Now that I have your attention, I suggest you use this time, these stories, to hide away. Immerse yourself in them, even if briefly, and let them take you far away from this place.
Well then, let me share with you the tale of a man who hungered endlessly, straining against the affliction nestled in his soul to remain human. A man who grasped at the future, pulling himself forward, impaired under the weight of his past.
I remember his story in fragments, so I will start with the first I can recall:
***
This tale begins on a train to Faruil in the West.
On a carefully chosen seat near the back of the cabin, a tall, wiry man with a boundless musculature sat tensely, as if restraining himself. His black, wavy hair hung down to his shoulders, untamed and wild. His gray eyes jumped from person to person, observing, calculating.
Despite his rigid demeanour, any sense of anxiety eluded him. In its place existed an overwhelming sense of hunger. The man resisted the urge to lick his lips as he stared at the passengers before him, his mind abound with thoughts of a plentiful and easy dinner.
Ignorant to his thoughts, but not to his rabid gaze, the passengers of the cart sat with a similar tenseness. The car remained in its precarious state for several minutes, before a new passenger entered: an old man with prayer beads held between his frail, shaking hands. He wore a dull-red robe with no embellishments, and a small satchel hung loosely from his shoulder. He bore a content smile that reached his brown eyes.
The elder chose a seat directly in front of the gray-eyed man, unafraid of his ravenous aura. After a few tense moments of silence, the elder turned to the gray-eyed man behind him. He rested his elbow on the back of the chair and observed him. After a moment, the elder smiled at the gray-eyed man and spoke in a low voice, inaudible to the other passengers.
"Your restraint is admirable, Lesher. So too is your humanity."
With gentle eyes, the old man stared at the gray-eyed man, awaiting a response. When none came, aside from a stiff nod, the elder continued in his low tone:
"I don't see many Leshers like you, hanging desperately onto their humanity, running from their new nature. As a believer in the goddess of kindness, I appreciate your efforts. If it's not too much trouble, I would like to learn your name."
The elder rubbed a portion of the prayer beads with his thumb, the wood beads had long been sanded smooth, seemingly by such a habit. It was details like this that the gray-eyed man often noticed. The worn down prayer beads a testament to the elder's long-time faith in the goddess of kindness, he chose to trust the man. In a rough voice, decayed by lack of practice, he answered tersely.
"Sylvain."
The elder smiled kindly, "Sylvain, a lovely name. I am Étienne, my friend. Now if I may be so troublesome, I wonder what it is you're doing on this train?"
Étienne adjusted his posture, leaning more relaxedly against the train car's window. He waited patiently for Sylvain's reply, peering out the opposite window at the lush scenery outside. Eventually, he turned his head to Sylvain as the man's voice recalled his attention.
"Hunting." Sylvain finally replied. After some thought, he spoke once more, "And you?"
The corners of Étienne's lips upturned at Sylvain's question. He eagerly replied with an answer of his own.
"Kindness has yet to reach us all. Until it does, or until I pass away, I will continue to spread it. It just so happens that this train is the fastest method! Now where, may I ask, are you headed, Sylvain?"
Sylvain hesitated briefly, then reached between the folds of his long, worn coat. With practiced fluidity, he removed a small knife and pricked the pad of this thumb with its point. When a drop of blood formed, he smeared it on the window.
At first, nothing changed, but after several moments, the streak of blood began to produce a hissing noise. The hissing then turned to smoke, and portions of the blood pealed off, disappearing into small red whisps. When the process finished, two words remained on the glass, written in red.
'River's end'
After returning the knife to its place beneath his coat, Sylvain gestured to the words on the window. Étienne, his smile slightly strained, nodded.
"I see. Then I'll keep them in my prayers." after a short pause, he continued, "I would like to ask a favour of you, my friend."
Étienne stared at Sylvain expectantly. Sylvain nodded for the elder to continue. With his usual smile, Étienne leaned closer as he spoke:
"I'd like you to have a clean hunt Sylvain. Satisfy that hunger of yours, but don't let the townsfolk come to harm. And remember, be kind to them. Can you do such a kindness for an old man like me?"
Sylvain stared at the kind elder, his eyes ablaze with a mix of emotions. With the passing of several long seconds, he finally nodded, an attempt at a smile appearing on his rugged face.
In front of him, Étienne leaned over the back of the seat and patted Sylvain's shoulder with vigour exceeding his age. He grinned happily and laughed loud enough for the whole car to hear.
"You're a good lad! Come find me in Rinnow Heap when you've finished up in River's End. I'll be glad to buy you a drink and hear about your hunt."
Hearing Étienne's words, the rest of the passengers collectively relaxed, the tension of Sylvain's presence finally broken. Sylvain himself lost his ravenous gaze. Despite his personality, even he found it difficult not to smile in the kind elder's warm presence.
The two continued to talk idly for several stops, before the train finally arrived at River's End. When the train came to a stop, Sylvain stood from his seat and moved to depart the train. Étienne held two fingers to his left chest, over his heart, and spoke a friendly goodbye as the Lesher left his sight.
"May the Red Lady be with you, Sylvain! Remember, Rinnow Heap, Maribelle's pub. I'll be waiting!"
No other passengers disembarked.
***
Standing on a wooden platform at the end of a wide road by the train tracks, Sylvain watched the train depart. At the last moment, he gained an uncharacteristic inspiration and waved to the departing vessel. Whether Étienne saw or not, he did not know.
Without lingering any longer, Sylvain walked briskly down the platform steps, then along the road. After a short walk down the road, passing through a copse of trees, he arrived at a long wooden wall. The length of the wall was broken at the road by an open wooden gate. Before it, a young man in loosely fitted gambeson and mail stood with a sense of pride. He bore a shortened spear, befitting of his diminished height.
The young guard watched relaxedly as Sylvain approached, his expression gradually growing nervous as he noticed the man's appearance. Sylvain sported a long woollen brown jacket, its lengths reaching his mid-calf. It bore signs of many repairs, its ends fraying. The pockets of the jacket bulged, their contents unknown. Most importantly, the man gave off a wild aura. His eyes especially intimidated the man, a deep and endless gray- they appeared empty yet yearning, as if his soul itself hungered.
Inaudible to the ears of most, the young man cursed his luck in a quiet hiss, "A damned Lesher!"
When Sylvain arrived within several metres without any sign of slowing, the young guard tilted his spear hesitantly forward and let out a shout.
"Halt! I must see your identification and license of travel, good sir! Until then, I must bar you entry."
At the sound of the guard's call, Sylvain halted his approach. He unhurriedly dug into a pocket on the inside of his coat, producing a rectangular piece of finished wood. He outstretched a hand, offering the object to the guard.
Albeit hesitantly, the young man accepted the wooden token, glancing at its surface. The object bore only two words on its front: 'Lesher Sylvain.'
Though he already knew what it would say, he turned the charm over, reading its back: 'By Royal Decree, Leshers shall not be barred entrance to any settlement or establishment under penalty of death. Under these circumstances, a Lesher is granted privilege to carry out an immediate execution.'
After ensuring the Royal Seal was genuine, the guard nervously returned the object to Sylvain. He then proceeded to quickly step aside, allowing Sylvain to pass.
"You may enter, Lesher Sylvain, sir."
Recalling his promise to Étienne, Sylvain attempted a smile before resuming his brisk walk through the city gates, leaving a confused guard in his wake.
As he entered the town, Sylvain paid careful attention to those he passed. He couldn't spot his prey outright in its human form, but by careful observation, he could discover flaws in their performance. His knife and blood trick could only narrow down a Leshy's location by so much, after that, he would have to rely on himself.
He caught strange looks from many passersby as he walked further into town, an impossibility to avoid in a small place like River's End. Hunts proved both easier in some aspects, and more difficult in others, in small towns compared to cities. In a small town, there were less suspects, but word of his presence would spread like the plague. This often lead to a chase that would take him far from town, or a confrontation before he was adequately prepared.
To minimize this, he kept to the edges of the road, quickly taking to the shadows as he approached the centre of the town. He would find a hidden location nearby, then use a particular spell to observe the town square unseen. From there, he could watch the comings and goings of the townsfolk and get a feel for their dispositions. If he was lucky, he would be able to notice incongruities in a person's behaviour or appearance, and locate his prey quickly.
His gray eyes shone as he observed those around him, taking note of those who seemed less familiar with the town, those who appeared out of place, or those who moved or spoke awkwardly. Anything that hinted they could be more than they seemed.
When he eventually arrived at the town square, he entered a small alleyway and sat behind a discarded crate. Once he ensured no one had followed him, he closed his eyes. His fingers quickly found their way to a silver button on his jacket, grasping it gently. A small spark ignited where his skin touched the silver, then a dim glow shone through his closed eyelids. In his mind's eye, various perspectives filled his vision; views from various nearby reflections.
Unseen, Sylvain began his hunt.