That same day, on the other side of town, the great hero Elena scowled as she surveyed the alleyway. There were some blood stains in the very stone, but other than the almost uncountable number of tiny paw prints the alleyway was disturbingly clean. Behind her, a much more laid-back but still concerned Clarkson stood as he directed his men to search the area once more for anything they had missed. They milled about helplessly, following orders but nothing more. They knew searching again was only a gesture of comfort.
"Lady Elena, I'm not sure if we're going to find anything else worthwhile here," He said hesitantly towards the rigid hero. He held a bloodied scrap of clothing which drooped limply by his side. The alleyway had been picked clean except for this scrap, which had been flung out of the way and thus escaped the apparent hungry, but evidently very single-minded frenzy of rats.
Elena jumped at his words. She realized she must have been standing there for a while, staring at nothing. Her shoulders fell slightly with an audible, brittle sigh. "Yeah. I know. Still, it pisses me off knowing that bastard is here. The rest might be shitheads, but the people of this city… these people didn't deserve a death like this," Elena said with a helpless gesture towards the blood-spattered alley. She would never admit it even to herself, but she wasn't angry, just terrified to her very soul.
Clarkson shrugged his shoulders. "Well, at least we know he's in the city. How many half-elves could there be in Drassington?" Elena gave that last point a nod. He was right, as always. Ugh. I really suck at detective work, don't I, Elena berated herself, rubbing at her dark eyes. If Clarkson hadn't pressed me for details on the horse ride here, I wouldn't have even remembered that grinning bastard who ran past me when I was fighting that fucking lizard.
"Alright. Clarkson, call your men back in. Let's head back to the city guard's barracks. Maybe those lazy assholes will finally get a move on and admit that some nutjob is running around. If not, I'll make an example of someone."
"Yes ma'am," Clarkson shouted. This sounded more like Elena. "You heard the boss! Ready up lads, we may get to whip some cushy pricks into shape!"
In immediate response to his words, a dozen armed and armored soldiers hefted their weapons with a shout, and they followed the hero and her lieutenant out into the still-bustling market street with grins on their faces.
The hunt was back on.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Outside the city, close enough to see with sharp eyes, but far enough away to be hidden, crouched another set of figures on a hunt. Indeed, Mavier and his remaining kinsmen who had rallied around his flag could feel their hatred rising through their bodies just at the very site of the capital hosting those disgusting heroes. And, while the attack on what those oily smooth-skinned freaks called 'The Bastille' was largely unsuccessful, it still did not come without interesting discoveries. What made them more interesting, however, was that even the few surviving lore masters of the demons that Mavier had contacted did not know what those rats symbolized. Of course they made something up immediately and spread it quickly – it would not do to be seen as anything less than omnipotent.
Mavier scoffed. Symbols. It matters not. All that matters is that those rats wounded the cleric hero. That same hero who fought me to a standstill. That same hero who, along with the rest of her disgusting hero friends, took the attacks of the greatest hero demon kind has ever produced, and still kept on fighting.
Mavier turned to his comrades-in-arms. A few less than before the bastille raid, but still enough. "Brothers, any news of interest?"
The gray-skinned demon closest to him shook his head. "No sir. That hero scum still stands somewhere in the city. All we know is that when we interrogated that guard we nabbed, is that she is looking for whoever summoned those rats. Same as us."
Mavier crossed his arms in disappointment. Some said no news was good news, but no news meant no progress, no hope for revenge. Still, at least they could be reasonably sure that a possible ally laid in wait somewhere in the city. Then, a slight idea sparked through his gray head. Well, I suppose it's better than nothing… "Alright, Dimitre," he gestured to the demon closest to him, "ask around for a volunteer. We need someone in that city, someone to find that person before a hero does. Tell them that there is only slight hope of survival, but they will gain great honor in volunteering."
Beneath his stoic facade Dimitre winced at that last part, along with the rest of the demons listening in. They knew what that meant. A suicide mission. Still, a steadfast resolve burned deep in their hearts, and as Dimitre stepped forward with conviction, his companions burned his image into their minds. If they survived, this one they would tell stories about. He would be immortalized for his honor.
"My lord, rest assured. I will find him, no matter the consequences."
All around him, in their hearts, his companion and his lord echoed in their hearts. No matter the consequences.