Some water spilled out of his bucket as Reyland finished his climb to the church’s stairs. His arms had gone numb ages ago, sometime around his seventh trip down to the river for water… he had lost count of his trips after thirty.

Arthur was waiting for him at the top of the stairs, holding the door open for him.

“That should be the last one then, good sir. If you could set it down over there, please,” the older man said, gesturing at the last cot in the church.

It was the next morning after Reyland and Griff had arrived in town, and Reyland had spent most of his time assisting Arthur in various tasks around the church. Mostly, bringing water up from the river, both for drinking and to wipe down the various townspeople with wet rags.

After setting the bucket down, Reyland collapsed back into a nearby chair with an exaggerated sigh. Working early mornings like this wasn’t something new to him, but it had been a while since his initiation into the Order when he had been forced to do things like this every day. The repetitive tasks really made him miss the arcanist's contraptions back at the castle that took care of these things...

“Reyland, was it?” Matilda asked, as Reyland noticed her standing in the hallway to the back rooms. It was the first time she had directly spoken to him.

"Hmm? Yeah?" He mumbled back.

"Now that you're done with helping Arthur, there was something I wanted to talk to you and Mr. Griffith about."

She led him to the back hallway again, where the two small bedrooms were. Curiously, Griff was already standing next to the door they hadn't been in yet... the one that Reyland had seen someone in the night before.

Both of the men watched quietly as Matilda opened the door, revealing a well lit, small bedroom, nearly identical to the one they had sat when they arrived. The window faced the morning sun, and had no other sources of light.

But what drew everyones attention was the young boy who lay unconscious in the bed in the center of the room.

"A Norlander?" Griff asked, surprised.

Reyland looked closer and realized that Griff was right. The boy's snow white skin and jet black hair marked him clearly as a Norlander, the predominant race of the Norlands. It wasn't entirely unheard of to see them outside of their own countries, but they weren't known as a race that travelled much, so seeing one so young this far south was rather rare... especially if he was alone.

"Where are his parents?" Reyland asked. The boy looked ten years old, at the most.

"We don't know. Arthur found the poor boy half drowned and half dead, washed up on the river banks a couple of weeks ago. With the injuries he had, we're not even sure how he's still alive."

Almost every part of the boy that wasn't under the blankets was bandaged. Both wrists were wrapped, with his entire left arm covered in white cloth, and only two of his fingers were exposed, the rest wrapped up individually. Another bandage was wrapped around his forehead, and yet another around his collarbone and neck. He wore a sleeveless top, and through the holes in the sides, more bandages could be seen around his ribs.

"He's been comatose most of the time here. We're lucky he's woken a few times to eat and drink, and those times are getting more frequent the longer time goes on. He seems to be recovering quickly, thank heavens... although, I know this can't go on forever." Matilda said.

"Because the boy will get sick sooner or later," Griff said what she had left unspoken.

Matilda nodded.

"We know we don't have long left, here. We aren't so naive as to think otherwise. Whatever is making the village sick will reach him sooner or later, and there will be nothing left we can do for him."

Reyland frowned, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his gut. It unnerved him to hear someone sound like they had given up... while also sounding so convicted. Matilda genuinely seemed not to care that she herself was dying, all the concern she had was being spent taking care of her town, and for the sake of the young boy she had only met weeks before.

"Have you been able to talk with him since you took him in?" Griff asked. "Has he mentioned anything about how he got here, why he was in the river, where his relatives might be?"

"No, sadly... he doesn't seem to know much Arkasian, and I'm afraid I've never taken the time to study Norlin, so communicating hasn't been easy."

Griff nodded as if he expected this.

"Could you show me where you found him exactly?" Griff asked.

"Well, Mati might have some trouble with that, but I certainly could," Arthur interrupted from behind them. The old man had seemingly finished tending to the sick, and had joined them in the small bedroom.

"Good. Reyland, grab your gear. If you could lead the way, Arthur," Griff ordered his apprentice before more politely addressing Arthur.

As the three men left the room, Reyland spared a glance back to Matilda and the sleeping boy. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, the back of her hand pressed to his forehead, looking every bit a caring grandmother looking after her ill grandchild. Something about seeing that obvious care stirred and warmed him, and he made a promise to himself then and there.

He would help them. Not just Matilda and the Norlander boy, but the whole town. They didn't deserve what was happening to them... and the dedication that they showed to one another was too precious to just let slip away.

Reyland swiped up his shortsword, half drawing it out of its sheath to check the condition of his blade. Its wavy edge and polished grey steel glinted in the light back at him, and he clipped it into place on his belt. A moment later he had caught up to the two older men, and they had left the church behind.

The riverbank was just as Reyland remembered it, a grassy slope leading down to a short patch of mud, followed by a wide, lazily rolling river. He had been down here to shuttle water up to the church plenty this morning, and his own footprints still dotted the riverbank everywhere he looked.

"The boy was right here when I found him," Arthur said, standing inches from the water. "Just sprawled out like a corpse on the shore... I thought he was a goner before I even got close to him. Imagine my surprise when he still had a pulse!"

Reyland took out his waterskin and popped out its cork, sinking it into the water to fill it up. He wouldn't typically drink straight out of a river, he wasn't a fool after all, but the entire village was drawing its drinking water from the river so... he was willing to trust it a bit more than regular. Griff watched him with narrowed eyes before asking Arthur a question.

"What's upstream from here, that you all drink straight from the river?"

"Well, not all of us do, or at least did. Matilda and I used to live on the opposite end of the village and it was too long of a trek for oldfolk like us to draw from the river, so we collected rainwater. It was only after we moved everyone into the church that we started taking everything from the river," Arthur said. "This river comes straight down from the Northern Bridge, it's all spring water from the mountains up north. Plenty of melted ice from the mountain caps, as well. We're the first village on the river, so there's no one upstream to dirty it."

"The North Bridge Springs?" Reyland said surprised, as he took a swig from the waterskin. It was cool and crisp, and tasted more pure than any water he'd ever gotten in a city. "I've heard of those... they say the water's so pure it adds years onto the end of your life, just by drinking it. There's even a trading company bottling it up north and carting it down to the capitol to sell, isn't there?"

"Ahh, the Jarriot company, yes I remember those lads. They've stopped all that now, what with the Blight creeping so far south. Can't safely get to their springs anymore, and all the mercenaries long since stopped accepting the escort jobs. Too many casualties, or so I heard," Arthur said.

"Do you mind if we take some time to look around?" Griff asked, already scanning every inch of the river.

"Oh of course not, although you'll have to excuse me. I've about hit my limit for walking around today, I'm afraid. I'll be back at the church if you need me for anything," Arthur said with a wave as he began walking back.

Reyland waved back, watching to make sure the elderly man made it up the hill safely. Once Arthur was out of sight, he looked back to Griff, to find him already walking off, following the riverbank upstream.

Reyland followed him in silence for a while, with only the bubbling of the stream and the crunch of dry leaves and sticks under foot to accompany them. After five minutes, he began fiddling with the hilt of his sword, tracing the intricate curves of its pomel with his nail. After ten, he took the sword out a few times and gave some practice swings, which Griff pointedly ignored. After half an hour, Reyland decided to take his boots off and carry them as he walked through the river, before getting too cold and scrambling out.

An hour into their walk, and Reyland couldn't take it anymore.

"Hey, Griff," he said, breaking the hour long silence.

Griff visibly twitched.

"What?"

"I spy with mine little eye..."

The look Griff shot him over his shoulder could have frozen hell itself.

Reyland grinned back sheepishly.

"What? There's nothing to see, it's just a river. I'm bored."

"And that is my problem how?" Griff growled back.

"It isn't," Reyland said. "That's why I'm making it your problem."

Griff pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight. He could feel a severe headache coming on already...

"Reyland, I'm not going to..." he trailed off, looking forwards intently.

"Well if you won't, I'll just keep talking, eh? Sure I can find a tree or two that's more talkative than you are somewhere out here."

Griff shushed him, raising a hand to signal them both to stop. Reyland's hand was on his sword in a moment, ears and eyes straining forwards to pick out whatever Griff had noticed. He was almost unrecognizable as the amiable, bored teen he had been moments ago.

The sound of rushing water met his ears, and they both began moving forwards slowly. The river had narrowed and picked up its pace recently, not so much that it would be dangerous to cross but enough to notice once you were paying attention. The woods had also grown closer to the riverbank, and it was now becoming a struggle to move forwards. The undergrowth was steadily growing thicker as they went.

Griff quickly gave up on picking his way carefully forwards, and instead drew a massive knife from his hip and began hacking his way through. Reyland took after his lead, using his shortswords to clean up the trail a bit behind him.

The rushing water sound was quickly growing in volume, first to a low rumble, then to a dull roar. As they approached whatever was making the sound, Reyland finally recognized it, only moments before they entered a large clearing and saw it properly.

The waterfall was even louder when they entered the clearing. It wasn't particularly large, a single massive stream that dropped into a small but very deep lake, but it was tall and it was loud. At this distance they could still hear each other talk, but it wasn't easy.

"Aint that a sight, Griff!" Reyland shouted, shielding his eyes from the sun as he tried to stare up at the top of the cliffs. "Almost reminds me of the falls back home, don't you think?"

Griff stared up at the cliff as well, brows furrowed and a frown on his face.

"Indeed... but more importantly, just how did that boy survive a fall like that?"

Reyland's eyes widened as he thought about that. If the boy really had been found washed up in the river, then he would have had to have come over the falls, wouldn't he? And it would explain all his injuries... but why was he alive, then? Too stubborn to die? Divine intervention? Dumb luck? Or maybe the boy was one of those rare few, that still existed up in the Norlands... some sort of mage. The thought put a shiver down Reyland's spine.

Griff sheathed his oversized knife, and walked into the clearing. The pool had a few rocky beaches along the edges of the river, and they made their way out further until they could see the whole area more clearly. It didn't take long for Griff to see something.

On the beach a ways in front of them, just barely visible, something was washed up on the shore.

It was a large creature, laying with its back legs in the water, unmoving as the slight waves lapped against it. Griff and Reyland were both on guard as soon as they recognized the shape, and they both had hands on their weapons instantly.

"Is that a direwolf?" Reyland asked, staring hesitantly at the canine shape. It was far too large to be a normal timber wolf, that much was clear to see even from this distance.

Griff was unresponsive as he drew the greatsword from his back.

That was all the signal Reyland needed... his own shortsword was drawn a moment later. His heart was beating faster, readying itself for a fight.

They pressed in towards it, moving slow despite its lack of reaction. The beast would surely have looked dead to a normal person, but Griff and Reyland were monster hunters of the Order of Alexandros. They knew better than to assume anything when it came to the beasts.

Crunch, crunch. The gravelly shore shifted underfoot, while the waters raged in the background.

Then, when they were only ten feet from the beast, its nose twitched.

"Get back, its Blighted!" Griff shouted, already raising his greatsword into a guard.

The wolf was on its feet in a flash, gnashing its teeth and shaking the water from its fur. It was almost entirely black, but the hair along the ridge of its back was longer than normal, and hung off to the side like a horses mane.

Then the beast locked eyes with Reyland, and he felt a flicker of fear at the deep, unnatural orange glow he saw behind them.

The beast loosed a bone chilling scream, and from every treetop birds took to the sky in a frenzy. Reyland slapped his hands over his ears at the painfully loud, gutteral and not-at-all-wolf-sounding howl. He imagined a sound like that could be heard for miles around, easily...

The beast lunged for Reyland, far faster than its massive size should have allowed. Griff managed a swing against its flank as it passed, his greatsword gouging out a massive gash, but it didn't even slow down. It was on Reyland instantly, and he dove to the side right before its jaws would have taken him by the throat.

It landed and turned on a dime, snarling as it lunged towards Reyland again.

He was more prepared this time, his training kicking in after the shock of its initial assault. He lunged forwards as well, thrusting with his shortsword towards its snout, before diving down to the side out of the way of its teeth once again.

It gurgled lowly as its own, deep red-orange blood filled its mouth, the open wound on its nose bleeding more slowly than it should have.

Before it could make another lunge, Griff had come around behind it. His greatsword came down hard towards its spine, but the beast managed to twist itself out of the way just enough to avoid being crippled by it. It still took another heavy hit to its side, though, and the bloody wounds would quickly catch up to it.

It spun about, maw open wide to grab a hold of Griff, but the man was faster than he looked. He had already backed off, sword raised in a defensive stance...

Buying time for Reyland to charge in from behind, taking advantage of the beast's shift in attention. He shortsword pierced true, a single thrust into the back of the neck, and the beast dropped to the ground dead as its spinal cord was severed.

The battle was only a few seconds long, but Reyland was breathing heavily.

"Just what the... holy... Griff, what was that thing? It wasn't a dire wolf, I know that much!" He managed out between laboured breaths.

Griff sunk his blade into its neck again, ensuring that it was truly dead this time.

"This is your first time seeing the Blight at work, isn't it?" Griff replied calmly.

Reyland looked at him oddly.

"That's what the Blighted are like, then? I mean, we were taught that the infected animals got bigger and more aggressive, but isn't that a little bit much?! On that first lunge I could barely see it move! If you hadn't been in its way I would have just been dead without even putting up a fight. And you mean to tell me the blight can turn a dire wolf into that?" He rambled frantically, gesturing wildly at the dead beast with his sword.

"Not a direwolf. A regular timber wolf," Griff said.

Reyland froze. No, that couldn't be right.

"Did you just say a regular wolf? As in, not the direwolves, the massive, man eating monsters that we hunt down every few months when they start terrorizing a town, but a regular timber wolf?" He asked incredulously.

Griff nodded, wiping the blood off his blade before sheathing it and slinging it back over his shoulder.

Reyland landed on his ass in the dirt, having flopped to the ground in a huff.

"Do I even want to know what would happen if an actual direwolf got Blighted?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"You can already guess the answer to that," Griff said. He had begun inspecting the beast closer, checking its teeth, fur, eyes and the wounds their blades had opened on it.

The Blight was a plague, of some sort, or maybe a curse. No one really knew what it was or where it came from, but there were a few things that were common knowledge now, nearly a decade after it had appeared.

It infected plants mostly, spreading from one tree to the next through vines and sickly looking growths that burst into spores. The infected plants turned a slimy, unnerving black colour during the day, like mushrooms that had long since gone bad and started rotting. But at night time, they came to life, the leaves, fruits, vines and spores all glowing brilliant colours in the night. Pinks and blues and purples and oranges... it was said to be beautiful, according to the few people who had seen it and lived to tell the tale.

The Blight had originated as just that, a single patch of forest that was infected, located right in the center of the Northern Bridge. It had spread quickly, until it became a wall separating the Arkasian continent and the Norlands... which wouldn't have been a problem, if it weren't for the animals.

See, the Blight could also infect creatures. From normal woodland or farm animals to actual beasts, monsters like dire wolves or giant spiders or orcs... everything the Blight touched, it corrupted. Those creatures grew larger, stronger, more vicious than their un-blighted counterparts.

What was worse was that any creatures that were blighted seemed to work together. Like some kind of insectoid hive mind, they could organize themselves, move in packs that would never occur naturally, and were even smart enough to understand and adapt to human tactics and resistances.

After a while, people had just given up on re-establishing contact with the Norlands, and started retreating farther into Arkasia for safety. The Blighted were becoming more aggressive and growing in number, and with the royals and nobles still arguing and bickering over who to pin blame on, most people were on their own.

And if a simple, common wolf could become this terrifying after being blighted, how much more terrifying would a magical creature be? The beasts that already hunted humanity weren't immune to the Blight either, after all.

"Look carefully here," Griff interrupted his thinking, calling him over to the beasts' head.

What Griff was pointing to was the beasts blood, and eyes. They were both a sickly shade of orange, although the blood was tinted heavily with red. Neither was a natural colour for any animal, though.

"Are all the Blighted like this?" Reyland asked, hesitantly poking the blood with a finger as if it might still try to bite him.

"Yes," Griff replied. "The Blighted are all different, but you can always tell a Blighted from a normal beast by the colours. Oranges, blues, purples, pinks... anything that looks unnatural is a dead giveaway. You'll see it in the eyes, the blood, and on the stronger ones, even the fur or skin. If you do see one with bright colours on its body, though, best to just look for a way out. If the Blight has progressed that far in them, they'll be too much to deal with, even in a small group."

"Yeesh... hearing that coming from you, of all people, really makes a guy worry, Griff."

"I'm just a man, Reyland," he said back with a sigh. "There are limits to what the human body can do. Don't oversell your abilities... know how to pick your fights."

"Aye, sure thing," Reyland said back. He didn't need to be told twice.

"We got lucky with this one, too... looks like its back leg was broken when it went over the falls. It would have been a lot faster if it had been in top shape."

Reyland tilted his head back up at the sky and groaned at hearing that.

"Please, Griff, just stop... my self confidence is disappearing almost as fast as my dreams for becoming a beast hunter. Is it too late to change professions?"

Griff almost smiled at that one. Almost.

"Yes, you already swore your oath. Now quit complaining and help me skin this beast."

Reyland eyed the massive form of the dead wolf, before resigning himself with a sigh. This was probably going to take a while.