Despite being occupied, Elena’s temporary residence in Drassington sat silent. The doors were closed shut, the windows covered with drawn curtains. No light came in or out. Yet, outside of the house, here and there a whispered question could be heard, or a hoarse cough broke the silence. Even the quiet shuffling of playing cards against the calloused hands of the soldiers loosely surrounding the house could occasionally be heard, along with the hushed whispers of “call” or “check” as roughly carved poker chips were slid across a makeshift playing table consisting of a shield resting on top of a log of firewood.

One such member of the card players, a man known to the soldiers as Delmon, tapped the armor on his thigh as he multitasked – contemplating both the suspiciously bad hand he was dealt by the mustached dealer, and the fact that Clarkson had just eased himself out of the house wearing a frown, still holding a full plate of mashed potatoes, pulled pork, and warm bread.

Delmon half-raised his free hand. A 2 and a 7, with both being off suit. A bluff it was. “Raise.” The mustachioed dealer nodded his head, the helmet balancing precariously on his head softly clanking with the motion. “Raise it is. Nant, you’re up.”

A leather clad soldier nodded his head, fingers absentmindedly playing with the loose string of his bow in thought. “Fold.” The man said with a rueful smile. “Nothin’ but dog shit for a hand.” His five companions, including Delmon, chuckled knowingly as they glanced at the cards Nant threw down. A 3-8 off suit.

Not a bad idea, but maybe lady luck will be on my side for once. Delmon hurriedly looked back to his cards in hopes that they had somehow changed since last time. They hadn’t. Eh. It ain’t like I’m as bad at bluffing as Nant or poor Loth was, may his soul rest wherever the hell it is. And speaking of rest… Delmon nodded at the approaching Clarkson, pretending not to notice the bags under the older man’s eyes.

“Evening, sir. How’d it go in there? I see that Lady Elena still lacks appetite.”

Clarkson merely shook his head as he dragged a log over to the makeshift table while the rest of the soldiers hurriedly shuffled to the side to make room and the dealer swiftly threw a few cards in Clarkson’s direction. He sat heavily, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. He took the cards and rubbed the area between his eyes with his free hand.

“Not well at all. She still blames herself, and for the love of it all I can’t even fully disagree with that. First that fella Kevin dying with her nearby, and then the good lads we lost in the fire. Not even her favorite meals or some nice booze can help with that.” Clarkson muttered as he studied his cards with a frown and beckoned to the untouched meal next to him. Better than what even the officers get. “We’d better make sure this doesn’t go to waste, lads.”

“Aye sir!” The table said in unison, watching with salivating taste buds as the dealer took the plate and started to divide the food into equal miniscule portions.

“Well, here’s to Lady Elena feeling better and continuing the hunt for that rat bastard. Cheers, lads.” Clarkson grabbed the plate and held it above his head as all the soldiers around the dark house lined up behind in an orderly queue, with each man taking his own bite-sized portion of the meal.

Delmon closed his eyes, savoring the morsels of meat, potatoes, and bread as he waited for his turn again. “Sir, damn fine cooking like usual.”

“Thanks. Still, I suppose there’s something about it that just isn’t good enough. Hm. Maybe the smell of a delicious trout could tempt her to eat something?”

At the sight of the soldiers nodding in agreement, Clarkson’s face momentarily brightened. “That settles it. Tomorrow, I’ll take some boys down to the river, cut us some poles, and see if we can catch anything good. The rest of you lot, no slacking. Remember, ain’t no one getting near this house without us knowing. If we don’t watch Lady Elena’s back, who will?”

A few seconds of solemn silence followed as each man who heard his words briefly felt the weight on his shoulders grow. A silence, soon broken by the mustachioed dealer nodding at the poker players.

“All right boys, anyone else raising before we show hands?”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

On the other side of the city, in a similarly dark residence, a shaking messenger knocked hesitantly on a wooden door covered with suspiciously sticky dark paint.

“Excuse me? Sir? Are you home? I have urgent news!” The messenger knocked several times, each one louder than the previous, but it was not until the last booming knock that an annoyed reply issued out from the other side of the door.

“What the fuck do you want. And before you say anything else, make sure that you keep it short, sweet, and to the point. You get wordy, I get stabby.”

The messenger hastily bowed towards the still-closed door, legs knocking against each other in fear. This was a mistake, this was a mistake… “Im-Important news! The g-great hero Kevin h-has fallen i-in battle with th-the vile d-demons!” The messenger fell silent, holding even his breath in the attempt to make himself seem nonexistent.

“That greasy fuckface? The pig fucking bit the dust? What a useless piece of shit. And to demons?” The mildly disturbing door flew open to reveal a grinning teen with long, greasy matted hair. “I thought we fucking gutted the only one that could actually put up a fight against one of us. That king, whatever the fuck he called himself. That stupid pig even took the demon king’s sword. And now, you knock on my door, tell me that the only peer I have left is that bitch with a stick up her ass, and that the demons somehow remembered where they lost their tiny little balls?”

With every word, the maniacally grinning teen advanced closer and closer to the sweating messenger, until finally, they were face to face, staring each other in the eyes. The man attempted to stutter out an excuse, but for some reason his gut felt… strange.

Like there was a jagged piece of metal carving its way through his stomach. Each twist and turn brought nauseating pain and a horrible tearing sensation.

“Well, say hello to Kevin for me when you find him in hell.” The teen lightly pushed the messenger backwards, a cheeky grin warping his face as the man’s vision gradually faded to black.

“Ahhh. I guess that I should find the fucker who messed Kevin up. Should be a fun curb stomp of a fight at least.” Adrian muttered as he stepped over the limp corpse of the idiot with a jagged piece of metal sticking out of his chest.