Three Hunters, One Heart

This story takes place in the same fantasy setting as my Drowning at Dusk series, but reading that other series is not at all a requirement. There are a few connections between this work and that series, but prior knowledge is not all necessary. The setting is a pretty standard heroic fantasy world (magical monsters, elves, orcs, magic, and so on).

This is also a completely standalone story and is not going to be split up into multiple chapters. I may continue with these characters depending on how this is received, but for now this is a one-and-done.

This is one of my first forays with writing a male POV character, but it still features some of the erotic themes from Drowning at Dusk (magical sex, open relationships, group sex, etc.), alongside typical heroic fantasy adventures. While the focus is on the adventure and the main character's journey, there is a fair amount of erotica throughout.

I hope you enjoy!

**

The Archon's command echoed within my mind.

"Kill the beast. Bring me its heart. Purify your unclean blood."

For weeks those cold, cruel words had guided my steps and inflamed my heart with purpose. During my long, lonely trek through the shadowy forest beyond the isolated enclave, I'd even repeated the words aloud to myself, engraving them onto my very soul.

When I left behind the shade of the massive, sacred trees and entered the drought-ravaged plains, that command had still burned bright in my heart. Even as I'd fought for my life against a ravenous ogre and a pack of crypt-wolves, the Archon's command and his promise had kept the terror at bay.

"Kill the beast. Bring me its heart. Purify your unclean blood."

After thirty years as an outcast within Qal-Tesh I could finally claim my place. After a lifetime of scorn and rejection I could at last purify my blood and claim the mantle of a true dusk elf.

The price of purification was killing one of the most dangerous beasts alive.

My journey brought me to a road of ancient red stone that sliced between fields of dry, withered wheat. A handful of birds wandered amongst the remnants of the crops, picking at insects and doomed vermin. Dark clouds roiled above, but did not unleash the rain that would have relieved the dusty lands below.

I was still unsure as to the cause of the strange weather and the drought, but it was not my concern. The meadows and forests of Qal-Tesh had been untouched by the drought, and the only thing that mattered was killing the beast and claiming its heart.

A small hamlet sat astride the road. The gardens of each house had withered away long ago, and the stables were empty. A door to one rickety little house creaked in the wind.

Nothing stirred.

The absence of people was not the work of the hellraven. A beast of that size would have scourged the place and left bloody bodies in its wake. The locals must have just fled their homes after months of drought, seeking a better life in Nenhaar or the larger cities further to the south.

The fate of the locals, just like the drought, was not my concern.

All that mattered was the beast.

As I neared the edge of the abandoned hamlet, wood creaked from behind me. I whirled, my long cloak fluttering in the dry breeze as I tore the warhammer from its strap on my belt.

An old woman stood upon the porch of a little hut; she looked as weak and rickety as the hamlet itself. Dust covered her clothes and her stringy black hair, but she bore a smile on her wrinkled face nonetheless.

"Not going to try to loot the place, hmm?" she called out. "A whole hamlet, ripe for the robbing."

Laughing, I placed my warhammer back upon my belt.

"The people of Qal-Tesh have never meddled with those who respect the boundaries of our grove."

The old woman raised an eyebrow and shuffled off of the porch.

"Well met," I said with a slight bow of my head. "I am Selakiir, Ranger of the Ninth Circle of Qal-Tesh."

"I'm Sorbella. No fancy title for me." Her eyes narrowed. "Dusk elf, eh? My eyes aren't what they used to be. Almost mistook you for an orc with that build of yours." She let out a low, raspy laugh. "If the fields were still healthy, I'd have offered you some silver to help with the harvest. A strapping young lad like you would have been of great use around here."

My brow furrowed when she commented on my figure. My true-blooded comrades and kin were always quick to point out how brutish, large, and clumsy I was compared to the lithe, agile purebloods.

I'd been fighting those comparisons my entire damned life.

"I may not be able to help with the harvest, but I can help with another matter."

My eyes darted to the cloudy skies.

"I hunt a beast. A raven nearly the size of a horse. Eyes as red as rubies, talons as large as swords. A hellraven. A bird malformed and twisted by the taste of demonic flesh."

"Can't say I've seen anything like that lately. Barely seen any birds at all, save the few vultures who seem to creep closer and closer every day." She coughed. "Dumb bastards probably think I'm not long for this world."

Solving the woman's plight would not bring me one step closer to my goal, but a pang of sympathy gripped my heart nonetheless.

"Is there nobody else around? I can at least walk you to the next town."

She jerked a thumb at the open door behind her. My eyes narrowed, barely noting the presence of three thin, wispy young boys peeking out through the darkness. They were skin and bones, their eyes bloodshot, their lips cracked and parched.

More casualties of that strange drought. If I'd had some healing-runes I might have been able to offer some assistance, but I'd come equipped solely for the hunt. The rangers of Qal-Tesh had not deemed me worthy of such valuable magic.

"No, no. I'm not abandoning my home and my grandsons to the vultures and the worms. I know the drought will break soon enough." She pointed a gnarled finger at the cloudy sky. "It'll happen, sooner or later. We've made it through worse."

"Good tidings to you, then," I said with a tilt of my head. "I'll be on my way."

"Stay safe out there on the road. There's plenty of other things to worry about aside from big demonic birds. Before he and his children headed off to the city, my neighbor Jorbik thought he saw some arachnils prowling around the edges of his fields."

My eyes narrowed and my hand tensed around the haft of my warhammer. Those spider-headed abominations had often harried the sacred glades of Qal-Tesh. Perhaps our hunts had driven them out into the valley.

While slaying such creatures was not my goal, bringing back a few mandibles as trophies along with the hellraven's heart might win me even more accolades from the Archon.

"It's not all bad news, though," the old woman continued. "You might have some help out there; you're not the first to come through looking for a hellraven."

My blood ran cold.

"Who? Someone from Qal-Tesh?"

"No, no. Humans. One was a woman, seemed to be a hunter of some kind. Talked like a big city girl, though. I think she was a mercenary from Nenhaar, maybe out to claim a bounty on the big beast. There were two others with her, too. A nasty-looking man with a bow, and a strange old fellow who I assume was some sort of mage. Or just a strange old man with no power at all, who was good at looking like a mage," she said with a raspy chuckle.

"Voids below," I cursed under my breath.

If a bounty had been placed upon the beast, it was only a matter of time before a small army of monster-hunters and adventurers descended upon the valley. If they killed the beast and claimed its heart before I did, I'd lose any chance at purification and ascension.

After mumbling my thanks to the old woman, I resumed my northward march at an even faster pace.

I walked through another abandoned hamlet. My trek brought me past several drought-ravaged farms, dried-out streams, and a long row of dead oxen that looked to have been put down by their owners to spare them the ravages of starvation. A single vulture and a handful of flies made a feast of the corpses.

As night fell, I finally found the first sign of my quarry.

A short distance from the road was a large barn, the roof of which had collapsed. Judging from the deep gouges in the wooden frame, the damage had been inflicted by claws rather than the elements.

Hammer in hand, I trotted over to the barn. The stench of death assailed me. Retching, I lifted my cloak over my face and kicked in the door.

Within were a dozen rotting pigs. All of them had been torn asunder, their inner organs exposed. Each corpse served as a feast to a horde of flies and maggots.

Not a single heart remained within the corpses. Each one had been plucked out by the unholy beak of the hellraven to sate its otherworldly hunger.

A single massive black feather rested amidst the carnage. I picked it up, my bones chilling at the ice-cold sensation of it within my grasp.

After a shudder, I dropped the feather back down upon the gore-soaked ground, and resumed my journey.

Less than an hour down the road, the reek of death assailed my nostrils once more. A familiar sweet tinge to the stench made my skin crawl. Readying my warhammer in one hand, I grasped my runestone with the other, my fingers brushing over the arcane sigils.

A few feet off the road rested the shredded corpse of an arachnil. The creature was vaguely humanoid, with a long torso and four arms covered in spindly hair. Its head resembled that an oversized spider: bulbous eyes, prominent mandibles, rows of bright blue hairs forming a crest along the top of its head. Grasped in its clawed hand was a simple spear that had been of little use against whatever had killed it.

As with the dead pigs back at the barn, the creature's innards were exposed, its inhuman heart missing.

The sweet stench of death was too great for there to be just one dead arachnil. I wandered for a few minutes, finding nine more corpses scattered beside the road. All of their chests had been ripped open and exposed to the night air.

Judging from the state of their weapons, not a single one of the beasts had landed a scratch on the hellraven.

I'd known from the start that my hunt was going to be a difficult one, but seeing the hellraven's work chilled me to the bone.

My unease grew as I pressed onward, finding the mutilated limbs and ruptured bodies of at least another dozen arachnils.

Given the weakness of such creatures and the power of my rune, I alone could have taken on a small horde of the beasts. Such a fight would have been difficult, however, and would have tasted the limits of my skill with my hammer and rune. The hellraven, though, had destroyed an entire swarm without apparently suffering a single scratch.

Chittering hoots echoed from the east. I spun, my hammer and runestone at the ready.

Multifaceted eyes glittered against the darkness. Long-limbed arachnils wriggled from the detritus of a drought-ravaged wheatfield.

At least twenty fanned out before me, stepping over the corpses of their comrades. Given that arachnils were vile scavengers, I wondered if they'd hidden within the wheatfield after the hellraven attack to ambush anything curious enough to inspect their fallen.

They chittered and clicked at one another, clutching their humble wooden spears and bone-axes. I wondered why they were so far from the forests where they usually roamed, but such questions mattered not.

All that mattered was getting out of there alive so I could return to the hunt.

I lunged, not content to allow the spidery abominations to make the first move. Blue energy danced from the runestone and coalesced around my warhammer, encasing the weapon in ghostly light. I flicked the weapon and a spectral copy of the warhammer flung through the air, crushing into the chest of the closest arachnil. As the echo of my weapon spun and slammed through the pack of arachnils, I charged into the fray, my true warhammer caving in the exoskeleton of the closest creature.

Glowing blue blood sprayed across my face as I hammered and killed. Bursts of runic magic conjured more echoes of my weapon, keeping the others from my flanks and deflecting a few spear-thrusts.

A lucky strike got past my guard and skimmed over my shimmering silksteel armor. The nearest arachnil chirped, a sound which shifted to a gurgling squeal as I broke its arm with my hammer. Two flickering echoes of my weapon ended its torment by caving in its skull.

Another arachnil fell, but not to my warhammer or my conjured echoes. Blinking with surprise, I ducked beneath the spear-thrust of another creature and shattered its leg. Before I could finish it off, an arrow plunged into the back of its head. Glowing blue blood sprayed from the dying creature.

More shadowy figures burst from the drought-ravaged wheatfield. A hatchet spun through the air, catching an arachnil in the throat. A lithe figure moved in a blur, hacking and hewing with another hatchet, before tearing the first weapon from the dying creature's throat and cutting down yet another foe. More arrows sliced in from the darkness, impaling arachnil after arachnil.

A few more bloody seconds passed and it was over.

Panting, I wiped arachnil blood from my face.

"Hardly needed the help," I said, taking in the sight of the three figures who'd rushed forth to aid me.

The woman with the hatchets was tall and lithe, with pale skin that gleamed in the moonlight. Sweaty, wild dark curls framed her face. Protecting her athletic body was a set of dark armor that looked to be made of drakescale. Impressive craftsmanship. Expensive craftsmanship, too.

Her amber eyes glowed with adrenaline and a wild, almost bestial smile still clung to her face.

"You're wrong about that, stranger," she said with a little nod. "That one right behind you that my friend got with the arrow? It had poison on its spear. One little cut and you'd be gone."

Her accent was a strange one, nothing at all like the rough, clipped voices of the valley's residents. The words had a sing-song quality to them; the words all flowed together like the rapid verses of a jaunty tune. I blinked, remembering what that old woman had said about other adventurers hunting for the hellraven.

I glanced down at the dead arachnil behind me. True enough, dark green liquid clung to the speartip. In past skirmishes with such beasts, I'd seen many a dusk elf fall to that variant of poison. Without a timely application of a healing rune, such poison ensured a slow, painful death.

Looking up from the corpse, I took note of the archer who'd saved me: a short, muscular man in a battered breastplate with a feather-adorned longbow in hand. His beady eyes glared down at the corpses as he stalked among them, stabbing each fallen beast in the neck with a dagger to confirm the kills.

The last of my newfound comrades was an unassuming older man with wrinkled skin and a long, bushy white beard. Around his neck was a scarf adorned with glowing runes; he wore tattered robes patched up with pieces of an arachnil exoskeleton. He was a mage by the look of him, though I hadn't noticed any spells cast during the fight.

"I am Selakiir of Qal-Tesh," I said, wiping blood from my warhammer. "Well met."

"Bloody Voids," said the archer, looking up as he thrust his blade through the neck of another dead arachnil. "Damned big bastard for a dusk elf."

I gritted my teeth.

"Half."

He wiped blood from his blade and looked me up and down, his beady eyes settling on my shimmering silksteel armor, then my warhammer.

"Didn't know they gave silksteel armor to half-breeds, let alone weapons or runes."

"They do to those who earn them."

"Given the quick work you made of those bastards, I can see why they deemed you worthy of such gifts," he said with a crooked grin, then gesturing to the arachnils I'd cut down.

Despite the blood on my hands, he clasped my forearm and gave it a quick shake.

"I'm Dokfal." He pointed to the robed mage, who was busy tearing mandibles from the corpses. "The mage is Benhai. The hellion with the hatchets over there is Eselda."

She gave a little wave with one of her weapons, then grabbed a flask from her belt and took a long drink.

"So what caused Qal-Tesh to end its legendary isolation?" she asked.

I saw no reason at all to hide my purpose.

"I hunt the hellraven that ravages these lands."

Benhai murmured under his breath while Dokfal whistled.

"Well now this is what we call a fortuitous rendezvous," said the bowman. "We're after the same beast."

That could either complicate or ease my mission, depending on their exact reasons for hunting the beast. If all they wanted was its head to claim payment on a bounty, we could work together and all get what we wanted. Given the magical power inherent in its demonic heart, it would be quite the prize for an alchemist or a runesmith, though. Our desires could very well lead us into conflict.

"Did the magistrate or Lord-Protector place a bounty on it yet?" I asked.

"The magistrate has, aye," said Eselda. "But that's a pittance compared to the prices being offered by the alchemists and runesmiths in Nenhaar."

Once more Benhai muttered under his breath, having not said a single clear or intelligible word to me since the battle's end.

"Five thousand for its eyes, ten thousand for its heart," said Dokfal.

I nearly muttered a curse under my breath, hoping the shock didn't reach my face.

This could, however, present an opportunity. If I worked with these monster-hunters long enough to claim the heart, I could sneak off with it and leave them with the rest of the beast as compensation. Given the fortune that could be earned with even the beast's eyes or feathers, hopefully they'd be content with the scraps.

If all else failed, I'd just put my echo-rune and warhammer to use.

Nothing else mattered but that heart and the promise of purification it entailed.

"Well, I don't need much of its body," I said, forcing a smile and crafting a quick lie. "Just something to bring back to the glade to prove I killed it. A few feathers, part of its beak, maybe a talon or two. I've little use for silver in Qal-Tesh. Perhaps we can forge a partnership and take the beast down together?"

It would certainly be easier than going it alone.

"You handled yourself well enough against those arachnils," said Dokfal. "That echo-rune of yours might be a damned nice thing to have against the hellraven, too."

He raised an eyebrow at Eselda and Benhai.

"All good?"

After another low murmur, Benhai nodded. Eselda gave me a long, clinical stare then slowly approached.

"What do you need the proof for?"

"A rite of purification. A means of...ascension. In the eyes of the law, I'll become a full-blooded dusk elf."

My stomach churned at the reminder of my inferior blood, of my underclass status within Qal-Tesh, and the fact that I'd remain a half-breed if I failed to claim the heart.

Sorrow wafted through her amber gaze and her gaze turned to the southern horizon.

"A more noble cause than mere silver, eh? Sure. I vote that he can join us."

Once Benhai had collected more mandibles from the dead, we marched northward

"So what were you three doing out in this wheatfield this late?" I asked.

"Tracking the arachnils," Eselda said. "They were hunting the hellraven, too. Our hope was that they'd wound the beast, giving us a chance to rush in and finish it off. The hellraven proved too quick and clever for that, though, and picked off that first batch of arachnils. The rest were camped out in the field when you stumbled upon them." She flashed me a bright grin. "And we decided to do the noble, heroic thing and rush in to save you, rather than let them have you for a feast."

I snorted.