Under the Full Moon Preview
A lot of you have been asking about this, and I have been editing the feedback from my beta readers, but I wanted to give you all something to hold you over until the story's completion. Be ready for some changes, but here as its stands, is the preview!
“God have mercy. The beast has struck again!”
It was not often that the tavern went completely silent. Normally one would hear the roll of dice and the shuffling of playing cards. Dozens of conversations would aide in drowning out the sound of the rushing stream outside the back door where old beer would be poured out. The alcohol would kill the fish and leave an unpleasant odor if they were not picked off the banks once every few days. This night, however, brews were placed quietly on the lantern lit tables, cards were folded and left face down on the table, and silence took over the once bustling establishment.
“What did you see, Demetrius?” Asked the bartender while throwing his rag over his shoulder, breaking from the many glasses before him. He was an older man well past his prime, with short thinning white hair, a scruffy brow, and old bones that cracked with any heavy movements. He hated to see his once prized establishment fall to ruin, but believed that there was nothing that could be done about it. Where hundreds of people once retreated, now sat barely two dozen. Travel and commerce had ceased to exist, so no one was on the road anymore, and his location was suffering. Too many people fighting in the new continent—not enough people remaining to tend the crops, reap the harvest, or trade their wares.
“It was a brutal scene, aged only a couple hours at most. The victim’s throat was ripped apart, and gouges and teeth marks were all over her ravaged body. She didn’t have a chance in the world,” Demetrius answered. He spoke quickly and hurried to catch his breath. He had been running.
“Take a moment,” said the bartender, pouring a glass and setting it next to him. “Tell us everything.”
“Thank you,” Demetrius said. “I wanted to get here before night fell, but I was delayed by some travelers. They had to put down one of their horses when she slipped near the wet marsh and broke her leg. They were trying to figure out how to move their belongings. I pointed them in the direction of father’s estate, with a message to provide a horse to them. I cut off the path to get here a little quicker and that is when I discovered the victim.”
Gavin shook his head and raised his glass to finish his pint. The froth made its way down his pitch black beard, which was short, but not very well kept. His long black hair pulled behind his slightly pointed ears was a mess behind him and wild in the front around his dark eyes. He was a drinker, but not a gambler, citing that he didn’t trust the cards, but he frequented the establishment often as one of the only safe places to be in town after dark. He huddled over a single candle at his table where he sat alone, wiping his mouth with his dirty sleeve and placing his glass down on the table with a loud thud. “When will this wickedness cease?” Gavin said with disgust.
His question was one without a known answer. Merchants from Whales had been picked off from the road and their tracks suddenly disappeared, and the forced entry of Liam’s household left doors splintered and windows shattered. The murders were brutally savage in nature, blood splattered on the trees, and people being found with more of their insides on the outside. These were truly troubling times; first the colonists’ rebellion across the Atlantic, and endless quarrels with the French meant that securing assistance from the crown was presently out of the question.
Demetrius’ hand shook as he brought his glass of water close to his lips. “I…I don’t know,” he said. “Father says there are no creatures in these woods that could attack like that. He insists that this is the work of man.” Demetrius was always placed trust in his father’s thoughts, as and was hoping to one day follow his position in the newly reformed House of Lords. The people had long supported Demetrius’ Father as a master in all matters, political or otherwise. His blonde hair was kept neatly combed and short in length, with no sideburns but a full mustache upon his lip. He was tall, well dressed, slender, and well versed.
“What news from your father, Demetrius? Will he send help?”
“I fear at this time he cannot spare any of the soldiers.”
“What about mercenaries? Scottish Highlanders or perhaps Germans,” asked the bartender.
“Father’s purse is not lined with coin as it once was. The world is expanding, there isn’t enough to go around when there is so much trouble in the world today. He can only buy three men, and they arrive in five days to our estate, still a full day’s journey out to these parts.”
“Now listen here,” the bartender began, “I served as a Regular for twenty five years and saw more wounds inflicted by man than I ever cared to remember. I was there when Pitt sacked Quebec from those Frogs. No sword or dagger did this. Liam was clawed to death! He was bitten; ripped open, not sliced.”
Gavin at this time had sauntered up to the counter with his empty glass, letting his nostrils saturate with Demetrius’ aroma, curled his nose and turned his head away. “You smell like piss. Did you wet yourself?”
“The short cut off the path takes one fairly close to the swamp.”
“That was not very smart,” Gavin said. Demetrius shook his head and would not engage Gavin in conversation. The path was safest and was often traveled in the past. The tall trees provided shade when the days grew too hot, it was close to clean water, and so many had made their way down the path that the foliage made way to dirt, wide enough for a wagon. The swamp was well off the path and not as dangerous as it was an aggravation to travel around.
“Gavin is right, Demetrius. We cannot afford to take unwarranted risks. Were they in the same condition as last month’s victim?” Asked the bartender.
“Yes, it was messy.”
“God have mercy. The beast has struck again!”
It was not often that the tavern went completely silent. Normally one would hear the roll of dice and the shuffling of playing cards. Dozens of conversations would aide in drowning out the sound of the rushing stream outside the back door where old beer would be poured out. The alcohol would kill the fish and leave an unpleasant odor if they were not picked off the banks once every few days. This night, however, brews were placed quietly on the lantern lit tables, cards were folded and left face down on the table, and silence took over the once bustling establishment.
“What did you see, Demetrius?” Asked the bartender while throwing his rag over his shoulder, breaking from the many glasses before him. He was an older man well past his prime, with short thinning white hair, a scruffy brow, and old bones that cracked with any heavy movements. He hated to see his once prized establishment fall to ruin, but believed that there was nothing that could be done about it. Where hundreds of people once retreated, now sat barely two dozen. Travel and commerce had ceased to exist, so no one was on the road anymore, and his location was suffering. Too many people fighting in the new continent—not enough people remaining to tend the crops, reap the harvest, or trade their wares.
“It was a brutal scene, aged only a couple hours at most. The victim’s throat was ripped apart, and gouges and teeth marks were all over her ravaged body. She didn’t have a chance in the world,” Demetrius answered. He spoke quickly and hurried to catch his breath. He had been running.
“Take a moment,” said the bartender, pouring a glass and setting it next to him. “Tell us everything.”
“Thank you,” Demetrius said. “I wanted to get here before night fell, but I was delayed by some travelers. They had to put down one of their horses when she slipped near the wet marsh and broke her leg. They were trying to figure out how to move their belongings. I pointed them in the direction of father’s estate, with a message to provide a horse to them. I cut off the path to get here a little quicker and that is when I discovered the victim.”
Gavin shook his head and raised his glass to finish his pint. The froth made its way down his pitch black beard, which was short, but not very well kept. His long black hair pulled behind his slightly pointed ears was a mess behind him and wild in the front around his dark eyes. He was a drinker, but not a gambler, citing that he didn’t trust the cards, but he frequented the establishment often as one of the only safe places to be in town after dark. He huddled over a single candle at his table where he sat alone, wiping his mouth with his dirty sleeve and placing his glass down on the table with a loud thud. “When will this wickedness cease?” Gavin said with disgust.
His question was one without a known answer. Merchants from Whales had been picked off from the road and their tracks suddenly disappeared, and the forced entry of Liam’s household left doors splintered and windows shattered. The murders were brutally savage in nature, blood splattered on the trees, and people being found with more of their insides on the outside. These were truly troubling times; first the colonists’ rebellion across the Atlantic, and endless quarrels with the French meant that securing assistance from the crown was presently out of the question.
Demetrius’ hand shook as he brought his glass of water close to his lips. “I…I don’t know,” he said. “Father says there are no creatures in these woods that could attack like that. He insists that this is the work of man.” Demetrius was always placed trust in his father’s thoughts, as and was hoping to one day follow his position in the newly reformed House of Lords. The people had long supported Demetrius’ Father as a master in all matters, political or otherwise. His blonde hair was kept neatly combed and short in length, with no sideburns but a full mustache upon his lip. He was tall, well dressed, slender, and well versed.
“What news from your father, Demetrius? Will he send help?”
“I fear at this time he cannot spare any of the soldiers.”
“What about mercenaries? Scottish Highlanders or perhaps Germans,” asked the bartender.
“Father’s purse is not lined with coin as it once was. The world is expanding, there isn’t enough to go around when there is so much trouble in the world today. He can only buy three men, and they arrive in five days to our estate, still a full day’s journey out to these parts.”
“Now listen here,” the bartender began, “I served as a Regular for twenty five years and saw more wounds inflicted by man than I ever cared to remember. I was there when Pitt sacked Quebec from those Frogs. No sword or dagger did this. Liam was clawed to death! He was bitten; ripped open, not sliced.”
Gavin at this time had sauntered up to the counter with his empty glass, letting his nostrils saturate with Demetrius’ aroma, curled his nose and turned his head away. “You smell like piss. Did you wet yourself?”
“The short cut off the path takes one fairly close to the swamp.”
“That was not very smart,” Gavin said. Demetrius shook his head and would not engage Gavin in conversation. The path was safest and was often traveled in the past. The tall trees provided shade when the days grew too hot, it was close to clean water, and so many had made their way down the path that the foliage made way to dirt, wide enough for a wagon. The swamp was well off the path and not as dangerous as it was an aggravation to travel around.
“Gavin is right, Demetrius. We cannot afford to take unwarranted risks. Were they in the same condition as last month’s victim?” Asked the bartender.
“Yes, it was messy.”