BLOOD ON A GRASS CANVAS (Part 1)

It was a day like any other in the world of Canvas Legacy. Unnoticed by the regular folk, soldiers fought and died in the endless battle for East and West. The rulers of the two Kingdoms hurried about their territories, raising taxes and exploiting their subjects. And somewhere, the great Lantto, master of this world, watched it unfold beneath him and pondered his inscrutable schemes.

For now, we need not concern ourselves with such high and mighty things. Instead, let your mind’s eye take in the sight of the grassy plains, flanked by dense woodland in the East and a glittering lake in the West. It was in these idyllic surroundings that two merchants were meeting. The first was Fenkif, an eccentric farmer from the West. The other was CaveBear, a gruff but prosperous fisherman who made his catches on the cold, Eastern river.

They met in this place perhaps once a week. It was a pleasant ritual for both of them; a chance to talk and tell a joke or two, sharing news from their kingdoms as they loaded up their carts with fresh produce. On this day, the sun shined brightly and both merchants were enjoying its warmth.

At first, neither noticed a third figure creeping silently along the wooded tree line. It was only when the newcomer stood just a few paces behind Fenkif that he was spotted.

“Who’s your friend?” asked CaveBear. “You never introduced me.”

“Friend?” Fenkif’s brow creased in confusion. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Instead, a pool of blood gushed out, splattering the ground. In a single, liquid move, the stranger had driven a sword into Fenkif’s back and out through his stomach.

“Theunorg,” croaked CaveBear, practically overcome with terror. He had never come face to face with this person before, but he had heard many tales of his actions. Theunorg was the most feared killer in either kingdom. He roamed where he pleased, picking off anyone he could find. Killing was like a sport to him.

“Good afternoon,” Theunorg said cheerfully. He knelt and ripped the coin purse from Fenkif’s corpse, as if he were picking flowers. “Nice weather we’re having.”

With shaking hands, CaveBear reached for his sword. “Stay back. I’m warning you!”

Theunorg smiled. His cold, pale eyes shone gently like the surface of the moon on an autumn night. “No need for that. I have what I want. You’re free to go.”

CaveBear turned and began to walk away. Every few steps, he glanced over his shoulder, sure that Theunorg would be bearing down on him. But the killer just stood staring after him. He looked almost like a mother watching her children head off down the lane on their way to school. Or he would have done, were it not for the sword in his hand, dripping blood onto the grass.

Once he was a little way away, CaveBear began to relax. Perhaps this monster really was going to let him live. Some said his appetite for slaughter could be satisfied with a single death, and perhaps it was true. But something didn’t feel right. CaveBear glanced behind.

Theunorg was running towards him and gaining ground fast. His speed was unnatural. He ran with the speed of a horse, never tiring nor losing his footing. He descended on his victims like some otherworldly bird of prey.

CaveBear died before he could even raise his sword to defend himself. Theunorg took his money pouch, sword, and the golden ring off his finger, then left him in a bloody heap on the ground.

Theunorg stood back and surveyed his work. He sighed contentedly. It was moments like this, he thought, that really made life worthwhile.

He might have stayed and stared at the sight of the two dead merchants all day, had he not heard the sound of voices, a man and a woman, in the woods nearby. Two lovers, perhaps, meeting for a stolen kiss by the babbling stream.

“Ah, young love. They sound so happy,” whispered Theunorg to himself, heading towards the mingled voices. “Let’s put a stop to that, shall we?”

Next time….Theunorg is on the hunt for more victims. Can anyone stop this malicious merchant murderer?