Anyone on the continent with even a passing knowledge of religion knew the fearsome reputation of the Hunting God. The Huntmaster, as He was called, was famed for His relentless crusade against demons, a name that made monsters across the land tremble.
It was common knowledge that Jiro, the Huntmaster, was one of the Outer Gods—a deity from a distant pantheon. Legends said He was born noble, His power rivaling the oldest dragons, and He delighted in leading hunts with falcons on His wrist, hounds at His heels, and cavalry thundering through forests. But His favorite prey? The very evils that plagued mortal lives: man-eating beasts, tyrannical bandits, and interdimensional fiends.
The Huntmaster was virtuous to a fault, hating wickedness with a zeal that bordered on obsession. He'd declared three "Great Evils" that all believers must eradicate: savage beasts, cruel tyrants, and alien demons. To Him, these creatures were threats to civilization itself; exterminating them was the highest form of protection. His doctrine was simple, His mission clear: hunt the Great Evils, and protect the innocent.
He was a widely worshipped god—peasants in the Southern Plains, trappers in the Sethelis Plateau, even miners in the Stonefang Mountains paid Him homage. But He was never mainstream.
Nobles admired the Huntmaster's prowess but scoffed at the idea of dedicating their lives to hunting. To them, He was a dilettante, a god who "played at being a ranger" instead of ruling. Tyrants, of course, loathed Him—after all, they counted as "tyrants" in His book.
So His faith thrived in the wilds, where people actually needed protection from the things that went bump in the night.
Niquel, raised in Phoenix City, the capital, knew little of the Huntmaster. But when the name "Tallas" came up, something clicked.
"Two years ago, wasn't there trouble in the Stonefang Mountains?" he mused. "A group of gray dwarves, led by some chieftain named Gruul… or Glock?"
"Gruulock the Ironlord," Siona cut in, her elven ears twitching. She'd been listening intently. "He was a gray dwarf warlord from the Underdark, migrated his clan to the Stonefang range. Caused chaos—looted villages, kidnapped hunters. Pastor Tallas ran into his raiders while on a hunt. Didn't stand a chance."
Niquel's eyes widened. "That's it! I remember now. In Phoenix City, they said Countess Titania sent her knights to crush him. A Huntmaster priest led the charge, killed Gruulock with his own hands. Then he refused her offer of a title and rode off… Wait, was his name Tallas too?"
His gaze flicked to Eli's worn purple robe—the traditional color of Huntmaster clergy. Siona puffed up, proud as if she'd slain the dwarf herself. But Eli just shook his head, a faint sigh escaping his lips.
"The capital's rumors got it wrong. I killed Gruulock. I used my foster father's surname, Tallas, but I'm no priest. The Huntmaster never blessed me—maybe my faith wasn't strong enough. But I had help: the dwarves of Ironbloom Hall, the Shieldbearers (a knightly order), and Siona here. We met during that fight. Been traveling together ever since."
Niquel's smile was strained. "Impressive. Shame you were too young to join the battle yourself. Still, I'm curious—why leave? Countess Titania's a rising star. Now she's the queen's confidante. You'd have had a future at court."
"What does the queen's confidante have to do with me?" Eli shot back.
"You're not from the capital, are you?" Niquel said, as if explaining something obvious. "If I knew Countess Titania, I'd be kissing her boots. Oh, and speaking of fame—didn't you kill Garmak the Bloodaxe, the orc warlord, at Bloodship Bay? Lord Ulian of Castle Syon even honored you."
Eli rolled his eyes. "Bards exaggerate. At Bloodship Bay, I just stumbled on the orc general and stabbed him. Gawain here did the real work—his drumming messed with their morale. I was just lucky."
He noticed Niquel's probing gaze and cut him off, hand raised. "Enough. You're fishing for info. Let's be clear: I've met Lord Ulian once, maybe twice. I don't care about the Crown Loyalists vs. the Queen's Faction, Wind God vs. Sun God, Old Nobility vs. New Money, North vs. South. You can stop guessing—I won't serve you. Want to keep your job as Greyhold's Magistrate? Find someone else."
Eli's bluntness hung in the air. Umai tensed, hand on his sword, but Niquel just waved him off, chuckling bitterly.
"You know who I am. Of course you do. A spoiled noble like me, sent to a backwater town by royal decree. Made Magistrate of Greyhold at 26—sounds promising, right? If the last three magistrates hadn't all died mysteriously, it'd be perfect."
He sighed, rubbing his temples. Siona's brow furrowed—she'd suspected, but hearing it confirmed stung. Eli and Gawain exchanged a glance: Just as we thought.
No one takes a mountain path for fun. They take it to stay alive. Niquel, Greyhold's new Magistrate, was hiking through the Sethelis Plateau not for the scenery, but because he was afraid of being ambushed on the main roads.
Eli had guessed as much days ago, discussed it with Gawain. Only Siona, sweet and guileless, was left in the dark.
"I know you're in a tight spot," Eli said, "but I can't help you. My job's to get you to Greyhold. The rest is your problem."
"Not even for double the pay?" Niquel pressed, seeing Eli's resolve. "Fine. Greyhold's a dump. Once we bury your foster father, you'll leave, right? Countess Titania and Lord Ulian couldn't keep you—what makes you think I can?"
"You're misunderstanding," Eli said, shaking his head. "I'm not leaving immediately. I'll stay in Greyhold for a while. Just… busy."
"Busy with what? Your foster father's last wish?"
"Something like that," Eli admitted. "He never said it outright, but he loved Greyhold. Loved the mountains, the people, the stories of his youth. So I want to do something for him. Fulfill his wish: wipe out every monster and beast threatening the town."
Niquel stared. For the first time, the mage's guard dropped, revealing a flicker of genuine emotion—grief, maybe, or determination.
"Wipe out all of them?" he repeated, incredulous. "That's… a lot. Greyhold's surrounded by the Stonefang Mountains. Bandits, owlbears, maybe even a hydra or two."
"Exactly," Eli said, his voice hardening. "My foster father spent his life protecting people. I'll spend mine doing the same. Starting here."
Siona grinned, slinging her bow over her shoulder. "We're with you. Always have been."
Gawain tapped his drumsticks against his palm. "Count me in. A bard's songs need good stories. Hunting monsters in Greyhold? That's a ballad waiting to happen."
Umai nodded, silent but loyal.
Niquel watched them, a strange mix of admiration and envy. These people—this ragtag group—had each other. He had titles, wealth, power… but no one he could trust.
"Well," he said, clearing his throat. "If you're staying, maybe I can help. Greyhold's treasury is pathetic, but I can allocate funds for supplies. Weapons, potions, whatever you need."
Eli considered it, then shook his head. "We're fine. We've survived worse."
"Still," Niquel persisted. "Let me repay you somehow. For the pay raise, for… everything."
Eli's gaze softened. "Keep the town safe. That's payment enough."
As they resumed their descent, Niquel couldn't shake the feeling that he'd underestimated Eli. The mage wasn't just a traveler with a notebook—he was a force of nature, driven by a purpose older than any kingdom. And for the first time since leaving Phoenix City, Niquel felt a sliver of hope.
Maybe, just maybe, Greyhold could survive.