1 Sellsword

In the shadow of the verdant mountains of Antique, where the whispers of the past blend with the murmur of the river, lies the secluded village of Dalisay. This village, a patchwork of nipa huts and rice fields carved into the landscape by generations of farmers, is a place where time moves to the rhythm of nature. Yet, beneath its serene exterior, Dalisay harbors a palpable sense of unease.

As the sun begins its descent, casting a golden hue over the land, a subtle transformation occurs. The laughter of children playing in the fields fades into silence, the fishermen hasten their return from the sea, and women quicken their steps, baskets of market goods balanced on their heads. By the time the sky paints itself in the colors of dusk, every child, woman, and elder is safely within their homes, doors bolted and windows shuttered.

The men of the village, armed with machetes and blessed amulets, take their positions at the boundaries of Dalisay. They stand as silent sentinels, eyes scanning the encroaching darkness for any sign of the Aswang. The air is thick with tension, a communal breath held until the first light of dawn promises safety once more.

Rumors of the Aswang have always been woven into the fabric of Dalisay, tales passed down from old to young about the creatures that walk amongst them, hidden in plain sight. These stories, once mere bedtime tales to frighten children into obedience, have taken on a chilling reality. Livestock found drained of blood, inexplicable illnesses, and the occasional disappearance of a villager have reignited ancient fears.

In this village, where the natural and supernatural are intertwined, the arrival of a mysterious stranger at the edge of dark might go unnoticed. But not in Dalisay. Here, any anomaly is a harbinger, and the appearance of a sellsword with a vendetta against the Aswang promises to unravel the fragile peace that the villagers cling to. For in the heart of Antique, where spirits and humans tread a delicate line between coexistence and conflict, the hunt begins.

As the stranger walks in the village unfolds as Lucius, the sellsword, makes his way into the heart of Dalisay. His presence, a rare sight in this secluded village, draws wary eyes from behind shuttered windows. Lucius, with his weathered cloak and the unmistakable silhouette of a sword strapped to his back, seeks an audience with the village chief, a respected elder named Mang Ambo.

Mang Ambo, a man whose face is etched with the wisdom and sorrows of his years, receives Lucius in his modest home. The interior is lit by a flickering oil lamp, casting long shadows on the bamboo walls as the night's embrace tightens around the village.

"Stranger, what business do you have in Dalisay?" Mang Ambo's voice is steady, but his eyes betray a hint of apprehension.

Lucius leans forward, his voice low and measured. "I've heard tales of your plight, of shadows that prey upon your people under the cover of night. I offer my blade to protect you, for a price."

Mang Ambo sighs, a weary sound that fills the small room. "Almost every night, we are haunted by nightmares made flesh. Our livestock slaughtered, our people vanishing into the darkness. Just last night, another villager was taken. We found... what was left of him at dawn, his body drained of life, marks of unspeakable horror upon his flesh."

Lucius's eyes narrow, his interest piqued not just by the promise of gold but by the challenge itself. "Show me," he demands.

Led by the chief to the site of the latest tragedy, Lucius examines the remains. The marks on the body are unlike those made by any human or beast known to the villagers. Deep gashes paired with signs of immense strength and strange burns, as if from a scorching embrace.

"These wounds," Lucius muses aloud, "are not the work of an Aswang. You face a Kapre."

Mang Ambo's eyes widen in fear at the name. "A Kapre? But they are mere smokers and watchers, guardians of the trees."

Lucius shakes his head, a grim smile playing on his lips. "A common misconception. Kapres are indeed giants who reside in the oldest of trees, usually benign, content with their tobacco and solitude. But provoke them, disturb their domain, and they become formidable foes. These burns," he points to the scorched marks on the corpse, "are from the embers of its giant cigar. And the strength required to inflict such damage... only a Kapre possesses it."

The realization dawns on Mang Ambo, the weight of their situation heavier than before. "What can we do? How do we protect our village from such a being?"

Lucius's greed glimmers in his eyes, seeing an opportunity not only for wealth but to prove his mettle against a creature as formidable as a Kapre. "With my help, you can. But my services come at a price—a steep one. Pay it, and I will rid you of your nightmare."

The elder looks conflicted, caught between the desperation to save his people and the steep demand of Lucius. Yet, the safety of Dalisay hangs in the balance, forcing Mang Ambo to consider the offer.

As negotiations begin, the stage is set for a clash not just with a supernatural entity but with the very essence of human fear and the lengths one will go to for survival and greed.

As dawn broke over Dalisay, Mang Ambo called a village meeting beneath the ancient balete tree, a place where matters of great importance were traditionally discussed. The villagers gathered, a mix of fear and determination in their eyes, to hear the elder's recount of his conversation with Lucius, the mysterious sellsword.