The Leech's Book

Job Details:

The Society of the Obsidian Hunt was a poorly known group of monster hunters that had been around for over a decade. With all the magic guilds, libraries, and much more powerful forces leading practical armies to face most monster threats, there really wasn't a good chance for The Society to be known. When they reached out to her, Zincarla was surprised, not believing that her name was any more famous than theirs, but she listened to their plea. The Society had kept records and bestiaries on all the beasts they had encountered and defeated. Despite not having magic, these people were driven warriors working to keep the more rural communities protected when the larger guilds were distracted with, well, larger problems. Zincarla felt disgusted by the presence of so many weaklings at first, considering them idiots and fools, but something in their story had loosened a little bolt in her steel heart.

"Fine, I'll do it. But not for no mere 20 thousand, I want 40," She argued, hiding the inkling of compassion towards the magic-less hunters with feigned greed instead. Greed was common enough that these people wouldn't doubt her for a moment, and really, 40 thousand jewels seemed a far fairer price. The Society convened before her, several men and women shrugging, looking desperate, and whispering weak arguments against her proposal. The witch waited patiently, already knowing the outcome.

A wide woman with a greasy uncombed hairstyle stepped from the fray once more, the same spokesperson she had spoken to yesterday. She lifted a hand to silence the others, and they obeyed. She must have held some position of value or respect then, and Zincarla inclined her head towards her. "We agree on the terms that you find our companion's missing journal. He was a solitary sort so it wasn't a great surprise discovering his body during the emergence of this new breed. But he would never not log his findings in that book of his. I believe we need it to survive and face these leeches of the night."

Leeches, huh? That was a new term for a vampire. Zincarla liked it and decided she might steal it for her own vocabulary. A newer, stronger, faster vampire, the spokeswoman had explained yesterday was targeting the forest and the people who lived on the edges of these trees. It was like fishing from a barrel, or hunting deer with a laser gun. The people stood no chance and if this book brought them any hope, it was worth the risk. Zincarla could easily handle herself and didn't even bother telling her friends in Magnolia Town where she was going.

"You'll find his cabin," the woman continued, "somewhere in the northwestern area of the forest, off the main hunting trails. After claiming his body, we discovered some sort of enchantment on the cabin prevented us from entering to gather his belongings. We suspect that the journal must be in there." The woman gave Zincarla a serious look. "I do warn you to be careful. This breed of leech is not like any other we have recorded." The witch looked down at the spokeswoman and then back at the small gathered group that called themselves The Society. She was so far above them in power, so unimaginably strong. The warning was kind but ultimately, completely unnecessary.

"I'll be fine, I assure you. Just have my jewels and I'll see you back here at the tavern tomorrow," Zincarla replied. She finished her stein of weak ale and left it on the table with a few jewels to cover her luncheon there. The witch got up to her feet and stretched her arms, taking the map The Society had brought with them for her to use. It was rudimentary, but better than most maps for dissecting the patterns of a forest filled with monsters and predators alike. The dark haired woman silently pocketed the chart and grabbed her over-the-shoulder bag and tall hooked staff. She looked magnificent in her guild style robe, but had ultimately modified it to show off a black and white corset and skirt beneath. She thought it made her look more 'magically powerful' and less like a general guild member.

"Good luck, Miss Kekkanshi," the spokeswoman called out as Zincarla reached the door. The witch turned and gave her a winning and confident grin, then slipped out of the tavern without another word. Always leave them wanting a little more, she thought to herself. It reminds them that magic is power and power is status and status is worth.

WC: 762

Zincarla looked at the map a handful of times, to be sure that she had found the right hunting trail and was indeed at least starting in the correct direction. She was supposed to follow the path for a few miles and then head north east, no, north west. Zincarla corrected her mental tallying, her plan needing to be accurate. "North west," she said out loud and then surveyed the area in front of her. To her side was the end of an acre of land, ripples in the soil in long parallel denoting it as a place to grow some sort of crop come spring. The ground was hard under her feet, nearly frozen from the cold days and nights of the past week. Finding any sort of tracks would be difficult, and in the end finding any might simply mean finding the preserved frosty prints of days ago. Zincarla had to admit that the map was more useful than she had taken it for initially.

Spits of land jut out between dry weeds and grasses and as the wind blew across the empty field, a scratchy sighing filled the air. Zincarla tightened her guild's robe around her, somewhat remorseful for her modifications on the material because it should have really been so much warmer for her now. In the corner of the field sat a wooden lean-to, probably a small chicken roost, and farther still on the next hill, sitting on the corner of another square set of farm rows, was a modest wooden house. The map had referred to it as Farmer Hyde's old place and Zincarla remembered his name on the list of recently deceased. The Society wasn't mistaken so far and her own instincts suggested that if there was any place to look for and study this new type of vampire, the area between Farmer Hyde's and the hermit-style cottage off in the forest was going to be a prominent start. She folded the map back up and returned it to her pocket, then rubbed her hands together to generate some heat, wishing she had a cup of coffee or tea right about now.

Her boots pressed on forwards into the forest, following the stale dirt path. Normally, the people might have worked hard to keep the path clear of plants for continued usage and travel, but this time of year the plants weren't doing any growing. It had likely been a long time since even hunters traversed this road though, given the bloody attacks nearby. Zincarla's boots crunched against the ground and for a few hours, it was the only sound in the area. There were no sounds of rabbits scurrying through the rough bushes, no scraping of antlers on tree bark, and no massive thumps for larger predators roaming about the land. Even the birds were silent, and although it was not the season known for song, such a level of quiet was in fact disquieting. Zincarla almost winced with the loudness of her breathing and the snaps of twigs under her feet. If she had had any doubts about The Society and their claims, she didn't any longer. A land this soft spoken was no doubt haunted by a very dangerous beast of prey.

The afternoon sun had dimmed through the dense trees, a mix of aromatic pine, lush this year with deep green foliage and an array of skeletal herbage that cast shadows reminiscent of their former bright selves. A hollow wind blew through the branches and sent her shivering. It was only mid-afternoon but this deep into the wood made it truly feel closer to dusk. A glint of silver shined on the ground, interrupting the loud, all encompassing silence of Zincarla's trek. "What's this then?" She asked, leaning forward and squinting. A pointed silver piece seemed half frozen and stuck into the ground. It was as if someone had stuck it in there and forgot about it. As she took a few steps closer and bent down, it was clear that it was the hilt of a dagger. The shine of the silver suggested that it had been well cared for and the ornate designs and initials upon the handle also told a story. This wasn't a normal weapon, it was some sort of heirloom. Perhaps, a desperate attempt to fight, perhaps a desperate attempt to simply stay alive.

Zincarla sat on the ground next to the dagger and closed her eyes gently. She was able to focus and reach out much more quickly than normal, that was one benefit of such a solitary setting. "If the owner of this dagger is here, please heed my call," Zincarla uttered gently. No magic had emanated from the small dagger and she was assured that it didn't belong to any beast or vampire. The initial's engraved were HH and she opened her eyes now to touch the hilt with a single finger, stroking the letters as she spoke again, "Whoever you are, HH. I am here to listen. I am not here to harm you." A small pale blue wisp floated up from the ground beside the trinket, hovering there with a beating sound. It was like an uneven drum beat, a broken melody which suddenly progressed faster and faster until she recognized the sound. It was a heart beat.

"HH, is this you? Whom am I speaking to?" The blue orb flickered out and the heart beat sound vanished with a start. Zincarla shifted to her knees and placed her hands on the cold ground. "HH?"

Zincarla heard the sound of panting above her, a breath that was run rampant from what she hoped were altogether human lips. She lifted her magenta gaze and saw that the blue orb hadn't vanished, not really; it had transformed into the wide-eyed translucent face of a man. The visage depicted a middle aged male, thick hair upon his head, and wrinkles around the eyes. "Hyde Hendrickson. That is me. Or was," answered the ghost slowly, as if trying to both remember and forget the knowledge. "That is my dagger, passed to me by my grandfather, and used to sign the oath of blood brothers with The Society of the Obsidian Hunt." Zincarla sat up straighter. She hadn't known that Farmer Hyde had been part of The Society. And she was right also about the dagger not being meant for a fight. She wondered what his job had been, if not fighting, and how the dagger had come to be this far from his home.

"Nice to meet you, sir Hyde. May I ask, what is your dagger doing out here, so deep in the woods?" Zincarla waited patiently as a minute passed, and then another. The ghost emitted a moan, nearly a sigh, and explained to her kindly. It was nice that he wasn't an old man, or a very old ghost, as conversations with them could take hours. Zincarla didn't want to be out here in the woods at night if she could help it.

"Miles was the fighter. He carried the torch of The Society and our family name. My brother is dead." Zincarla blinked. That wasn't even close to the answer to her question. Her eyes narrowed but before she could ask, the ghost surprised her with a wide toothy grin. "Braver than I ever was. He let me keep the dagger when he moved out into the forest. After the death of my neighbors, I had to warn him. I had to warn him. This foul creature was more than he could handle. I took up my only weapon and charged to get to his house in time." Zincarla watched as the ghost's face contorted with pain then, looking down at the dagger. Hyde's ghost suddenly let out a scream of agony and she could see the memory of blood splashing over his face, his ghost suddenly covered with the dark fluid in his projection. The witch jumped to her feet and lifted her hands in consolation, "I understand, sir. Hyde, Hyde, I-"

The ghost screamed again, swirling in place, the sound of choking, gurgling, growling filling the forest with his death. Zincarla might have been too hasty in trying to call up the ghost of someone so recently and so horribly killed. Hyde was still clearly dealing with his transition into death and the prolonged fear of the vampire which had taken his life. Zincarla felt his pain and guilt overrode her logical sense. She bent and jerked the dagger out of the ground and exerted her magic into it, "Hyde I command you, stop! Stop and rest now. There will be no more questions. I will take your dagger home."

Hydes ghost wailed once more, "I had to warn him. Go home, brother, go home or perish!" His sad wailing softened as his face shrunk. The ghost grew smaller until he returned into the small blue orb from minutes earlier. Zincarla closed her eyes tight as she placed the small dagger into her side bag. The only rest this poor spirit might have was being buried with his body and beside his poor brother, Miles. When she opened her bright eyes once more, the orb had gone. Zincarla set her jaw angrily. She should have asked The Society more questions. Or they should have offered up this information. Why would they not think this is important? The very journal she sought out was that of Miles Hendrickson, brother to the man whose farm they directed her to. Zincarla didn't like coincidences or stupidity. She would have brought the dagger back for Hyde's sake, and she still would turn it over when the time came. Yet, she had half a mind to demand that The Society pay her for that too.

WC: 762+1633 =2395

It didn't take much longer for Zincarla to spy the home of Miles Hendrickson, the lone monster hunter who preferred to conduct his research literally in the field. It was maybe another ten minute walk from where Hyde himself had fallen, or a six minute run in his case. He practically died at his brother's doorstep. Considering his violent death and how he had come up short from his valiant, pathetic goal was likely what kept his spirit on the material world.

The witch looked around the home and found it to be small: it was more a shack than a real home, but she didn't suppose he had many guests. There was a raised front porch and overhang with a wooden rocking chair upon it. Had Miles really felt so relaxed to take in the night from time to time in this place on his porch? She could see no windows from the front of the building and only a single door at the porch. Zincarla rotated around the building cautiously taking note of further aspects: a window in the side where she could see a little table and wood stove placed, an asymmetric protrusion at the top of the home suggested a single room added above for an attic, and then there was a single window at the back of the house showcasing a basic toilet and piping along the wall for a likely washroom. Zincarla saw no bedroom but from her own standing she thought that a bedroom was likely to be a room with no windows, for more protection from the beasts this man hunted. From this distance she could still sense the barrier around the home and understood finally why the monster hunters had reached out in desperation for help. The barrier only allowed magic-holding mages passed the boundary and that was something she new The Society was lacking in.

Zincarla knew she ought to check two places by her observations. The attic was an odd addition to a small place so she thought it might be important and the bedroom which surely had to exist and was likely kept very private. She bet her life on the journal being around in one of those two rooms, yet if she was wrong, Zincarla still had other places to check. She approached the front porch and gave the door a push. It opened with a squeak and she uttered, "Unlocked?" A monster hunter would never leave his place open like this, nor would he be able to cast a barrier such as this considering The Society bore no magic blood. Zincarla stepped into the small kitchen room first from the door.

A buzzing from the table let her hear before she saw the meal that had been left behind. Most of someone's dinner had been eaten so their were no rancid smells, for which Zincarla was thankful. Still, there was nearly half a potato rotting upon the plate and the flies that she heard in the dark room told her a lot about this monster hunter. He was attacked in the middle of dinner, at a moment of safety, perhaps even mid-bite. Miles didn't even know what had hit him. The single chair by the table had been overturned and the witch righted it absentmindedly looking around further. A rope dangled from the ceiling, likely the entrance to the attic. The wood stove had fizzled out into cold, but if left unattended there was a risk of it burning the place down. Someone had to have been here after Miles' death, his killer vampire probably. The ash she found in the stove was confirmed as evidence and with nothing else to really examine in this room beside a tall counter littered with a set of basic dishes and cookware, Zincarla pressed through the room.

The toilet room was empty. The hallway closet was empty. The bookshelf in the hallway was full of various collection items and tomes, but none of the bones, crystals or books were the journal she searched for. Zincarla felt a cold chill in her bones as she examined the first floor, hearing whispers in the house. It was as if there were many spirits in this house, lurking around and calling to her. Her skin rippled in gooseflesh when she reached the open doorway of the bedroom. Her eyes went wide in surprise at what she saw.

There were six glowing green specters gathered in the bedroom, where Miles' living energy must have been the strongest. She hadn't expected one man to have so much energy to attract ghosts that were not from around here, unless something else brought the ghosts here. She stepped back into the hall and the ghosts heard her footsteps on the wood. The green spirits turned ghostly heads toward her and started to move, shifting from somewhat stagnant feeding positions into hunting postures. For ghosts, this still wasn't enough to scare Zincarla but she would have to be an idiot to go into the bedroom without a summon of her own. Maybe she should check the attic first; going to the attic would give her time to summon up and use her magic while the ghosts bantered and spread out around the first floor looking for her.

Back in the hallway, Zincarla darted toward the front kitchenette. It would be less than a minute for those specters to fill the floor with their forms, sucking the life energy from the air and sniffing her out like dogs. She jerked on the rope in the ceiling above, pulling open an entry to the attic with a small unfolding ladder. The witch pulled that down with a loud bang and winced at the sound herself. If she was caught in the thick of six ghosts, she would be lucky to escape once they drained her of her living magical energy. The mage clambered up into the dusty attic and took little time gaining a sense of the area there. If the book weren't here, she would need to swim through the green ghosts below back into the bedroom.

Zincarla needn't have worried. A single candle burned on the table up here and she didn't have the time to let her eyes adjust and fully explore every corner of this room. It was enough to see a rudimentary black outline painted on the wall like the window of a chapel and a collection of unrecognizable trinkets beside the candle, made of various mediums. What caught her attention most was when her magenta eyes settled on the open book beside the candle burning. A niggle in the back of her mind told her to be afraid, but instead she pushed it away as inconsequential. A candle could burn if purchased from a magical shop after all. With the book present, it appeared the table was really some sort of altar. Frankly, it didn't matter: none of these details were part of her job. Just take the book and leave, she thought. "Easiest job yet," She said to the silent room.

"I wouldn't be so sure," replied a deep voice from the shadows behind the altar. Zincarla snatched up the book and held it close to her chest. She squinted and finally saw through the candle light that a tall domineering figure had taken up residence in the attic here. Her grip tightened on the book as she boldly answered, "Don't you try your tricks on me, leech devil and I won't go after you." The deep voice didn't answer and the figure shifted swiftly, so fast that Zincarla felt the breeze created in this nook of a room. A low chuckle emanated from behind her and before she could turn around, a fist drove into her back, square between the shoulders. The witch fell to her knees, unable to catch herself as she refused to let the journal go.

A hard kick to her side cracked a rib next: she could hear it. Then another, and another. She cried out in pain and heard the guttural laugh again. Zincarla clutched to the book and then she herself became incorporeal. The mage didn't know how long the ruse would last yet as the last kick of the vampire went through her body, she forced herself to her feet and made it to the attic opening below. She felt nauseous from the pain but couldn't stop to think about it. A screeching of loud bats behind her explained that the monster was going to try something bigger next.

Zincarla jumped through the hole and landed hard on the kitchen floor. She shouted, "Damn it!" and let one of her hands grip the side where the vampire had kicked her. It wasn't dark yet: certainly if she went outside, the creature couldn't follow. It was smarter than staying to fight, even if she was confident in her abilities. At least two of the green specters had been in the kitchen area when she had leapt in and immediately moved for her body. The drained her swiftly of magical power and she growled. It would be easy to destroy them all but at what further cost Zincarla grabbed the back of the chair for support and pushed herself forward. In another long and painful second, the magenta eyed woman made it out of the house. She groaned in pain, clutching the book tighter still. As she stood outside of Miles' home she breathed a little easier. The vampire wasn't following and none of the ghosts were either. The witch would have to run back to the village given that night was on its way, and she dreaded that thought. Instead, Zincarla finally took the time to call up her summon and let it carry her faster than she could travel on her own back to The Society.

WC: 2395+1642= 4037