text: **The Monster of Loksdale:** Rain danced on the canopy overhead. The worn path below was splotched with sloppy mud and slick rocks. Birds did not chirp, nor did a tree crackle in the gusts. Something evil abound. A beast. It wasn’t strong, but it wasn’t a swift kill either. This type of beast required skill to take down. No ordinary swordsman, bow-for-hire, or regiment from Ranae’s finest could simply strike at its heart and trade in its head in for coin and glory. It was more complicated than that. The people of Loksdale needed professional help. They needed me. They needed a templar\*. Though, given the circumstances, a beast like this would be simple prey for patient hunters or swarms of footmen *if* they weren’t so silent, so deadly. They were lanky, blue-skinned humanoids bearing jagged teeth, razors for claws, and beating white eyes that did not function. But even if they couldn’t see with their eyes, their heightened senses dulled the fact. They are called: ‘caecorum’\*. Nasty creatures, them. The best way to counter a caecorum was to ignore it. They would, in return, do the same. Not this time, however. This one made a habit out of snatching people, children mostly, from local settlements as a source of food. It needed to die. Blade’s length hidden behind my robe, hand on its hilt, I had taken on the stance of New Mundi\* and waited patiently, eyes darting to and fro. Any proper vision was limited from behind my helmet, but it was enough, all I needed. Moments went by without movement. I shifted my gaze frantically from tree to tree, bush to bush. The only sound was the deafening rain that dropped to the canopy quicker and quicker the longer I stood around. Was the beast on my left? No. Behind me? No. My right? My behind-- no. My front. The monster leapt from the canopy before me, claws ready to sink deep. I dodged to the right as it landed. The quickening rain hazed my vision. I moved to strike but it was gone. I stepped back and took on New Mundi once more. I watched, waited. *Where did it go?* I closed my eyes and listened, trying to make out an anomaly in the rain. Then I heard it. Feet swishing around in muddied water. It was behind. I spun around, unsheathed my sword, and thrusted it forward with all my might. The creature's screech pierced through the sound of the beating rain. All fell silent a moment. Dark blood dripped and mixed together with muddy water. I opened my eyes. The caecorum had not met with my plate, but with the end of my sword. I had struck true. It could only nip it’s awkward teeth at me, trying to claw through my gauntlet and blade. The blow was a fatal strike to the heart. It’s life essence would soon fade regardless of mercy, but I wasn’t hired to be sparing today. I stepped a tad closer to the blue beast and pushed him off my sword with one boot. It fell, back-first, into the mud with a hard splat. It rolled onto its stomach. It didn’t dare try and stand. The wound didn’t allow it. *I* wouldn’t allow it. The general of the local fort would need a show of proof that the caecorum was dead if they are to reward me properly for the deed. Watching the rain tap and bounce from the desperate creature, I sat indecisive, asking myself only of which part would be used as a trophy, as proof. I shrugged. A head always sufficed. To get to the general who called for me, I needed to go through Loksdale\* itself. It was an old, winding settlement with few homes and even fewer people. From the tales I’ve heard, the hamlet was built long ago by the families of Ranae’s Finest\*, the regiments of soldiers that are forever tasked with guarding the Overgrowth\* from any elven incursions. Just, the thing was, there hadn’t been any elven attacks on the continent in centuries. Perhaps they remain as a precaution or perhaps they were simply forgotten about by their superiors. Maybe someone knows. “You!” I heard someone call. Was it for me? I couldn’t say. I kept up my pace through the hamlet’s dirt roads. “Templar!” The voice called again. I stopped this time. Turning around, a local stood across the muddy pathway. He was a younger man, full head of brown hair, stiff stubble, and pale blue eyes. They called him Devon. I knew of him, helped me track the monster. I also knew of what he wanted: his little girl; the caecorum’s last victim. “You find her?” He asked, stepping closer. “Yes.” I begrudgingly stated. “Well? Where is she? Where’s my Lil’ Debbie?” “Dead, sadly. Along with the others who were taken.” I replied. Devon’s eyes grew wide. He looked to the muck, unable to make eye contact again. “Dead...” He remarked. I sighed, my hand tightening around the carcorum’s threaded hairs. I hated this part of the job. Hoped I could skip it this time by not addressing it, not making amends. It didn’t work. Devon fell completely silent. He clenched his fist and step within inches of me. “Could’ve saved her if you got ‘ere sooner, I’m sure!” He blurted in a rage. “‘er blood’s on your hands, not that *thing* you hold!” He gestured toward the head. I had to soothe him before he did something rash, something he’d regret. “My condolences for not saving her. She’s been avenged, if it counts for anythin--” “It counts for not a damn thing!” He said in a brash. Devon huffed. I could smell the foul aroma that irradiated off his tongue. His tears mixed with what few droplets of rain fell from the sky. He gave me a shove backward. My free hand instinctively fell upon the hilt of my blade. A small crowd began to spy on us from nearby huts, hovels, and street corners. I could see him wind up a fist. *Damn fool.* I thought. He’d shatter a bone on pure mithril\* anywhere he’d strike. I let go of my sword and grabbed hold of his wrist before the blow could land. “Attacking me won’t change a thing.” I said, releasing his arm. He fell onto his knees and began to weep. I looked down on him a moment. Devon balled uncontrollably. I turned away and kept walking, lest another spout of anger pour from him. The folk that watched began to disperse with my departure. I hung my head low. Was I at fault? His daughter was taken three nights ahead of my arrival. She was naut but bones and gore when I found the body. The possibilities of ‘what if’ rung throughout my mind but I shook them away. *It’s not befitting of a templar to second guess an action.* As I was taught. I couldn’t let it get to me. I needed to return to the task at hand. My employer resided in an old fort forever perched on a hill that overlooked the vast sprawl of untamed wilderness that lined the eastern coasts. The one I approached was one of the oldest, built just after man found victory in the War of Unity\*. They call it: Fort Duvane, appropriately named after the first general to command the garrison. Village folk from across the continent would tell their children about about the man named Duvane. It is said that, on the first night of a blistering winter, General Duvane ordered his men to stand out in the freezing temperatures and any who caught a cold were deemed unworthy of working the fort’s infrastructure. Duvane supervised them all night and, in a twist of irony, only Duvane caught a cold, thus being removed from power. In truth, the actual Duvane had forced his men to work endlessly in the cold with little rest which lead to his men hanging their dear general on a nearby tree. Amusing how tales passed down through the generations are blurred. Even more amusing how rowdy and lawless the first ranaens were. Different time, different people, I suppose. My long walk to the garrison had been stopped by the fort’s large, wooden gate. Outside it, one guard, decorated in cloth, leather, and plate (in that order) stood, arms crossed. He spied my likeness as I approached and signaled for me to halt. I stopped at his command. He uncrossed his arms and looked me over. From his lips, the man spat a wad of gunk off to the side before turning away and banging a fist on the gate. “Templar here to collect his reward! Open the gate!” He shouted. On the other side, a man -- no, two men -- shuffled around, unlocking the gate before slowing pulling it open. The gate’s cracked wood creaked and groaned as if it were in pain. I patiently waited, glancing in every direction. A few moments of admiring the views passed before the gate was finally opened and I was waved inside. A lone soldier waited for me on the inside. He was to be my escort to the general; not like I needed it. I had been here once a few hours earlier. Either way, I obediently followed quietly. To reach the general’s office, we had to trek across the courtyard, up the ramparts, and along the wall to a stubby tower on the far corner of the fort where we stopped at a door. The guardsman that accompanied me banged on the wood with the palm of his hand. “Templar’s back, sir!” He shouted. “Ah, uh, good! A moment, templar!” The general shouted back. From inside came faint giggling. It wasn’t the giggling of a man but a woman. My companion guard eyed the door and snickered. “Seems the boss’s got a bit company, eh? Probably one of them wenches that works the inn down the hill.” He said quietly enough for only my ears. “Possibly.” I replied, leaning back against the ramparts. We waited there for, what it seemed like, a moon cycle, before he finally called for me to come in. I opened the door and allowed my escort to shut it behind me. On the far end of the room, passed the prestigious decor and hunting trophies, sat the general, an aging man with grey hair, garbed in crimson red armor that proudly sported the ranaen lily on the breast. He was seated behind a solid oak desk cluttered with various knickknacks. Next to him, standing shyly against the wall was a young woman-- no, a young *elven* woman wrapped in a clean, white towel. She had pointed ears, a fair complexion, and a delicate frame. It seemed the general had an escort of his own. “Come in, templar, make yourself at home.” He beamed. “What’s mine is yours...! Well, maybe not her.” He slyly winked the elf’s direction. She giggled. “Here for my reward.” I stated, stepping toward his desk and dropping the caecorum’s head on its surface. A few of the general’s ornaments and papers were misplaced by the head’s sudden arrival. Faint traces of blood fell from the open neck and stained the wooden desktop. The general’s face turned sour at the sight. Looking away from the decapitated head, he opened a desk drawer and dug through the compartment a moment before setting a hefty coin purse next to the head. “There you are,” He began. “Now leave me, templar, I’ve important... *business* to attend to.” The elf giggled again, shuffling over to meet the man. I reached down and took the bag. By its weight, it was roughly two hundred coins worth. I gave the general one firm nod before showing myself out. As I neared the door, he shouted my direction. “You need somethin’ to spend it on, try the inn at Whitehorse. Wenches there know how to work a bed!” He chuckled at his own joke, the elf giggling along for the third time. I left the general to his ‘important business’ and found my own way back out of the fort. As I stepped out the main gate, I looked out to the horizon.. The sun had fallen farther over the mountains. Darkness had engulfed the wide sprawl of land around me. There’s was little chance I’d risk the backroads of the continent this late, so I scaled down the hill and returned down to Loksdale to, hopefully, find an inn that supplied a decent bed without a required harlot. A proud and well-gowned lady stood on a grassy hill, far off in front of me. She was under the shade of a tree, one familiar. I stepped toward her. A man, proud and well-dressed stepped over to join her. He familiar too. I found myself running to them, my pace quickening. They both turned and looked on in horror. The world behind me began to fall into a deep abyss. I started the run faster. *Faster*. I began shouting at the couple, but it caught me The abyss was too fast and I was too slow. It’s pressure buckled my knees and dropped me to the ground. I watched it overtake the hill and the couple. There was laughter. Then there was screams. I was helpless. I had to watch. I couldn’t turn away. The thunder overhead caused my eyes to shoot open. I lay there for at least an hour, still armored, unable to fall back asleep. Every so often the lightning from outside would light my abode in a flash of blue from the small gaps between the walls and the roof near the top of the room. It was a nice (and clever) way to air out a room, even if it makes sleep difficult during storms. Eventually I sat up. The room flashed blue again. My eyes wandered in the darkness until they caught light from the gap between my door and the floor. Someone was still awake. I rubbed at my eyes before dragging myself out of bed. The room flashed blue once again. To start the day, I stretched my arms and legs before gearing up for my return to the monastery. I redid my sword’s sheath around the waist, slipped on my plated gloves, reattached my helmet, and threw on the standard white shaw every templar wore over my armor, tying it in place by it’s loose strip of cloth that dangled just above the hips. Carefully, I patted it down, making sure the drape fell below my ankles and wasn’t caught on any plate. *Never allow your robe to snag. It could cost you your life.* As told by my tutor. He was wise. I trusted his reasoning. Told the whole class of the unkept templar that couldn’t successfully dodge a sword because his robe caught under his plate. Truly, I don’t know if it was a true story or not. Either way, I follow his advice to this day. When I was ready, I snatched up my bag of gold and quietly retreated from my room. The inn was quiet as I entered the main lodging. The light that shined under the door was the tavern’s large fireplace that crinkled and cracked in hues of orange and yellow. Two others shared the room with me. One was the innkeeper who neatly tidied her station in the light of the fire. The other was Devon who wept at a far-side table. When I questioned him the day before, he had been drinking away his sorrows. *Heavily*. It was a miracle I got him to tell me anything about his daughter’s disappearance. In fact, his vague description of the girl was the only reason I found the caecorum’s lair. Now, however, he was without bottle and mug. Seems he was cut off sometime last night before he drank himself to death. “Morning.” The innkeeper whisper over to me, interrupting my thoughts. Her back was to me as she toyed with bottles, boxes, and cups, but she knew I was there. “Morning.” I replied. “Have a good sleep?” She asked. The main room flashed blue, thunder crackled overhead. “As good as any in this weather.” I said. “Understandable. Sorry ‘bout that.” She turned, bottle of ale in hand and a towel in the other. Her green eyes and fair skin sparkled in the orange fire. Very carefully she wiped the bottle clean and sat it on the counter. “I assume you’ll be leaving now?” “That’s right.” I replied. “How much do I owe you for the room?” I started to unravel the coin purse’s strings, but her words stopped me. “Not a copper, templar.” She smiled. “You helped us enough by slaying that monster. A free room is the least I can do for you... but, ah, sure you don’t wanna wait out the storm? It can get pretty bad out there.” “I’ve survived worse. I’ll be fine, thank you.” “Well, if that’s what you wish, good luck on the way back to your temple-- ” “Monastery.” I interrupted. Lightning flashed. “Of course, my apologies...” She said, trailing off. “Hey, ah, if you’re ever in need of a place to stay, and you’re in the area, you’re always welcome here.” The frown she wore turned into a smile. “Be well and may the Eight watch over your travels.” I offered over a bow before turning over my room’s key and making off toward the exit. However, just before I got to the door, I stopped. From across the way, Devon’s sniffles mixed with the sounds of rain. I tried to ignore it, ignore him. but I couldn’t. I gripped the doors handle and attempted to pull it open, but I couldn’t. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t do anything, my mind focused on his demeanor. Lightning flashed. I found myself at the man’s side, the only place my body would take me. He had not looked at me yet, but he knew I was there. “What do *you* want?” Devon said in rugged tone. Without a ‘hello’, I reluctantly tossed the bag of jingling gold on the table. His ears perked and his eyes wandered over. “Your daughter’s body is just inside the Overgrowth.” I began. “Take a group of men, follow the dirt road, and make a left when you reach a crossroads. She’s... well, what’s left of her, is there, just inside the underbrush.” He slowly looked up as I spoke, his tears subsiding. Devon went to speak, but my words came over his. “The coin is for the tab you built up drinking down all her booze yesterday.” I pointed toward the innkeeper who had been intently watching us from behind the bar. “Anything left over, use it and buy your daughter a nice casket, one from the capital. Spare no expense. Understand?” As the words left my mouth and he slid the hefty pouch away from my reach, I found myself second-guessing my actions. My hand formed a fist. Should I have done that? Maybe only half the coin was adequate. The grandmaster certainly wouldn’t be pleased I come with no coin... *again*. “I... I don’t know what to say.” Came Devon’s voice. “Don’t have to say anything,” I responded. “I’ll already get an earful for allowing you to run off with my coin.” Without another word, I strided away and met success in exiting the building this time. At least someone would be happy.