Ash walked alone, as he always had and, he surmised, always would, one foot in front of the other down the muddy road. Absentmindedly, he ran his calloused thumb over his first ring, the oldest, worn upon, fused to, the index finger of his right hand. Dull grey with flecks of burnished bronze coloration, it was thick, stocky, with a large circular stud facing outwards. He took a moment to glance at the midsummer sky, blue skies dotted with rifts, black voids opening and closing like the mouths of a dying fish. Ancient mages had weakened the gap between this world and others, and doors, portals had ripped through the sky like a torn silk dress. His scaley brows furrowed. Left unsupervised, mages made trouble. And wherever there was a mage, there was a Hunter stuck cleaning up the mess, oftentimes the bodies too.

Nestled in a clump of trees ahead was the corpse of some metallic beast, falling dead when the fire inside ran out. A weary-looking man sat crouched underneath the cover of one metallic appendage, tattered cloak wrapped around him, eyes fixed on the ground before him. His hands were shaking, but he was trying hard not to show it. Ash flicked a coin at him at ten paces, harder than necessary. It lay in the mud in front of the man. Ash walked on; the man made no move until Ash was well past him, though his slur of “Fuckin’ coldblood” reached the Hunter’s sensitive ears. Little didn’t.

Ash made town with the sun still halfway in the sky, throwing his thin cloak over his shoulders and pulling the hood low over his face. The village was small, made of barns to store the farmers’ grain, a store to sell them tools, and a tavern for those too thirsty to make it home without a drink. The tavern was stout, it’s roof thatched, it’s walls made of logs, benches beneath the overhang. A woman all in black sat outside the tavern, eyes empty, shaking fingers running over her wedding ring. Ash glanced her way as he entered, ducking his head to avoid the low doorframe. The conversations inside stuttered as he made his way towards the bar, like someone tripping over their own feet. He hear the rasp of metal on wood as the barkeep sized him up, one arm hidden beneath the beer-stained wood. Ash’s ringed fingers deposited a stack of coins on the bar; the barkeep’s weapon slid back into it’s hiding place.

“Beer and a meal. I’ll take it outside.”

The money disappeared with a swipe of the bartender’s hand, his eyes peering into the shadow below Ash’s hood.

“You the Hunter we sent for?”

During training, stupid questions like that got you a box around the ear. Ash debated responding, making his mind only as he opened the door to leave.

“Afraid so.”