A dark figure watched from in between the shop stalls in the middle of the market circle. He wore a full suit of extravagant armor underneath his dull, brown cloak so that the only part of his set that was visible to the human eye was his mask, which carried upon it the markings of the disciples of Angoth, the daemon king. The figure itself was not a follower of daemons, but that did not matter in the slightest. What mattered most was the protection that both the armor and the cloak gave him, for if a single drop of sunlight were to pierce his skin it may be the equivalent to an arrow through the heart. He watched with a fervent hunger for vengeance, watched as his prey entered the market and stopped, looking around as if it had caught the sense of his watching.

As the prey peered around, it once appeared to look straight at him but could not pick him out from the crowd. With that, the figure’s prey moved on, hopefully in the direction that would lead the figure to his most valued obsession. As he loosely followed the boy, hiding behind corners and stopping at shop stalls so as to not draw too much suspicion, the figure pondered over what it was exactly that he wanted and why. First off, he wanted revenge, yes that was most clear. He wanted revenge for what had happened to him, for what had turned him into this monstrosity that had to hide in the shadows out of fear of sunlight.

Not only did he want revenge against the man who had changed him, but also a chance to become the master of his soul once again. He wanted to wield his enemies’ sword and all of the power that came with it, as well as the ability to curse those that had changed him with the same fate that they had forced upon him. That would have to wait though, for now he was inclined to follow the young boy that would eventually lead the wraith to his revenge. Once or twice along the way the boy would look back behind him as if he had caught the sense that the wraith was following, and the wraith would have to dart into the shadows between houses in order to remain unseen. Luckily for the wraith, he was much more nimble in death, or rather undeath, than he had ever been in life, allowing for him to hide in the shadows so quickly that he could scarcely be seen by even those in his immediate proximity.

As the wraith followed the boy, he could feel his enemies’ retribution was close at hand. The wind, which was once ice cold to his touch when it raced through the cracks in his armor, began to warm to the point where the wraith almost felt human once again. This was surely a sign that he was heading in the right direction. Why would I begin to get my sense of feeling back if this were not the path I was supposed to travel, the wraith reasoned. So, naturally, once the boy entered a building, the wraith leapt on top of it to await his next orders from the greater spirit.

“I have three separate bounties for you to collect,” Valmor told Plageiorath, who was sitting across from him on the other side of his desk, “It’s up to you to decide which one you’ll go after first.”

“Well,” Plageiorath said, eager to begin his first mission as the new Florhaust bounty collector, “let us see them then.”

“Aren’t you the eager one,” Valmor said with a smirk, then, whilst placing three separate sheets of paper with faces and names on the desk added, “I still remember when I was a young lad, so eager to lead my people into great fortunes. I thought that if I could only lead them into the right direction, they could become the greatest army that this empire had ever seen. You know what happened to them, kid?”

“No,” Plageiorath answered hesitantly, “what happened to them?”

“They left as the gold did,” Valmor answered, “that’s when I learned not to trust anybody that makes a living off of the suffering of others. You see what I’m getting at, right?” Plageiorath just shook his head from side to side in response. “Well,” Valmor explained, “All of the people you’ll come across in your new position are shady characters. Both those that are your targets and those that seem to want to help you eliminate your targets, so don’t trust nobody. ‘Cause once you do, they’ll have twin daggers in your spine.”

“Oh really,” Plageiorath said sarcastically, “I thought everyone I came across would be as innocent as a rose.”

“They are,” Valmor responded, “in the way that they look pretty until you grab one up and it shreds your hand to ribbons.”

“So,” Plageiorath said, clearing his throat, “who are my targets?”

“The man on your left is wanted for some light trespassing and theft, and the one in the middle is wanted for livestock theft,” Valmor answered, “Their names should be written on the bottom, just left of their bounty.”

“And,” Plageiorath questioned, “what did the third guy do?”

“He slaughtered an entire village,” Valmor began calmly, “heard he used to be a mage of some sort for the emperor’s army.”

“An entire village!” Plageiorath exclaimed, “That’s insane!”

“Yeah,” Valmor said, “don’t go fooling around with magic spells. So, which bounty are you taking first?”

“How about all of them,” Plageiorath responded, his sense of justice showing through.

“Well aren’t you the overachiever, Goldenboy?” Valmor asked rhetorically, “Pick up your bounties and get out of my office. You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you if you’re going to bring all three of these people to justice. Bring the gold to the emperor’s court, and if any of them don’t want to pay, their heads should do just as nicely.” Plageiorath picked up the bounties off the table, stuffed them down the front of his shirt, thanked Valmor for his time, and made his way out of the barracks.

I wonder what he’s doing, the wraith thought as he sat atop the guard watchtower roof, watching Plageiorath leave as he awaited the call of his master. Just after this thought, a breeze rushed to the wraith’s ears, carrying the words of the protector of the living with it, “Find the locale of the Soulkeeper’s sword, then kill Valmor.” With this new objective buried within his head, the wraith leapt from the watchtower and flew as a black mist. He raced through the trapdoor that Plageiorath went through just yesterday, shattering it to pieces. Then, as if by pure instinct, the wraith bursted into Valmor’s office and manifested in front of him.

“Back so soon, old friend?” Valmor asked the wraith. The wraith did not reply, but instead gripped Valmor’s throat in his icy claw and lifted him out of his chair.

“Where is the sword of the Soulkeeper?” the wraith asked him in a raspy voice.

“I’ll never tell you or any of your friends,” Valmor gasped, struggling against the wraith’s firm clasp. 

“Then so be it,” the wraith said ragefully. Then began to absorb a blue energy from Valmor’s body. After he was finished, the wraith released Valmor’s throat, and Valmor collapsed on the ground, nothing but a dry husk. The wraith then made his way down to the main entryway, ripping apart everything that stood in his way. The screams of his victims could scarcely be heard outside of the suffocating blood cloud that swirled around the barracks. After he left the barracks, his armor covered in a shiny new coat of red, the voice returned to the wraith.

“You did not obey my order,” the familiar voice said, “now you must follow the boy. He will surely lead you to the sword that you seek.” So the wraith quickly picked up the boy’s trail and followed it as a redbone coon hound might follow the trail of a twenty-something pound raccoon.

Plageiorath followed the trail that led West out of Florhaust, towards the city of Dregwood, and his first target, Sanj Harbillier, the moderate thief. Around halfway down the trail to Dregwood, in the middle of two outcroppings, on all sides Plageiorath heard the screams of banshees. It was a horrible, deafening shriek that pierced the silence like thunder on a clear, sunny day. Plageiorath looked up at the tops of the small cliffs and then behind and in front of him, he was too far in to turn back the other way in hope of an escape, and if he stayed where he was, he would surely be found and ripped to shreds. As soon as he had made up his mind to run straight ahead and not stop until he found people who could help him, a body fell from the outcropping on Plageiorath’s right and landed in the middle of the trail in front of him.

The body was wearing some kind of ancient armor and a dark brown cloak overtop. Before Plageiorath could move in to get a closer inspection, the body leapt to its feet, apparently not dead after all, and pulled a torch out from underneath its cloak. The man lit the torch, pulled Plageiorath in close, and held out the torch in front of them in a defensive stature as a parade of banshees raced toward them at impossible speeds. Plageiorath buried his face in the man’s cloak as he wept for his life and the life of this brave stranger who would surely get himself killed trying to save an ignorant boy. The banshees halted instantly once they ran out of shadow to hide in, fearing the small sun that the man held in his hand. 

They then slunk back into the shadows of the woods from whence they came. After the cries of the banshees had faded, Plageiorath risked a peek at the monstrosities that surely awaited his glance to find that nothing was there. Plageiorath then looked up at his savior’s face, or more accurately, his mask. “Come my child,” the masked figure said, “we must build a fire to survive the night.”

“Thank you for saving me and getting rid of the banshees,” Plageiorath said, sitting around the campfire that they had built on the stone outcrop the stranger had fallen from.

“They aren’t gone,” the stranger said, sitting across from Plageiorath and setting two elk steaks on the coals in the midst of the fire to cook, “just lurking in the shadows waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.”

“What’s the perfect opportunity?” Plageiorath asked, looking behind him nervously.

“Don’t worry,” the stranger said, his voice like iron nails scraping against steel armor, “they’re afraid of the light.”

“Oh, who are you anyways? Sorry I didn’t ask earlier.”

“Just consider me a friend,” the stranger replied, flipping the steaks, “the one that hunts under the cover of darkness.”

“Whose name is?”

“Oh, you meant my name. You can call me Morgue.”

“Well,” Plageiorath said, shaking the stranger’s hand, “it’s nice to meet you Morgue. I’m Plageiorath.”

After a moment of silence, Morgue grabbed a couple of bark pieces and placed a steak on each of them. He offered one to Plageiorath, and when he took it, Morgue said, “You remind me a lot of my brother.”

“How so?” Plageiorath asked.

“He always was so interested in names. Used to say they meant something, especially if they were unique.”

“So,” Plageiorath wondered, “what does your name mean?”

“That… isn’t important right now, but I can’t help but wonder why a young boy like yourself is traveling alone through the woods at night.”

“I’m going to collect a bounty for my people. I got a new job as a bounty collector.”

At this Morgue chuckled, “I remember when I was as young and foolish as you. Why would your village elders ever approve of giving a youngblood such an ambitious and dangerous task!?”

“They didn’t really get to give any input on the subject,” Plageiorath muttered, clearly upset by Morgue’s remark.

“Wait, you’re actually being serious?”

“Yes, but now I’m not sure why I ever thought this was a good idea in the first place.”

“Woah. Just because I thought you made a joke doesn’t mean you should give up on your dream, kid. We don’t have enough bounty collectors as it is, and I certainly don’t need to be scaring them off. Even if it is an accident.”

“I guess so.”

“Now eat up before your steak gets cold. Then get some rest because it sounds like you have a big day ahead of you.”

“Don’t you need to sleep too?” Plageiorath asked.

Morgue raised his hand and said, “Don’t worry about me, boy. Somebody needs to tend to the fire.” So Plageiorath did exactly as Morgue asked, he finished his steak and fell asleep wrapped up in his own cloak.