United Federation of Britannia,

Jorvik - Capital of Danelaw State,

1832

Edwin Warren Cidrec:

"Oi, you bloody Loksna! Watch where you're going!" an unfortunate pedestrian shouted as Ed's rush caused him to bump the man and interfere with his leisurely stroll.

Ed didn't mean it of course, but his job required him to have a hasty disposition and displeased citizens shouting at him was a fairly common occurrence. It didn't bother him, really, he was used to it.

His morning had been going well so far though, three deliveries down, one more to go before his lunch break.

Ed was a messenger by trade and a good one at that. Messengers didn't reap the same admiration as other professions such as lawyers, doctors, engineers or academics, nor did they reap the same pay.

Ed was 18 and he'd been running packages, letters, trinkets and occasionally pets, all over Jorvik for almost 4 years now. He didn't hate being out on the streets all day, Jorvik was his home and he adored it, but he came from a humble background and he was nothing if not ambitious.

After his grandfather's death, he was left with a nice house but little else to speak of, he felt lost and didn't know what to do with his life, so after becoming a messenger to make ends meet, he decided to make a go for it. Every year the guild accepted some of their runners to become apprentices in the office, being given the opportunity to progress through the ranks and Ed was determined to get in this year.

He didn't hate being on the streets, in fact, he enjoyed it, for the most part. Just this morning, delivering a sealed envelope to an unsuspecting, probably rich, over-confident playboy, Ed witnessed an amusing piece of magic enchantment he hadn't seen before.

Breaking the wax seal and opening the paper, the playboy's boasts to his friends were halted in their tracks when, not unlike a spitting llama, ink splattered onto the man's face, crawled to his forehead and formed the word 'CHEATER', before absorbing itself into his skin.

At the time, like the other witnesses, Ed was unable to contain his laughter watching the hysteria unfold. The length of time the playboy spent looking at his reflection in the pub window, attempting to rub the ink off before he realised he was stuck with it, might suggest he wasn't particularly intelligent. In reality, it was because he was supposed to be seeing the girl he cheated on the enchantress with later that day and she didn't know he already had a girlfriend, which, when you think about it, might actually demonstrate a lack of intelligence anyway.

After calming down and dashing off to his next job, Ed realised he'd learned two valuable lessons. Don't cheat and certainly don't get on the wrong side of an Enchantress.

Ed made his final delivery before lunch, so, since time was short and he had to meet a friend for lunch, he made his way back to HQ.

Heading for the closest Skyrail station, Ed began to wind down and relax, slowing down his pace. Jorvik's Skyrail system was important for messengers, important for the city too. The network spread out from the centre of the city, reaching right into the outskirts as far as Naburn to the south and Haxby to the north, about 14 miles.

It was an ingenious, steam-powered system that was multitiered, in fact, in areas it was so tall the rail itself ran through buildings. They were built around the line to accommodate Jorvik's expansion, so stations could literally be on the doorsteps of large residential blocks or important offices. In other area's, the older ones, houses, shops and other public spaces were built under the huge arches of the old stone bridges.

Ed left the dark of the alcove where the pub was and strolled onto the promenade, where after a short walk he arrived at the station. It was busy, like always, so rather than taking the elevator, he took the stairs instead. Three flights of stairs turned out to be more tiring than he thought. Boarding the north-bound line back to Hardrada Plaza, Ed held onto a straphanger as the cart jolted into motion. He was tall enough to reach them but only needed to steady himself for a short moment before he spotted a fellow messenger, Owen, a few booths down to sit with.

"Ahh, who's this I see here then, not causing any trouble are we?" the ash-haired Owen said with a grin on his face.

"Me? Never. Just thought I'd come keep you company since you can't reach the straps like everyone else." replied Ed, positioning himself on the seat opposite him.

Owen was short and couldn't comfortably reach the straphangers, so, he chose to sit most journeys more often than not.

"How's the day been then?" says Owen.

"You know, the usual, steady. Got to see a funny bit of magic earlier though. Not seen it before, ink enchantment I think."

Owen smiled.

"Tattoo or ink shower?" he asked.

"… Tattoo but, how--"

"Willing to bet it's from the old ladies down in Acomb then. Usually a favourite of theirs to get revenge on ex-boyfriends or nasty clientele. Pain in the arse that stuff is, your man won't be getting rid of that for at least a week I'd bet." He said, leaning back in his seat, chuckling.

He was a nice lad was Owen, worked the job since he left school and for the last 6 years had tried and failed to make it onto the apprenticeship. He was almost closer to thirty than twenty, something evident by the well-developed beard he sported that was the exact same colour as his shaggy hair. It was no wonder he'd seen that enchantment before.

"What about you, how's your day been?" asked Ed.

Owen took a sharp breath through his nose before huffing it back out again.

"Not bad, mainly the typical love notes between upper-class folk and their mistresses I suspect. Not as exciting as you by the sounds of it."

"Well, at least it's lunch now. Opportunity to rest and refuel." Replied Ed.

"Yeah, I guess so. I've gotta sign up for the career intake though, so it'll be a bit of a rush, unfortunately."

'He's going for it again then?' thought Ed.

"Did you not sign up when they opened entry a few days ago? George, Charlie, Phoebs and I did."

Owen snortled slightly.

"I almost didn't at all this year. I'm a nice guy, Ed, thought I'd let you youngins win it this time around. But then I came back to my senses and figured I'd give you a run for your money."

He couldn't be certain but Ed suspected Owen had grown tired with his lack of progression. Damn, he'd probably be disheartened himself if he were in Owen's shoes too. But Ed was happy to hear Owen hadn't given up, it inspired him in a way.

Owen didn't really socialise with the other messengers. Maybe it was the age difference, or maybe he just had a life outside of work that kept him busy, it was hard to tell since nobody really knew anything about him. Ed had a pretty good rapport with him though, it felt mutual too.

Occasionally stragglers attempted to steal messenger satchels, but it was a gamble, nobody besides the client knew what was in the packages. A couple of years back Ed helped run off a thief that tried to steal Owens satchel in a small back alley and after that Owen looked at Ed as though he trusted him, accepted him. It was reciprocated too.

When the train slowed into Mickelgate station, the last stop before Hardrada Plaza something riled Owen up from his slump.

"What's going on down there?"

The coach jittered to a halt and Owen stood up to get a better view of something on the street below.

Ed looked through the window. One of the good things about the Skyrail was the view it provided of the markets, roads and high streets below, it was handy for messengers to see if any areas were too busy. Occasional brawls between gangs in the rough districts and busy sales in shopping districts anywhere could become crowded for some reason.

The first thing that caught his attention was the police beacon whistling and wailing as the lights atop flickered for the attention of the authorities. The second was a serving woman, hunched over in anguish, her screams imperceivable over the commotion around her. But what tied the scene together for Ed, what made him realise had probably happened was the two polices officers stumbling out of the house and failing to keep the contents of their stomachs contained before unleashing them over the bannister by the entrance.

He looked to Owen, hoping he had a different hypothesis.

"You don't think…"

"Yeah, has to be. Not many crime scenes that could cause that sort of reaction I reckon," Owen said dejectedly.

"It's been so long since the last one, I guess I just hoped they stopped," said Ed, as he opened the small window, stepped up onto the seat and poked his head out to see if he could hear anything about what was happening.

"I wonder what's actually happened, I hope it wasn't the Slayer, I really do," said Ed.

As Ed turned back around to get a second opinion, Owen was still transfixed, his gaze unbroken as he stood with his head pressed against the window.

It looked as though even the notion, the possibility that it could be the Slayer evoked bad memories for him. Ed didn't know why. As far as he was aware the Slayer only targeted upper-class folk and Owen, like so many of the other messengers wasn't even close to that sphere - at least, Ed assumed so. So, what would make Owen react so badly it looked like terror itself was begging to escape from within him.

When the police siren stopped and the noise from the crowds congregating around the house could be heard, it became clear what had happened. Police were stopping onlookers from being nosey, reporters from encroaching beyond what they were allowed and attempting to establish a perimeter outside the house.

That's when Ed heard the shouts from the crowd, information being passed back from one person to the next, causing hysteria as it travelled. Ed and Owen's hunch was right on the money, bang on, hit the nail on the head. The Slayer had struck again.

Owen was still paralyzed, the only semblance of emotion on his face was his crazed eyes and the sadness seeping out of them. Concerned, Ed offered a reassuring shoulder pat, "Hey, you okay?"

Owen flinched slightly and corrected himself before dropping back to his seat.

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks. Just a bit scary is all."

"You sure, you looked like you were about to shit yourself. I was worried you might start re-painting the floor a stinky brown colour," said Ed, attempting to inject a bit of humour into the situation.

Owen forced a laugh and a subtle nod, followed by silence for the rest of the journey.

The 'Slayer' as they'd become known was a serial killer that, for the last 4 months, had murdered 5 people and also somehow managed to evade the police with remarkable ease. Naming a serial killer usually involved branding them with a quirky title that would get people talking, sell papers and keep people on the lookout.

The Slayer was different though. It was obvious from the first kill that this murderer wouldn't fall in with the rest. No killer could mangle bodies the way the Slayer did, so it became obvious they were a magic user, a good one too. But there have been other murders in Britannia involving magic before, so what made this different? It was the brutality. Victims were often only identified based on the residence a body was found in. Flesh so twisted, contorted and mauled that no discernable identity could be ascertained.

They were the most terrifying killer the country had ever known and the papers knew it, glamorising it and riding the publicity would betray their readers, doing the public a disservice, and so, a suitable moniker was given.