Hunter and Hunted - Menace - DTA Research

Twilight is setting over Port Ffirst; and in the shadows, danger ever stirs.
As the day draws to a close, and the good people of the city return to their homes, others emerge to serve and sate their needs: rumours grow of walking corpses, unsatisfied in their shallow graves...

A group of cloaked men leaves the Cavernous Seashank. Menace has taken to travelling in the company of his henchmen, Ishmael and his men now ever at his side. He may be the Prince of Thieves; the King of Beggars; but fear ever haunts even the highborns’ steps.
Not a night has passed since the day his apprentice was taken that he has slept in the same room twice. Whatever is hunting him, it is relentless - and it always comes back.
Twice now the undead horror has made its move, preceded always by a bone-chilling howl, followed by a vicious attack. The first in the pawnshop; the second in the streets: the corpse-walker had flung itself at Menace from an alley, but was nimbly dodged and crashed into a wall, the henchmen’s hatchets hacking away at the thing before it could get back up. A final, wheezing hiss escaped its cold, scabbed lips as the bloody cleaver bit deep into its neck.

Distasteful, this dead flesh...

Since then, Menace has put up his apprentice Carl in a rented room above the Laughing Hog cook-shop with a purse of gold, to recuperate and to remove him from harm’s way; meanwhile the pawnshop is being administered for the time being by Ishmael’s wife Heather. Menace has instructed the urchins Billy and Jean, two fleet-footed boys of 12, to rally the other children and serve as his his eyes and ears; lookouts reporting any rumours and sightings of waking corpses to him. Thusly armored, Menace has continuously shifted locations, ever on the move, sleeping in rotating rooms at the Hook, the Seashank, warehouses and workshops; one eye ever on the shadows, from whence the next attack might come.

This is a distraction. Your art suffers...

---

He has visited the temple of Umberlee, seeking information on his hunter. There, he met Onno Uri again, the tortle warrior who had assisted Menace with finding his apprentice, and who directed him to the high priest of Umberlee in Port Ffirst.

Pale believers and false priests all. They know nothing of our art. Our needs...

The priest revealed the dire truth. A revenant - a spirit of vengeance that invades the corpses of the recently deceased - hunts him; never to tire, never to relent, without mercy or respite, until the quarry is slain, and it’s purpose fulfilled.

Do not give in. Remember your rage. Everything that lives can be killed!

“There is no other way?” Menace asks the priest of Umberlee, Onno Uri looking on silently.
“Well… there is one other way.” the priest ventures doubtfully.

“What is it?” There is urgency in this petitioner’s eyes, the priest recognises. Not surprisingly, for one hunted by an evil spirit. And yet… there is more. A hunger that demands to be sated. The priest recoils.

“There is a spell. Powerful and rare, only rumours abound. You could… make a Wish. At the moment the spirit’s undead host is put down, you would cast it, seeking to alter the very fabric of reality itself, and wipe that evil spirit from existence. It is a thing not lightly done. There could be… consequences. But it might just work.”

“Where can I find this spell? Who knows it?” the man asks, an eagre spark in his black eyes, like a flame promised to a freezing man.

“That I do not know. I have never met anyone who knows how to weave such magic. It is a thing of legend more than anything.” The spark dims, but does not die. Once the spark catches, there is no stopping the fire.

The petitioner nods, and makes to leave, his entourage of hard men, bearing hard looks, waiting at the door.

“One more thing.” the priest says. The man stops.
“While I sympathize with your… predicament, I cannot help you further. One of the corpses brought to the temple for proper rites and burial rose here, in this chamber, and attacked one of our acolytes, before running off. I would ask you to stay away. It is a matter of security, you understand…” the priest looks at the unmoving petitioner, then shoots a furtive glance at Onno, who gives a reassuring nod, cradling his heavy warhammer.
“You are not welcome here.”

Menace nods wordlessly, but drops a small purse at the door into the donation box. Ringed by his men, he leaves the temple. The high priest breathes a sigh of relief.

---

You have your answer. Find this spell and rid yourself of this nuisance.

The words continue to form in his mind, and Menace answers silently.
“This is your fault! If not for you, that revenant would never have risen!”

You profane the gift of our Bloody-Handed Lord? Lie to others as you must, but do not lie to yourself. The will to take that wretch’s life was all your own.

He remembers that night in the rain. That burning desire to feel in control. To feel powerful. To be the master of his own fate; and cut short the lives of others that have wronged him.

Everything is as it must be. And everything shall be as you will it. I promised you vengeance. And vengeance you shall have.

His mind darts over options and possibilities, looking for an angle, a route to deliverance. He does not know a mage of such power who could utter the spell. And yet...

Cease this self-pity!

He breathes deeply. The voice fills his mind.

Harness your fear and let it fuel your rage!

The smile returns to his lips. He is burdened with purpose, and elated by the thrill of the hunt.

Let Malice be your guide!

This is what it means to be alive. Noone will take that from him, though many have tried.
But this is not his first dance, and it won't be his last.

DEAL WITH IT!!!