He was dressed head to toe in black. Who even had threads this dark? Clothes around here tended to be either white-gray, a variation of the color brown, and the occasional dirty green. No one wore black here, not even at funerals. The beast was pitch black. The beast was the blackest thing he had ever seen; a huge, misshapen splotch of living ink with long spider-like limbs. Whenever he thought of it, the first thing that came to mind was that deep, eerie obsidian. No wonder he had thought first of the monster.

Who was that man? He wasn't from Runrick, that was for certain. He doubted anyone from Pelase would come here anymore. A traveler?

Who in the holy fuck would willingly come to Runrick? Around this time, no less.

He suddenly felt very angry at the newcomer for having scared him like that. It was silly and irrational, but with the way his insides were still quivering from the shock, he thought a little bit of unjust irritation was excusable. He was about to open his mouth and call out to the man when the man suddenly turned around and went the other way. Two, three, four large steps, and then stopped. Turned around and walked up towards the doors of the prayhouse again. This time, he reached for the handles. Stopped. And turned around again. This was what he'd been doing before too, when Buck couldn't see him clearly. Pacing nervously.

Now Buck wanted to laugh. He didn't know if it was because post-shock hysterics were setting in, or because he found this image of the jittery mystery man hilarious, but he felt like he was going to start guffawing any second now. Then the man did something even stranger. He pulled off his hood, and ran his hand a couple of times through his locks. The movement was brisk, but vigorous, and not entirely a nervous gesture. Something gave Buck the impression that the man was now feverishly wishing he had a mirror.

He still couldn't see him very well, but the sight of that rich head of dark hair seemed familiar. He was still certain the man wasn't from Runrick, but he had met him somewhere before. The military? Was he here for him? He would've started worrying if not for the fact that he couldn't quite convince himself that that's where he knew him from.

The man arranged and rearranged his locks, then pulled up his hood, pulled it off again, picked at his tresses again, and pulled up the hood, this time for good, apparently. He then started to brush and smooth his clothes with his hands. As he bent down, he seemed to just notice how muddied his boots and lower side of his pants were, and cursed. He couldn't hear him that well either, but “Shit, should've at least changed these fucking pants!” sounded like a plausible conjecture. He saw him raise his shoulders and then lower them with an audible exhale. He was bracing himself for something.

Who was inside the prayhouse that made him so anxious? The man looked at the house resolutely, and almost rushed at it. With one motion he pulled open both large wooden doors, and stepped inside – a little too dramatically, if Buck were to be honest.

He had been so absorbed in his observations of the newcomer that it took him disappearing from view to snap Buck out of it and into action. Guess he was still a little woozy from that scare earlier. Either that or the lavender was finally kicking in. He looked at the slightly ajar double doors the man just walked through. He couldn't enter that way now, so he ran back around the corner and prayed Suisel had left the backdoor unlocked. He wanted to see what this was all about first before he let anyone know he was there.

The backdoor led to a small antechamber located at the far side of the left wall, right next to the main shrine. He could see the entire room and entrance from there, while still remaining relatively hidden from the congregation. He didn't need to bother with being discreet though, since everyone's back was turned to him. They were all now facing the newcomer that had interrupted their exclusive gathering. Something had just been said before he came in. Buck only caught the fading echoes of someone's voice resounding in the room. He was pretty sure it belonged to the stranger. What had he said?

The room wasn't as full as he had expected, but it was still quite the turn out. Seemed like not everyone was willing to brave the darkness after all. Their small prayhouse wouldn't have been able to fit in even a fifth of their town anyway; but Buck knew that should disaster strike them, and this building was the only safe place left, it would the people present here now that would be given sanctuary before anyone else. Especially those seated on the newly added benches in front, right next to the shrine. These people were Runrick's gentry. Chief Slatrim, the priest and his wife, Olvic with auntie Eshe, Ogette and Olle, ol' man Ceric, Gulver and his whole family, Piencer and his whole family, Furcut , Utmar –  anyone who was either of higher rank or a rich merchant, or a boot-licker to one of them. The rest had to stand.

Chief Slatrim was the first to speak. “Who are you?” He slowly got up from his seat, a chair placed right in the middle of the dais, right before Baar's shrine, so he could overlook the gathering. Next to him, Priest Santr chimed in. “How dare you say that name in Baar's house,” he croaked, but remained cautiously seated.

Buck heard the stranger huff in amusement. “Funny, you didn't seem to have a problem with saying that name over and over again last time I was here.”

Last time. So, Buck had been right, he had met him before. He must have visited Runrick in the past, before Buck left for the military. That voice didn't sound at all familiar, though. If he could only see the man’s face, but it was still mostly obscured by the shadows of his cowl. He was also too far away from where Buck was hidden.

He was just standing there, a dark frame hovering in front of the entrance, and seemingly uninclined to come any closer than that. There was something ominous about his presence in here, a stark contrast to the almost comical little routine Buck had witnessed out-front. The others grew more agitated too. He saw Suisel sneak up to the priest and whisper something to him. The priest then nodded, and Suisel disappeared behind the shrine. He came back out holding a shot gun and went to stand behind Santr and his wife. Chief Slatrim had his helpers with him too. Shumper and Slaop left the wall they had been leaning against to take up their positions as the magistrate's sentinels. They were large, bulky men, practically raised by Slatrim to be his personal labor dogs. “Don't make me ask again,” roared the magistrate. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“You should know, you sent for me.”

There was moment of silence as everyone looked at the magistrate, but Chief Slatrim just stared back in confusion and replied in a low, angry voice “I didn' send for no one.”

“Is that so,” the man replied with fake surprise. “Oh dear, then that letter must have been about a different town named Runrick that is being plagued by a strange, dark-furred beast. Guess you folks don't need any help, then. My mistake. I'll take my leave.”

The entire room reacted at that. Chief Slatrim squelched the racket. “We do have...a problem,” the magistrate continued hesitantly,” but I don't remember sendin' anybody any letter.” He turned to look at Priest Santr questioningly. The priest shook his head, a little too urgently, “It wasn't me. I promised, didn't I.”

“It was me.” 

Every head turned to look at Olvic. The merchant stood up, his face set in grim determination, but there was a little bit of guilt marring it. “I had to. There was no reasonin’ with ya no more."