Author: Karen, The Huntress
Pairings: 1x2, 3x4
Warnings: AU, language, suspense, angst.
Archive: DHML Archive
Rating: R
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or its characters.
Summary: Five unique men form an odd alliance to stop a war between the living and the dead.
Hello. I'm not certain why my muses inspired me to write this but they were most insistent. I hope this story will be entertaining in an odd sort of way. I will offer no further explanation, only a wish that you enjoy your reading. Take care. Hugs, Karen, The Huntress.
Wolf Moon Prologue
The curtain of night was studded with a thousand pinpoints of silent, twinkling stars. The moon was but a thin slice of light, its feeble illumination woefully inadequate to keep the shadow spirits at bay. A fitful wind shuddered through the trees and tapped against the wavy windowpanes of the Black Dog Tavern.
A pale glow, as pitiful as the impotent moonlight, shone through the soot-streaked windows tinting the vacant street pale yellow. Inside the tavern's single, crowded room amber lamplight reflected off thick smoky haze that reeked of cheap liquor and unwashed bodies.
Sitting at a corner table, a lone male dressed entirely in black discreetly observed both local patrons and the weary travelers who had sought respite from the night air of March that was as frosty as a whore's heart.
Heavy shoulder-length hair curtained the man's face and obscured brooding blue eyes. A crossbow and a quiver of steel-tipped arrows rested against the wall within easy reach and, concealed by the cloak draped over his lap, a dirk was strapped securely to his thigh.
The stranger's solitary location kept him from having to constantly watch his back while he ate his meager meal of venison stew, stale biscuits and watery ale. Although he had yet to find any meat hiding among the mushy vegetables, the simple fare was far better than going hungry.
He also couldn't criticize the patrons' unkempt conditions considering it had been three days since he'd had a proper bath. Dark stubble bristled on his cheeks and chin. Dust speckled his hair and his clothes smelled like swine had worn them. However, once his stomach was satisfied he intended to alter the foul status of both his body and his attire.
"More ale?" A barmaid inquired in slurred speech. Bending over so her ample cleavage strained against her blouse and threaten to overflow the flimsy material, she wobbled in an obviously inebriated state.
Glancing up the man seemed to take no notice of the flirtatious display as he softly replied "No." then asked the price of the meal.
Bracing one hand on the table the wanton wench leaned nearer. "The food is ten pence but for a few farthings more I could warm your bed tonight."
Steely eyes locked on the young girl's painted face and she was held spellbound. As the mesmerized maiden stared into the icy orb's deep blue depths, past memories merged with flickers of the future and fluttered around her mind like moths madly circling a flame.
Then fiery sparks flashed inside the mysterious man's enlarged pupils and besieged the blue ice. The optical link dissolved and the bewildered girl blinked twice before she realized that the stranger was standing closely beside her and that ten pence plus three farthings had been pushed into her hand.
"I'll sleep alone tonight.'' he whispered, the words brushing against her flushed cheek, "Use the farthings as you wish." he instructed then added as a warning. "Don't tarry on your way home."
*********
Somewhere in the bordering forest an owl hooted out a haunting song. Wispy vapors overshadowed the moon's narrow crescent causing the cressets (1) lining the street to struggle against the cloudy obscurity.
The man tugged on his cloak then shouldered his cloth traveling bag, bedroll and quiver. Resting the crossbow against his hip he stepped out into the clammy mist. Outside the tavern he paused to allow his eyes' adjustment to the dim light and to study his immediate surroundings.
All about the stranger the night hid many secrets. As a tingle scurried up his spine his eyes darted up the street, back across the way then in the opposite direction. Nearby branches trembled and the leaves shivered as if they, too, suddenly sensed the unnatural disturbance.
"You can't hide forever." the man hissed under his breath as an abnormal chill permeated the air.
*********
The land lying between twin mountains called, The Sisters, and the Aragonian Kingdom to the east had always been plagued with minor demon activity but in the last three months the incidents of dangerous encounters had increased not only in frequency but severity as well.
First the decreased population of wild animals stirred the local's curiosity. When livestock began to disappear from fields and barns curiosity quickly turned to uncertainty concerning the cause. Then over a two-week period, when a farmer vanished and four mutilated bodies were found scattered throughout the forest, uncertainty bloomed into panic and fear.
A Petition of Protection was dispatched to the Regional Magistrate. In answer to the urgent plea, soldiers were garrisoned outside of town. For five nights it seemed their patrolling presence had discouraged further trouble.
But upon the sixth sunrise it was discovered that the entire squad, save one man, had been slaughtered. Unfortunately the sole survivor, a Junior Lieutenant, didn't have enough mind left to answer any questions.
Finally the parish priest issued an appeal to the Diocesan Bishop stating that his parishioners were beyond man's help and that only godly intervention would save the village. Only then did the Church reluctantly agree to hire a Demon Tracker.
The Church did not officially sanction Demon Trackers. They were considered the last resort, the final stand between mankind and the profane minions that were in league with Satan and his unholy angels.
Many Trackers were defrocked priests. Other Trackers were men or women with an inborn talent to "feel" evil and the courage to face and defeat wickedness in its foulest forms.
Now the black-clad stranger surveyed the streets, a man skilled in all manner of defense against every perversion of heaven and earth...a Demon Tracker named Heero Yuy.
TBC...
(1) Cresset--A metal bucket mounted on a pole to hold oil or pitch that is burned for illumination.
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