Dorian Hellslinger

Every child know that the monsters lurk in the dark. They hunt at night and strike from the shadows. Fear gives them power. However, there are some names that even the monsters fear. Belmonts, Grimms, and yes, the Hellslingers. Men and Women who through the ages have dedicated their lives to hunting the hunters. Protecting humanity from within the shadows themselves, with knowledge and tools designed to give them an edge. This is the tale of Dorian Hellslinger..





Lamashan 31th 4701

Dorian and his brother Brayde had arrived in the small farming village of Blackburn shortly before dark. There wasn't much time to prepare, They had heard the rumors of people disappearing every Lamashan. Both too rare and too predictable to be a coincidence. The brothers often hunted together, There was safety in numbers after all. However on this hunt only one of them would be leaving again.

"What are you thinking?" Dorian asked the younger Hellslinger. "The moon will be full tonight. Werewolf?"

"Nah... I'd think that natural wolves would be quieter than that... and cursed would be louder. Once a year to me sounds more like a ritual thing. Maybe something to do with the harvest?"

"Hmmm.. I don't know," Dorian muttered. He was accustomed to killing monsters, but cultists... they may be evil and every bit deserving of killing as the undead, but they were still a bit too human for Dorian's taste.  He hated when the line blurred. "Doesn't seem like the kind of place for that," Blackburn had almost no reputation, but what little it had was peaceful. Small even by village standards, it was mostly self-sufficient. A few scattered farms and not even an Inn to attract tourists. It should have been quiet.

"True. should check around though. There's always someone wanting something and willing to do something stupid to get it."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Small towns are the worst." Brayde quipped as he sat in the tall tree.

Dorian grinned at his brother. "Grandpa would knock you out of the tree if he heard you say that." Their grandfather was a solid Erastilian. The Hellslingers were all devout in their own way, but they tended to focus more on protecting communities throughout the realms as opposed to the sedentary lifestyle common to their faith.

"But it's true! No center of population. Everyone's all spread out. It's a lot harder to hunt the wolves when the sheep are scattered.  I'd prefer a nice solid tavern or party or something where we can watch more than a farm or two at a time, Something where people can actually notice something before it's too late." Brayde grumbled.

Dorian couldn't disagree with the logic. A tavern or Inn would have been nice. As it is, they had found a kindly old farmer who let them sleep in the barn. Not the worst accommodations they'd had, but far from the best. Regardless, they weren't here to sleep. Brayde may be bored, but this was Dorian's favorite part. The night was clear and chilly, but not quite cold. The night came alive with the sounds of nature and he could just feel his pulse quicken with excitement. The bigger the town, the less he enjoyed this moment.

Unfortunately the moment never lasted long enough.

"Something's happening." Brayde said in a low voice. Off in the distance there was a torch moving slowly through a field. "Suspicious enough for you?"

"Barely... " Dorian muttered. Nothing overtly sinister about someone just walking... but it was pretty late. "If they aren't up to no good... they could be the next victim. Better check it out." Gracefully Brayde dropped to the ground without a sound, and the brothers slipped through the fields toward the light with practiced ease. The light led them deep into a pumpkin patch, gourds ripe and full. They kept their distance and stuck to the shadows, but there wasn't much room to hide and with the moon full shadows were scarce. The torchlight ahead showed two figures moving toward the distant farmhouse, both wearing pale masks that immediately put the Hellslinger brothers on guard.

"Who's that!" They heard one of the men scream. Apparently the moon had revealed them. "No witnesses!!"  They both drew short swords from their belts.

"Well, that clears up that." Dorian said aloud as he pulled back his cloak and reached for his whip. It radiated a soft blue glow as he snapped it loudly.

"Yep. Suspicious for sure." Brayde said as he drew his crossbow tight. "Any preference?"

"The one on the left seems more skittish. More likely to talk." Dorian started to charge him. "I got him!"

The battle didn't take long. Obviously antagonistic and out for blood the two moved in as fast as they could. However the Hellslingers still had range. Brayde's crossbow stopped the first one cold with a bolt through the chest. Dorian used a little more finesse though. A quick snap of his enchanted whip sent his enemy's weapon flying and a second spinning horizontal slash wrapped around his ankle and yanked him to the ground. Before he could rise again, Dorian's knee was on his chest.

"Five seconds before I break something." Dorian told him through gritted teeth. The young man could see he wasn't bluffing.

"It's not my fault," he sputtered in fear. "Harper said we had to do it!"

"Do what?"

"Well... Y'know... the sacrifice." Dorian grimaced as he could practically feel Brayde's smugness behind him. He really hated cultists.

"What do you get?" Brayde asked.

"I don't know... good crops I think. Oh... and we get to live!" The cultist was trembling. "Look, it's been going on forever. If we do it this way, it only takes one. Harper said they tried to stop before. If it doesn't take one, it rampages and kills a whole lot more! It's just better this way..."  Blood spurted as a silvered Cestus crushed his nose. The man went limp.

"What do you think?" Dorian asked his brother.

"Well, I really doubt that it's better this way," Brayde answered with a smirk.

"No kidding."

"Well, they seemed to be on their way back, but he made it sound like it was something they just did... soooo back the way they came?"

"Back the way they came." Dorian got off the unconscious cultist and stared toward the field. If luck was with them, they may not be too late.

The trail was easy enough to follow. Not much had changed, but now the night felt somewhat colder. A chill in his bones Dorian prepared for the worst. There in the distance they saw white cloth fluttering from a makeshift stand. Some kind of scarecrow meant to ward off evil... but this one was different. As they got close Dorian was struck by what had to be the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Strung up on the scarecrow frame the moonlight made her seem almost peaceful. His breath caught in his through as he was sure they were too late, but then noticed that she was still breathing. Unsure if she was drugged or ensorcelled he moved to cut her down.

"Eyes front!" Brayde yelled out and Dorian spun toward the threat. The vines around large pumpkins started to twist and shiver. Everything around them seemed alive and threatening. Then a toothy grimace began to rise from the patch. Then another..  and another after that. Eleven gourds with faces carved and all connected by vines seemed to grow from a central stalk. The mouths made a gummy smushing sound as they reached for their offered prey.

"Overgourd!" Dorian yelled as he snapped his whip toward the closest orb to the young woman. It's eye flashed with inner fire as the whip struck home. It made as if to scream, but no sound came out. Seeing his brother's confusion he added, "Tough to explain... but be ready for anything!" He quickly dove to the side as one of the faces spewed fire in his direction.

A crossbow bolt thudded into the side of one and the lights went dim. One down, Only nine to go, along with the bigger central head. Two more flashed and Brayde froze in place, his limbs locking. Fear in his eyes he braced himself as one of the chomping heads reached for him and was severed at the stalk by the glowing whip. Another light flashed and Dorian started to feel drowsy but shook off the lethargy. He barely dodged as one of the pulpy faces smashed the ground where he had stood. He could hear Brayde start to move again. and another bolt took another head.

A shrill scream stole Dorian's attention as the young woman woke to her situation. A pumpkin bashed into his shoulder and sent him spinning to the ground. "Keep its attention on us!" he yelled to Brayde as he rolled to his feet, slashing out with the whip and expertly sliced one of the ropes holding the woman to the post. Another bolt flew and another head dimmed.

The central gourd turned on Dorian and he saw the light of his whip flicker and die. "That's not good... " he muttered as he struck again. The whip still cut, but not as deeply as he'd hoped. Brayde had gotten too close and switched to his mace. The miniature heads had no real bite to them, but the central head certainly did. It took a chomp and Brayde screamed in pain as his armor tore and his bones crunched. One more slash with the whip and the woman was free. "Run!" he ordered and spun back to sever another head. A searing blast of heat scorched his armor as he rolled to the side. "Run NOW!"

The only answer he got was when a familiar twang of his brother's crossbow went out and another eye went dim. Turning with a grin he watched as the young woman reloaded the crossbow and leveled it again. "Got a name?"

"Isabelle"

"Dorian Hellslinger. Pleasure to meet you."

"Flirt... on your own time!" Brayde screamed as one arm was inside the central gourd head while his free hand was bashing at the monster's pulpy head with his mace. "Think I may need some help here."

With a matched set of grins Isabelle and Dorian both turned their attention to what remained of the Overgourd.




++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Say that again?!" Brayde said rubbing his ear. "I must still have some pumpkin in here or something."

"I'm staying, at least for a while," Dorian answered with a grin. It had been almost a week since the Overgourd fight and there hadn't been any more mysterious disappearances. Brayde was ready to move on, but Dorian had different ideas. Sitting on the fence post staring off at Isabelle in the distance he added. "Maybe more than a while..."

"In Blackburn... You'll go crazy in a week. Besides what about the Hellslinger code. Protecting people from the monsters."

"Monsters are all around. I can protect these people here. We just did."

"Don't remind me... " Brayde rubbed his shoulder "Isabelle's father was the local priest of Erastil. In gratitude for saving his daughter he was more than welcome to heal their wounds. The pain was gone, but the memory was still there. "I think you've lost your mind. Dad would agree."

"No he wouldn't. Dad would understand. Don't forget the rest of the code.... pass the knowledge down through the line."

Brayde followed his gaze and sighed. "Well, can't fault you for that... "

If you ever need me..."

"I'll know where to find you." Brayde shook his head. "I still think you're crazy...."


4714

Dorian looked out over the ruins.

The Banner of the Stag had called, Dorian answered. Just as he always did. He saved lives this last month. He knew that, but it didn't help the ache in his soul. The Banner was established by rangers, clerics, and any others commonly associated with Erastil to help other villages protect themselves from the constant threats. The promise was always if you help us... we'll be there to help you.

The Banner had failed him and thus, he failed Blackburn. Purt had called for aid against the hordes of Multhune. Dorian didn't care one way or another about the political machines, but it meant a lot to his neighbors. So when the raids started he'd kissed his wife and children goodbye planning to be back in a week or two. Two turned into four and when word came that Blackburn had been sacked he was too far away to help. What he saw when he arrived was worse than he could have imagined. Not a building stood unburned. Not a field unplundered. Not a soul still alive.

Blackburn was never a large community. He could see they fought hard, none more than his sons and wife who died with weapons in their hands. Like true Hellslingers all of them.

The Banner wasn't entirely useless though, They helped him to bury the dead, and track the orcs who did it nearly back to the Belzken border. There were even offers to have him move to their own villages, but Dorian wasn't interested. There was no more vengeance to be had. He needed a new chapter in his life now.

With a prayer on his lips he knelt before the fresh graves and kissed the three markers that meant the world to him. Then he shouldered his pack and began walking away from his home.

He didn't look back.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The next few months saw him wandering from place to place. He didn't try hard to join a new community. Not yet. Time brought him to Tamran. Biggest city in Nirmathas and at least a decent tavern.

"Well, look at this... " A voice called out as it walked into the Ranger's Lament. Dorian winced as he heard the voice. "You look like Hell.... Slinger"

"Cute," Dorian responded as the blonde man pulled up a stool and ordered an Ale of his own. "What are you doing in these parts, Valdric."

"What else," the stranger said as he paid the barkeep and kicked his feet out. "Hunting.  Just got back from a place out west. Greenglade."

"Werewolves?" Dorian asked his interest piqued.

"Just one. Took out three men last month alone. Not a pure one, but an infected one. Still, they're usually the most dangerous."

Dorian nodded. He knew about werewolves of course but Ryn Valdric was the expert. His family hunted monsters just like the Hellslingers, but most hunters had their specialties. Ryn had lost most of his family to wolves. Undead tended to pay the bills, but the lycanthrope cursed were a passion for him.

"Haven't seen you since Ustalav, Word had it you retired..." Dorian grinned to himself as he thought about that fight. They were all younger back then, but they had saved a few lives before they had to scatter and run "...or dead."  

"What's the difference? No... I'll die with a blade in my hand, not settled down aghhhh..." Ryn bit his tongue as he saw the shadow pass his friend's face. "I heard about Blackburn man. Sorry to hear about it. Sincerely. "

"It happens. You know that as well as I do." A simple fact of life that required more drinks and toasts to the lost. "Have you come across Brayde lately?

"Yeah, out west. He was hanging around in Varisia last I saw. He looked good. His kids seem to be carrying on the tradition."

Dorian was quiet for a moment. It was important to pass on the traditions... and he was happy for his brother, but the mention of his nephews struck a nerve that was still too raw.

"So does this mean you're back?" Ryn glanced at Dorian's hip noticing the familiar whip. "Are you officially 'unretired?"

"I'm not sure yet." Dorian gazed around the room for anything suspicious. He was surprised how second nature it came to him. Maybe the old skills weren't as rusty as he thought. "I'm still working a few things out."

"Yeah, been there." Ryn thought back to a different tavern... somewhere. He could remember nearly falling into a pit of despair himself once. Though the details were a booze scented haze he still recalled what got him back on track. "Tell me... Have you heard about Kestrillion?"

"Evil wizard?" Dorian guessed half-heartedly "Sounds like a necromancer.. or maybe a lich."

"No... " Ryn stopped himself suddenly. "Well, maybe... I don't know all the details yet. Either way, Kestrillion isn't a person, it's a place. The Isle of Terror? The wizard's name is Zaistrun. Rumors seem kind of sketchy so far, but sounds like some kind of all powerful god-king setting himself up in your backyard."

"Great... just what the world needs, another Razmir. What's he want with an island of undead?"

"Sounds like he wants to restore it... whatever that means." Ryn thought about what news he'd gathered. "Good news is that his reputation is a bit better than most. Haven't heard anything about necromantic leanings, and he used to be the magister for one of those River Kingdoms. The one run by a paladin... so there's that at least."

"But not working with the paladin anymore? Some falling out?" As a Holy warrior himself, Dorian put some stock in a paladin's opinion. That said they were a pain to work with.

"I don't know. Rumors from that area are... odd to say the least. Last guy I talked to was all about Rovagug rising from the lakes and their 7 foot tall glowing king and his court personally killing it.  Not something I plan on documenting anytime soon." Ryn chuckled at the absurdity of the stories. Sometimes pulling the truth from legend is harder than others. "Apparently there are recruiters going all around the lake trying to get some civilians out there to rebuild and repopulate. It MAY be a way to draw in some sacrifices... or maybe the evil of the island will infect this Zaistrun."

"Sounds like something Colin would be interested in."

"I thought so too, but apparently he's pretty swamped these days. Honestly, it's probably nothing... and it could be pretty dull."

"Dull?"

"Well, it sounds like it won't be all hunting all the time. They're actually trying to build a community up from scratch. I tried that once before... There's a lot of down time." Ryn smiled wryly as he could see his friend thinking. "You on the other hand... You're better suited for this than I am. Are you still with the Farmer god?"

Dorian reached down and felt the holy symbol that had been a part of him for so long. "Yes I am," he said with a conviction that still surprised him. "I may have to check out this recruiter."

"Then I don't have to," Ryn said with a grin. "I was worried for them before. Farmers and fishermen may be able to fight the occasional bandit or goblin raids off... but if the legends hold, then best case scenario, they're going to be in over their heads eventually. They need someone there who knows what they're doing. Besides there's something else I wanted to check on. Sounds like there may be a Penanggalan  in Varisia."

"Seriously? Those are rare... " Dorian had never seen one before, or even talked to anyone who had seen one in person. Penanggalan were a Vudran variety of Vampire that was little more than flying head and intestines.

"Yep. Varisia's Colin's backyard now, I'd really love to get there before him. Unless you need my help of course."

"Go... I got this. Just watch yourself out there."

"You too. If the wizard does go evil...  Send word. We'll all come. We can't let amateurs spread that evil."

"I will," he said and knew it was true. The Sons of Night never failed to answer the call. Brayde, Dorian, Ryn, Colin and a few others who knew what they were fighting and knew how to do it right. Not so different from the Banner of the Stag really. He still resented the Banner for their part in his family's death, but if they needed him again, he knew he'd answer that call too.

They chatted for another hour or so into the night, then paid their tabs and went their separate ways. Dorian had a lot to think about now, and a new adventure to plan for. Possibly even a new village to call home. He went off into the night knowing he'd meet this recruiter in the morning.