Elder Benson's home was a small yet cozy place of only one room with only a few furnishings scattered about. A bed stuffed with straw sat in one corner flanked by a crooked end table. The walls were lined with shelves brimming with jars and bundles of herbs that filled the room with a sweet and musky smell, leaving Harken light headed. The only nice thing about the home was the hand crafted and well used fireplace sitting in the back of the room.

Harken was directed to sit at a nearby table as the Elder lit candles scattered about the room. A bowl of potato stew and a mug of water were laid out before him. He sipped on the water first, letting the cool drink quench his thirst until he had drained the mug dry.

Next he took his time with the stew, ladling the meaty broth gingerly into his mouth to savor every bite, making sure not to dribble onto the tablecloth. The gnawing hunger began to dissipate, and the warmth in his gut began to replace the cold life given to him by the water. Stars, how he had missed the feeling of a good meal.

The Elder sat down and smiled from the other end of the table, watching him eat. Harken lifted the bowl, scraped the last morsel into his mouth, and placed it back down.

"I know what you are, Axiomancer," Harken stated before wiping his mouth. Elder Benson smirked at the remark, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

"Ah, but it has been a while since I've heard that name. I've been called a Shapeshifter, a Sorcerer, even a Truth Changer as of late," Elder Benson leaned forward, steepling his fingers on the table. "You're a clever man for figuring me out."

"It wasn't hard. I felt you rooting around inside my head back at the tavern. Made my tattoos itch. If you wanted to know my crime, you could have asked."

Elder Benson nodded, his smile now less than pleasant, "Indeed, but then how would I have known that the ghost of Therea would be the one to wander into my humble village. I'm amazed the Judges even let you take the Pact. Regicide is a very hefty crime to pay."

"More than you will ever know," Harken replied bitterly. "And I've paid ten years for it already, but we did not come here to discuss my problems. We came here to discuss yours." Harken pointed a finger at Elder Benson. "You're the one who made the Pact. You're the only one with enough power to pull me here from so far away."

"That is correct."

"Then tell me why."

The Elder turned to look out the window, his demeanor suddenly grim. Outside, Harken could see the silhouette of the forest under the full moon. A strong wind had whipped the canopy into a frenzy. Rays of moonlight faded in and out of the shifting leaves like spirits dancing in the dark.

Despite its serenity, Harken couldn't help but feel a tad unnerved. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and paranoia began to gnaw away at him. Something was out there, he sensed, watching him intently.

"It all started five years ago," the Elder began, pulling Harken away from his thoughts. "Our huntsman, Morr was his name, disappeared in the forest one day. A search party went out looking for him, and they too never returned. At first, we suspected the wolves had taken them. That is, until we found Morr dead and dangling from a tree days later."

"What condition was the body in?" Harken asked.

"Like he had been beaten to a bloody pulp and left to die, all wrapped up in ivy. Neck twisted. Legs snapped, but the body was surprisingly intact. No teeth marks, no missing limbs."

Wolves couldn't have done that, Harken thought. Morr's body must have been left as a warning, but by what he did not know. "What did you do afterwards?"

"The only thing I knew was right. I forbade anyone from entering the forest, but it didn't stop the brave, or the foolish, or the desperate from sneaking away at night, thinking they could drive out whatever haunted our woods." The Elder grabbed the table cloth and pulled it away, scattering the bowl and mug onto the ground. In the center of the table was a pentagram painted in dried blood.

Four of the five points on the star had symbols painted next to them. Some were shapes of various sizes, one little more than a thumbprint.

"I decided that a Pact was necessary." The Elder said grimly.

Harken's stomach dropped at the sheer size of the Pact's summoning rune. He ran a hand over the four symbols, the blood used to paint them flaking away easily to his touch. Each of them had belonged to a Slayer once. The rune made his tattoos flare up with a heat so intense it was like staring into the eye of Oro himself. 

"You bastard," Harken muttered in disbelief, "You lured these Slayers to their deaths."

"Is that not the purpose of a Slayer?" the Elder hissed. "To fight and die for their retribution? What has the world lost but four men who were nothing more than rapists, murderers and charlatans? It is an even greater shame that I have to stoop to such methods just to protect my people. The nobles in Vycount are too busy with their petty war to help me, and the Cabal has seen fit to ignore my cries for help. If you wish to find someone to blame, find it in the hearts and minds of the Therean Judges who created this awful Pact in the first place."

Harken looked up, his mind ablaze with all the things he wanted to say, but realized deep down the Elder was right. The Slayers that had been drawn into this awful Pact were all criminals, just like him. The men too cowardly to accept the noose, and so deserved a coward's fate.

"I'm sorry, Slayer," the Elder stared down at the Pact, his eyes glossing over each individual symbol, "That I have brought you here to die."

"I have no intention of dying in your rotten village."

"So, you will attempt to kill this creature?"

"I will."

"Then make your commitment and let us be done with this dark business."

Harken pulled the knife from his boot. He held his thumb to the light and sliced the blade into his flesh. Bright, red blood welled from the cut. When enough had gathered, he wiped his thumb into the last remaining point in the star, painting an inverted triangle onto the wood.

"I make this Pact today in atonement for my crimes. I commit to killing the creature in the forest in exchange for a step closer to freedom. Only in death will I break my vow." The words were spoken so easily now. After saying them for so long it was as natural as breathing. How funny, Harken thought. How sad.

The pentagram began to glow until the dull rust transformed into hot white as the Pact grew in power. Harken's tattoos began to itch furiously as the power washed over him, binding him to his oath. The familiar numbness crept up his toes all the way to his head, poking and prodding his face as it searched for a rune to claim. The sensation began to dissipate as the Pact settled for a fat, criss cross shaped star on his left cheek. Slowly, the light faded away until only the candlelight remained. The Elder stared at Harken expectantly.

"It is done. The Pact has been made," Harken rose from his chair, wanting nothing more than to never look at the symbols again. "I will need a place to sleep. I doubt there will be room left in your tavern after what happened."

"I have a hayloft. You can stay there for the night."

The loft was in a small barn near Elder Benson's home. Harken climbed up the ladder and tested the sturdiness of the wooden beams before settling in. The warped planks groaned under his weight, but gave no sign of collapsing.

He placed his weapons to the side, shimmied out of his leather jerkin and pulled his boots off, letting his wrapped feet breathe in the summer air. The hay was fresh and warm, yet despite its comfort, Harken still found himself unable to sleep. Every time he tried to settle in, his thoughts drifted back to the Pact.

There was something in that forest, of that he had no doubt. The presence he sensed before had put him on edge, even more so than the Elder's desperation and his damned pentagram. Whatever it was, it had killed four Slayers already and the foolish many who thought themselves brave enough to face such a creature.

He would need to be prepared if he was going to figure out what was haunting Irgencourt's woods. The Elder had called it a beast, but no animal Harken had heard of left a fresh, uneaten corpse dangling from a tree. A thought dawned on him. Perhaps it wasn't an animal at all. He knew of only one way to find out. Harken sank into the hay and, with some difficulty, drifted off to sleep.