Chapter Text
The feeling of the man atop him bothered him more than the tacky thickness of blood that coated Qifrey’s teeth.
The prickly carpet fibers and smell of muddied, wet wood dug into his senses and clawed at the inner most parts of his throat and nose. The drowning smell of iron that had been so present minutes before had all but ceased.
The naked man above Qifrey collapsed, loose limbs folded into themselves, open mouthed and drooling, eyes wide with a vacant look that spoke of the fear he encountered before his tragic death.
The body jolted, choked gargles bubbled out of the man’s throat, it laced his tongue with a film of foamed saliva. His finger twitched, a pathetic press into one of Qifrey’s ribs— his last plea for his life.
A final breath, an elongated moan and crackle of blood caked spit erupted from the man’s mouth. The entirety of his weight being released at once made the bed squeak one final time.
Qifrey wouldn’t miss that sound, that’s for sure.
He pulled away, slowly. The drag of his sharp teeth followed the same path they took when he first bit into the man minutes before. He could feel the give of his skin and the fibers of muscle that clung in between his canines. He had gone too deep once again. Qifrey groaned, his strength returned with each slow beat of his heart. The man’s blood coursed through him and with his hands placed firmly on his shoulders, Qifrey saw the color return to him. His skin was still pale, yes, but it had that flush of pink it hadn’t previously.
He shoved then, the man moved like a rag doll— lifeless and void of any bodily autonomy. There was the horrifying pull of the stranger's soft penis that escaped his barely leaky hole. Qifrey had reluctantly accepted the stranger’s advances, getting the man drunk on mead and fed him blushing words and touches until he had been pinned down under the man.
Qifrey wiped the blood off the corner of his lip and his tongue did its best to wipe away any of the bile tasting blood coated over his canines. He couldn't even look at the man but the slow creeping mass of red that stained the sheets grew closer and closer.
I can’t stay here anymore. He decided. He gathered his robes back on and barely tied the lace of his boots— he only wrapped them around his ankles and tucked them loosely into his shoe.
He had grabbed anything that could be tied to him. His cloak, his hat, his jewelry he had previously taken from a last client, and his spectacles that had sat facing the bed. He barely saw the reflection of the dead man in the blacked out lens before he yanked the window open and climbed out onto the root top.
The roof tiles clinked under his feet, the moon radiating in the night sky was his way point. The blood that coursed through him helped his gait grow faster and he could feel the roots beneath his skin slowly subside their impending doom.
He'd be fine for another couple weeks. Now, it was time to go on to the next town over.
Fourth Victim of Cannibalistic Killings Found In Kalhn Inn
"I just don't understand," The bartender wiping down the counter before him comments to the man reading the paper across him, "why go for the men who have no worth to them."
The patron reading shrugs, "No one would miss a man with nothing to his name. Besides, didn't stop the killer from stripping him of his worldly goods." He begins to read an excerpt. "The man was left stripped of his belongs. His pockets emptied and anything to identify him lost. The Kalhn law enforcement has denied to comment on any other findings."
"Not a good sign. Those idiots don't know what they're doing over there. How can you have no evidence of the killer with such a messy crime scene? The woman that murdered him had to have left something behind." The bartender slides another mug of mead to the man.
Olruggio sits three chairs away, his head in his hand as he mindlessly takes note of his map of Ghodrey. He stalls when the man folds the paper onto the counter and turns to him.
"You best be careful out there, son. It says here that murder was just outside the city limits. Sounds to me she could be heading her way north to us," He jabs a thick finger at himself, like the killer would target him specifically. Olruggio side eyes him.
"Ridiculous. You guys believe in a crazed woman-killer who sucks the blood of her male victims and leaves them dry with her pockets stashed?" The two men give him a worried look. "No one outside these parts could even attempt to cross our borders with the storm that's brewing. It would be suicide without the proper gear." He slams his journal shut, letting out a heavy sigh as he hops off his stool and places the tab he owes on the counter.
"Have a safe night, gentlemen."
"Olruggio." The bartender quips, his voice laced with anxiety. "You be careful out there."
Olruggio tugs on his snow coat and clips his cloak to the golden tassels that decorate the front. He adjusts the cap on his head. "I'll be fine. You guys stay safe out there."
The snow is already piling as he makes his way out of the warmth of the bar. He fights the wind and beating ice just to open the door, eyes going dry against the crisp air and the vicious cycle of tears burning every time he blinks commences. He pulls down his cap, its wool lining sliding against his dark hair and the ruffled fabric of the same material prickles at his chin hairs. He can already feel the snow clinging to his facial hair.
He better head home quickly.
He makes his way across the icy cobblestones to the boarding stable. His boots for this specific weather stab into the ice and cracks into it like glass so as not to slip. He marches, holding his cloak close to him. His steeds ears perk when she hears her master, her munching on the dying grass between the stones stop. Her wool laced saddle and the rug that had been made especially for her— for these types of climates— sits snugly around her. Olruggio places a comforting hand on her nose, his thumb brushing across the cold pink of her nostrils.
"Glad you stayed warm," He says gently. "Let's get you home."
He guides her out of the stall, fastens his travel bag to her back and hops on. He lives half a clockmark away but the travel proves to be rough. The snow swirls around them like daggers of ice, the harsh cold wind burns the inside of his lungs and from the way his steeds nostrils flare and huff, he'd say she's suffering more than him. He pats her neck, pets her hair down only for the wind to blow it back out of place.
"I'm sorry," He coos. "You'll get a nice long rest once we're home."
The blizzard grows within seconds. Small blades of ice turn into blooming large chunks of snow. They coat the pair, the shivering of their bodies overtaking their nervous system. Almost there…almost there.
Olruggio spots a strange light in the distance. Within the flurry of white, he can see a woman and child on the side of the ice infested road. Olruggio apologizes to his horse as he taps her flanks to make her pick up the speed. She plows through snow obediently and heads straight to the helpless family.
"Help! Please, help!" The woman yells, waving her arms, lantern in hand. Her son— an eight year old it seems, is bundled up inside his mothers cloak, shivering with fear and numbing coldness. Olruggio pulls on the reigns when he marches up. Snow gathers at his horses feet. Closer now, he sees the chapped skin of their lips, their rosy cheeks, and lack of more than two layers.
"What are you doing out?! Didn't you hear about the storm tonight!?"
"It's already hit us! Our roof collapsed just east of here!" The woman's voice travels through the rushing wind, muffling her speech. "We had tried to escape with what we could gather! I've lost my way! Please, help me!"
Olruggio frowns deeply, his steed anxiously steps in place and shakes her head. He looks down to the boy who once more hides in his mothers clothes when he's caught staring.
"You're lucky I know of an inn not too far from here. I'll take you."
With perfusing thanks, the woman bows and looks to be on the verge of tears. Olruggio pats his mare's neck. "One more favor, hm?"
He helps the child onto the back of his horse first, the mother handing him over and Olruggio sits him right against his chest. He opens his cloak and encircles it around the boy, he clips it closed. Next, he offers his arm to the woman, hoisting her up. She wraps her arms around his middle and he clicks his tongue to get his mare moving.
"You've saved my life. I can't thank you enough."
"Just making sure you lot get warm. No need to thank me."
The soft glow of the twin flames above the inn's door tremble when Olruggio arrives to the destination. The inn is located just far enough behind much taller buildings that the snow hasn't reached too great of heights yet. Soft breezes of air kicking up the dusty snow and sending it into a flurry around as the woman awkwardly steps off the horse. Olruggio hands the woman her son and follows her, lead in hand with his horse following behind. He hitches his horse and takes off the heavy load of their baggage. Olruggio makes sure to give her one last pet before leading the family into the building.
The inn is practically empty, not even a worker at the desk. Olruggio toddles around, looking around corners for someone.
"Hello?" He calls. "Got a few folks who need a room," His voice darts across the stone walls. The woman's son toys with a bell, the sound high strung and long. Silence falls until there's a faint clicking of heels on stone. A woman emerges in formal wear, hands folded together in front, her face softening when she sees Olruggio.
"Olruggio." He nods in response and gestures to the woman and child.
"They need a room. I was hoping you'd lend one out for the night for this lass and her young'en. That storm is gettin' angry."
The desk clerk looks over at the pair and back to Olruggio, her brows pinched and lips parting with worry. "Olruggio, I can't just let these people stay, they have to pay for a room." She says it with defeat, like it's out of her hands. The mother and son don't hear her but they stare intently when Olruggio looks to them with a troubling look. He steps closer to the woman, facing his back to the pair.
"That storm destroyed their home. They're lucky they didn't get swept away and lost out there. You can manage one night, please." He tries to reason with her, he leans closer.
"You're really gonna refuse a child a warm bed?"
She almost attempts to protest, lifting her fists slightly to her chest, she turns to look at the boy tucked to his mothers side.
"Come, you two. Let me show you to your room."
Olruggio follows with them, walking alongside the woman.
"Where about is your home, then ?"
"Just a couple miles out east…we had been out there for hours."
"I'll head over to your home first thing after the storm," He offers so casually as if it's like offering a slice of bread. "I must return home tonight, but I'll grab anything you need." He eyes the clerk just feet away, her straightened back stands to attention. "You'll need to pay by tomorrow." The woman's cheeks blush, eyes filled with admiration and on the cusp of tears.
"You are too kind for your own good, sir. Bless you."
They reach the room, the woman scribbles a path on his map to her home, along with a note telling him where he could find her valuables. Olruggio bows, the woman bows further and he turns on his heel to leave.
The same clerk speaks, her voice carrying an anxious weight. "Be careful, Olruggio. I heard about those murders in Kalhn…you shouldn't go back to her home…it's dangerous."
He scoffs, flipping his cloak closer to him and marching back the way they came. "Everyone's so damn worried. No one can survive a storm like this. That family was a goner had I not been there. I'm used to this snow," He looks to her when he creaks open the inn's doors. "I'll leave first thing in the morning and be back before you know it." The door shuts behind him and as he unties his mare for the second time tonight, the lanterns flames above the inn's entrance go out when a particularly sharp gust of wind cuts through the air. In the dark, Olruggio grabs his hat to secure it on his head and looks down at his trembling, chapped, cold hands.
No one could survive this for long.
Qifrey looks down at his quivering, cracking, frozen hands. Blood cakes under his nails, the smears of red, dry and crackly on his delicate fingers. He can't bring himself to touch any more snow, not when it's piling into his boots with each heavy step and drying up his throat. Blood drips from his ribcage and he clings his much-too-thin cloak over it when a gust of wind hits it hard like salt to a wound. Droplets of red glisten with the contrast of the silver white snow below him. He can barely see ahead of him, white noise of flakes erupt his vision and the suffocating icy air reminds him too much of his discomfort for water. He tenses and a large glob of blood hits the snow with a soft sound.
He hadn't meant to kill again tonight, but as was his excuse every time— he couldn't help it. It wasn't his fault he had been forced into this. It wasn't his fault for being hungry, or for pinning some stranger into an alleyway and attempting to feast. It had been late enough but Qifrey underestimated the man and the public's knowledge of his nightly ventures.
Getting stabbed hurt despite the pain being dulled after so many years of his half-dead state. He'd say that's what gave him the reason for ripping open the man's throat with his mouth and chomping into his vocal chords to silence him. The gurgling sound of someone's last breath being the only thing to ever truly bother Qifrey.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You made me do it. If you had just stayed still…
His hand clings to his cloak which slowly oozes from grey to a deep red hue. Qifrey moans, hunching over and trips over the growing pile of snow surrounding him. He looks up, hand raised to the bone of his brow to block out the bright moon light.
The house before him with a collapsed roof is his beacon.
Olruggio's travel home takes much longer now. His mare is all but exhausted and her feet drag the closer they got to their goal. Just down this path used to be dirt but has now turned to frozen mud and ice filled horseshoe indents. His breath wisps past his shoulder, clicking for her to go faster. The barn ahead of them is finally in view and he forgets about following the path. He cuts through the snow, his limbs trembling as the snow freezes up his very bones. He feels stiff and is eager to put away his horse and get back inside for a nice bath.
He hops off his steed when they reach the barn and leads her inside. It's significantly warmer once they enter and the large doors shut with a latch. The wind settles, still beating against the wooden panels but with less passion. Olruggio lights a few candles, his horse sticks close and he can feel each huffing pant from her nose. He turns to her and meets deep brown eyes.
"You did a good job, my good girl," He reaches and she meets the palm of his hand half way. Her eyes flutter like she understood the words— she at least knows that tone of his. He swipes his palm over her cold nose a few times, opens her stabling, and she slowly trots into the space. Olruggio, still in his heavy snow cloaks, rummages around in there with her, moving the hay and bedding to what he knows is to her liking. She nibbles on some stray strings of hay, her head slowly turning to him and bowing. Thank you. He lights a lantern and locks her stable up.
The cold pinches his cheeks when he's forced to leave the confines of the barn. The snow in his goatee melted within the time he had been in there and almost instantly freezes over when he steps out. He pushes the wool to cover his chin, fabric flapping harshly. The lantern at the edge of his handle jostles and the flame kisses the glass encasing it. His feet are forced to drag through the snow, it's almost up to his knees now. The thought of a warm cup of hot, buttered rum and a nice bath is his greatest motivation.
He reaches his door, the handle frozen over by ice. It cracks and shatters when he turns it with a vice grip and jerks the door open. The warm, comforting air engulfs him and his cheeks grow red instantly from the drastic temperature change. Olruggio lets out a long awaited sigh of relief, unclips his cloaks and leaves them on the floor. He'll get to that later. He kicks off his boots, clumps of snow fling and slowly melt on the wooden floor boards. His course is set on the fireplace that he lights instantly, it crackles and the flames spark, highlighting the Ghodrey crested rug before it. Olruggio sits right in the middle of a diamond design adorning it and outstretches his hands towards the fire. His nails are brittle and purple and he struggles to bend his fingers properly. The fire slowly thaws him up, so much so that he almost feels too warm. He gets up then and gathers the things he needs for a bath.
With a mug of steaming rum and a full hot bath, Olruggio steps into the water. The warmth loosens his muscles, stinging just slightly on the still healing cuts from the other physically taxing help he's done for others the past couple days. He'd been prepping for this storm for a week now, making sure buildings were secured, insulating the walls and making sure everyone had dry fire wood. It's a tough job, being the main handy man everyone goes to. His reputation as a gifted child still haunts him in his adulthood and he's learned to accept the fact that he'll always care more about others than they care about him. It's his duty to help those in need, what use is he if he can't push himself a little farther for them?
Olruggio sips on his rum, lips kissing his teeth after each swig. The water sloshes as he ducks further under the steaming water, it laps at his chest and hugs around him. He lets his eyes shut and attempts to drown out the rushing wind outside with a low humming. It's an old song, one his mother used to sing around the house, and later on had adopted that same habit of hers. There's a pang in his breast, a feeling that hollows a small part of his chest and his voice trembles softly as he tries to brave through the feeling.
I could have done more for that family. Why hadn't you offered your own money. He had none to. But shouldn't he have at least given her what he had left?
Before he lets those nagging thoughts take over, he finishes his rum and steps out of the bath. Olruggio gets into this night shirt, accompanying it with a pair of thin pants. He puts on his crocheted cardigan and two layers of socks before hobbling to his bedroom. Candle in hand, he makes his way to his bed and sets the flame on the bedside table just right of him. He gathers a pen and his journal, opening it to inspect the map and his notes.
"Got my work cut out for me," He sighs through his nose and flips to a blank page and begins to write the details of his day. He thinks of the conversation with the men at the bar.
"Sounds to me she could be heading her way north to us."
A cannibal, loose in a billowing blizzard. He laughs to himself. "What a silly notion," he says to himself, closing his journal and setting it to the side. He leans over and blows out the candle, the light reflecting off the snow shines into his room. Olruggio cuddles into the fur covers and toys with a fringed tassel on his pillow. His stomach lurches with anxiety over the trek to come.
"Your horse'll be no good in this snow."
"Yes, I know that," Olruggio bites to the man. "I had to get here somehow, didn't I?" He doesn't mean to be rude but the stout man before him almost immediately hadn't let him get a word in. "I just want to rent a sled and five or six dogs."
"Where are you trying to run off to? It's stupid to attempt leaving when that snow blanketed almost every path and—"
"I have business to attend to just east of here. It's a job. Here," Olruggio's fist of money opens palm up, he hands the man the coins he owes. "I'll only be a couple days at most." The man accepts the money but not without looking at it questionably.
"It's a suicide mission. You lose those dogs, you pay."
"Ey," Olruggio says lowly. The shop keeper helps him prep the eager canines. Straps his luggage to the sled and swipes his hands. Olruggio feeds his mare half an apple and places his forehead to the side of her snout.
"Be good."
"I'll see your horse gets taken to the local stable to stay. Don't," The shop keeper points a finger at Olruggio, "die out there, ya hear?" Olruggio nods and turns to the horizon of white hills.
He grunts, "Hike!" And the dogs speed off into the crisp white snow mountains ahead.
As the man stated, it's impossible to follow any path with this thick sheet of snow. Olruggio opts for following the tree lines, he knows a vague idea of what he's looking for at least. With the sun out, crystals of ice reflect into his eyes and the fluffs of snow rise into the air in a flurry of sparkling white behind his sled. His dark cloaks whip and flail with gusts of frigid air beneath them. Olruggio makes sure to cover his face more securely when a particularly sharp clump of snow smacks into his cheekbone.
The day stretches, he stops half way to take a small break and feed the sled dogs. He offers them water he packed in an insulated bottle just for them and pets one that nuzzled into his sleeve. Crouching down, he scratches the soft fur, a low rumbling comes from the dog and it blinks slowly at Olruggio. He'd always taken a liking to gentle creatures.
One of the disadvantages of being so far east from Ghodrey was the short amount of time the sun stayed up in the sky. It was already half mast in the purple sky when he was all packed and ready for the second leg of the trip. Olruggio curses to himself, takes a swig of the vodka he packed in a flask and fastens it back to his belt.
"Losing daylight, c'mon, you lot!" He makes the yell for them to move once more.
Half a clockmark goes by. Snow trickles off trees like powdered sugar poured too heavily over baked goods and clouds move along the growing blue horizon. Olruggio can see the stars in the night sky finally presenting themselves, he's distracted by the beauty of it before looking back ahead of him to the view in front.
There, in the distance— His destination. How a family could live so secluded, he does not know. The home looks small, the damage to the building looks worse for ware. The roof is caved in, a large hole lets the pile of snow slowly trickle from the roof tiles and into the home. Olruggio urges the dogs faster, the building becoming clearer and larger before him.
He's hops off the sled and commands the dogs to stay, setting them to the side of the house where the back door is. He tries the front door first. Locked. He circles back to the back door and a hound licks at his fingertips when he reaches out to pet it. Also locked.
"Huh…" The sun disappears behind the trees, laying to rest for the night. Moonlight breaks through the clouds and Olruggio looks up at it. Just as he does so, he see's a window that's cracked open.
There's blood on the glass. He gasps, eyes widening. The blood is frozen solid and he notices another hint of it on the wall of the house. A bloodied hand print on the wood panels. How had he not noticed? His eyes trail down to the snow where little droplets of red reside around. The wind had almost blanketed the evidence completely had it not been such a deep shade of red. The killings in Kalhn suddenly come to mind.
Olruggio looks back to the window and hypes himself up. "There's no murderer in there, idiot," he chastises himself. "You go in, get the necessities and you leave. Simple." He'd rather not try to come up with a reasoning for the blood around the house, he takes liberty of flinging the worry over it out of his mind completely. Olruggio climbs in through the window.
It's dark, unbelievably dark and cold. Sheets, pillows, paper and other various household items are strewn about. Mugs rock back and forth against each gust of wind that travels inside. Soft snow flakes fall from the sky, their touch down being much kinder than the storm the night previous. Snow crunches under Olruggio's boots. Watching his step and gathering anything he feels is important. He finds a doll by the front door, hand made and worn with clear markings of fresh thread restoring where it's been ripped at the seams. He stuffs it in the largest pocket of his cloak.
He takes a step forward towards the living area, looking up at the ceiling where the moon peeks in the corner of the large hole. Fractures of tiles and wood sit dusty and frozen on the floor. Olruggio moves one with his foot and something catches his eye.
Footprints. Actual foot prints. The sole and toes of naked feet dipped in the snow. They're fresh prints, too. Olruggio crouches, his fingertips melt the snow surrounding the foot shape. More blood flecks are mere inches away from each footprint.
"What the hell?" He breathes, his breath a billowing grey mass.
There's a yelp, sharp and loud and then the group of dogs outside begin barking. Olruggio shoots up to his feet and faces the back door to the home.
It's cracked open.