Uncertain Fortunes
Ore didn't think he would ever recover from his rage. Long after the flames had burned to smolders, he felt filled with an unholy heat. The jeweler had moved the family into the top of the jewelry shop. For the first time in their lives, the entire family lived in a single room, which did nothing for anyone's mood. The townspeople looked at Ore with open hatred, and in their eyes he read ill intent.
Ore didn't care for being treated poorly, but neither did he complain. Instead, he listened and watched and watched and listened. It took some time, but eventually he pieced together the incidents of the night of the fire. He knew that it had started at Sully's Bar, and that one of the men had come out intent to kill him. He knew which people had joined the mad march for his head, and eventually he knew where they all lived. But of course, that wasn't all Ore knew he alone had a knowledge of the dead long thought to have been lost. He also knew deep in his heart, that the hatred had escalated to a point where it could only end in bloodshed he decided it would not be his own.
Having no experience as a hunter, Ore did not go to the trouble of stalking his prey. He did not spend countless hours observing their habits. He relied on his instincts. Ore arrived at the first man's house in the dark of night. He pulled bits of corpses from the ground, and watched through a window as the town drunk was pulled apart at each joint. It was terrible, Ore was sickened,- and when the sickness had passed, he was empowered.
Each night he visited another of the mob that had tried to burn down his home, and each night he took another life with the help of his victim's dead family members. It twisted his soul, it gave him an evil thrill, but after all, these were killers- these people deserved worse.
Ore didn't care for being treated poorly, but neither did he complain. Instead, he listened and watched and watched and listened. It took some time, but eventually he pieced together the incidents of the night of the fire. He knew that it had started at Sully's Bar, and that one of the men had come out intent to kill him. He knew which people had joined the mad march for his head, and eventually he knew where they all lived. But of course, that wasn't all Ore knew he alone had a knowledge of the dead long thought to have been lost. He also knew deep in his heart, that the hatred had escalated to a point where it could only end in bloodshed he decided it would not be his own.
Having no experience as a hunter, Ore did not go to the trouble of stalking his prey. He did not spend countless hours observing their habits. He relied on his instincts. Ore arrived at the first man's house in the dark of night. He pulled bits of corpses from the ground, and watched through a window as the town drunk was pulled apart at each joint. It was terrible, Ore was sickened,- and when the sickness had passed, he was empowered.
Each night he visited another of the mob that had tried to burn down his home, and each night he took another life with the help of his victim's dead family members. It twisted his soul, it gave him an evil thrill, but after all, these were killers- these people deserved worse.