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Pitch and Sandman, Friends and EnemiesThe Fearling nickered softly and pressed it's nose to Pitch's cheek. The Nightmare King glanced to the horse made of black sand and lifted on hand to place upon the birdge of its muzzle. The Fearling rumbled faintly in its throat, its yellow eyes gleaming.
Pitch blinked and sighed, withdrawing his hand. His lair was empty. The cages overhead still hung with their doors ajar from the escape of the tooth fairy's a month ago. The was when the Guardians had spoiled Pitch's chance at being seen again. At being feared.
The Fearling's ears flicked upward and it whinnied softly. A soft thump came from overhead, causing Pitch to glance upwards to the ceiling of stone. He raised one hand, black sand morphing silently into a scythe but the rumble from above had quieted. Pitch looked bad-temperately to the Fearling.
"He was just coming back to his lake." He grumbled and turned, sweeping into one of the tunnels with a whoosh of his robes. The Fearling nickered worriedly. Pitch hadn't been the same
ReflectionsVal's pursuit led him to the foul beast's domain. The hollowed-out cavern reeked of blood and rancid meat. The dim light he had seen as he charged through the tunnel after the monster could now be identified: torches. Rows of mysteriously lit torches lined the walls of the huge cave. At its center was a substantially large labyrinth of mirrors.
He spotted the beast entering.
He spun his silver broadsword in his hand and hurried in behind it.
His garb was a simple blue and white crusader's leather with thick armored pads and reinforcing steel studs. Lightweight and flexible, but quite effective defense against blunt blows and – in a pinch – the slashing claws of the unholy spawn of the earth. All monster-hunters wore a similar variety in Val's experience. It would serve him well in these close quarters of the mirrored maze.
Right, left, forward, left, right he turned, always catching a glimpse of the beast's tail as he wove his way through the corridors. Every so often he sp
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