Red eyes crept and crawled, silent as shadows, through waving grasses in the dead of night. Only twin moons witnessed their passing. They slunk toward the hamlet in the distance with foul deeds on their mind and upon their cruel lips. Into slumbering homes, they broke, secretly searching for the prey who’d foolishly thought she’d escaped the Wild Hunt.
She hadn’t. They just sent tendriling, bloodsoaked mercenaries into the mortal realm in their stead for it was not yet the gloaming Yuletide that the Wilde Jagd could ride unhindered across the red sky.
Silent as the grave, a few of these mercenaries scurried into the inn, barely disturbing even the dust bunnies as they drifted into locked rooms, avoiding all eyes. Out in the main chamber, a witch sang the graveyard smash! Their prey! A vicious killer found her room by the lingering smell of her blood it’d tracked all the way from the Plane of Faeries. Unnoticed, it slunk beneath her bed to wait.
Time ticked along with the murk of drink.
Autumn’s hazy head found her pillow and her body found the furs. Her boots lay at the foot of her bed, cleaned and awaiting the new day. She tried to slumber, to rest, but sweat tickled her back, and a shuddering that rippled though her mind stole her eyes wide open. The hair along her arms stood on end.
Something was wrong. Somehow she knew she wasn’t alone.
Looking around nervously, she saw nothing amiss. Pale moonlight streamed in through the shutters, allowing her eyes to quickly adjust to the gloom within her bedchambers. Steadily, the oppressive dark fled. She still saw nothing out of place. Nothing moved. There was no evidence of anyone else being in her room.
Aside from the smell that is.
Autumn sniffed. She was long-used to the scent of blood by now, having lost a fair amount of her own recently, and her room had yet to divest itself of the malodorous odour even days of airing-out later. However, right now, the smell of old blood hung heavier in the air.
It stank.
Her heart sank. A twisting feeling of dread curled sourly in her nightshirt-clad chest. There was something in the room with her. She could feel its malevolent eyes watching her from a place unseen. They were back! It could be none other but the fey in her mind.
Why couldn’t they leave her alone?! She’d escaped their realm! She’d won their wicked game! She was free, goddamn it!
Autumn’s prosthetic lay on her bedside table, removed for ease of sleeping. Beside it rested her gnarled wand. Paranoia had kept them within arms’ reach. Reaching out, she snatched them up and hurriedly secured her prosthetic around her missing fingers, arming herself, quietly and carefully. Her eyes never stopped roaming the darksome room.
The world held its breath. She could hear no sound. No insects chirped outside. Nocturnal birds kept to their nests. Not even the scavengers dared venture out tonight. Only Nethlia and herself stayed within the inn during the night, yet even then it was too quiet.
Only her shaking breathing and beating heart accompanied her.
When all other options were eliminated, there was only one place where her stalker could dwell. Underneath her bed! Closing her eyes, Autumn pushed her empathic magic to the forefront, unveiling a canvas black to her vision. When she raised her eyelids, she saw color. Nethlia’s dreaming hues shone fainting through the walls, flecked with the deep purple of nightmare.
Autumn tightened her hold on her magic and looked down. Below her bed there was a flickering of something hiding. She focused. Even though it cast its presence thin, it wasn’t enough to hide from her sight. She was sick of monsters prowling under her bed, although it’d only happened once before.
Evil bloomed upon the page of her sight. An art foul. If crafted by a mortal mind, the artist would’ve been driven into the greatest depths of insanity and madness. Hate, bloodlust, and maliciousness was all the creature beneath her bed knew or desired. It dripped with the sickly-sweet scent of the Feywild.
A perfume Autumn couldn’t forget.
Another crawled beneath Nethlia’s bed across the hall, threatening her vulnerable dreaming form. It was up to Autumn to save, or at least wake her. Warn her of what lurked in the dark.
Autumn’s fingers of horn gripped tight around her wand. Slowly, silently, she placed her witch’s hat upon her brow, and from within it, drew a squirming bundle of raw power. The fear coiled in her mental hold, ready to fuel her jinx. The tip of her wand glowed an eerie violet.
Dragging her feet beneath herself, she readied herself to leap clear of her fur-covered bed. The bed creaked in time with her heartbeat. She held her breath as the creature stirred beneath her, waiting for her descent with sharp claws and sharper teeth.
It’d not catch her this day.
With an almighty bound, Autumn leapt from her bed. She twisted midair with a yell, unleashing a Jinx of Fear toward the shadows beneath it. Violet light shrieked across the gap. The twisting coil struck a lunging form as she hit the opposite wall with her back, the collision letting out a dull thud through the night.
Into the moonlight, a foul fey fiend crawled.
The redcap goblin grinned with a mouth full of sharp teeth. Wiry hair ran along its long arms and stumpy legs, coarse like steel wire, while a pair of elfen ears rested beside a pair of buggy, glinting eyes. The goblin was hunched and short, wearing a pair of iron boots, leather pants, and a grim red cap soaked in fresh blood from whence it drew its name. In one hand, it wielded a dire knife.
Now unveiled, its stench nearly overpowered Autumn. She gagged as the metallic scent tickled the back of her throat.
The redcap snarled in frustration as the jinx slammed into it. The violet fear sank into the fey’s body, twisting around its foul heart. Its eyes flew wide, somehow becoming even more bug-eyed than before. It lay paralyzed on the floor as Autumn rushed toward the door leading out of the bedroom.
Her belt hung on a hook by the door, her iron knife sheathed on it. From now on, she vowed to sleep with the knife under her pillow. She reached the door, and quickly drew her knife with a soft rasp against the leather.
Behind her, the fey leapt to its feet as her stun faded.
Angrier than ever, the redcap spat as it stomped toward the witch. Its boots let out a heavy clanging as it walked, no longer bothering to hide the sound.
Autumn yelped as it kicked at her. The pair tumbled to the floor. With a heavy thud, her head bounced off the cobblestones, sending stars swirling through her vision. Thanks to her prosthetic, she didn’t lose her grip on her wand. However, her blade skittered away from her other slackened hand.
Sharp teeth latched onto her forearm, sinking deeply into her flesh. Autumn let out a harrowing cry. Enraged herself, she struck the beast atop her, slamming her fist into its side again and again. It held firm, attempting to wrest her wand away. Another heavy blow cracked the redcap’s ribs.
It howled in pain, letting go of her arm.
Autumn thrust her wand forth and gathered up enough fear to blast it again. However, in the heat of combat, she misjudged her thrust. The wand pierced the redcap’s right eye, sinking deep into the socket. It screamed as its brain was overwhelmed with a bolt of raw magic blasting it from the inside-out.
Froth and foam pour from its mouth liberally onto Autumn. She rolled the seizing body off of herself, gagging at the terrible smell. The maleficent creature writhed on the floor. As she snatched up her wayward knife, the witch watched with morbid fascination as the redcap’s heart gave out. The fey died of fright.
Her heart beat like an abused drum, tattooing her ribcage.
The fight had lasted only a bare few seconds.
Just as she was calming, the door behind her shattered open. Wooden splinters showered Autumn as she spun around in fright. Standing tall within the empty frame was a naked demoness, looming like a heroic herculean statue. Pale moonlight glittered across her exposed, nightmare-soaked muscles and broad shoulders. Her chest heaved with adrenaline, moving her mountainous peaks in a hypnotic sway.
Rage gleamed in the berserker’s eyes, matched only by the foul blood on her hands. Peeking behind the demoness, Autumn saw that the redcap that’d stalked Nethlia had been ripped in half. It was like a horror movie set in there.
Autumn’s screams had awoken both the demoness and her instincts. And upon finding a foe in her room, she’d torn it asunder in an instant before crashing through both her own bedroom door and Autumn’s to save her. Not that the witch-girl needed saving in the end.
Nethlia blazed like a sun in Autumn’s vision. She saw the fury that’d been tightly bound before unleashed in all its glory now. The berserker was a physical manifestation of rage. Seeing the beast within Autumn’s room, she crushed its head with her heel, splattering the room with malefic brains.
Her attention then turned to Autumn, scouring the witch with her golden eyes for harm. She grabbed Autumn’s wounded arm tightly but not painfully. “Shit,” she growled. “Your arm. Hold still.” Grabbing some of the cleaned bandages from the footlocker at the end of the bed, she quickly bound Autumn’s arm. The bandages immediately stained red. “Fucking redcaps. Why are they here?”
“I t-think they’re after me,” Autumn sobbed. Glancing down in shame, her eyes fell upon Nethlia’s bared, rippling, battle-scared abdomen and naked groin. She was hairless down there. Fiery heat dominated Autumn’s cheeks as she hurriedly looked away. “Uh, maybe you should put on some clothes?”
“Right.” Shame had no place in an adventurer’s life, and Nethlia had slipped into that mindset once more. “Think there are more in the village?” she asked as she marched over to her bedroom through the shattered door to snatch up her discarded clothing, quickly donning them.
Autumn tore her gaze away from the dressing demoness, casting her witch-sight outside. Through the walls, she saw faint flickerings of evil. “Yes! I can sense some more!” Grabbing her own things, she quickly dressed. Luckily, all she needed to put on was her belt, boots, and robes. “I think I see some at Orzon’s place!”
“Let’s go!”
The demoness strode from the hallway into the main chamber of the inn, stopping before the bar to fetch her warhammer. She wrenched it from the resting place with force. The iron weapon fell in her calloused hands as if it were made to be there and only there. The demoness changed in an instant from Nethlia, the innkeeper to Nethlia, the berserker – an adventurer grand.
Her golden orbs blazed with conviction. “Ready?” she asked, stopping before the door leading out. When Autumn nodded, she burst outside, marching heavily towards Orzon’s home.
The night chill greeted them. Autumn’s darkened eyes swiveled as she kept watch for ambushing foes while Nethlia’s loping strides quickly brought them to the house opposite the inn, forcing her to jog to keep up. She saw redcaps inside. Their murderous glee was a blot on her vision. She couldn’t see Orzon’s emotions, for weal or woe.
With grim fury, Nethlia hit the recently repaired door like a battering ram. The wood stood no chance. The demoness force of nature crashed through it, exploding the door into a blast of a thousand flying splinters.
Redcaps lingering behind the door in wait had their green flesh torn asunder by the shrapnel. They shrieked in pain, startled from their gleeful plundering. Blinded and stumbling, they were unable to avoid the iron hammerhead that crushed their skulls to pulp. A headless redcap staggered about for a moment, still trying to pillage and plunder, before collapsing in a dead heap.
Autumn stood behind the one-demoness-army, casting stunning jinxes into the mix. Each violet splash stalled a goblin long enough for a rage-filled blow to strike them dead. Up and down, round and round, the hammer swung. Reeking blood soon painted the walls.
The redcaps were stilled forevermore.
Toward the bedroom, the pair rushed once the last of their foes fell, seeking the fate of the ancient blacksmith. They paused in shock and grief at what they saw. They’d been too late. Orzon lay dead. The blacksmith had put up a good fight, taking a half-dozen score fey with him in his final battle with his forgehammer. Age had betrayed him.
A quietness encased the pair.
Autumn had only known the grumpy demon less than a week, yet she felt closer to him than many people she’d known back home. His death cut her dearly.
“It doesn’t feel real,” Nethlia muttered beside her, slumped against the door frame. Her soul was bundled in grief and pain. “He’s always been here, you know? He…he can’t be gone.”
“Nethlia…” Autumn didn't know what to say. Her words stalled in her throat, choking her. She wanted to offer comfort to her friend. Offer her a shoulder to cry on. But guilt stayed her hand and words. It was all her fault. They’d been chasing her, and she’d stayed too long in one place. “...I.”
“Let’s go,” the demoness said suddenly, pushing herself off the doorframe. Her eyes glistened in the low light. “There might be more out there. We need to check on the others.”
Before Autumn could say anything more, she was out the door. Autumn rushed to follow her, ending up on the dusty crossroad street, lagging behind. Door-by-door, they entered the two other homes of the small hamlet, stumbling on grim fates the two other families shared with Orzon.
The redcaps didn’t survive the demoness’ rage.
Autumn was silent as Nethlia emerged back into the night. Blood dripped from her hammer and her hands, staining the mortal dirt at her feet with fey gore. Her eyes were downcast, hollowed out by the violence. Not even the children had been spared from the redcaps iron boots. Upon their altar of evil, the village lay, killed and butchered.
Only the witch’s instincts and newfound power had spared them a similar fate.
Slaughter painted the hamlet crimson on this unhallow night.
The silence was broken by Nethlia. She spoke quietly as she stopped beside a nervous Autumn. “You said they were chasing you. Who is they?”
Autumn gulped. “The Wild Hunt.”
“Why?”
Swallowing heavily, she glanced up at the demoness’ stony face, cast in darkness from the glow of the moon hovering behind her head. Her fingers itched. “I…I was in the Feywild before, and I escaped one of their tricks. And…and in doing so, humiliated one of them. So they set the Wild Hunt upon me. I escaped again, this time to this place. I’d thought I was free of them for good…I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
The demoness sighed. “You didn’t come by the port, did you?”
“...no.”
In silence, they wandered for a moment, moving through the village to the outskirts, searching for more redcaps that’d escaped their notice. Nethlia didn’t ask the obvious question – how had she gotten into the Feywild in the first place? She didn’t want to know.
Autumn pretended not to notice the tears that spilled silently from her friend’s eyes.
Would they still be friends after this? After what she’d brought to her home?
Why couldn’t the fey leave her alone? Was she not allowed peace? Why couldn’t they accept that she wasn’t, and would never be, their prize?
Fine. If they wanted war, she’d give them war. They would rue the day they made an enemy of her. She’d burn their whole fucking forest down. She’d turn it into a wasteland of only ash and bones.
“I don’t blame you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Nethlia abruptly said, breaking the silence as they strode purposefully towards one of the outlying farmhouses. From where they stood, the home was peaceful. Smoke trailed languidly from a chimney while candlelight flickered in a window.
Autumn looked toward the demoness, feeling gratitude in her chest. “Why? If I wasn’t here, they’d never have come. It’s my fault.”
“They’re monsters. If they didn’t come here, they’d have gone elsewhere and killed someone else’s village. That’s what monsters do. And it’s why adventurers exist,” Nethlia said. “I’ve seen this happen time and time again. Maybe in the past, I might’ve blamed you, but I’d like to think I’m wiser now. Or at least calmer.”
“This is you calmer?”
The demoness radiated rage to an unbelievable level. Autumn couldn’t imagine her even angrier than she was now. It’d have been like staring into the sun. “Yes,” Nethlia said with a shrug. “Well, more focused would be a better way to put it. I was getting into trouble a lot back in the day. Gods, I feel old, and I’m only fifty.”
“I feel old and I’m only maybe-eighteen.”
“Shut up,” Nethlia snorted, cursing her playfully.
Soon they arrived at the farmhouse, stilling their conversation. When Nethlia looked to Autumn to inquire about what she saw, the witch shook her head. “I only see sleeping people inside. No redcaps. But the cattle are distressed around the back.”
Hearing her, Nethlia gripped her polehammer tight and led them around the back. The large beasts were awake as Autumn had seen. A bull snorted wildly at their approach. At its feet lay bundles of red smears wearing iron boots and bloody red caps.
“Looks like the cows didn’t appreciate being woken up,” Autumn said. Perhaps it was inappropriate given the circumstances, but she felt vindicated for her caution towards the behemoths. Gentle creatures, her tattered-trouser-clad behind! “Should we still check on the farmers?”
“We should,” Nethlia nodded, loosening her grip on her hammer’s haft. “Even if only to inform them of what’s happened. We’ll need their help to…build a bonfire.”
“...for the bodies?”
Nethlia nodded again at her question. “Mm. Inferni have a close kinship with fire. We practice cremation.”
“I thought you were immune to fire? Orzon didn’t seem bothered by it.” She’d seen the old demons practically shove his hand in the forge to heat nails before rather than use a tong. Granted, he hadn't handled the red-hot metal directly with his bare flesh.
“We’re resistant to heat and fire, not immune. A bonfire’s blaze will be hot enough to send demonfolk off and turn their bones to ash. It’d be better if a priest of Nusraura were here to conduct the ritual, but the closest temple is in the city, and I don’t want to leave them to rot in the time it’ll take to get there and back.”
Autumn blinked at the new information. “You, uh, follow Nusraura?” Was that a god? It sounded like a god, seeing as Nethlia had said they had priests and temples. Given that fey, demons, elves, and even dwarves existed here, so too could gods be real. And she didn’t want to risk offending them. She had enough on her plate already.
“All Inferni do,” Nethlia said, giving Autumn a look. “I take it you don’t know the story of how my people came to inhabit this continent?"
“No, sorry.”
“That’s alright, it’s probably told differently to humans.” Nethlia then spoke with a different cadence, as if reciting a tale passed down from mother to daughter, father to son.
“My people, the Inferni, demonkin as you might know us, were born as slaves to the devils in the Hells Below. We were warriors in their eternal wars with the Heavens Above. Livestock to be traded, tortured, and killed at their leisure. Until one day, long ago, a rebel arose. She killed her master and stole his treasures, amassing for herself great power, becoming a devil herself, and freed us of our chains.
“We call her The Devil-in-Red.
“She struck a deal with the heavens. In return for her aid in the holy war against hell, Nusraura, the goddess of war, daughter of rebellion, would shepherd us from the hells into the mortal plane, and we settled here, north of the Ironspines in what is now widely known as the Demonlands.
“From fire, we were born, and to fire, we shall return.”
The tale echoed from the demoness’ mouth, striking through the silence of the twilight with seemingly supernatural power. As if the hope and pride of an entire people backed her words.
Autumn was enraptured. “What happened to the rebel?”
“Nobody knows,” Nethlia shrugged. “Some say she is still in the Hells Below, battling arch-devils and hell-hydras. Others say she roams the world seeking righteous warriors for heaven's war. Some even claim to have met her. Personally, I believe she might’ve been more than one person – a group of rebels that started the Infernal Rebellion. They’d be long since dead by now.”
“No, I doubt anyone will ever see her again, if she ever existed in the first place.”