Protectorate III

A few miles north of Lisbon Valley, directly on the other end of the forest with which the Garden of Eden lay, was a town of Edgehaven, sparsely populated by one hundred and eighty-one people. Edgehaven, or, as its locals called it, Haven, was quaint and especially quiet, with no special landmarks nor interest that would make its tourism boom.

There were, of course, projects from years gone by that wanted to solve that non-problem, yet all failed at the might of normalcy and the behest of its denizens.

Winter was always a quiet time for Haven, more quiet than the other seasons, as the snow would come in and purge their land of the green that constantly surrounded their abodes.

That quietness was disturbed on one December evening.

Blood marked the streets of Haven, trailing along house after house with nary a sight of struggle nor hesitation. A bout of screams, baleful and shallow, no more than thirty seconds each, erupted within the confines of the town, of which none were addressed by its denizens.

It was not that they did not address it, more that they could not. For when the sun rose up on the following December morning, the denizens of Edgehaven were no more.

The town's desolation was not long for two figures who walked the stretch of road that went past the highway mark; tracing a line of snow until they stood in front of Haven's only watering hole, an Irish pub built by its founder during the gold rush, Wet Maeve.

"Why do you think they called it the "Wet Maeve"? An inside joke, perchance?" Asked the tallest of the two. His bony facial structure and gaunt eyes betrayed the warmth in his tone.

"You can't just say perchance whenever you feel like it. There are rules to this world and its languages." Admonished the other man, more heavy and wide than the other, and had a more sinister tone than one man should.

"Perhaps after this, I will find myself a tutor in the languages." The bony man agreed to his companion's words. "After this, of course."

Their conversation halted at the sound of footsteps approaching, multiple feet trudging through snow and dirt behind and around them. Three hundred and sixty-two feet marched across the town and stopped once they were within sight.

Snow sprayed across the ground as the door to the watering hole burst open and a woman, no older than sixty, came out, bloodied and beaten, with a knife in her stomach. 

"H-how did you find me?" The woman, a redhead, lightly freckled, which was barely visible thanks to the soot around her bruised face. "I-I was w-warded from… Alistair."

The woman's blue eyes flitted black as she snarled at the sight of Alistair, Hell's Grand Torturer. She spat a globule of blood-stained saliva, hitting the demon in the face.

"Well, hello, my dear apprentice." Alistair greeted calmly as he wiped the spit off his meat sack's face. "Human wards are nothing to the ones invented by our own kin, my dear. You should have known that by now."

"A-are you going to kill me?" She asked, fear now taking root in her bones. "Why leave–Fuck. You've…. The whole town?"

Alistair chortled at her realization, spreading his hands far and wide. "What can I say, I'm putting the band back together."

"Enough horseplay, Alistair." Alistair's companion grumbled, stepping forward and grabbing the woman by the throat. His eyes, once brown, flitted to snake-like yellow as he snarled right in front of the woman's face.

"I always kill treasoners, even more so for lazy ones. Yet, for some reason, I feel myself being… generous. Can you feel it? Me, being generous."

The woman croaked out an answer, "Y-yeash, Lord Azazhel."

Azazel grinned, letting the woman go and bleed on the floor. "Good. I've always been generous and a good father. Haven't I, Meg?"

The demon known as Meg appeared behind the two demons as she answered, "Yes, Father."

"Now that we've established your… generosity," Alistair could barely repress the groan out of his mouth. "Dagon's Bane–"

Azazel grunted and glared at Alistair. "No nicknames."

Alistair's eyes flitted to a milky white hue before nodding his head. "Fine. Richard Greythorne, I heard you know of him… personally."

The woman looked up from the ground as she stammered out an answer, "Yes. His lover, the werewolf's daughter. I taught her in college."

Alistair nodded. "Good. Our hex dealers can't seem to find him, our people across the roads doesn't come back once we set upon him. We need to know where he is and what he is doing. Provide, say, the lay of the land."

"W-what? His manor is across the forest. You can run there!" She pointed towards the stretch of woodlands far into the horizon. "W-why… right."

She seemed to come to grips with her situation, slumping down the floor as Azazel stepped back to talk with Meg. Alistait inched closer, a smile tugging at his bony face.

"Right. We're not going to let you suffer, dear. Straight back down to the pits, you are. After this, of course."

She shook her head, "I-I thought I was… I was done. Alright. Who am I going as?"

●●●●●

"Celeste Hightree."

Irwin eyed the pink-haired woman in his peripheral, careful not to let her see his scrutiny as they dallied around her. It was hard to talk about hunters when all of them were trained to pick up on the smallest notes of 

"Career military woman, distinguished medal. Ace Air Force Pilot before being shot down in the Pacific and fighting her way out of enemy lines, head-hunted by special forces to be flown across the globe." Archibald made a sound resembling a forlorn horn as he finished chatting out the woman's resume. "Great gal! I do believe she would be a great match for you, son, if it were not for her… proclivity to a certain demographic."

"Ok, old man." Irwin laughed at Archibald's hesitation. "I'm gonna go check the lesbian myself."

He perked up, "Alrighty, then. Oh, wipe the blood off your jacket."

"Oh, god. There we go." Irwin stepped within Celeste's hearing range, wiping all the while.

As if waiting for his arrival, Celeste, and her dark brown hair that reached down her waist, swung her head towards Irwin with narrowed eyes.

"Howdy, cowboy." She greeted him excitedly. "Heard you've been getting busy. Was wondering when you're gonna get to me."

 Irwin shook his head. "If only I'd known we have a supreme badass in the party,"

"Ha! Celeste Hightree, Supreme Badass. I should put that on a card." She said,

"You can call me Irwin." He extended his hands, which she took.

The moment their hands touched, Irwin felt a current, not entirely unfamiliar to him, surge through the tips of her hand unto his. He smiled, a crease forming in his forehead.

"Celeste, Supreme Badass." She withdrew her hand with flushed cheeks before hiding it with a bottle of light beer. "So, uh, a friend of mine told me that you have this idea of a… united hunter organization? Sounds hard to operate."

"Well, I won't be operating it. Believe you me, I'd rather gut through a Wendigo than spend seven hours going through a hunter's bank accounts." Irwin joked.

That was a lie, however, as he found it quite calming to go through bank statements and other financial documents not of his own. Although he was not technically a CPA, he did help Dr. Gissele file her tax returns a year before he went to jail.

He continued, "I have other people doing that for me. I'm just a figurehead, financier, and, well, let's face it, the only guy who can get the things in that table!"

He pointed towards the main table, now empty save for a half a bottle of Health potion and three boxes of anti-possession slugs.

"I've tried one… it's amazing." She exhaled as she touched the side of her face. "I'm, as you know, a witch hunter, mostly dealing with potions and brews, that kind of stuff."

"Must be very hard to drink one, then." Irwin pursed his lips.

"It is–Well, was. I, uh, I was losing my sight and smell, incremental at first, but it's been blurry now for months." She pointed at her brown eyes shining through the dampened irises. "It's not all gone, though, so…"

"I have something stronger and more specific, Miss Hightree. You can ask Bobby that." Irwin said.

Celeste nodded weirdly. "Right. Bobby. Uh, would you mind showing me? Not to be too, you know–"

"Of course not, but not here." Irwin leaned in close. If any other person would stop their day-drinking, they would think the two were a couple by how Irwin let his lips near her ears. "Dinner tomorrow night. You and me and a few hunters. Safe, private enough to show you everything I wanted to release into this world."

Celeste closed her eyes as she nodded. "I'll be there."