Dark nights to the unwary hold ill will,

As predators their stomachs seek to fill.

-prophecy of the duskbringer

Sixth day of the first week of Autumn. Eleventh bell of the night…

In a study lit by a single magitech lamp sat a man working at a desk.

The desk was old, ancient even, oiled and polished by the passing of time and use.

It's very presence was subconsciously oppressive on others’ awareness, imposing as it was.

Behind the man working at the desk was a singular large bookcase.

It was not packed full as one might expect, but each book it held was set in a customized holder on a shelf and neatly labeled with a metal plaque in front.

If one was paying particular attention they might even notice the muted glow of a high tier barrier around the bookshelf, or how some books seemed to shift slightly when you observed them from the corner of your eye.

There were even a few that were bound by cord or clasp, their contents sealed against the unwary eye.

A visitor might observe that there were no windows in this room, instead on all the other walls encircling the desk there were brass filing cabinets.

A rare and frivolous use of the metal in many a man's opinion, yet they were effective in their purpose, firmly securing their contents against damp and easy access.

Only a single door was set into the wall, through which a visitor might gain access, it lay directly in front of the desk and opened outwards.

The door looked like it belonged in a bank’s vault instead of a study, imposingly built with bars, locks and a very, very thick steel body, and yet it could be swung open by a child, so well built it was.

There was no chair in front of the desk, no comfort or rest for a visitor, only the large one currently occupied by the man.

Yet that seat could put thrones to shame with its materials, cushioned and bound with leather harvested from different magical beasts. The wood glossy and black as midnight.

The Man who sat in this overwhelmingly intimidating room was unassumingly dressed in plain black scholars robes that were untrimmed by any decoration.

One might assume them to be misplaced, or uninteresting, or unimportant if he was judged by his clothes or features alone.

One would be wrong.

A trained eye would see that the clothes were not only well tailored, but the cloth was comprised of Yckbarrow silk.

This silk was rare and costly as it's only source was the cocoons spun by the highly poisonous albino spiders that resided in the southern red desert of the Yckbarrow nation.

Only about five bolts of the silk was harvested in any one year, an amount paid with the deaths of many of those who sought it.

It's rarity and luxuriousness, not to mention it’s natural mana conductivity made it highly sought after by any who wielded magic, however it was all but impossible to procure without both connections and great wealth.

The Man in Black owned twelve matching sets.

Although his very clothes were an indicator of his societal position, his features gave far less of a clue, being bland and forgettable to the point of suspicion, with small scars that could be found behind his ears as the only oddity.

The Man in Black sat rigidly at his desk calmly reading a report about the explosion that happened earlier in the day, his narrow and pallid face still and emotionless as he read the full report.

He had read a summary of it precisely fifteen minutes after it happened, but only now were his investigators finished with a more thorough review.

The Man in Black flicked through the report with his long thin fingers, his memory needing but a moment for each page.

He paused at the magicians report, an emission of several mega mana points worth had been registered in the city control core for several seconds, followed by nothing, something had absorbed all of it, sponging up even the inevitable ambient radiation that kind of output would have produced, the previously expanding mana wave disappearing into a magical null zone that gradually filled back in and reverted to normal levels throughout the day. .

The Man in Black tapped his finger on the paper, then reached across his table where a clapper less bell lay. It's sliver blue hue blackened with an image of a raven engraved upon it.

The Man in Black shook the bell once.

A second later it's silent call was answered as person wrapped entirely in black appeared on one knee before the desk, the crackling discharge of a teleportation leaving the smell of ozone in the air.

The cloth worn by the figure was wrapped tightly enough to reveal feminine curves. Her eyes, the only part visible, were a grey so deep that they were matte, reflecting none of the light from the lamp.

“Deal with Mr Woodsinger and Mr Ironproc as we previously discussed. Put a tail on this Gupalagia and Mr Brasstuner if either of them turn up, I want to know who they work for. Report back once completed. Dismissed.” The Man in Black ordered in a dry voice

Lowering her head the summoned figure blurred and disappeared from the room.

The Man in Black leaned back and sighed after he finished the sheaf of papers, none of the reports lately were good. Merchants were disappearing as they traveled through previously safe routes, several years of decreasing crop yields combined with increases in taxes were turning the mood of populace ugly and disgruntled.

Sedition from within and without needed to be dealt with… but that was his forte was it not.

The Man in Black hoped his opponents at least made it interesting this time, the last few attempts had been so...pedestrian.

Gathering the sheafs of paper together and binding them up in a manila file he rose from his seat and took the file to one of the cabinets, depositing it there and locking it securely away.

……………………….

Huckleberry Inn. Eleven miles along the NorthEast highway from Nolusburg. Sixth day of the first week of Autumn. Sixth bell of the evening…

Huckleberry Inn had just entered its prime trading time, the sun had just set and many travelers had stopped for the night before the next leg of their journey to or from the capital city of Nolusburg.

This well located inn was therefore a popular stop, if a little isolated, surrounded only by isolated farmsteads scattered across the countryside.

A minstrel played a merry tune in the corner as a few brave, or drunk souls danced while others looked on and laughed at their inebriated performance.

Waitresses weaved their way through the crowd and around wandering hands with practiced ease, setting down plates of food and mugs of ale for those who had ordered. It was a scene of merriment and chaos mixed in one.

Only one figure tucked away in a corner held himself aloof, the green hooded man puffed on a pipe as he watched the revelous scene, the flare of the tobacco in his pipe occasionally providing a brief flash of his scarred, dour face.

A few minutes of this boisterous gathering continued as the inns residents made merry. Acting at least for the night as if the cares of the world held no sway on them.

Outside the inn a clip clopping of hooves announced the arrival of a late traveler, and after a few moments the inn’s door was pushed open and an individual dressed in a deep red robe sauntered into the building.

Making their way through the common room to the bar’s counter they removed their hood, revealing the countenance of a heart stoppingly beautiful woman.

Yet despite her obvious beauty her appearance was slightly eerie to the eye, for her lips, eyes and hair were all the color of freshly spilt blood on white snow.

“What can I git ya missus?” gruffly asked the barkeeper.

“A room for the night. I wish for a peaceful sleep before my journey’s end, but I don't think that's an option right now is it?”

The noise in the inn disappeared. Every person in the building had stopped what they were doing and was now standing and focused on her, drunk revellers suddenly sober.

Gazing around the woman in red observed this discordant scene and how every individual had armed themselves with a variety of magitech swords, daggers, blasters, and tools, even the barkeeper and waitresses were packing magical heat.

The man in the green hood strode forward, the crowd parting before him until he stood at their forefront.

“Braexia the Blood Witch, holder of a class A bounty, butcher of Melville and scourge of the southern domain.”

Braexia curtseyed.

“It looks like I have no need to introduce myself, what can I do for you fine people?” Braexia let loose a smile so potent and laden with charm it made one's mind blank out for a moment.

While there was no shortage of gulps from around him the grim faced green hooded man seemed unaffected by her beauty.

“My name is Cobalt, leader of the Cerberus mercenary group. I hereby place you under arrest for your many crimes, surrender and we will escort you to face trial in Nolusburg”

Braexia raised one sculpted eyebrow while continuing her smile.

“And if I refuse?”

“Don't be stupid witch,” Cobalt snarled.

“I’ve got you surrounded with over 50 battle tested mercenaries, there's no way you’re walking out of here alive without mages fetters”

Cobalt swept open his robe, revealing an array of inscribed and enchanted chains within.

“Don't make this difficult for us or we'll make sure to ‘properly take care of you’ before we hand you over to the authorities” He warned

“You've yet to realize sir commander” Braexia calmly stated as she raised her hands to reveal the bar keeper’s beating heart,

“That you do not have me surrounded, you have merely placed me in a target rich environment.”

“TAKE HER DOWN!!!” bellowed Cobalt.

“I WANT HER CRIPPLED FOR WHAT SHE DID TO JUSTIN”

The band of men and women surged forward, brandishing their magitech weapons and bellowing out their war cries...

Thirty minutes later…

Plip, plip, plip. The commander hung from the inns wall, his four limbs pierced by red javelins that held him up as his lifeblood slowly drained into a former milk pitcher.

He had given up swearing and cursing twenty minutes ago after he watched Braexia begin her grim harvest of each individual's blood essence, cutting out each heart and milking them, gradually filling a tiny black flask with a distilled drop from each victim.

She had massacred them like children, laughing as she danced and dealt death.

As his men charged she had flung out a wave of blood daggers, taking five of his foremost through the throat in an initial strike.

And then all magical hell ensued.

Her cloak initially turned white as the blood she held in it was consumed to form her spells, but it was all too quickly replenished and dyed red once more by his fallen companions.

She had formed and wielded a blood scythe against them, mowing them down in great sweeping strikes as she advanced, a disc of blood constantly moving and intercepting incoming ranged and magical attacks.

Her large curved blade liquefied and slid around raised weapons and shields, solidifying back into razor sharpness as it touched flesh, reaping their proffered lives left and right.

And she laughed, a refreshing joyful laugh, so beautiful, and so at odds with the gruesome scene she painted in red.

She laughed at their defiance, she laughed as their spells faltered when their mages bled from all their facial orifices.

She laughed, as she killed every last soul of his company.

He had fought her with all his spells and blades and skill, their showdown lasting a full three minutes, but in the end it had been a futile resistance, he was no match for her prowess.

“Monster, she’s a monster” he muttered to himself over and over, his mind a daze of pain and unbelief

The conclusion of their fight had left him here, bleeding into a pail and watching that bi..

“Uuuurrrggg” Cobalt felt the javelins twist in his limbs, she was done with the rest of her harvest.

She moved slowly to him, weaving her way through the bodies and smashed furniture with a grace that would make elves weep.

Standing before Cobalt she dipped a finger into the pail beneath him and reapplied her lipstick, her lips smoking slightly as the blood darkened on her lips.

With a twist of her wrist and a glowing hand his blood flowed out of pail and seeped into her cloak, fully dyeing it once more.

“May the 12 divines use my soul as fetters to bind and consign your soul to all the torments of the 9 hells.” Cobalt cursed her with the vilest curse he knew.

She smiled a brilliant smile and kissed him full on the lips.

“Guuaaaaahhhhhh” His scream broke off the contact

Pain racked Cobalt as he was impaled by a thousand jagged needles, torturing his flesh and nerves.

Her hair, he saw through watery eyes, had morphed, slightly revealing their original brown strands underneath the red that extended into him.

A thousand spiraling hooks of red had formed on the tips of her hair and pierced his body from all angles, they slowly bored into him, then slowly ripped outwards, tearing him apart piece by piece.

The pain was incredibly intense but mercifully brief, a fact Cobalt was grateful for as he fell into blessed oblivion.

Braexia extracted his blood essence, then walked upstairs to find a room to sleep in.

“Tomorrow I arrive in Nolusburg, wait for me a little longer Simon, I will have your revenge.”

She hung a do not disturb sign on her door, closed it. And went to sleep in the fluffy down bed.