“With eyes red it is said
The Frozen Abyss awakens.
From its hell it casts a spell
And the poor lost souls are taken.”
- The Poet, A Ghost in the Frost: Diaries of the Lost
The pool of blood that rested beside the Saint on the floor was much the same as the one that surrounded the Prince. The only difference between the two was that the Saint was fortunate enough to be alive. His wound wasn’t lethal. He just had lost a lot of blood. But once his injury and the Swordsman were under control, the rest of those at the tavern tried to figure out what exactly was going on.
The Witch listened as the Martyr told the story of the dead Prince and the red-eyed Swordsman trying to break the ice apart. To her it was reminiscent of a story her succubus mother once told her. The tale of the legendary Shadow Demon, a being capable of spreading havoc without even showing his face. The limits to his powers were never discovered, but he was the only known demon able to possess people, dead or alive. But due to the reputation he attained over the years, he also acquired the bull’s eye that came with it. People hated demons as it was, but demons who forced them to fight their own family members were hated above all. And so the Shadow Demon found refuge in the Frozen Abyss, where it said he vanished from the world. But what if he was still alive, imprisoned at the bottom of the pond that the Swordsman had been trying to crack? What if he was behind the Swordsman’s actions, possessing him to free his demonic flesh? What if she was right? Of course, that was the most worrisome question of all, and made her want to tell the others. But she just couldn’t. Not yet anyways. She would wait for the Swordsman to awake and see what he had to say first. Her reasoning for doing so came from another more recent rumor about the Shadow Demon, a rumor that said he died over six hundred years ago.
When the Swordsman at last came to there was no red in his eyes, only confusion. The only thing he remembered from the past day was smashing the ice. He couldn’t remember why he was doing it, just that something lured him to that pond and forced him to do it. He felt like a puppet with no control over his body, unable to act on his own free will. It was if he was under a spell or some sort of otherworldly possession. There was no better way to explain it. But the Witch was happy he explained it as such. It gave her tale more merit. Thus she decided it was the right time to express her theory and went on to tell her mother’s story of the Shadow Demon to the rest of the people at the inn.
Once she finished telling the tale and describing what she thought was going on she half expected the others to laugh, but to her surprise they didn’t. Instead the Ranger and the Thief were quick to support her, though they were sketchy on the details as to why. Nevertheless with their help she was able to get the others to buy into the story for the most part. Although to be honest, people were more open-minded as to what was possible in the Frozen Abyss. It was a dark and mysterious place.
But whether or not a demon was truly possessing people didn’t affect their current situation other than no one was to leave the tavern on their own. Thus when the Martyr shortly suggested going to see if the Prince was still alive, she was told it was a bad idea. But still, it was something she had to do, being who she was. She couldn’t just let him freeze or bleed to death if he did happen to still be alive. That would be doing the wrong thing. And luckily for her the Ranger sided with her, though it was not for same reason. If there really was a demon possessing people and it had left the body of the Swordsman, perhaps it had gone into the body of the dead Prince. That’s what he wanted to find out. And the Witch too decided to go with them, though it had more to do with the fact the Ranger was going than anything else.
And so it was settled. The Ranger, Martyr, and Witch were going to check on the Prince while the rest of the people stayed at the inn. Simple. How could anything go wrong?
Shortly upon their exit the Sage and Scholar made theirs as well, heading off to bed. The Thief meanwhile stayed up and watched over the wounded Saint and tied up Swordsman, who was already out cold, still exhausted from smashing the ice. It was an easy task the Thief had volunteered for mainly because it forced him to stay awake, which meant he could be alert if the demon or whatever snuck in the night before came back. This time he would be ready for it. It wouldn’t catch him off guard again. And so he concentrated his focus on not letting anything in, but he should have been more concerned with not letting anything out. For at that moment the Bard’s door swung open and out he walked, once again a living corpse. The Thief wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him as he watched the Bard head out the door. Regrettably though, he knew what he saw was real. And so he followed the Bard into the Frozen Abyss, just as the Bard had done to him just two days ago. In fact, the Bard even began walking down the same path again. And strangely enough, both times now the Thief envisioned the Bard’s forthcoming death. It was sad how cruel fate could be.
In less than a minute the Thief had caught up and proceeded to take the necessary course of action. He pulled out his knife and jabbed it into the back of the Bard’s skull, knocking him flat on his face. But this time he didn’t want him getting back up so he broke both of his arms and legs and tied him up with his own clothes. Now if the demon possessed him it would be only to hide. The Bard’s body would be of little other service to him. And that thought made the Thief happy, yet he was in no hurry to head back and share his joy.
With the Bard taken care of his first thought should have been to return to Jazmin’s Tavern, but there was no reason to compel him to. He was better off just fleeing the Frozen Abyss without telling a soul. After all, if the Shadow Demon didn’t kill him the Ranger would. He had learned that the first time they quarreled. To stay for the sake of the others wasn’t a part of who he was. There was no urge of heroism in his heart. He was born a scoundrel and would die a scoundrel. And so he headed south, returning to the shadows; disappearing once more...
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