Moonlight transformed the frozen Chordini scrub forest into an alien landscape. The moons, the Three Kinswomen, as the locals called them; Azelia, Gracellia, and Mayana, hung above the land in a triangle. They had not aligned like this in the midnight sky in twenty-two years.

In the darkness, a man, bundled against the cold, labored up an out cropping, grasping a sapling for support. Breath coming in rasps, he looked across the scrub flats to the lights of Harpsfell, perched high up on a plateau, almost apart from the frozen wilds.
He rarely left the Temple these days; he would be far too conspicuous. But now, safely hidden in the shroud of night, he was on a mission to escort some new arrivals to the Temple proper, and that was what was important.

Of course, he could not bring them into the Temple by normal routes. Like him, they were also heavily touched by their Master’s hand, and could not be seen by those not of the Temple. A gloved hand stroked lovingly at the bony ridges that crowned his head and sprouted from his jaw. His Master’s touch made flesh stronger, more magnificent.

Ahead, on a ridge, he saw the wagon, his enhanced dark-vision picking out the symbol of the three moons on the rough canvas. It was silent. His keen ears registered not even a breath inside the wagon. Then his nose caught the sent of blood. Not the scent of salty human blood, the acidic scent that flowed in the veins of those touched by his Master.

He turned. He had to flee for the Temple and tell them of what had transpired. Even with his enhanced senses, he was caught unaware. The first dagger pinned his cloak to the sapling. The second severed the sword-belt concealed in his cloak.
Before the weapon had clattered to the ground, a shadow broke from the forest and became a man. “You don’t have to bother checking, your monsters are dead.” The man was almost one with the shadows, except for the bottom half of his pale face, and a silver hand emblem that fastened the odd wrapping on his right arm.

“A servant of Dey? Is it not the god-slaves of Hessa who usually oppose our work?” the pinned man growled.

“Dey is the Goddess of those who do what they must.” Another dagger flashed in the moonlight. “Now, I believe that you know something that I wish to know.”

An obscene smile split the other man’s lips, revealing a mouth full of filed teeth. “You don’t deal much with those who serve Kayda, do you boy? Cutting my sword away means nothing.” He hawked and tried to split, but could only manage to drool a foul smelling liquid.

Now it was the shadow’s turn to smile. “You Kaydans are so damn arrogant, especially about never feeling pain. You didn’t even notice the other dagger did you?” He pointed to the monster/man’s throat.

Following the finger, the Kaydan’s hand found the hilt of a dagger buried in his neck. The blade had been destroyed as it severed his acid bladder.

“How did I know?” the shadow spoke the words the Kaydan was thinking. At the same time, he struck, moving with a swiftness that defied the eye to bury a pair of daggers into the monster’s shoulders. Acidic blood followed a piercing shriek into the night. “The same way I knew that magnetic daggers can hurt you.” He twisted the blades. “Now, tell me, where is Aravan du Maynar?”
Reeling in pain and surprise, the Kaydan managed to speak. “Who are you?”

The daggers twisted again. “I asked you a question, demon.”
“Pain means nothing to a servant of the one true god.” The Kaydan growled.

“Oh, really?” A grim smile came to the shadow’s face. He released the daggers and stepped back. Saying nothing, he unbuckled the straps that bound his right arm.

“You give up easily. I suppose it is in your best interests.”
The shadow laughed contemptuously. “Not quite.” The bare right hand reached up to grasp the monster’s face. Corrupt flesh sizzled. A torrent of pain washed over the Kaydan, flooding his senses. Every negative emotion man can feel filled his mind. All he could do was scream.

“That’s it, demon, feel what your god has wrought.” He removed the hand and the pain stopped. He leaned closer, his eyes flashing. “Now, where is Aravan du Maynar?”

For the first time since he had been touched, the Kaydan felt fear. His mouth was dry, his body quaked. “H-he was staying in the Old City, studying some books.” He cringed, watching every movement of the hand. “B-but that was weeks ago. He’s gone now.”

“What books?”

“The scriptures, of course the most holy of the writings which even I am not privy to. Now, who are you?”

It was the left hand that drew the sword from the shadow’s back. Black metal glinted above a blood red rose that was part of the hilt. “My name is Vaalingrade Ashland, cursed by your god. Now,” the blade fell. “I am your hunter.”

The three moons drifted overhead.