Death Hunt - part 1 (first edit)

The day was fading fast, the sun slowly setting behind the distant range of hills as John walked back towards his lodgings. The reddened sky threw everything into a surreal bas-relief, but John was far too occupied with his thoughts to notice the shadows dancing across the paving stones. "John" he thought savagely, "Why couldn't they have named me something different, something exciting" His mind played briefly with a list of names as his hands sub-consciously adjusted the leather harnesses and metallic accoutrements that yelled 'Barbarian' and 'Adventurer' to any passing eye. "Mylar" he mused, "Mylar the Magnificent". 1

He shook his head and briefly came out of his reverie to notice that he had strayed into an unknown part of the city. Dust-swirls played about his ankles and a small scrap of parchment flew past, becoming mired in a pool of garbage in mid-street. A tattered and crippled beggar looked at him dis-interestedly from a darkened doorway, his begging bowl lain aside in the heated dirt beside him. 2

John started to lift his arm to ask the beggar for directions, when a scuffing sound nearby brought his senses to full alert. Instinctively ducking and swinging the lifted arm into a sweeping movement, he twirled his muscular body and felt a hard impact and body-weight upon his shoulder. He straightened reflexively and a lead-sheathed cosh whistled past his waist as the body cartwheeled, aided by its own impetus and John's thrusting legs. 3

A stale smell assaulted John's heightened senses as he dropped onto the form, driving what little breath there was left in the man, out of his lungs. John's legs pinioned the mans arms and he glanced round hurriedly to make sure there were no more assailants before gazing upon the face of his attacker. The man's black and broken teeth clashed together and the smell of almonds blended with the foul odour of week-long stale sweat. Trying vainly to pry the man's jaws open from the sudden spasm of rictus proved hopeless, as the man thrashed about, briefly, then suddenly collapsed and laid still. The eyes were wide and dilated, the neck slowly relaxed and a death rattle escaped between the man's lips.4

John slowly uncoiled and stood back from the man, scanning the area before searching the corpse for clues. An intricate tattoo traced its spidery way across the mans lean back. One thing was for sure, this was no ordinary footpad. What had he run into?5

The broad hands searched the corpse more diligently for clues, finding little to aid enlightenment. The man’s purse yielded coin though and John flipped one of the two gold coins to the now-alert beggar. The beggar gave a respectful nod, one professional to another, and gathered his meagre belongings to leave. John hastily showed him the wooden token for the inn he was lodging at and the beggar pointed south, a broken smile upon his face. What had formerly appeared to be a twisted and lame leg was revealed as a charade as the beggar loped off with some speed. With the pragmatism born on the Northern Steppes, John finished stripping the corpse and stowing it in his scrip. The barbarian shook his long auburn locks at the beggar’s deception and strolled off in the indicated direction, loosening his long sword in its scabbard more by habit than need. The adrenalin within him reversed John’s former languid state and he made good progress, soon recognising landmark buildings. 6

He slowed as he approached the inn, more cautious than was his wont. He cracked open the door slowly and was buffeted by the noise and the smells of stale spilt beer and roasting meat within. Stepping into the warmth, he spotted his favourite barmaid and motioned for what passed as beer in this city. Settling himself in a convenient corner, his back to a wall, he leant back and reviewed recent events. His reverie was interrupted by the sound of an overfull tankard clacking soggily down on the chipped and scarred table in front of him. He signed for food, his gaze briefly passing surreptiously over the loosened bodice of the blonde’s top. He felt the lingering tinges of adrenalin resurge and give life to more than just appetite for food. His wink bought a haughty but appraising look from the wench and a swaying appeared in her step as she returned to the bar. Her last lingering glance over her shoulder promised more than just smiles.7