The Last Hunter
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Legacy of Evil: Something Wicked this way comes
🕑 Added 2024-04-11 01:50:51 +0000 UTCThree months had passed since my time in the Philippines. In between my explorations of the worlds arcane sites and secrets, I would return to Wolftown in America and find rest and respite for my mind. While the name was a bit on the nose I feel, it was a location swiftly finding its feet as I'd bring in whatever materials I managed to harvest from various magical creatures, as well as whatever coin I brought in from their bounties. Investing it in the town saw my dividends grow all the more, as what had begun as crude log cabins and caravan wagons slowly developed into a proper town.
It was very much a rustic, American Western town you might see on the silver screen or in a history book. A general store, a tavern, a trading post and so forth. Perhaps a bit more inclined to deal with the local Native Americans than most during the time period, a penchant for Romanian cooking which I myself greatly appreciated and of course, good old-fashioned cowboys who would come into town, trade and leave.
As far as magic went, there was certainly something here. No major companies of course would come here, but it only inspired new innovative traditions to rise up, which was fascinating in its own right. I'd see totem carvings hung above doorways and porches, the creation of reinforced huts with meat and a strong lock for werewolves not quite at the level of control as Conan, a lively tradition in animagi work and of course, the best part that proved once and for all, a proper civilization.
A bar and a school.
The bar doubled as an impromptu healers space, as I discovered my old shaman friend who had brewed the potions to help clear my head and Conan's had retired from her space, giving the new Mrs. Slade her position to allow her to brew in peace. And while I was certain she didn't have any sort of acclaimed license from any government body, her brews were most welcome and her place, warm and welcoming. It was a purely local joke to refer to her bar as 'Moonglow Tavern' but the name stuck, as names do and so it was called hereafter.
The school itself was a surprise. Over the months, as new families came about or moved in, there was talk of education. Most who would have qualified had all but quailed at teaching in a town full of werewolves. Surprisingly, I had little influence in that direction and the situation had all but resolved itself the next time I came with coin to invest.
Magic was taught as mostly theoretical with most with the capability teaching at home to their individual children. The highest concern according to the town, was ensuring their children would learn skills to blend into the wider world beyond the wizarding, and they found an excellent teacher in regards.
I must admit, I was a bit off-guard seeing Nagini before a class of children, pacing back and forth as she quizzed them in basic arithmetic, science and the like, with a pair of spectacles and a pointer rod in her hand. I also might have had a newfound appreciation for glasses and retreated hastily after making sure she was doing fine.
There was going to be an election for town mayor soon, and Conan was well-slated to take the spot from what I understood. All in all, life was good for the people here and it warmed my heart every time I visited, knowing I had a role in that.
Still, I waited for the other shoe to drop. For some reason, MACUSA had failed to send any sort of representee here. Not even a tax collector, which puzzled me mightily above all else. As far as what Conan seemed to share, they were content to pretend the town didn't exist and had I been more attentive, perhaps I might have understood why sooner. As it was, I merely was thankful we didn't have that headache and so, my search for a cure for Nagini and her curse continued.
The more I studied and scrutinized, the more convinced I was that in Russia were the answers I sought. Unfortunately, the problem was that the answers I sought were in Russia and so I found myself in a little village, by the Baltic sea.
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I was forced to take up much more subtle ways of travel nowadays, if I ever wished to leave America. Apparently, killing people with a basilisk gives you a reputation and if I had cared more for the Ministries laws, it might have severely hobbled my options.
But there were ways around it. Portkeys, little halfway houses where you could pay a discreet fee, things of that nature. I didn't quite know if it was good or bad I was utilizing the original Voldemorts knowledge of the seedier side of the Wizarding world to my advantage, but as the end result was the same, I soon dismissed it.
The air here was stark and cold, the dark waters of the Baltic crashing upon the shores as I stepped out of the fisherman's hut and breathed out.
I had to change appearances again. I grew a beard to a length below my collar bone, braiding it with some decorative pieces I picked up from the Lakota. Around my head, I wore a faded red handkerchief and atop it, a wide brimmed ragged black hat with a single raven feather. My boots were rugged, black leather and built for hard labor and over it all I wore a long, western-style duster I had spelled for breathability and comfort.
My wand was in a holster to match my black duster, set in place for easy access and of course, nothing but a red herring.
My real wand I kept in my sleeve holster. Around my neck, over a faded white collared shirt were a number of spiritual charms, as a red scarf-belt and pants made up the rest of my garb. I was essentially taking inspiration from all the cultures I had visited, and the end result made me look like a wandering Romani meets Captain Barbossa.
I could live with that, as I hummed quietly and strode along the streets as I hunted for the closest tavern, humming to myself.
"-Hoggy-woggy Hogwarts, teach us something please. Whether we be old and bald, or young with scabby knees..."
A number of rough looking figures loitered by the doors of the tavern, hardened men taking in the air as they glanced my direction and nodded briefly.
Inside, I stepped into the tavern and my eyes began to water as I blinked away the faint burning sensation, getting used to the place.
There was a smokey haze to the atmosphere, coming from as much the poorly ventilated fireplace that provided warmth as it was from the noxious material the people smoked in pipes, as they played wizarding chess or cards. Upon the walls, various skulls of sea creatures rested as trophies, from shark maw's to increasingly larger, more magical beasts and I threw it a cursory glance as I approached the bar. One of the wizards was reading a newspaper in Cyrillic, one I didn't recognize as I stared at the movable picture on the front.
It seemed to be a historical scene. What could only be the Russian Minister of Magic was shaking hands with a Nomaj politician, bald and dressed in a nice suit. Considering the era, he could only be Nikita Khrushchev and my curiosity grew. I'd have to see about getting myself a translation or learn how to read Cyrillic which I admit, I barely could... For now. Behind the counter, there was a cough and my attention was taken by a grumpy looking house elf, dressed in a potato sack and with an odd tattoo on his right bicep which surprised me. I didn't think they got those, and my eye was drawn to the artwork in question. An image of the burning sun, which I stared at before the house elf finally growled in English with a thick, Russian accent.
"Has master seen enough, da? Perhaps master would like to order a drink, da?"
"Ah, forgive me." I said politely as I added. "I was simply admiring the craftsmanship. Your own work?"
The house elf scoffed and snapped his fingers, bottles flying off the shelf as he served some of the customers drinks.
"Master is very silly, thinking that we house elves has any inspiration for such things."
I threw him a Look, then decided it wasn't worth getting into as I finally spoke. "Alright, we'll move from there. I'm looking for a way across the border."
The house elf ignored me, serving others before finally producing a rag, which he set to running along the counter without hands as he spoke.
"Master has feet. Walk far enough, you'll get through."
Now he was being deliberately obtuse, and I frowned, considering how I wanted to do this. House Elves were among the few beings I made damned sure not to tick off if I could. I saw how Dobby could fuck up Lucius Malfoy and the additional knowledge of them being able to bypass wizarding wards was... Actually intriguing, now I thought about it. Memo to me, find a way to study them later and I finally sighed out and spoke.
"Is it payment? I have gold-"
"Thatch does not want your gold." The house elf finally snapped, looking me in the eye with an intensity that startled me. I've never seen a house elf look the way he did, staring at me as he scowled.
"Mother Russia is barred to you. You shall not enter, you shall not pass. You will find only doom should your steps take you through." His voice lowered; he leaned closer as he added.
"Thatch knows what you seek. It is better for all; you do not get there."
I blinked again, cocking my head as I asked curiously. ".... And how exactly, are you going to do that? I don't think I've offended your master."
Thatch smiled, a sharp toothed grin as he spoke. "Thatch is not going to hurt master. Silly. Thatch is merely sending a message... There is no harm, in a message."
He snapped his fingers and vanished.
I blinked. Now that was ominous, and I found myself slowly flicking my wand into my hand as I felt the tips of my fingers tingle as I heard a distinct crack behind me.
Before they could shout, I had already swept my wand as I flung the vodka bottles past me towards the men and ignited the alcohol.
Explosions of flame burst in the bar, as the few patrons inside screamed and the wizards in question fell back as I found myself once more, intrigued by my lack of empathy.
I had called myself a 'high-functioning sociopath' and though it was self-diagnosed from reading all those self-help books, I liked to think I did a good job despite it. I didn't attack innocents after all and even went out of my way to help them, like the patrons-all suddenly confused, as they realized I had concurrently cast a shield charm in addition to my fire one. Not a single one was scorched-the people who had come for me unfortunately, were another story.
Fire and glass shards embedded in their bodies told the tale, taken by surprise as I scrutinized each one and flicked my wand, dragging one of the corpses over to examine the contents of his wallet.
And the wanted poster, with an old picture of myself as I grinned mirthlessly at the realization.
My little actions had consequences and bounty hunters were coming out of the woodwork for me now. How positively thrilling, to have drama-free opponents to keep my dueling skills sharp. I kept the poster, salvaged the coin and dropped it on the counter for damages before walking calmly out.
As I looked at the notes kept meticulously by one of them, once more I lamented my lack of proficiency in the local language. It was all Russian to me and I realized that was as much my fault as it was circumstance.
Russia was a nation that currently was still reeling from Stalin and his magical purges, the Soviet Union's responses to the threat Grindewald presented with all the mass graves it could muster, in defense of themselves. I suppose I could get away as a Romani, but that brought up other problems in turn if I were to walk along the streets.
And then I got a horrible idea. An awful, intriguing and terrible idea more worthy of Voldemort than the person I was striving to become now. I turned and ran back to the tavern, rushing in before the people flinched as I grabbed one of the corpses and vanished with a crack.
I appeared in a moor somewhere, an isolated place for miles to do my work which allowed me to keep an eye out for anyone coming, as well as afforded me privacy.
It takes three to six minutes, before the brain perishes by lack of oxygen. In that amount of time, technically... It was alive.
And if it was alive, then certain spells would be still viable as I pressed my wand to the side of his forehead, dragging out what looked like a silvery, white substance as bereft of anything to hold it in, I jammed it right inside my head instead.
I was battered by memories, a mixture of sensations and thoughts not mine as I took it in, rather than processed it carefully as if I was some Neanderthalic barbarian, banging rocks together and hoping to achieve nuclear fission.
I caught glimpses and flashes of faces of people I had never met, emotions I had never felt. I knew the taste of certain liquors; I knew the amount of time it took to knock someone unconscious by strangling them with a cord. More importantly?
I could read Cyrillic and speak Russian like a native now. My mind would eventually settle it, but I would be confused for at least a few days. As I got up, I stumbled briefly and squinted, muttering in fluent Russian as I spoke.
"Fucking sunlight."
Bright. Far too bright for my eyes in my confused state. And getting brighter and brighter, and... Wait.
The part of me that was Tom Riddle drove a mental spike into my brain pan, forced me to look again.
The sun was coming down to beat the shit out of me, and I squinted again, trying to get a better look.
It was a horseman wreathed in flames. A bright, shining creature of fire riding upon a full red horse that left fiery footprints in the air. His armor as far as I could tell, was all furs and leather-like a Mongol warrior, wielding a spear as he screamed bloody murder and charged my way. As red as his horse, the fire and speed he wielded making him look like an intelligent missile coming my way.
As my disoriented mind brought up a shield charm and he slammed into it, a wry part of me conceded I wasn't entirely wrong as I watched cracks form along the shell, felt the heat waft against me as though I was standing before an open furnace.
This was going to hurt...
