostly. There might be a few alive back there but they ain’t doin’ too well. I tried to warn them to just leave me alone. But now I’m involved and I’m gonna be wantin’ all that food you were just talkin’ about,” Mythal took another step forward, his gaze narrowing a bit.

“The hell? You think your skinny ass lone self is gonna take all of this food from us?” The left most bandit said, chortling loudly. “Kid, we’re the heads of this here gang you just insulted. And just because you cut a few loose ends don’t mean you destroyed the White Hood Bandits. We’ve got groups all over, robbing and stealing from all kinds.” The man paused, his head cocking slightly. “Are you one of them legal mages? There some kind of job out to try and get stuff back?”

That sparked something in the young Mythal, whose gaze lifted slightly in thought. “You know, now that you mention it, there were a few cat people who were talkin’ a lot about their stolen cookin’ stuff. They’d sent for a shipment… I don’ remember how long they said it had been but it was the talk of the town – or at least, at the pub.” Mythal lowered his gaze to look between the five men again. “So you must be the fuckers that did that, huh? Typical human scum – takin’ what you can’t afford yerself.”

“Listen to this idiot,” the one on the right spoke up again. “Insultin’ humans like he ain’t one. Why are we even talking still? Let’s gut this bastard.”

Mythal’s jaw clenched as he felt the magical pressure rise in the air. These guys weren’t pushovers like their brethren on the road – they had some power to them. He wasn’t sure he could keep up with all of them after the day he’d had. He sighed softly and closed his eyes, fighting an internal debate the seemed to come up more times than he liked. As the five bandits started to move, getting ready to attack, Mythal’s eyes snapped open, now glowing a bright blue light. Magic rushed off of him in all directions, darkness spreading out from his form like clawed tendrils. The light of the campfire was extinguished, plunging everything into darkness.

And that’s when the screaming started.