V Round and Round the Mulberry Village (Open)

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Red Hood

A letter is a kind of promise.

She understood that, the girl who was now called Red Hood, even before the Mantle had chosen her. Perhaps it was the reason why the Mantle had chosen her and bedecked her in her crimson finery.

From the moment the ink marks the paper, the bargain is struck. The writer writes, and in so doing, the reader is sworn to read. The miles of distance between one and the other are merely the obstacle which stands in the way; which prevents fulfillment of that promise. The girl had not written many letters herself. Her family lived close, paper was expensive, and ink even more so. But, she knew her letters, she could make the marks, and on occasion, she helped others to commit their intention to paper. She helped them swear that promise.

Now, though, her role was to see it fulfilled on their behalf.

She had not read the letter, of course. Even now, she felt it close to her heart, secreted safely beneath her leather vest and the close embrace of the Mantle which gave her such strength. The envelope was a simple thing, cream, with a name on the front and an address – 121 Bellwater Street, Arcadia. It was not sealed, but then, it had been given to her – to the Red Hood. It didn’t need to be sealed.

There were miles, yet, before her journey would be done. Days of travel, perhaps even weeks. Villages to pass through which would, no doubt, add their own promises to the one she already bore. For now, though, the girl focused on what was important. Each step took her one pace closer to her destination, and to the fulfillment of the promise she carried with her.


She moved through the forest like a red-wrapped wraith. Her cloak was a garish wound in the greenery, clear as the crystal sky above against the muted shades around her. The village of Mulberry was not far now. When she got there, she would take her rest, enjoy some food and a comfortable bed before moving on again – unless the villagers needed something from her, which they invariably would do.

This far from the capital, there was usually only tenuous authority. The best she could hope for was a Mayor who genuinely cared for their people. More often, authority was petty, or cruel, or both – forced to forever hold its back to the wall for fear of the myriad dangers which might otherwise tear it down.

She stopped, suddenly, and crouched. Across the path carved into the forest, there was a distinctive, claw-shaped footprint. The Red Hood turned one way, and then the other, examining the forest to either side of the mark. In her mind’s eye, the fallen trees changed position, telling her a story of a creature strong enough to push them aside as though they were nothing; a lumbering beast out of nightmare, misshapen and horrific.

In the distance, she heard its cry.

“HROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!”

Even at this distance, the sound sent a shiver down her spine. Her fingers closed around a spotted feather, which she raised to her eye, and let out a sigh.

She’d need to take care of this, before she could lay down her head to rest.
 
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Red Hood

The forest path was a distant memory as she drifted through the leaves and bark. The trees closed in around her again, sheltering her from sight as she skulked next to the path of savage destruction that the monstrous form had so clearly carved through the wilderness. As she moved, a child’s voice swelled in her mind. A young girl, trilling a poem as though her words were blown on the wind; the kind of ancient rhyme that was passed down from father to daughter for generations. The words were old. She’d heard them before, she thought, but again, she couldn’t remember where.

Listen now my son,
Danger draws near,
When the blood-curdling hoot,
Betrays the Owlbear.


Her axe was light in her hand as she walked. It had been a comforting presence across her journey. Sturdy, heavy, and very, very sharp. The creature’s trail wasn’t difficult to follow. Even a half-blind woodsman would have been able to track it with no difficulty at all. It wasn’t trying to hide. It had no conception that there could be anything in the forest more dangerous than it.

Listen now my daughter,
You must learn to flee,
The monstrous, fell creature
Lives in berserk frenzy.


There was a terrifying crash up ahead, and an old oak was torn from its roots, erupting the ground below it in a spray of dirt and bark.

“AYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The Owlbear’s howl of mad fury gave credence to the words swimming in Red Hood’s mind as she skulked closer to it, always staying downhill to avoid alerting the beast for as long as possible.

It was a fine specimen of the breed. Eight feet tall, even with its hunched, squashed figure. The enormous owl’s head downy and dark, wide amber eyes swiveling this way and that, bloodshot with the insane, directionless anger of its kind. Fifteen hundred pounds of crazed monster, with talons that could tear a man in two and bulk enough to knock a fully-laden cart over in a single shove. She felt very small compared to that, a tiny thing wrapped in only the bright red mantle of her role to protect her.

Listen now my wife,
Make them run true,
For children’s flesh is as wine,
That monster’s best food.


Her grip tightened on the axe, and she stepped around behind the Owlbear. Her tongue licked over dry lips, and she tried to convince herself that this was a good idea. In her heart, a ferocious need burned. An alien consciousness urging her to strike; to bring down this abomination, this aberrant killing machine that had no doubt terrorized the local populace. This was what The Red Hood did. She stood, when others ran. She struck, when others faltered. She looked the monsters in the wilderness in the eye, and it was they that knew fear.

That great head turned to face her, and Red Hood didn’t see fear in its eye. She saw only an uncomprehending, bestial fury. The creature flung its head back, and its howl once more tore through the tranquillity of the forest like a chainsaw, sending small animals scurrying for safety now that some other fool had attracted its attention.

“HROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

Listen now traveler,
To this tale of woe,
For my family were deaf,
And I’m now alone.


She dug one booted foot into the ground, and felt the surge of adrenaline run through her body as her heart pounded in her chest.

It was time to prove the ancient words wrong.
 
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Red Hood

The Owlbear took one lumbering step forwards, long arms dangling and swaying as though the creature were already punch-drunk. The reach and the sheer mass of the creature meant that this should only end one way. It was crazy for her to think that she could even begin to fend off such a beast. She wasn’t a trained warrior. She was a farmgirl who had never even lifted a blade in anger before this mantle found its way around her shoulders.

STRIKE.

The command struck her like a physical force, and her feet carried her forwards before she had made the conscious decision to obey. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, driving away fear under heavy bursts of adrenaline. The axe felt right and good in her hands; the sturdy wood polished and well-tended, the steel glinting under the dappled afternoon light as though it were sharp enough to cut that, too.

The improved reach of the monster should have spelled the end for her immediately. It swung, and just one of those talons would have spelled the end of any ordinary girl. But she was not any ordinary girl; she was The Red Hood. The arm swung with all the bone-shattering force that made up the legend of the Owlbear, and she reversed the axe in her grip, slamming it around to match the motion with a brutal swing of her own.

Her feet dug deep into the ground, and she ground her teeth together as blood fountained from the impact. Sheared talons were sent hurtling into the air, biting into the trunks of trees like throwing knives.

A part of her began to believe, in that moment, that it might be possible.

She didn’t even hear the incoherent bellow of rage which shook leaves from the trees as the Owlbear recoiled.

AGAIN.

STRIKE!

The demand thundered in her ears, pounded through her blood. Her cloak carved a scarlet path of death, winding through the trees as she ducked low, and the axe head sunk deep into one meaty leg, hammering the blade through flesh before it was wrenched free in a spray of gore.

Her roll to the left of the monster meant that its uninjured talons slashed through the air inches above her head. As she rose, she planted her feet, her eyes blazing beneath the Hood with violent determination.

She struck, and she struck, and she struck. Each blow would have been enough to fell any ordinary man or beast; ragged strips of flesh and feather were torn from the beast. But all of this only served to drive it to greater heights of rage. Perhaps it was too insane to realize the severity of its injuries. Perhaps it simply did not care.

The back swing of the creature caught her hard across her ribs. The impact picked her bodily from her feet, the axe falling from fingers suddenly rendered boneless, and the impact with a mighty oak jarred through her. Her feet refused to hold her weight. Her vision swam erratically, and the shadow of the monster loomed over her.

STRIKE. STRIKE. STRIKE!

The demand flowed through her as quickly as the blood now streaking one side of her face. But her hands remained stubbornly empty, and the Owlbear’s beak opened wide; a razor-sharp maw now intent on taking her flesh in recompense for the beast’s own.

Was this how it ended for her? Too weak to even slay a single monster before she met her end? Time seemed to slow further, giving her plenty of time to admire every fleck of crazed spittle flying from that savage mouth.

DID I CHOOSE WRONG, GIRL?
 
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Red Hood

She had cut herself once before. The memory stood out in her mind, jagged as a shard of broken glass. The slip of the knife, the welling blood. It was just a small thing, but her mother had fussed as though all the life in her baby might slip away – like she had been so fragile the slightest injury might spell the end for her.

The Owlbear roared and stomped towards her. Blood pumped freely down her face, making her chin slippery with it. The creatures own wounds were the only reason she was still alive; fur and feathers were matted down with its own slick blood, one arm was a mess, talons sheared through and claw hanging limp, cut to the bone.

The Mantle’s demands screamed through her blood with every heartbeat, but with each pulse there was less of the vital fluid to force the demand on her. It raged at her, bemoaning her uselessness and inability to fulfill the mission it had ordained would be hers.

“Yeah, well, maybe ask next time, you stupid cape.”

A thin smile pulled onto her pale lips as she forced herself back onto her feet. Her eyes closed. In her mind she could see only her mother’s hysterical face – and it seemed amusing to her, now. At least, if she died out here, her mother would never know; would never be confronted with the torn and ragged body of her mutilated daughter. She would always hold on to the thin sliver of hope that little Alice had run away from home to pastures green and was living out her life of excitement far from the little hamlet in which she’d been born.

She’d felt bad about the mystery of her disappearance. Perhaps it would be more merciful than the hard truth barrelling down towards her now. How many children had this beast taken from their parents? How many would rather cling on to the illusion that they might one day come home, rather than the truth?

The Owlbear’s horrifying cry tore through the forest with renewed vigor, and the girl let herself flow out as her eyes opened beneath the shadow of her Hood.

The Red Hood stepped forwards, moving with renewed purpose. She stretched her hand out, and the axe was no longer laying on the ground behind the creature; her fingers closed around the polished wood. If the monster even noticed, it made no sign of it; it came towards her as inescapable and inevitable as an avalanche.

She was a blur of crimson; a burst of carmine that leapt to meet the beast; a scarlet bolt sent to crash against the darkness of nature and write a new truth, in blood and pain.

The Axe came down in a single, hard motion. Sharper than a razor and stronger than steel had any right to be, the blade sang true through the air, and when she landed on the other side of the beast, it was finally freed from its insanity. The eyes on the severed head had no more of that crazed shine. They were peaceful.

Her own were not.
 
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