2 Red Twililght the Weaver Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

The Late Autumns Ride

The sky is a pale orange, the trees a bright red. The 'Traveler' rides today with only his team of horses. Any other day his partner would be alongside him, but today there is only his sword and bow. Today is not like other days; today he rides with a treasure of untold worth hidden within a brown leather sack. The Traveler lies to himself as he tries to calm "it's just another contract" but it's not, today no jowls need to change hands as it was a most trusted friend that pled for this last pilgrimage, he paid his bet with blood. Any other man he would have told "it's too late in the season to fly, besides such work is mint for a much younger generation" the Traveler understands well that his daughter is of only 14 years in age and she could not hand such a long trip alone.

Deep into the woods he must trot away from the better-weathered roads his chariot is rich and his team is healthy, the air is brisk, and he must tighten his shroud hiding deep within it cradling his almost frosted armorer and more importantly tired boons. He understands well that others want desperately what he now has.

Seemingly just beyond his sight the trees howl angrily, the sounds of hooves thunder ahead even louder than that of his horses, wood cracks and snaps as a shadow of dusk overlies the bright of dawn, a second Rider comes into sight charging clearly to the Traveler.

This one with a feminine form but nearly invisible under the gown of the desert-men 'It' wears. Its horse is blacker than even the darkest of the Traveler's, its maim and hooves flicker like an oily-black flame.

The Rider seems to know what it wants and where it is, It rushes the Traveler's wagon and cuts off to one side, a clawed furry hand stretches out to tries to grab the leather sack in passing. The Traveler wraps the rings around his arm and takes up his bow, loading not one but three arrows (thanks to a modification he made to it years ago) he fires a spray of arrows at the would-be thief, and It seems to melt into the darkness.

The Traveler might be reveled, but he has seen death, and nothing of this world dies like that, not the highest Arc-Magus or the most pious monk. "What devilry," he thinks "what a sad day to fly alone. I must ride hard and ride long. that monster will be back, but my team can outrun it!"

To the left in the trees the nightmare nays, the rider is back already a hefty scythe in hand with chain flicking off the back. The Rider bridges the gap and welds it scythe; murder is It's intent. The Traveler understands this well and is ready to fight back; he jerks off to one side swinging his carriage. Shocked the Rider falls back; the traveler laughs at the petty attempt to frighten him. He has been on a thousand pilgrimage and matched swords with at least twice as many monsters "She won't be back" he declares proudly.

But the Traveler is wrong. It appears again in a gray mist ahead alongside his horses; he can't use his bow again he might hit his team he goes for his sword instead and takes the leather sack as well. The Rider pulls up her scythe and swings at the horses. The Traveler leaps along the horses back's and hooks his sword beneath the scythe pushing agents it. The Rider is of balances the scythe is clunky to swing from horseback any good rider would know that. The traveler has questions that need answering and so won't let the Rider fall. He grabs her by the caller and unmasks the beast.

Much to his discontent, he sees a dog-faced witch as young as he is old, as delicate as he is strong with eyes as green as pine, as lovely as he is scared beneath his hood and mask. The Traveler has made a critical mistake, he hesitates to act and, in his work, a second's hesitation can cost a pint of blood. The Rider proves this, seemingly conjuring a hand ax to bury deep in his arm.

The traveler grunts and staggers away falling atop his favorite mare at the head of his team ripping away much of the riders clothing in the fall, the Rider turns tail to regroup herself. He spots three fox tails beneath her rob as he falls.

A grisly revelation befalls the Traveler, with only one arm he can't fight her when she returns, and his team can't outrun her. She is 'Kitsune' a bounty hunter for the heaviness, the traveler's partner spoke once having seen one, "what does it want?" he thinks aloud "It does not matter, it's in the way, I'll cut my team free and run with just my mare. A pilgrim must find his own path; I will choose one this monster dare not fallow."

So he does, with a swing of his sword he cuts the rings that hold his horses together and ushers on his lead mare charging with all the might they can muster, jumping Rokks and trampling brush and smaller trees away. The forest still howls in anger the Rider must not be far behind. The Traveler lowers his head and kicks the sides of his mount calling for more speed. A clearing ahead, definitely they could lose their hunter there, his horse is the fastest around, and with the open fields she'll never keep up.

Next, he spots they're coming to a canyon, "I can leap the bluff, the Kitsune will have to go around." as he does something bits him in the back. A glance and he spots the Kitsuna stuck on the other side, he was right...

Half a day passes before a monetary comes into sight, weekly the traveler kicks at the doors then dismounts his steed. A young monk comes to call. "The Pilgrim, I've seen you before, many blessings honored guest."

"save your blessings you will need them 'Turk'. I come with the most argent of messages. Belmont, son of Belmont, is dead, and this birthright must be delivered to his children. Thier salvation and yours depend on it" the traveler drops the sack at his feet as well as a smaller one containing jowls not easily counted by the monk. "Bring wine and courage you will need both, take my horse, to make it over the mountains and through the marsh, but do so with all hast for the devil herself comes from just over that ridge!"

The monk looks in the sack and sees only chain and a moldy book

"Two children, the whip for the boy, the book for the girl, know go, the Devil is coming and I have not the magic or strength enough to stop her."

The monk follows orders well; The Traveler walks only a hand full of paces away and draws his sword. The monk stairs in admiration of in intent, blood streams down one arm of the traveler and an ax is lodged deep into the back of his armor. But still, he stands to await a hero's death...

The Traveler watches with sinister glee as the Kitsuna charges him weapon overhead. A smirk reaches his lips as the painfully transparent nature of good and evil downs on him. Evil feeds off the blood and pain of the world, and good must carry the scares in the name of peace and righteousness.

So, it is done. May the Pilgrim, may we find peace in another life.