Demonic Devourer's Development

The guard hounds couldn't take the trail in the city's stink, and their houndmasters had to circle around the gates in search of trails. They were lucky that the weather was dry lately, and the scent, and tracks, kept well enough for the dogs to find the first trail of scent that didn't belong to an animal.

They were special hounds, trained to track humans. The city guard, and at times templars, used them to seek brigands and bandits in the wild. Cold winters tended to increase their populace, and at springs—just like that one, so early that there were still patches of snow lying at the shadier places.

By autumn, most of the bandits would be replaced by monsters, and a simple hound won't take a trail of one. For that, rangers and druids from Adventurers' Guild would use their monstrous pets who feared no beast and were enhanced with some of the power of their masters.

The guards' simple hounds, which by the chief huntsman was enough to take trail of some heretics, growled from the scent they picked up, and hesitated to follow it at first. The huntsmen had to shout at them, urging them to go on, and even then the hounds moved slower than usual, and clung to each other as if seeking protection in numbers of their pack.

If that caused a delay, it was insubstantial. Especially since the trail itself wasn't that long, and while it winded around a little, it was less because someone was hiding their trails and more because of many natural obstacles on the way: fallen trees, water streams, deep ravines. The trail circled them all, though most were entirely passable with a bit of athletics.

If the tracks didn't say otherwise, the huntsmen would've suspected the heretics were hauling something heavy with them, too heavy to jump around with it.

The end of the trail was closer to the mountains, in one of the many natural caves that peppered this area. Unlike them, though, it was much harder to find. Its entrance was masterfully hidden by both the form of its mouth, and the thick thicket of ivy that cowered the entire cliff.

The hounds barked with joy and pride, showing their masters about the thing they found. A burrow! Some of them, taken from normal hunters at first, were trained to search for burrows, too.

The chief huntsman ordered his people to gather the dogs and called for the templars that walked all that way with them. Blazing red emblems they wore on their armours showed they were from the Sorcerers' Order. The chief huntsman, the man old enough to think that maybe it was time for him to retire after all, despite his still bright love for dogs and criminal work, found it quite curious that they were the only ones working on that operation.

Of course, templar orders didn't always work well together, but against heresy, they normally put up a united front. Then there was the matter of secrecy, which all their squad had to swear, and the fact that instead of a single huntsman, they took everyone there was…

Not that the chief houndmaster disliked working in the team—he liked all his colleagues, because in Tinaris they all shared his love for dogs and criminal work, and this was a rare chance to chat with them all—but this case stank.

For things like these, the chief huntsman had a nose no worse than that of his hound.

But when the search team entered the cave, he wasn't the one who noticed the thin lines of thread across the tunnel. It was a young templar who alerted others, and not a moment too late—another templar was a step away from touching it.

They found half a dozen more of these farther into the cave, all primed to throw crude oil bombs at them, and a pile of ashes that must've been everything the heretics didn't take with them. The only thing they couldn't move or burn was the huge rectangular stone that appeared to be an altar of sorts.

In the thin cracks that covered it were visible dark speckles of crusted blood, old blood that seeped so deep into the stone it was impossible to wash off no matter how hard you tried.

"Blood sacrifices too? I bet they were human," a templar muttered, spitting. "Too bad they left nothing for us to burn."

"Saves us time. There's nothing to see here!" The templar leader declared. "Gather up and search up for the other trail. Either there's another way out, or you missed a split on our way here!" He gave the houndmasters a glare that gave no doubt—he would blame them and only them if this operation, for some reason, fails.

They found the split after a while, but didn't follow it for long until the hounds began to whine and sneeze, covering their noses in pain. A single glance and a sniff were enough for the chief houndmaster to curse.

"They must've thrown half of their provisions here! I can smell pepper, garlic…" He knelt down and began to dig around the trail, carefully picking up bits and pieces of spices from turf. One of them made him grimace and wipe the dirty hand on his pants. "Some oil, too."

"Aromatic oils, maybe? I heard women like them." Another houndmaster suggested.

"Why would some heretics have aromatic oils with them, idiot? Do they look like some high-born ladies for you, who have nothing better to do their entire day than to primp themselves and sniff pretty flowers?"

The younger houndmaster from this retort entered a state of great embarrassment that he tried to swallow away from his cheeks, but that only moved the traitorous redness on the back of his neck. "M-maybe one of them was a woman… and she liked to primp herself. Not only high-born ladies do that. M-my sister, she's not highborn, but every time she goes out she whites her face with flour…"

"We didn't come here to chat about ladies. If you lack them so much, that's what whorehouses are for." The appearance of the templar leader, angry and spitting again, made both houndmasters stiffen up. He gave them another unhappy stare, then asked in the tone that suggested that he already prepared himself for the worst answer yet won't enjoy hearing it, anyway. "Can you follow the heretics further?"

The chief houndmaster looked at the dogs that were now cared for by the gaggle of other guards. "The dogs will need time before they can take the trail again, but we can try to do something ourselves. These people weren't used to walking stealthily in the forest, and the trail is still fresh. It'd be better with the dogs, but we can do without here."

"Then leave the dogs and the rest of your people here. Take one, just in case, and move."

They moved. The trail was hidden somewhat—the chief houndmaster, an experienced tracker, could tell that the heretics tried, but not well enough—but he could follow it. Then, in an unexpected twist, the trail led out of the forest and to the mountains, and from there to a mountain stream.

"They must've entered the stream here, or crossed it. Then they walked over the rocks…" The chief huntsman stared at their bare backs, glistening from the melted in the shining sun's rays snow, in dull despair. He would be blamed for this failure, and what for? He wasn't a god! "Even if we had hounds, we would've lost the trail here."

The templar leader didn't disappoint. The chief huntsman replied to him exactly what he thought to reply with. Then, with the idea that his demotion from this probably won't get any worse (it came from how important this mission appeared to be for the templars) added some choice swear words about the templar leader and where he could stick his opinion on top.

While the templar leader reddened from anger like a boiling lobster, a young templar—the youngest, one that stood quietly behind all that time except for once when he noticed the first trap in the cave—stepped forward with a strange smile on his lips.

"Not a god, hm?" he spoke. "Well, well. Let's see if a god can do this, then."

The templar uniform on him turned into a set of sturdy and inconspicuous clothes travellers and adventurers liked to wear, capped with a cloak. His face changed too, to a one a little older, and much more smug. But what left no doubt about his identity were the two daggers on his belt and the oppressive aura of divinity that made everyone around drop to their knees.

Rey, God of Rogues, smirked at the pale from shock faces of the team he followed in disguise until this moment. The reveal of a god walking among mortals was always his favourite part. Of course, he had to use the aura if he wanted to be recognised, since he didn't look as shiny as some…

"Go back to Tinaris and make your reports. Make sure they don't include me.. Dismissed."