Devils Among Us (Agnes x Vin)

[Vinaein]

@Agnes

Across a grim land, scarred by flame and damnation, the soldier and hunter moved on. His booted feet tapped into the sides of the horse whose heavy hoods trampled down upon the ancient dirt, throwing up light motes of dust as he walked. Lucian Caedus, late of the now-extinct town of Whitefield, was glancing ahead, his blue eyes peering through the gloom as he made his way to complete his assignment. His horse snorted under him, the great beast marching onward. as the bounty hunter followed the trail.

He threw a hand up at a branch, the dark glove snapping aside the low-hanging wood to the side. A light shower of leaves formed a portal to him to bypass. His mind, as it ever was, was filled with thoughts of those he hunted from the vampiric to the demonic to the criminal. Namely it was about killing them. After all, there was no finer bounty hunter in all the blasted and scarred lands than Lucian. It was why the Sheriff of Havenbrook had sent for him, had given him this assignment. And now, after all this time, after countless of the monstrous wretches cut down in his path, Lucian had a job he was genuinely looking forward to through the plains and badlands...

Someone involved in the affairs of demons.

His calm, handsome features stared right ahead ahead, his body wrapped in a spun black cloak that gave the impression of a crouching bat with furled wings. He wore several knives at his sides, but his principal weapons were the guns at his hips. The handles were wrapped in a dark leather, the pistols a bright silver shade, freshly polished and oiled. The bullets were likewise made from gleaming silver, a melted down blessed cross that he had acquired at a monastery some time ago before it could be overrun. Even then, so well armed, Lucian did not relax his guard. Life was always hard for an expert hunter who specialized in the prey he did most days. Today did not see fit to bring with it an exception.

Lucian had spent the majority of the morning getting his guns ready, ensuring they were loaded and safe in their holsters in case he was attacked before he could arrive at the home of Silas Randall. He'd been cleaning his tunic and cloak as well to his satisfaction before returning to the hunt on the back of his horse, heading down the trail before it could grow cold. It had brought him into the swamp, with its thick mud and fetish air and a swamp was never his favorite location to hunt. Thick, dark, full of mud to limit mobility with little telling of what may be lurking there. This would at least take him to a place where he could freely move, even as mud sloshed under his boots he thought.

Thankfully, the bog gave way soon enough, through lands where the sun seemed ill-suited to shining. It was like stepping into a larder, offering oneself to the appetites of the devils that lurked in these lands. Countless soldiers and hunters had ridden into these grim, cheerless lands and had never emerged. They only succeeded in offering their blood-filled bodies to the rapacious appetites of the monsters that lurked within, joining the ranks of the undead or joining unmarked graves.

Just as had beset Whitefield. Lucian had arrived after the fact to see the remains of demonic appetites. His visions had granted him a grim taste of what had transpired: When the town had burned, the screams filling the air as friends and neighbors died next to one another. He was looking forward to being paid, but in truth this was more personal than he expected. Him, a man who fought, making a living of hunting down monsters. Whether they assaulted villages, whether they hid themselves in the villages, he found them. Always waiting until he could find his greatest quarry.

And with the outlines of the castle in the distance, his hand closed against the butt of a gun.. He was close, he thought. He was was almost there.

And this devil worshiping scum was worth just as much dead as alive.

 

[Agnes]

High noon always made for good hunts. Rarely were people out in the scorching sun in the frontier, leaving most small towns appearing even more dead and destitute than they already were. Littlepeak was one such place, akin to someone afflicted by the rot - moribund and sickly, a hair away from crossing over into undeath. Dust and tumbleweed muddled the wind and blurred the vision, though that did not deter the calm, steady advance of a certain horse-bound desperada.

Once dead and twice cursed, Senna Hendricks was the very definition of what one might call a devil of the West. A harsh, severe face beset by strangely attractive features, dark skin and raven black hair concealed underneath a wide-brimmed hat and a grey leather coat of fine craftsmanship. The spur attached to her boots gently tapped the rear of her snow-white mare, Dawn, urging the magnificent steed onwards. Against her chest gently swayed a necklace with a blessed silver cross of the church as the horse padded against the dusty worn down main road of the one-street town. Even devils paid reverence to God, it seemed.

Her dark eyes lazily took in the town, her head turning ever so slightly as she spotted the lone saloon. The Dire Owl. Strange name, she mused to herself as she slowed her steed to a halt near the entrance and dismounted. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw a few townspeople looking at her from inside their boarded-up windows, quickly scurrying away when they caught her haunting eyes. The locals weren't very welcoming, obviously. Gently, she affixed the reins to a post and petted Dawn's snout. The beast snorted and nuzzled into her, and a ghost of a smile flickered across Senna's face before it disappeared again, as quick as it came.

To the north, there was the imposing silhouette of Fort Nox, casting a large shadow over the valley. To the south was the marsh that Senna did herself the favour of avoiding, wrapping around the bog towards the west. It had added a good several hours to her journey, but she did not want to chance a waltz with the things that hid in the muddy swamps of the place. Not that she had no way of dealing with potential threats - the braided steel lasso on her hip and the bulletless pistol the other attested to that. It was simply that she preferred to be efficient, and she needed to be when the head she was hunting belonged to a devil worshipper.

One that worshipped the very devil that turned her into this undead monstrosity.

Bounties did not often interest the gunslinger, as one with a timer on their lives often had little use for money. She was already living on borrowed time, and she loathed to spend it chasing petty criminals and pathetic weaklings that called themselves demons for a couple of fistfuls of coin. No, she had better things to do. But the name she saw on the poster back in Havenbrook had piqued her interest enough to pull her in. Silas Randall. Gunslinger. Murderer. Cultist. Wanted man.

The aged wooden doors creaked as Senna entered the saloon. It was a dingy, depressing place, smelling of piss and vomit, but it was obviously where the people of Littlepeak congregated. She counted ten heads, not including the man that manned the counter. The odd one out amidst the humans and elves and orcs - a furred creature with a wolf's face. Werewolves did not often stay long in their morphed form, so this was an anomaly to say the least - but Senna wasn't one to judge.

Promptly ignoring the stares of the customers, she marched slowly up the counter, every step jingling as the wooden floorboards shifted under her weight. The wolf seemed to pay her no mind. Senna snapped her fingers.

"Whiskey. Pour." The wolf turned to her, snout flaring with an amused and impressed snort, and poured her a glass. Senna tossed a single silver coin over the counter and took a sip. It tasted terrible.

"Slow day?" she asked cordially. The barkeep folded his arms and turned to her fully.

"Not necessarily. You just walked in."

"Fair," she conceded. She finished the whiskey and tossed over another coin, the clattering of metal ringing across the quiet establishment. The man moved to refill her glass, but she waved him away.

"I wanted to ask a few questions instead. If that's okay."

"Aye. Name's Warwick."

"Senna." Another coin.

"Looking for a man here. Said to have fled north from Havenbrook a week ago. Silas Randall. Long black hair. Tall. Sound familiar?"

"Don't know him," he replied gruffly.

"No?"

"No."

Just then, the door creaked open, and Senna turned to look at the second non-regular to enter the Dire Owl that day.

 

[Vinaein]

Through the bog he walked, his destination ahead. He could perceive the towering fort to the north. Nox, he thought its name those...and at least the signposts about marked the signs of civilization. Frontier towns were something, built in the ruins of ancient kingoms. Once they may have stood as a testament to bygone glories, pillars and faded statues speaking of a greatness that has once dwelled within these great planes. Now, out of pockets of life and humanity, there was nothing but a haunting ground, a place for monsters to lurk. Those who set their teeth into the flesh of men to rend them asunder.

He would have liked to say that hunting monsters was only his mission. That it was merely a trade, the way some men might have claimed carpentry or the culinary arts. But he had to admit, to hunt and destroy the beasts of the night was more than a passion; it was something of a privilege now. With ruthless efficiency, he stalked them. Without mercy he ended them. The payment kept him going so that he might kill more of them. He fought so that he might find those who worshiped monsters and make them pay...

After all, it was personal.

All in memory. In some way, Lucian was a walking ghost already. The eradication of many towns had weighed on his soul, the demonic corruption seeping though the lands. And so he went on and fought as he knew he must. He had little to remain to him save for vengeance on the road he walked. Perhaps, he thought, when the path was walked until it could be trod no more, perhaps when they were gone, he might know something like peace.

No birds sang as he reached the town. No animals called. The lands outside were as barren and lifeless as a particularly dreary graveyard. Tendrils of mist encircled him as he stepped on into the town, looking at the people who glanced this way or that, going about their business. He assumed the town was well defended, at least. It was ever the way of the people to conceal themselves inside the safest of regions, guarded by magic and by the most powerful deeds of expert fighters. The sheriff must have been something.

He simply went on, tipping his hat as his horse moved onward, trodding upon the dirt. He shook the dust from his shirt. With a deep breath, he looked ahead, seeing the tavern. And gods be damned, he was thirsty, he thought. He could really use a brief bite and drink before he set out again. He might even learn something about his quarry, if there was trouble around.

Demonic worshipers, he knew, could be quite territorial. They guarded their domains zealously, violently at times. He had to bait a fair few of them at times to get around this.

He was being incredibly cautious despite the seemingly casual and laid back attitude towards it, though. It was going to be nice to be loaded with coin for this, nevermind the personal satisfaction. The bounty had promised him a good set of crowns per head and he intended to collect when he brought his quarry back. After all, the ones putting out the bounty? They were rich, they could afford it. The rest was entirely within the mystical realm of "Not His Problem" once he achieved his satisfaction.

The tavern door swung open and he walked in, letting the weary dust of the trail roll from him as he swept his gaze across the room. And then...

He heard the name. Silas Randall...seeing a woman at the bar. Dark-skinned, dangerous looking. Well, he thought. Intriguing....just as he'd entered...

He didn't quite believe in fate. But he didn't fully believe in coincidence either. So he walked on, to the bar. "Take a whiskey...and some information, if you've got it. On bounties..."

 

[Agnes]

Well, he was no wishy washy pretty boy, that's for sure.

The woman simply watched as he approached, strutting with all the swagger of a man who knew his worth, or rather, the bullets in his guns. The folk in the tavern sat up a little straighter now, seeing two strangers arrive in quick succession and their well-earned suspicions flaring up. Some random desperado coming into town on their way to hunt some monster or demon was nothing new, but having two come in one after another was no common occurrence, to say the least. They too didn't believe in fate and coincidences.

The man did the exact same thing she did. Senna held back an amused chuckle. The barkeep, Warwick, let out a huff through his snout and poured another glass for the newcomer. "Can do on the whiskey. Can't on the information, same thing I told her. Littlepeak doesn't see much traffic for exciting fellows like you, you understand. We're a peaceful little community." The wolf's attempt at concealing whatever secret he held was almost laughable, but Senna knew better than to agitate the barkeep in a saloon where every customer inevitably had ancient magics and hextech weapons at their fingertips.

"Tough luck, stranger," she drawled, shrugging and raising a glass to him before taking a sip. "To your health. Name's Senna." The glass was downed in one go, and she glanced back at the wolf, who refilled the glass without a single word. "I have a suspicion we might be interested in the same bounty, stranger," she said, sparing him a glance of her unnaturally golden eyes. "Normally I ain't got time for rivals, but looks like we're both stuck at the moment. If only our good friend here would help out," she said pointedly.

The wolf scoffed. Senna sighed. "Look. I know I come in peace. I don't mean any of you any harm. If you don't have anything to say, how about telling me... well, us, the name of someone who might?' To that, Warwick was a little less apprehensive, and after a moment of deliberation (helped by a few generous coins from Senna), he relented. "It's dangerous to even mention his name, you understand. But you can try your luck with Sheriff Kiramman, but she left town this morning to bring in some hooligan that stole some horses. In the meantime... there's her partner. Violet."

He jerked his head at a woman enjoying a drink at the far end of the saloon, the only one seemingly unbothered by the arrival of the two strangers. She was strange... to say the least. Her hair was a bright, unapologetic pink, one side of her head shaved off, wearing a large red overcoat with her hands wrapped in white bandages, splotches of red visible where her knuckles would be. Senna glanced at the man and raised a brow. "Fancy going on a wild goose chase?"

 

[Vinaein]

The man in the doorway tilted back his head, his footfalls heavy against the floor. The plce was the same as one might have expected, Luc thought as his eyes took it all in. He reached to tip his hat there, his guns locked at his side in their holsters. He didn't intend to clear them out...no need. Not in such a pleasant, picturesque establishment like this...

Keep your iron holstered, keep yourself in check. Those were lessons he had long ago learned, often to their benefit and his own. Peace, tranquility...do no harm, but take no shit, in essence. Demon hunting was a tough enough and lonely life. No need to add to it with unpleasantness. Time for a drink, at least. Something good and refreshing to wash away the dust of the road...

The wolflike bartender was passing something down while he cast his own gaze about the room, taking in the rough and tumble crowd. Well, best to avoid enforcers, he thought as he accepted the whiskey, taking a firm sip before setting it down. "Well, I've no intent of breaching that peace. I'll be on my way as soon as I get through this, never you fear nor nevermind."

He was about to mind his own business when he heard the words to his side and turned to see the beautiful woman with dark skin staring at him. He lifted his drink. "To your health as well. I'll drink to that. Lucian," he introduced himself before swallowing the rest of the amber liquid.

But if she was after the same bounty...well, that wasn't exactly unwelcome. Usually something like this could only mean competition, but it didn't seem his ersrtwhile friend before him had any hostility in mind when she looked at him. He decided to return peace with peace, his lips curling upward to his own smile. "Well. Nothing dangerous will pass these lips tonight..." He said.

He knew Sheriff Kiramman well, in fact. By more than reputation. He knew what a damned fine shot she was and how she kept order. And then there was Vi...well, the way those two looked at one another was something for folks to aspire to. For him? Give him some coins and a good brothel to spend them in, to present the illusion of care.

The sight of the famed Enforcer brought an eyebrow up, the woman focused on her own drink. Well, no reason to disturb her....Lucian smirked at the woman, Senna.

"That depends...you can shoot well?"

 

[Agnes]

Senna chuckled. "Wouldn't be here if I couldn't now, would I?" she said, subtly pulling back her coat to reveal the holstered pistol, the warped metal gleaming under the dim light of the saloon. It had no chamber for the bullets, only holding a small, greenish sphere that glowed as if it were alive. It was, in a way - magic lived in everything, just like devils lived among everyone. "Don't plan on using them except for a special someone though." And she left it at that - he was smart enough to figure out who.

She downed the second glass of whiskey. Golden eyes glanced at the enforcer who, by this point, had noticed her looking at her and gave a raised brow in response. Senna tipped her hat and received a nod in return. Doesn't seem too hostile, all things considered, but she wasn't exactly inviting either.

"Don't look like our friend is too keen on a conversation..." she muttered pointedly, more so at the wolf rather than the gentleman, Lucian. "Say... Lucy." She twirled the empty glass round in her hand, the vessel seemingly floating as if held up by ethereal energy. "You don't exactly strike me as posh. Guessing you're as mean as you look, but I haven't seen you 'round these parts. Where do you ride from?" She paused, leaning on the table with an elbow, fishing out a roll of cigar from her satchel and putting it between her dark lips. A snap of the fingers, and a flame erupted from her thumb, which was used to light the cigar.

A long drag, and a deep sigh.

"Havenbrook? Heard the sheriff there asked some bounty hunter for help."

 

[Vinaein]

The sound of her laugh brought a playful grin to Luc's handsome face. His smirk lifted up, his hat removed to reveal his short black hair, the glass turned over on the glass. He turned his own eyes to the woman's pistol, nodding in a gentle approval while she remarked about a 'special someone.' "If that's the case, I can promise that I'll save mine for a special 'someone' as well...a very expensive someone, in fact." His voice kept the teasing edge while he toyed with the whiskey glass, sending it back to Warwick for a refill.

"And make sure the lady gets one, too," he said. "On me. Sign of a newfound partnership?" Hell, when you weren't sure if you could trust someone...sometimes it made it just a bit better to share the drinks, while he kept his hat aside. She didn't look like the trusting sort, that was for sure....but he was rather used to things like that. Nothing particularly trustworthy about people who trusted too easily...

Lucy, though...tsk. "Well, that's a new one," he muttered to himself. "Can't say I'm really averse to being called a s'not Posh' and as for being mean? Well, that's just cold." He said. "Hail from this way and that, maybe Piltover and some other places, if that means anything..." he said as he watched her enjoy the cigar....

"But Havenbrook...that might ring a few bells." He looked amused there. "And if someone needs some help, maybe we're just the ones to offer it. If you're fine with a fifty fifty split on the proceeds...? I have a feeling we're here to get paid, not be heroes..."

That, and finish off some of the demons. Yeah, that sounded really, really good...