By the Fire
How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?
Simple answer: you don’t.
There are some who have tried. Some believe that they can keep themselves clean whilst their blade remains bloodied. They’re fools, all of them.
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Lycanthropy? Vampirism? Don’t make me laugh. A curse does not make someone a monster. I have met vampires with beating hearts and werewolves with more humanity than those you would call friend. I have seen monsters, they aren’t monsters.
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What? No, I have not misunderstood your question. I know what makes a monster. Orcs and goblins, those creatures, those are monsters and the half breeds are no better. All of them. They are no better than the beasts that have been felled by my hand. Those who have been cursed, men who have been cursed, it is not the curse that makes them a monster.
Men are monsters. They are cruel and cold. Heartless.
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Yes.
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No. You can’t become a chimaera or a wyvern, no one can mimic those monsters. Those monsters act upon instinct. They act without thought, without care. Men think. They can’t hope to replicate a thoughtless creature. They consider every action, and many would still act knowing they’d bring suffering to those around them. How is that not monstrous?
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Do you still not understand?
Those who would hunt the monsters of fairy tales are nothing but white knights with a hollow narcissism. To destroy a monster, a true monster, you must become heartless. Pity? Sympathy? A bleeding heart can get you killed in my line of work. You can’t have one, and they don’t deserve to have one either.
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You know, I once met a man who sold his town to make a profit. He watched his neighbours suffer, saying nothing as women and children died, and he happily buried their bodies and collected their coin. He knew what was happening, was even a part of it, but continued because it was profitable. The more people that died, the more profitable it became.
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I looked him in the eye as I brought him to his knees. I offered him a drink and broke his jaw when he refused.
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What did he drink?
He drank this…
And tried to scream as it dissolved his throat and melted his insides. He could barely speak, squealing like a pig. I could barely understand him but he told me what I needed then, only as he begged to be spared. So I watched him die and kicked him for good measure. He was a monster, as was I.
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No, I didn’t. In fact, there was no contract on the man. There was no need for one, people trusted him.
I was only there because I was assisting a priest. Recovering an artefact, if you would believe. I ended up in his shop and he just wound up being part of the job. A happy accident you could say.
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Why would I? He was no better than the filth staining your boots. The town would have been emptied and his coffers would have flooded as a result.
Anyway, for those I consider to be monsters, rarely do I receive contracts. More often than not they are the ones that give me the contracts for the traditional monsters. For the dragons and goblins, for the things that haunt your dreams.
They’re the lords who refuse to pay me. The sons who seek their glory. The common folk who get cold feet. The traveller who welcomes me to their fire. You learn to recognise them.
(Pause)
No, no contract this time. Just venturing home actually, not been back for a long time.
But here. Care for a drink?
