Trappings of an Artist

The man known as Ashton Clark had a singular purpose. To hunt down and retrieve the royal princess of Malachias. He is to use all available resources and his life-long training as a beast tracker to acquire the most dangerous animal of all. He currently finds himself at home, adorned in a large leather apron and sitting in the large workshop he keeps in the basement below his home, where he is always at work crafting the tools of his trade. Heads of dead trophies and large animal pelts line the walls of his private space. He is not simply a tracker and trapper, but a craftsman too. Traps, bait, and tranquilizers of varying potencies lay scattered all across the large workbench in front of him as he sat, almost transfixed, while tweaking and adjusting the traps he normally used to catch wily wildlife in an effort to make them substantially less lethal. He himself did not seem to understand why, as the orders he had been given were to simply bring her back as alive as he could—in whatever state it might take to capture her.

His mind was in a haze. He was hyperfocused on this mission, as it took priority above all others. Rescuing a princess was no small matter—wait, no—the target was a regular girl. His memories of the entire ordeal felt scrambled. He had been given a file on her, including a picture. Her background seemed innocuous enough, but he remembered the photo of her bared a striking resemblance to Princess June. His target even happened to also share the same affliction of blindness that the Princess had. In fact, the whole situation seemed strange. Since when did he take on jobs to hunt down human beings? But it was a job straight from the Scarlet Church—and they were known to pay handsomely. He tried to recall the initial meeting, only to be met with a surge of pain. As he pushed through it, a memory of a silent woman in red and gold came to mind.

He had met that green elf woman at the pub. She was exceedingly beautiful, with skin as white as snow, radiant brown hair, plump ruby lips and gleaming golden eyes—not to mention very receptive to his advances. The only real hallmarks he looked for in a partner. She took him outside to a dimly lit alley, where he had been looking forward to a bit of action in the middle of a dry spell he had been having. Instead, the woman had vanished, and in her place stood a tall, narrow silhouette of something glimmering sinisterly in the moonslight. It moved toward him rapidly, like a wild beast, blocking the only path back to the light of the streets. Instinct forced him to break out in a run, away from civilization and out into the forest. He had been running rapidly through the outskirts of the town right outside the capital city. Beyond the gates where only wilderness lay, he had fled far to escape whatever was chasing him. Jumping impossibly onto rooftops and following him out into the dark woods. The tendrils of dead branches thrashed against his skin, as the footfalls of something heavy chased swiftly after him. A loud crack of thunder followed immediately after. The sound of a gun? Was he being shot at? —No. Something was off about it, but he didn’t have the luxury of turning around to investigate. All he knew was to keep running.

He spent a great deal of his time out in the Tindalos Forest, hunting game or helping the local barfly with the occasional wild goose chase—assuming they paid for his services. Sometimes he would even do it just for fun, although there were times when a certain plucky now-ex-soldier made things more exhaustive than they needed to be with her excessive badgering over the right way to do things. And so, he knew the place like the back of his hand, and he had hoped he would find it easy to lose his dogged pursuer among the endless array of frozen forest. Unfortunately, no matter how much distance he covered, it only seemed to be gaining on him.

Another loud crack of thunder made him stumble, and despite his quick reflexes to correct himself, it was just enough for him to get outpaced. Something had wrapped around his waist multiple times almost immediately, causing him to be yanked off his feet and back toward the direction he had been fleeing from. The pain had almost caused him to wretch, as he struggled to claw at the binding around him. Looking up, in front of him now stood a lithe, slender figure wrapped in ornamental armor of gold and scarlet. Its face completely obscured by an ominous knightly-looking helm. Its body half-covered by a red battleworn cape flowing from its shoulders. The gilded knight before him looked more like a monster than any gallant hero from a fairytale. It stood motionless, looking down at him without a word, as the footfalls of heavy greaves paced closer to him from behind. As he turned to look, he caught a glimpse of the exact same knight standing before him, only holding a rope in its hand. The same one that had kept him bound. It circled around him and walked eerily toward the knight standing over him. The two figures melded together into one, almost like a mirage. The figure looked down at him, and finally spoke.

“Mr. Clark,” said the imposing knight. The soft voice of a woman came from beneath the helmet. It was the voice of the same woman he had been hitting on earlier. “When I release you, I expect you not to run away again lest I break your neck. Am I understood?”

Ashton nodded, before sputtering out a “Yes” in fearful reply.

The mysterious female knight yanked on the rope in her hand, the force around his waist went taut before coming completely undone. The woman flicked her arm, causing another crack of thunder to ring out right next to him. It was no rope she was holding, but a whip.

“W-What do you want from me?”

Without uttering a single word, the knight looked up and another set of footsteps could be heard closing in. As Ashton turned to look, he could make out another person stepping out from behind a tree. It was another knight, except this one looked much creepier in appearance. This one’s armor sprouted a long, black dress around the bottom covered with fancy golden patterns. In place of a knight’s helm, she wore only an eerie golden mask contoured to the shape of her face, leaving her fiery red hair visible from behind.

“Glory be,” came the voice behind the haunting visage.