The Hunt (Quest: The Vultures part 1)

[Fenrir]

"Those who stand in the way of change, must be eliminated. Like a dam before a mighty river they block what is required for nature to take its natural course!"

The words of his employer. A man who wanted the change that was coming to this land. A small tie noble with aspirations of going big. Right now with men merely training and not ready for combat. He was the lone mercenary of the Black Arms faction within China. He would be the first. But there would coe more after him. If this got bad enough ( which was good for them) then perhaps even the leader of the Black Arms would make an appearance. But for now. This was his region as far as the Black Arms mercenaries were concerned. The job was simple. There were people on both sides. Yellow Turban and on the side of the Han that were blockading the natural order. Stopping required changes within the land.

Fenrir had no interest in the good of this land. He only concerned himself with one thing. The movement of the black arms. Finding of odins avatar. And of course. Making money. Money was the least of his concerns. However his duty as a mercenary meant that it was required. And of course he couldn't exactally go on living in this country without any of it never mind train the troops that wished to join him.

So he had taken this job from the man. Usually such a thing was for an assassin. But there was an all to common misconception about assassins. That their killing had to be done silently or in stealth. No no. That was of course a prefered method. It kept the assassins identity from being known. However. Any man who walks up and kills another of importance could just as easily be called an assassin. And thats precisely what Fenrir planned to do. Walk into the city and start lobbing off some heads. Whether or not to keep those heads and bring them back as proof of the work to be done was another question all together. A lot of employers for these kinds of jobs wanted tokens. Be they a tongue. An ear. Or even an eye.

Public hear say wasn't enough.

Anyone could make a rumour that someone was dead. Most employers wanted tokens not just as a grizzly trophy but as actual proof of the deed. And Fenrir understood that. So. The severed heads of these men in a brown cloth sack would have to do. So heading into the main city he picked out his first target. A Han officer. Not enough to be of any real significance in coming wars. Or at least. So was the main thought of the people. In reality Fenrir knew that even the lowliest peon could change the tide of an entire war. In this case the issue was that the man spent most of his free time " blocking progress " through drunken rants within the local watering hole after his duties.

Unbuckling his helm from its clip on his belt. He placed it on his head. A mask for murder. It wouldn't do much good in hiding his identity. But then that never really was much of a purpose in this. Public killing like this would gain him and the black arms infamy. And Infamy was just as good for getting your name out there than the other less brutal forms of advertisement.

His first point of action was kicking in the door. From there it got interesting. There were daggers drawn. Each man looking up at the giant with the same question in their eyes. " Have you come to kill me?". Raising one single large digit he pointed at the Han officer in the corner. " You". The man stood up, drunkenly struggling to unsheath his sword as Fenrir drew his own. Taking the heavy blade in two hands. And with one powerful swing. Cut through the flesh and bone of the mans neck. Blood splattered on the walls of the bar. The body, still twitching with the sword sheath in a death grip fell to the ground. Walking over with heavy steps. Fenrir grabbed the first item on his check list. Popping the head with the horrified expression into his burlap sack. He sheathed Ragnarok over his back. And then walked out of the bar. Leaving its patrons. Mouth agape.

One severed head of Han soldier. Check.

The next head on the chopping block was of the Yellow Turban variety. A man who had been speaking with pilgrims on the merchants road in and out of the city. He'd been arrested a few times by Han guards. But seemed to be sneaky in getting away. Fenrir however wasn't going to let the man run. That was probably the strange and interesting things about these " assassinations" that would come to be spoken of in the future. About how he'd killed each one without speaking to them a single word. Usually men are allowed to at least try and bargain for their lives. But with Fenrir it was merely a case of walk in. Kill. Get money. It might have been seen as unruley by some. But others would recognise the usefulness of such a thing.

For one it meant that Fenrir wasn't interested in recieving a counter offer to let them go free.

So, when he spotted the man. Freely talking to travellers on the road side. He pushed his way through the small gathering of about ten. Grabbed the man off the rock he was using for a pedistal. And slammed Ragnarok into his gut. The large blade evicerated the insides of the Yellow Turban. And the twist of the blade that followed only made death more certain. And quick. After removing the sword from his belly and letting the inards spill. ( Fortunatly not over himself). He dropped the corpse. Dropped his burlap sack with one head in it. He positioned the corpses head over the stone so the neck was clearly visable. And chopped down.

One more head for the bag.

This decapitation was much less blood. Although then again he had less blood in his body after being impaled on Ragnarok. Picking up the head by the hair. He popped it in the open mouth of his sack. Tied up the string that opened it again. And swung it over his shoulder. The bottom of the bag now slightly damp and stained from the residual blood on the neck stumps of the heads. Two out of four targets successfully eliminated. And in this he was thankfully. Two for two. Two were Han and Two were yellow turban. This kept the Black Arms neutral in the eyes of both sides. Which...although could be considered a bad thing. Was at least for now. Good. It meant they took no sides. Had no opinions and would work where the employer pointed. His next target was a political advisor to a small member of the nobility. Once again. No one particularly important in the grand scheme of things. however his employer seemed to recognise that in the future all nobles. Large or small would have a part to play in the new future of this country.

And with a Han supporting loyalist whispering in the ear of one. Well progress would be tamed. And we couldn't have that could we?

This man was known for hanging around brothels. And sure enough. Word on the street was that he had headed into one not ten minutes passed. Fenrir made his way into the place and was immediatly greeted by the stench of opiates and dry sex. Women and men looked at him as he came in. Cortisans flocked him. Each one like crows fighting over which would have the large strong stranger in bed. But none of them interested him. He grunted out words in this annoying langauge. Asking where the man was. Silence at firt. And then pointing towards a room in the back.

And sure enough. There the man was. Half doped up on opiates. Rushing his way through a session with a rather bored looking whore. The entrance of Fenrir into the room was met by a barrage of curses from the man and a mild smirk from his partner. The wolf merely dropped the burlap sack. Drew the Ragnarok and hacked away and were the mans neck was. Once again. Blood shooting out like a jet. And a head landing in between the firm breasts of the whore.

Somehow it seemed like an appropriate end.

One more head for the sack. He reached down. Grabbed a fist full of hair and lifted it off the whores breasts. She was shocked. Afraid. Begging for her life in this harsh langauge. He shook his head as he placed the head into the sack. Raiding the corpse bleeding out onto the floor. Picking up a bag of currancy and throwing it to the cortasan. Who in light of this seemed to forget all about the blood, a happy smile and eyes as she opened the bag. Tying the sack back up, he threw it over his shoulder and walked back into the common room. And then out into the street.

Last one. A common born swordsman of some skill who supported the Yellow Turbans. Wasn't hard to find the man. Near the centre of the city next to a fountain. The wolf of the north called him out. Dropping his burlap sack. He pointed at the man. " Last head for my bag....". The man drew his sword and aimed a slash at the giant's shoulder. Only to have a look of surprise paint itself across his face. As the blade was blocked by the Wolf's hand. Blood streamed slowly out from the wound. A light cut. He'd intercepted the blade from the side. using opposing force to stop the slash. If he'd tried to stop it merely coming upwards vertically. It would have been a much nastier cut. But the way it was. It would heal easily. And demoralise his target.

Fenrir reached out his other gargantian hand and wrapped it around the throat of the warrior. And with one quick flick of the wrist. Snapped the mans neck like a twig. He dropped him. And looked at the wound on his hand. The crowd was already begining to disperse. Whispers all around as he removed a few pieces of cloth from his belt satchel and wrapped it around the cut.


Next as per usual came the severing of the head. And the dropping of said head into his sack. Throwing it over his shoulder. Four heads jumbling about within. The bottom already stained crimson and black by the remaining blood leaking from the stumps. He headed back to his employer. A local tavern, meeting within a room. He dropped the sack down on a bed in front of the man. Opened the strings and saw the mans ghastly expression. Replying with a sentence to what he had said earlier.

" Looks like I just demolished your dam".

[Lu Xiang]

Very well written, you don't have attributes yet. So it will be hard to reward this but..
1000 Gold for the amazing strong telling that you sustain throughout this.