I walked into the hazy bar and looked around the room. It was fairly busy. A group of Orcs were in the corner shooting pool and drinking. A troll was testing his strength on the Stud-o-meter and there were other people sitting and drinking at the tables. I peered through the haze for the man I was looking for. It didn't take long for me to spot him. He was sitting at the bar toward the corner. He wore a long brown leather trench coat. On the back of the coat was a lighter tan leather cross crudely sewn on. It stretched from the shoulders down almost the entire length of the coat. Slung around the man's shoulder and laying across his back was a sword sheath that no doubt housed the famed "Silver Bullet sword." I could just make out the gold handle in the shape of a cross as well. On the bar next to the man lay a crossbow, always within easy reach, and always loaded. The bartender came over to the man and placed another drink in front of him. He lifted it to his eye level, saluted the bartender and gulped it down with a jerk of the head.
I had been studying this man for some time now. It was going to be an honor meeting him. His name was Bryan Fortworth, but he was better known as Phoebus, after the Greek god of archery. Phoebus was a "ghoul hunter." A ghoul hunter was the nickname given to those who hunted down ghouls for a living. This practice had started shortly after the awakening, when the ghouls began to rise and become powerful. A group of priests who called themselves the "Haruk Natash" or the "destroyers of the dead" began a secret society bent on the destruction of ghouls and all the evil that arose from the awakening. They were skilled in the knowledge of magic and witchcraft, but were not themselves mages. They would use ancient texts and modern knowledge to find the best way to destroy ghouls and other denizens of evil.
Once they were powerful enough and armed with the knowledge of their faith and the awakening, they set out to destroy the new evil. At first the ghouls were no match for this society and many perished, but then a great ghoul king made a vie for power and joined together large groups of ghouls to combat these holy warriors. The tide quickly changed and the Haruk Natash became greatly outnumbered and was soon so badly defeated that the only way to survive was to split up. And so each priest became a separate ghoul hunter. This made it difficult for the ghouls to hunt them down and soon they gave up trying. The ghoul hunters lived on and each new generation of hunter was taught the old ways and the tricks to continue the war. Phoebus is one such descendant of the original Haruk Natash and I was a reporter who wanted to learn more about this man and this strange society.
I walked over to the bar and stood behind him.
"Mr. Phoebus?"
He didn't turn around; he just slowly moved his hand over to the crossbow.
"Who wants to know?"
"My name is Jacob Peterson, I'm a reporter for the Seattle Times. I was wondering if you and I could have a talk. I'm interested in your life and some of your adventures."
He turned around in his seat. I finally could get a good look at him. He had a Grey beard that just came down to his neck and a Grey mustache. His white hair was still plentiful and somewhat askew on his head. Across his chest he wore two belts over a leather armor jacket. One belt had a variety of small glass vials filled with what looked like different colored waters. The other belt that crossed the previous was lined with arrows for the crossbow and ended in a holster for his specially made sawed off shotgun. Even as age encroached on him, he was still muscular and straight. He had a stature of a soldier and eyes of dark brown that almost seemed to envelop me.
"Oh really? A young fella like you wants to know about the life I've lived? What makes you think I want people to know about my life?"
"You're somewhat of a legend sir. Your name is well known, but your history is somewhat dim. I know you're a descendant of the "Haruk Natash" I just want to know more about you. I mean you're a ghoul hunter, something of an urban legend and very respected. Amongst ghouls you're still seen as public enemy number one. I want to know why they fear you and what it is that makes you so successful... I'll tell ya what, I'll ask the questions and you answer however you want... And I'll buy you a few drinks."
I knew this last statement would have him. Phoebus was a heavy drinker, his one and major vice. He nodded.
"Fine, you want to know why I'm so good and why the ghouls fear me. I can do that, but there will be no questions, you are going to sit there and I'm going to tell you a story, and you're going to listen. Understand?"
"Okay, but this had better have relevance, or else no drinks. Deal?"
"Deal."
And so he began. He talked about the "Haruk Natash and their descendants and how they kept the tradition alive. All of it was information I already knew.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt but, I know about the "Haruk Natash" and their descendants. I don't know about you, except that you're uncle was one of the first "Haruk Natash."
"Alright, you want to hear something exciting, something you can write about. I'll tell ya what, if you buy me a shot, I'll tell you the story about when I met the ghoul king."
"You are a sly old man. Bartender, bring this man a beer, a small one."
Phoebus leered at me.
"I want you sober to tell the story."
"You're fairly sly yourself, Mr. Peterson."
The drink came and Phoebus sucked it down.
He leaned back a bit from the bar, took a deep breath and began his story...
Chapter 2
It was back quite a ways when I was young. I had been a ghoul hunter for only about 4 years. I was still a little pink so to speak. My master, my uncle, had died of pneumonia about 5 months earlier. Before he died though, he gave me his bible; small brown leather covered bible. He instructed me to use the bible and all its knowledge to defeat the ghouls and eventually destroy their king. My uncle had high hopes for me, he said that he saw the end of the dark ones and the new awakening in my eyes. I still had doubts that I would be able to destroy the Ghoul King. All of the previous ghoul hunters that had attempted, had died outside of the King's Lair. None had actually seen the Ghoul King. I often told my uncle that it was impossible to penetrate the walls of the dark palace, but he told me on his deathbed that he had found the way in. He pointed to the bible.
"That is the key Phoebus, that is how you enter the hall of death." With that last breath he rolled his eyes back and died.
I looked at the bible. How was this supposed to be the key to the palace of the dead? I put the bible in my coat and left my uncle in the hands of the doctors. It was now my turn to take up the fight. I had been hunting ghouls for over 3 years, but never did I imagine that I would be destined to storm the dark castle. The dark castle, the hall of death, the dark palace, the house of death. All of these names it had been given and some others. It was an old monastery built long ago out where the barrens now lie. It was secluded and far from any form of civilization. It was perfect for the ghouls.
It was a large stone building with numerous corridors and tiny rooms for the monks. When the awakening occurred the monks were the first to battle the ghouls, but it was in vain. The ghouls were too strong and the monastery fell after a year of besieging. The ghouls killed everyone and burned and destroyed the ancient texts inside. They then constructed a large wall around the monastery made of old cars and anything else they could find.
The other ghoul hunters had tried many times to get into the complex but no plans were known to be in existence, and many hunters perished shortly after entering the courtyard. The ghouls would take the bodies of the dead ghoul hunters place them on pikes and stick them just outside of the walls of the compound as a warning to all.
In the months following my uncle's death I trained myself and grew strong. I practiced my crossbow till I could shoot as well in the day as I could at night. In the little free time that I allotted myself I would study the bible looking for a clue. I would pull out all of my bibles and all of the different versions I owned, all that is except the one my uncle gave me. It was too precious, I was afraid that if I opened the frail book I would inadvertently destroy its thin pages, but after three months of searching for clues, I finally opened my uncle's little bible out of frustration. I flipped ever so carefully to the book marked page of the opened brown book. A small piece of paper fell out onto the floor. I snatched it up and opened it. It read simply S.P.L. map #247-95. I looked in wonder. What could this be, had my uncle found a map to the monastery? I looked through the bible, there was nothing else. I sat down and poured myself a drink, and just stared in dismay at the little white sheet of paper. I kept repeating it over in my head. S.P.L... S.P.L. What was it, where was it, did it hold the answer to my questions.
I finished my drink and put the paper down on my desk in front of me. I picked up the book I had gotten from the library on ancient monk monasteries in England and began to search for a monastery with the name S.P.L. After an hour of searching I gave up closed the book and that's when it happened. On the cover of the book there was a stamped S.P.L. The Seattle Public Library. My eyes went wide, I grabbed the paper and rushed to the library.
When I got there I went immediately to the archives and asked if they could show me map #247-95. The young women behind the counter nodded, and disappeared into the back room. When she reappeared she handed me a disk and pointed me to an open computer. I sat down, inserted the disk, my hands fumbling with excitement, and the map popped up on the screen. Hanover Monastery. It was the map, and there was something special about it. A small blurb on the history of the monastery revealed that it had once been used in the old underground railroad to sneak slaves across the border into Canada. The monastery had acted as a safe house for escaping slaves. It had a tunnel system and secret passageways. I smiled to myself. I had found a way into the castle, as well as a way out.
I breathed heavily and pressed the print screen button. I heard the printer in the cubicle to my left start up and within a couple of minutes I had a full map of the entire monastery taking up about four sheets of paper. I placed them in my coat, returned the disk to the librarian and left.
When I got back to my home, I took out the map, taped it together, and began to study it. I drew in the wall, and some other features that the ghouls had taken the liberty of adding. Next I would have to formulate my plan. There was an old farmhouse that was at the bottom of the monastery's main drive and had acted as the receiving house for the slaves. From there a tunnel underground would allow me access to the main building. I would be able to enter through there. I had to hope the tunnels would still be there, and that the ghouls had little or no knowledge of their existence. I worked for about a week, I trained and I studied the map. I had determined to use the farmhouse as an entrance only. I would use a separate tunnel that came out of a sewer hole by a small river about a mile from the monastery. That way, I could use the sound of the water to mask my escape. So I trained hard and began to mix my potions and sharpen my arrows.
Phoebus sat back in his barstool for a minute, stretched and took a deep breath. He tapped lightly on the vials around his neck.
"These are what I call holy water," he looked at me.
"There is a chemical called Bezenine inside that inner small vial. This small vial sits in a slightly larger vial of Coloxophil. When thrown on the ground hard enough the two vials break and the chemicals combine giving off a very intense blue flame that creates a small circle of fire. Something that will burn ya good. An invention of the Haruk Natash. Makes for a great instant lamp or firebomb, you see ghoul skin is real sensitive to fire, it's why they don't like the sun, they burn easily. It's also why they like it cold and wet."
I nodded, anxious to hear the end of his story.
"Go on, you were about to storm the castle."
"Okay, Okay, keep your pants on. I'm just resting. Alright, where was I, that's right I had just finished training and was about to storm the palace..."
Chapter 3
The night came, when destiny would bring me to the house of death. I put on my leather armor, my gun belt and arrow belt. I readied my crossbow, loaded my shotgun, and strapped on my holy water vials. I removed the sword from my closet, checked the blade and strapped it onto my shoulder. I stood in my room and looked at myself in the mirror. I prayed to the lord, made the sign of the cross on my chest and walked out into the night air. I drove out to the barrens and parked the car in some trees about a mile away from the farmhouse. Using the cover of the night I was able to make my way slowly toward the house. I stayed down low behind some bushes and scanned the farmhouse.
It looked deserted. I crept up to the window and looked inside. I could just barely make out the shape of a single ghoul. He appeared to be asleep, only the light from a single candle illuminated the room. I could see his sharp claws glisten in the light and a drop of drool rolled down his cheek and splat onto the floor. I took a deep breath, walked over to the door and knocked. I heard a rustle inside, and I slid the sword from out of the sheath. When the door opened I lunged forward, thrusting the sword into the ghouls jaw, straight up through the bottom his mouth, up through his head and into his brain. There was no sound, only the hissing of blood coming from his skull. His arms fell to his sides, and I slipped the sword out from his skull and he fell flat on his face.
I walked over his body into the farmhouse, dragged his dead limp corpse into the room and propped him up in the chair. The map showed that there was a trap door somewhere near the north corner of the room. I searched the area and found it under a pile of empty food boxes and cans. It was a wooden door, hinged to the floor. I ripped it open quickly and found a dark hole with no easy way down. Luckily the fall to the floor was only about 10 feet. I flicked on my flashlight and leapt into the tunnel.
The air was musty and damp. The slight sound of a dripping water echoed out through the tunnels. I took out the map and checked my status. So far, so good. I made my way quickly down the tunnel. According to the map, if I followed this tunnel, I should end up in the foyer closet, just outside the main chapel. This was the same chapel I thought I would find the king in. The tunnel ended with an old wooden door, which had been torn from its hinges. There was a spiraling rock staircase that led up into the darkness. I slung the crossbow over my shoulder and pulled out my shotgun.
When I reached the top of the stairs there was another wooden door. I opened it slowly and found myself in a small closet. I smiled to myself to think how well this was going. Of course in the back of my mind, I was also scared to death.
I looked through the keyhole into the foyer. There were two guards standing side by side in front of the chapel's main door. I couldn't make out anyone else in the room. This would be my moment of destiny. I removed a couple of vials from my belt and readied my shotgun. I lifted my leg and with a quick forceful motion I busted down the door and threw the vials at the unsuspecting ghouls and fired my shotgun. The vials broke onto the floor and flames burst across the floor, lighting up the ghouls. They screeched and clawed at each other trying to stop the oily flames from burning their wretched skin. The first shotgun slug tore into the ghoul on the left. The other one was blinded by the flames and began to tear at his eyes. I brought my crossbow to bear on him and fired. The arrow made a slight sucking sound as it tore into his skull. He fell to the ground, writhed for a few seconds, and then stopped.
There was some commotion from within the temple. I loaded my shotgun and crossbow. I holstered my shotgun, readied my crossbow, and walked over to the chapel door. I kicked it open and there he sat. The king was sitting on a makeshift throne where the altar of the chapel should be. The crucifix of Jesus lay smashed on the floor at his feet. He sat there rather smugly, his eyes glowing red. He was huge, larger than any other ghoul I had ever seen. The lair smelled of blood and decay. He smiled at me and his teeth glistened in the moonlight that shown through the stain glassed window. He spoke:
"Welcome to my home, my palace, and your tomb."
"Thank you for the warm invitation. My instinct tells me I'm in the presence of the Ghoul King. Is there another name you go by so that I can write it properly on your headstone?"
"Hmmm, a feisty one, it will be a pleasure to watch you die. Yes my name is Docmail."
"Docmail, the right hand demon for the devil, how appropriate."
"Ah, a scholar and a warrior, that would explain the name Phoebus. You see, I'm a scholar too, Phoebus Apollo, the god of Archery. Ghouls and humans are not entirely different from each other. You think we are all murderous monsters that use the night to hunt human prey, well your right. Ha Ha Ha! Now enough of this chit chat. I'm hungry and I feel like killing something."
With that he pulled a sub machine gun from behind his throne and fired off a burst at me. I dodged behind an empty pew and bits and pieces of wood flew through the air. I crawled under the pews as he madly tore into them with the machine gun. Bullets whizzed past my head and pews blew to pieces all over the chapel. He was laughing loudly as he sprayed the place with bullets. I continued to crawl under the pews in the direction of the enraged ghoul. Finally his submachine gun gave up on him and he threw it away in fury.
"Come out, come out, where ever you are!"
I stood up slowly and stared at him. He stood there smiling, in his right hand was a long pike with a sharp serrated blade at one end and a solid brass ball at the other end. I drew my shotgun and aimed.
"Come face me like a man and die like a man."
I put the shotgun down slowly and placed it on the pew with my crossbow. I pulled out my sword and nodded to the ghoul.
"I have come to fulfill my destiny and I intend to do so. I have come to finish what the Haruk Natash started. I am going to send you back to your maker."
"Strong words from a weak man."
I charged at him and brought the sword down toward his head. He blocked it with the staff, and with a flick of the wrist he threw me to the ground. He jabbed at me with the pike and I rolled out of the way and the pike stuck into the floor. I kicked it with my foot and broke the head off into the floor. He fell back in anger and I jumped up to face him. He charged at me with the broken part of the pike, I brought the sword down on it and slashed at his arm. The cut was deep, and the shock made him drop the staff, grabbing his arm. The blood dripped from my sword onto the floor. It was green, the usual color of ghoul blood. It smelled rotten. Docmail let out a scream in pain. He turned toward me and snarled.
"You are quick, better than the usual hunter, but I will still cut out your heart and eat it in front of your face!"
He charged at me and managed to knock my sword from my hand. He slashed my stomach, knocking me off my feet, and into a pew. I looked down; the razor sharp claws had only torn through my leather armor. He was coming at me now; I grabbed the last four vials of holy water and threw them at him. They didn't burst open. I had not thrown them hard enough. They just rolled on the ground.
He grabbed me by my neck and lifted me up in the air. I struggled to free myself, but couldn't budge his fingers. He was laughing as I struggled. I swung my arm and hit the wound I had inflicted earlier. He dropped me instantly and stumbled back in pain.
"You little drek, you'll pay for this!" He screamed.
I ran back to the pew with my crossbow and raised it toward the ghoul. I fired the crossbow; it struck him in the left leg. He yelped and pulled the arrow out and threw it to the side.
"You think you can kill me with sticks, then you had better find bigger sticks."
I grabbed my shotgun and took aim. The first blast hit him square in the chest. He stumbled a bit but then turned toward me and sneered.
"You'll have to do better than that."
"I think I will!"
I pointed the shotgun at the vials that now lay on the floor underneath him and fired. The vials shattered blue flame everywhere. The ghoul let out a roar like nothing I had ever heard before. The blue flames engulfed him in a hellish glow. He scratched at his face and eyes trying to stop the searing pain. The smell of burnt flesh filled the room and invaded my nostrils. I watched in wonder as the ghoul King fell to the ground and writhed in a ball of flame.
"I have fulfilled my destiny."
I put my sword away, put my crossbow over my shoulder and holstered my shotgun. I pulled out my map and found the trap door behind the altar. I went down the tunnel, just in time to hear a group of ghouls enter the room. I ran through the tunnel till I reached the sewer grate. I kicked it open and followed the river away from the complex. Once I was safely away from the compound I snuck back to my car and drove home in the night.
Stunned, I asked the bartender for another drink.
"Well Mr. Peterson, thank you for letting me tell my story. I always appreciate a kind audience. I hope you have learned a good deal."
With that he grabbed his drink, toasted me, kicked it back, nodded, and walked out of the bar. I just watched him as he strolled down the sidewalk, his crossbow over his shoulder, and his brown long-coat moving in the wind. I tipped my glass to him and toasted the legend.
