Fester

@Cryoluxa
I like that idea for hive! I imagine she isn’t very used to opposition, as she used to be basically all powerful, so having a dragon hunt her down would definitely knock her ego down a few pegs.

I was sorta going off the DND alignment for Fester as a base for his beliefs: Fester just hunts and kills dragons for sport/profit, and doesn’t really hold any interest in laws, tradition, conflict, individuals, etc. I imagined he would clash with your monster hunter as she seems to have interest in protecting ordinary dragons and keeping order, something Fester cares little about.
As for the two dragons that Fester is hunting, he’s hunting Cygnus, someone who escaped jail time and now has a large bounty on his head (his backstory isn’t very ironed out yet). However, Cygnus seems to be protected by someone else that Fester hasn’t seen himself. All he knows is that something broke Cygnus out of jail and something is now guarding him. Fester hasn’t made any direct attacks on them yet but is stalking them from afar (using footprints, scents, trails, etc.), waiting for the right moment where he knows he’ll be able to overpower the large guardian. However, as Bellatore (Cygnus’ protector) is pretty paranoid, Fester has yet to get close enough / find the right moment to attack. Bellatore is sure someone is after them, but Cygnus is pretty relaxed and, though cautious, doesn’t make a huge deal in trying to stay undercover. However, neither of them are monsters, just powerful dragons with bounties.

He was close. He knew he was close—his quarry had managed to evade his clever eyes and nose, and therefore his blade, by fleeing into the broiling borderlands between the Flamecaller’s smog-ridden domain and the Sea that hollowed out Sornieth’s center. Convenient, naturally—the water left no tracks, and scents were marred by the buffeting sea breezes.

So, maybe this time waiting them out would be the way. He had no real opposition to the slow approach; it’d yielded results before, especially with more twitchy dragons that couldn’t seem to relax. Which…despite the demeanor he’d observed, seemed to be the case of the Guardian (or whatever it was that was traveling with him) he trailed, given his errant but oddly calculated patterns of fleeing. Typical, he supposed, of a pursued criminal.

Not that he cared, of course—money was money, and he had no bone to pick with anyone labeled a criminal, as an assassin himself. So for the time being, the Mirror took shelter in a basalt cavern burrowed into the side of a mountain of ancient lava rock that clawed through the black sand of the shoreline. The sun was falling, and typically he’d be on the move at this point—while he didn’t object to waiting, he simply wasn’t used to it. The night found the Mirror restless, wandering along the shores to hunt more for sport than to fill his belly and building a fire in his cavern. Not because it was necessary, no need for warmth in the domain of the Fire deity, but because stoking it and keeping it alive kept him entertained.

His night did take a turn, though, shortly after he had polished off a rather unfortunate lemming he’d managed to get his claws on. He’d been idly scraping away the rusty patches from his cleaver when there was the slightest whistle just to his right. The Mirror ducked just in time for a short, deadly blade to arc cleanly where his throat had been a heartbeat before, narrowly missing his crests as he crouched. There was a muffled crunch as the blade’s momentum drove it into the wall, where it stuck. His assailant swore acidly as they wrenched it free, giving Fester adequate time to draw his own weapon and look around. A lithe form dropped from the ceiling above him, using their gravity to pull their dagger from the cave wall. He couldn’t get a lock on his company—their oddly-cold heat signature darted across his vision like a sun flare, but they moved too quickly for him to discern much more than the fact that it was a Nocturne he faced.

Wired from the unexpected spring into combat, Fester charged before he had a proper lock on his target, anticipation buzzing in his muscles. His opponent—a female, he gleaned as he narrowly missed her scarred cheek with his cleaver—did not miss a beat, baring her teeth and flaring her wings as she lunged at him.

Frustratingly, she matched Fester blow for blow with startling tenacity, blocking the swipes of his claws and cleaver alike neatly with her dagger. Finally, with a grumble, the Nocturne leapt out of reach and glared at him, unmoving. With his guard still held firmly in place, Fester risked a step to the side, not breaking eye contact with her.

“Who are you?” he snarled at the stranger, who only blinked at him. There was no hostility on her face—but there was the ghost of a smirk etched there, which caused something boiling and angry to flicker in his stomach.





She’d expected him to be more menacing.

Sure, she knew better than anyone that hunters did not necessarily always look their part—she herself was slight for a Nocturne, and not entirely intimidating physically. The Deities knew she’d been underestimated more times than she could count. But…nonetheless. His breed lent him natural intimidation, along with the chipped skull obscuring most of his face…but it was difficult to view anyone as intimidating when you’d watched them burn their dinner and stare into oblivion for an hour.

“Someone,” she grumbled after a few beats of silence, “who is not getting paid nearly enough for this. You’re one of the more entertaining jobs I’ve had, though. Not every day I get paid to stalk one of my own.” She idly buffed her dagger on one of the rags draped over her wings.

“One of your own?” the Mirror asked flatly, clearly unimpressed. Malvie’s eyes flicked back up to meet her target’s.

“Should be easy to figure out,” the Nocturne sniffed, raising a spiny brow at her opponent. “We do the same work. Not much more to it than that.”

To her surprise, the Mirror did not become defensive—he merely rolled his eyes, barely visible beneath his headdress, and let out an exasperated sigh. “Cygnus.” He shook his head, glaring annoyedly down at his paws as though they’d hired Malvie. While Malvie was fairly certain that her client’s name had been longer…her meticulous attention to detail was devoted to tracking, hunting, and payment, never something as frivolous as names. They tended to be fake, anyway. So, the Nocturne merely shrugged.

“That Imperial was hellbent on eliminating you. Hunter becomes the hunted, and all that.”

“Imp…erial?” Oh, that was interesting. His flat-affect mask cracked, and Malvie could see his raised eyebrows, as well as the slight tilt of his head.

“Now, now. Do you discuss your clients with your targets?” she grinned at him, all teeth. Another crack formed in the facade, this one annoyed.

“You’re the one who—”

And just like that, the smaller dragon had him pinned to the porous floor of the cave, blade to his throat and nose-to-nose. Just like that, he’d sealed the cracks of his demeanor, returning once more to a mildly annoyed deadpan. With an amused chuckle, the Nocturne tapped his neck with the blunt edge of her cutlass.

“Banter,” she hissed, “is a wonderful tool, don’t you think?”

When he didn’t reply, she only shook her head, drawing back the tiniest bit but not releasing any pressure. “This was fun, though, Fester. Said it before and I’ll say it again, you’re much more fun than cleaning up the Gaolers’ horrorterror-shaped messes. The stakeout is worth it, if you’re patient. You’ll see for yourself if you get your cut before I get mine, ah?”

She wasn’t foolish enough to wait for a reply—no, hunters were opportunists. The Nocturne made her exit quickly, disappearing into the smog of the Wastes before Fester could say a word.

neutral evil bounty hunter.... bestie let's get you some therapy