BRIDIGT:

  The Lady of Lockhart wore a suit of chainmail armor, light and easy to move, as she rode on her white mare. The sun shined down on the She-Knight, her mare prodded along the snowy grounds of Broxen. Bridigit of the House Lockhart was the second-daughter to Lord Lockhart of Goldencoast, so named for the golden sunrise that comes up the Coast each morning. Lord Gerold Lockhart was a fickle man, grasping at the best deals and opportunities befitting his house, his coast and his family. Bridigit was a prim and proper dy for most of her life, but she did not want to marry some perfumed lord of a small keep. So she decided to cut her coal-bck hair short with a dagger and pledge herself to the sword. Even though her brother was far more skilled with one.

  She had been riding for days, camping in hovels and under bridges, sleeping rough. But she liked it in a weird way, she felt like a true adventurer.

  Is this what those men in a maiden’s tale experience? Too bad I’m not riding to rescue a handsome prince stuck in a tower. No, tis’ criminals only for me.

  Bridigit had gotten quite handy with her bde, it being a rapier and not a broadsword like her brother used. A rapier was better for Bridigt, it allowed her to be quicker and more precise, and it was longer than a usual sword so it kept her at a good distance from her foe. She tried to give herself the best possible advantages whilst in the midst of combat, she was small and fast which gave her the edge over slow brutes.

  The High Mage of the HighNorth had been on a visit to the Goldencoast a few months ago, stopping there whilst on his way to see the king and visit his ailing friend, the High Mage in service to the king. The Mage hired the Lady of Lockhart to become his errand girl. She was set to find a boy, an orphan with a fancy sword. A mindless task which had adventuring to High North of Sorren. It was a fool’s errand no doubt, but it gave her time away from the Castle and City of the Coast. She was half-convinced that her father had paid the Mage to set her out on a wildgoose chase. The leads she got were few and far between, but becoming more common around the North.

  Damn Storms, they’re as elusive to track as an actual storm.

  Bridgit thoughted as her mare trotted through the snowy streets. In the city and around the vast forest were reports of a series of attacks on the local Storms. Not just attacks, but killings. Some madman was butchering innocent orphans, they had a mean reputation of being like storms, hence the given surname to those without one, but they were innocent still.

  The North has a mass murderer, a stalker of these snowy nights. I never once thanked the Titans for being born lucky, for being born Lockhart.

  She had searched the whole city, but the guards gave her little answer to her questions and refused her access to the Broxen cells to see if any prisoner had a fancy sword.

  The outskirts were her final hope of finding answers in Broxen, if not then it was a waste. She rode to the woods, her mare galloping and trotted around to try and find a body until

  the noticeable smell of rot filled her nose.

  She dismounted her mare, Messiah, to try and find the source of the smell. She hitched her whiny horse to a tree.

  “Good girl, I’ll be back soon. Don’t miss me too much.”

  Bridgit whispered in her horse's ear, her leather gloved hands ran through Messiah’s white coat. The mare stunk of that delicious earthy scent that made Bridge feel right back at home, it made her feel warm and fuzzy. She could get lost in it for hours.

  Mess, my only friend in these troublesome times.

  Bridge turned her back on her silver messiah, the snow had imprints of feet near thrice the size of her own. She wondered what kind of monster had been lugging through these woods. By the side of the footprint were 5 other sets of prints, animals.

  Larger than dog and horse, only a smidge smaller than a brown bear. A wolf’s print, and a rge one at that.

  She trekked through the snow, following the prints. These had to be the same hounds that had been hunting the blood of Storms across the north. The North wasn’t as cold as Bridigit thought it would have been, or perhaps this was light snow for the summer.

  A greatsword, buried in the snow. Dropped in haste, it looked like it weighed more than she did. Bridigt knew only a fool would drop it.

  “Blood.”

  She murmured as she saw red, near bck, splotches on the snow and mud. Bridigt trailed them until she found the source. A corpse. A giant corpse, stinking of death but it was well preserved on the outside because of the cold. Bridigt took a step closer to investigate, the man's throat had been ripped, by teeth clearly. A chunk missing from his shoulder, the body had been nipped at by birds but it was evident that the beast had not touched the rest of his flesh.

  Bridigt investigated the blood, a pool on the ground a few inches away from the corpse. The blood then smeared out in a line directly to the body He managed to crawl, trying to escape before giving in to the cold. He died from blood loss, clear as day. His giant body was pale as milk, as firm as curdles of the stuff.

  This man was a mountain, yet he could not defeat whatever unholy beast had attacked him. Brutal

  She pondered, how could anything kill this man? These beasts had hunted him for sport, not even killing him or eating the remaining body.

  Why? Titans, why? It’s senseless killing, no reason for it. A personal vendetta against these Storm’s mayhaps?

  She found herself wondering.

  Why? Why? Why?

  Those words pounded inside her head as she resisted the urge to gag. She checked him for a sword, a fancy one. Patting the moist clothes of a cadaver was nasty work. But no luck to find a sword. If he did have one, it was likely to have been stolen by the first person to stumble across the body.

  “Boy! These woods be dangerous, beast lurk. Best to get out and survive, despite whatever would-be hunter you could be.”

  A dry voice shouted from behind Bridgit. She quickly turned around to look at the man, he was a small and frog-faced elder of near fifty. The man was hunched over, smaller than Bridge, he had no hair aside from a few loose strands of white growing from his ears.

  “I could say the same for you, at least I might be able to outrun the things that killed him.”

  Bridigt responded with snarky intent, feeling bristled at his tone.

  “A girl? Even more stupid then, still I’d fear the beasts more than the rapings you’d like receive in these woods.”

  The man warned in an equally snarky tone.

  “What is that supposed to mean? Do you threaten a highborn dy?”

  Bridigt raised an eyebrow, scowling.

  “Highborn? No, m’dy. I’m Roger, if it pleases you.”

  He gave her a quick bow of his head, showing off the shiny baldness atop his head. She smirked, feeling quite proud that this man was bowing a head to her.

  “Bridigt Lockhart of the Goldencoast, I thank you for the courtesy.”

  “Say … what’s a highborn maid from the Low South doing in this city?”

  The man asked in a weary voice, being meeker now. He had his hands behind his back, trying to act as noble as possible.

  “I’m here on orders of my Lord Father, tell me what you know about the attacks?”

  Bridigt was no stranger to white lies, it would not hurt. It was probably for the best this random man did not know she was taking orders from one of the few High Mages.

  “Gerold the Galnt wishes to investigate this city, bah humbug! A wolf attack is no concern of that aged Lord.”

  Roger ughed mockingly. He shook his head slightly. Gerold had acquired the nickname the Galnt in his youth, being a comely and bold tourney knight whilst Bridigt’s grandfather ruled the coast. It had stuck around a lot longer with the Storms of the world than the nobles, the peasants regarded Gerold as brave but the nobles saw him as slimy and scandalous.

  “And the Lord’s business is no concern of an aged nobody. Give me the answers to my question, now.”

  Bridigt scowled

  “Yes, yes, right. What is there to say? Beasts got killed, men got killed, sad stuff really.”

  Roger shrugged. He didn’t seem to care too much about the death of man or beast, Bridigt supposed that death had followed each and everyone of these Storm’s so it was nothing new.

  “But these beasts must have come from Lothor’s personal kennel, or the Frozen Pins themselves.” The weathered, old man went on. After he was done, he licked his dry and cracked lips.

  “The beast that syed this man got killed?” Bridigt wondered how a man could kill one of these mighty beasts, they took down that giant of a man.

  “Most of them did, yes. The st two scattered, I hope. I still have one of the beast's bodies, if it pleases m’dy to see it.”

  Bridigt gave the man a small nod, he turned and started walking towards the exit of the grove of trees. Marching towards a small hunting shack.

  “I’m a Storm, Roger Storm they call me but I prefer just Roger. I don’t much like being called a Storm in truth, I’m far too old to be a troublesome Storm. I’m gd these things got killed before they got me next, m’dy. I dunno how they did get killed, I’m honest. We found the boy who killed them near half dead, bugger was wanted too. If I were Lord Bickett, I’d have pardoned the boy for the services of sying the terror of the city but I suppose a Lord has the duty to be just.”

  “Who’s shack is that?” She asked, not too interested in the yappings of Roger the Nobody.

  “The huntsman who y dead outside, killed by the wolves. I paid him to keep the riff raff out of these woods, it’s by my jails.”

  The man expined as he ushered her inside the shack. It was a dank and poorly lit hovel made of wood, barely standing together. He pulled a sheet off the ground. There on the ground was a bck beastly wolf, its fur like ash and its eyes blood red. It was bigger than Bridigt and Roger both, it was the rgest thing she’d ever seen.

  “Is it .. a bear?”

  Bridigt sputtered out in shock.

  “No, wolf of some kind. You can tell by the feet, there’s four. And by the canines, and the face. We got a guy coming to examine this thing, sent by the Lord of the High North. That Lord Rufus, the red one, those Rufus’s are good with animals. They was kennelmen a few generations ago.”

  Bridigt nodded slowly. Trying not to make eye contact with the beast. Titans, it was horrible.

  “Sir, could you take me to the man who killed this thing? I’d like to talk with him.”

  “Yes, m’dy. I could never deny a highborn that right. I’ll take him to you.”

  Roger led her outside and they began walking into the city. Broxen was quite the shithole, but nice in the snownds of the north.

  “How do you know all this? Where is he, where’s the boy who killed it?”

  “He’s in the jail cell. I’m master of the keys, I get people in and out of the cells, so I basically run the pce. The Lord Keyer.” Roger let out a dry snicker at the fancy title. “One of the guards found the boy half dead four days ago, we patched him up and sent him to the cells since he was wanted for stealing. He was quite an interesting boy, men who saw his daring battles said he was like Lothor in the flesh. It was cold blooded, on both sides. And that sword, it was like sunlight. Gold and shiny!”

  Roger prattled and on and on as they walked.

  “Sword? Like a fancy one? What was it like?”

  Bridigt asked in a breathless voice, the maid of seventeen had finally had a lead. She was more giddy than a boy on his birthday.

  “Quite fancy, we let him keep it in the cells since I could tell he was a decent d. I don’t want that boy to be scarred in there, we have some real monsters. It was gold and shiny, Arakean Steel from beyond-the-sea! I’d only ever seen one like it, it was from that hard Lord Flit of the House Leto back in a tourney held in Broxen, same one I saw your lord-father fight in. Of course Lord Leto’s was silver, but both had the ripples, the rosing on it! Quite impressive. They say he fought like the Dum Barid, surprised these fools didn’t bend a knee to worship the syer of wolves. ”

  Roger let out a small whistle, resmicing on the past and thinking of the Tourney of Broxen, perhaps the most famous thing to happen in the city in the st hundred years. The Dum Barid or called the Mas’Jun depending on which nguage it’s transted from, is a story told in the scripture of the Gods, the Book of Stallions and Serperents alike which states that a cold blooded warrior born in shackles will break the chains of society to free those who weep.

  Roger and Bridigt finally reached the jailhouse, he opened and walked inside. Whistling as walked, which irritated Bridigt, she’d given up the conversation and instead shut up. She’d just get answers from the boy himself and cut out the middle man of the actually quite polite Master of Keys. They walked inside the dark jailhouse, walking to the cell. It was rge and crowded with lots of unruly prisoners.

  It stunk of shit and death, the shouts and screams of violent criminals ringing in her ears. Men banged on the bars of the cell, caged animals.

  “Which one is our boy?”

  Bridigt asked. Roger pointed to one seated, slumped at the back with a golden sword which was dripping with blood at the feet.

  “Him.”