In the middle of the night, where the three moons were illuminated at various lunar phases up in the dark-violet sky, Idris was returning to the inn he was lodged at. As he walked down the mostly deserted streets of Hemera, he was occasionally taking a drink from a gourd bottle in his hand, one that he’d asked the keeper of the tavern to refill with more wine.
When he first came to Hemera to participate in the Pentacle Trials, he thought he'd be able to meet some interesting people. Who would have thought that he’d already met some interesting people even before he’d set foot in the trials themselves? Tonight was certainly an interesting night, if he did say so himself.
Then, in the midst of his casual, drunken stroll, his sharp ears picked up the sound of footsteps from behind—specifically that of someone following him. He was almost certain of it; the soft yet persistent pattern of their footsteps, ones that remained just close enough to not lose their target yet far enough to not be noticed by the target. Whoever’s tailing him was almost certainly an expert in clandestine reconnaissance, one who would have remained undetected by a normal person.
However, Idris was not a normal person. He was a hunter trained in the Ourea Mountains by the Galehawks, a secluded tribal clan of mountain hunters. His senses were expertly honed to match that of any animal—his eyes as sharp as an eagle's, his ears as keen as a bat’s, his nose as sensitive as a bloodhound’s. Even being half-drunk was not enough to dull his senses to the point where he couldn’t notice someone tailing him while hiding underneath a veil of shadows.
Being trained by hunters, he had the instincts of a hunter himself. And he did not appreciate being followed.
Is it those thugs at the tavern from earlier? Idris thought. No, these footsteps are way too nimble and cautious to belong to those thickheaded brutes. This is someone else entirely.
And given Idris’s complicated history, he might have a pretty good idea as to who it might be. In fact, given both the means and motive, he’s almost certain that it could only be one specific person.
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After making a turn and going down a dark, isolated alleyway, Idris stopped in place and simply stood there for a long, quiet moment—a nonverbal gesture signaling to the one tailing him that he knew about their presence. Then, slowly turning around, Idris could make out a shadowy figure in long, dark robes standing at the end of the alleyway where he’d just entered from. Due to the dim lighting, it’s nearly impossible to make out the figure’s exact appearance, though Idris did not necessarily need to see them in order to discern their identity.
All of a sudden, the shadowy figure pulled out a bow from under their cloak and shot an arrow straight towards Idris. Using his quick reflexes, Idris stepped to the side to dodge the arrow right as it flew by him. Then, as the arrow passed by, he quickly reached his hand out to grab it at its end—right where the fletching was.
Knowing the person who shot the arrow, Idris was careful not to hold the arrow by its shaft, for he knew there’s a likelihood that it was booby-trapped. After grabbing the arrow by the fletching end with one hand, he lightly tapped the arrowhead onto the wall of a building nearby, causing a series of sharp thorns to suddenly protrude out from its shaft.
A thornshaft arrow. An arrow with a special mechanism specifically designed to be used against people who had a tendency to catch arrows in the air.
Usually, when an archer shoots an arrow at their enemy, there’s a chance that their enemy might catch the arrow and use it against them. However, with a thornshaft arrow, the moment their enemy catches the arrow by its shaft, it would trigger a hidden mechanism that causes a series of thorn-like spikes to protrude outward from along the length of the shaft, injuring the hand of anyone who grabs it in the process.
Because of that, the only safe way to actually avoid getting injured by a thornshaft arrow—aside from simply dodging or blocking the arrow completely—was to hold it by its end at the section where the fletching of the arrow was, as it was the only section that was almost guaranteed to be free of thorns. Since the people who had a tendency to catch arrows in the air were usually other archers—who’d formed a habit of catching enemy archers’ arrows and shooting it back at them—one could say that thornshaft arrows were pretty much specifically designed for archers to counter other archers.
An arrow designed by archers to use against other archers. There’s only a few people in all of Alius who’d use an arrow like that—and Idris happened to know one of them. Too bad he was too smart even for a trick like that.
“Hello, Mordecai,” Idris said to the shadowy figure, a sense of casual familiarity in his tone. “Fancy seeing you here.”
