The Pale Man who Dreams of Draco's

The cold wind blew with lingering whispers, delving into the minds and ears of the tenants who did their best to ward them off but to no avail. Nothing seemed to be able to combat the frost and potential evil that loomed in the night for countless moons. A meeting was to take place before the day ended.

“What is this devilry?” A fat old mule of a tenant said to another, shivering; putting on his warm loungewear.

“I can’t possibly say.” said the mustached, one-eyed man, in his night gown and thick woolly jacket, “Sir Sebastian? God, where is that man? We need his output.”

“You don’t need nothing from me!” A nasally voice came from a man coming from the 2nd story stairs.

“Quiet you fool.” The one-eyed man said, shushing whatever else was going to come from Sir Sabastian's large bass of a mouth.

“What’s there to not already guess and address? That man is the cause.” Sebastian said, pointing above, “Have you eh’er seen a corpse among men? He is the devil. Or at least a damn servant that escaped from his master's fiery taint.”

“That’s not insane to think that,” the fat mule said, blowing his nose, “but I’d like to at least find some other evidence before we resort to Satan himself or something of relevance.”

“I agree but what are we to do?” The one eyed man said, lighting a lantern, “we could not venture in the midst of night to another's room unwelcomed. What if this was a great delusion from all? We certainly have seen our fair share of horrors with the plague and whatnot. Why must we involve another?”

“And if the ladder says otherwise?” Sir Sabastian said, wiping his forehead sweat.

“Then we call a professional to confirm our suspicions.”

* * * * *

*Knock Knock*

The heavy wooden door stood between the answer to the tenants solution in the biting cold…of early April.

The door swung open in a violent fashion, pushing back against the resisting tenants who shivered and swatted away the snow that fell upon them.

“Hello hello, welcome Dr. Novak, glad you can make it on such critical conditions with the weather.”

“No worries my friend, it was well apparent that you were in need of my skills.” Dr. Novak said under a muffle; a broad shouldered man under the blackest of winter garments; a slit for his hazel colored eyes peered through his headwear's and wraps.

The men sat around the newly lit fireplace in hopes of hearing out the Dr.’s plan.

“So…this man-”

“Devil!”

“Quiet Sebastian!” The one eyed man said.

“Okay, this ‘devil’, you think he is the cause of supernatural and voodoo bullshit?”

The one eyed man looked at the others, then back to Dr. Novak, “Y-yes, that is the conclusion we had settled with but not before thinking of other potential reasons or endings.”

“They were all shite by the way,” The fat old mule said, “this one makes the most sense. I didn’t really believe in it before the loudmouth convinced me otherwise.”

“I oughta tear your throat out, you dying bastard!” Sebastian said, attempting to get up, sitting back down in response to the looming frost in the room.

“Hmm,” Dr. Novak thought, clasping his hands together while the men whispered among each other.

“Okay so, tell me what you know so far about this certain individual.” Dr. Novak said, taking out a pen and paper.

“Well-”

“I never saw him. Never in the sun.” Sir Sabastian blurted, “When the light is overhead. Always sometimes in golden hour, when the sky is rich with purples and gold or dark with the absence of it.”

“Golden hour? Typical. Continue.” Dr. Novak said.

“He’s a dead man. A walking skeleton maybe.” The fat old mule said.

“What was he, a corpse or bone?” Novak sternly said.

“Well uh, he, he was a corpse? Haven't seen him nearly as much as Sabastian but when I did, he definitely had flesh on him.”

“How come you never mentioned his look? You seen him more than him.” The fat old mule said.

“He always wore a heavy thick black coat. Only could tell it was him from his wet coughs and breathing.” Sebastian said.

“Dead breathing, constant death rattle…and you, what can you tell me?”

“He speaks in a Gothic tongue. Sometimes Gutnish, though it’s difficult to say.” The one-eyed man said.

“And you know it’s Gutnish how? Gothic and the sort?” Dr. Novak questioned.

“I uh…” The one eyed man hesitated.

“Hmp, no matter, your lives are your own. Do take care now.” Novak closed his book and stood up, “Thank you for the information, it will be of much use. You there, please take my bag and inform the Lord of this business that I will buy out the rest of the rooms, including yours's gentlemen.”

“Huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you even do that?”

“Dr. I’m well aware of your status and fame but can you really do such a thing without the permission of a council of health?” The one eyed man said.

“Don’t worry, I have it covered, with the council of health and another of higher approval. Now then, if you will, take these,” Novak tossed each man a pouch, inside containing jewels and gold and riches no ordinary man should have, “Now be on your way before I exit his room, do you understand?”

Nods of approval was all that was given from the men who stood in awe at their very own small fortune they have made.

*Knock Knock*

Novak wasn’t surprised with the delayed response to the tenant of the room in the far back, nor was he surprised by the door unlocking and opening by itself, letting the chill mist run out. No light emitted of course from the darkness that the blizzard brought but something about the rocking chair looking out the window into the pitch blackness held a figure of said ‘element’.

Novak took notice after his eyes had adjusted to the dark, he could vaguely see but not what was in that chair.

Upon entering, the air was thin; like atop peaks of mountains, it proved to be no different from getting smothered in one’s life by whomever you may have ticked off.

“𐌴𐌽𐍄𐌴𐍂.” An airy hollow voice said.

Novak did so, stepping ever closer to the thing in the chair. The room was calm. Clean and upkept, this was apparent from the lack of dust on Novak's finger when he wiped it across the polished wooden bedframe. The chair stopped rocking the moment Novak got into clear view, sharing the same window view. The figure did nothing but breathe its lungless air in and out from its large padded stature, its nailed through hands peering through its jacket on the armrest like the Man himself.

Novak wasted no time to introduce himself, slowly stepping his way to the figure.

“The rumors and hearsay about you seem to be off, you still seem to have some flesh on you.”

𐌰𐍃 𐌹𐍉𐌿𐍂 𐍄𐌹𐍄𐌻𐌴, 𐌳𐍉 𐍄𐌷𐌴 𐌷𐍉𐌻𐌹 𐌼𐌴𐌽 𐌺𐌽𐍉𐍅 𐍉𐍆 𐌹𐍉𐌿𐍂 𐌻𐌹𐌴𐍃 𐌿𐌽𐌳𐌴𐍂 𐌹𐍉𐌿𐍂 𐍉𐌰𐍄𐌷 𐍄𐍉 𐌲𐍉𐌳?

(“As your title, do the holy men know of your lies under your oath to God?”)

“We tend to do that. How else was I supposed to claim ownership of the various tools I use? However, this conversation isn’t about me.” Novak walked closer, leaning on the window wall.

𐌳𐍅𐌰𐌻𐌰 𐍀𐌹𐌲

(“Stupid Pig.”)

𐌹𐍉𐌿 𐍃𐍀𐌴𐌰𐌺 𐌰 𐌳𐌴𐌰𐌳 𐌻𐌰𐌽𐌲𐌿𐌰𐌲𐌴 𐍀𐌰𐍃𐍄 𐌹𐍄'𐍃 𐌳𐌴𐌰𐍄𐌷 𐍈𐌴𐍂y 𐍅𐌴𐌻𐌻.

(“You speak a dead language past’s its death very well.”) Novak said, surprising the shrouded figure.

𐌹𐍉𐌿𐍂 𐌰𐌱𐌹𐌻𐌹𐍄𐌹 𐍄𐍉 𐌿𐌽𐌳𐌴𐍂𐍃𐍄𐌰𐌽𐌳 𐌹𐍄 𐌹𐌽𐍄𐍂𐌹𐌿𐌲𐌴𐍃 𐌼𐌴, 𐌹𐍉𐌿 𐌼𐌰y 𐍃𐌹𐍄.

(“Your ability to understand it intrigues me, you may sit.”)

Novak pulled up a chair and sat down, adjusting himself, removing his wide brim leather hat, resting it on the corner frame of the bed.

“Now then, why must you cause such an inconvenience with your presence? I don’t find it difficult to get over it, but as you probably heard those men aren’t special enough to resist.”

D𐌰𐌼𐌽𐌴𐌳 P𐍂𐌴𐍃𐌹𐌳𐌴𐌽𐍄𐍃 𐌱𐌴𐌳𐌴𐍈𐌹𐌻𐌴𐌳 𐌼𐌴 𐍅𐌹𐍄𐌷 𐍅𐍂𐍉𐌽𐍆𐌿𐌻 𐌼𐌴𐌳𐌹c𐌹𐌽𐌰𐌻 𐌷𐌴𐍂𐌱𐍃 𐌰𐌽𐌳 𐌰𐌻c𐌷𐌴𐌼y. 𐌹 c𐌰𐌽 𐌽𐍉 𐌻𐍉𐌽𐌲𐌴𐍂 𐌵𐌿𐌹𐌴𐍄 𐌼𐌹 𐍄𐌷𐍉𐌿𐌲𐌷𐍄𐍃. 𐌾𐌿𐌼𐌱𐌻𐌴𐌳, 𐍃𐍄𐍂𐍅𐌴𐌽 𐌰𐌱𐍉𐌿𐍄, 𐍅𐍂𐌴𐍄𐌷c𐌴𐌳 𐌱𐌻𐌰c𐌺𐌲𐌿𐌰𐍂𐌳 …

(“Damned Presidents bedeviled me with their medicinal herbs and alchemy. I can no longer quiet my thoughts. Jumbled, strewn about, wretched blackguard…”)

“Do it elsewhere at least, can you do that?”

𐍄𐌷𐌴 𐍃𐌽𐍉𐍅 𐌷𐌹𐌽𐌳𐌴𐍂𐍃 𐌼𐌴.

(“The snow hinders me.”)

Novak leaned back in his chair, looking outwards into the void of the blizzard.

“I can relate. Surprised it still does for you.”

𐌳𐍉 𐌽𐍉𐍄 𐍄𐌷𐌹𐌽𐌺 𐍅𐌴 𐍄𐌷𐌴 𐍃𐌰𐌼𐌴. 𐌼𐌹 𐍄𐌷𐍉𐌿𐌲𐌷𐍄𐍃 𐌰𐍂𐌴 𐌰𐌻𐌹𐌲𐌽𐌴𐌳 𐍅𐌴𐌻𐌻 𐌴𐌽𐍉𐌿𐌲𐌷 𐍄𐍉 𐌷𐌰𐍈𐌴 𐌹𐍉𐌿 𐌳𐌴𐌰𐌳.𐌹 𐍉𐌿 c𐌰𐍂𐍂y 𐌽𐍉 𐍅𐌴𐌰𐍀𐍉𐌽𐍃 𐍉𐌽 y𐍉𐌿 𐌹𐍃 𐍄𐌷𐌰𐍄 𐍂𐌹𐌲𐌷𐍄?

(“Do not think we the same. My thoughts are aligned well enough to have you dead. You carry no weapons on you is that right?”)

“Nothing of significance but correct either or. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t put up a fight without. Stake or fist, I will rip your heart out.”

𐍅𐌴 𐍅𐌹𐌻𐌻 𐌽𐍉𐍄 𐌼𐌴𐌴𐍄 𐌰𐌲𐌰𐌹𐌽. y𐍉𐌿 𐍅𐌹𐌻𐌻 𐌳𐌹𐌴 𐌱𐌴𐍆𐍉𐍂𐌴 𐍄𐌷𐌴𐌽.

(“We will not meet again. You will die before then.”)

Novak sat comfortably, looking around the room, then to the figure.

“You are very sure of what you say,” Novak said wagging his finger at the figure, “very much like you, much like your kind, bleik spök.”

With that, the figure, the pale man that everyone has said, showed itself from under its shroud of darkness. A grayish white head; no hair nor blemishes, appeared from out its coat like a floating skull. Its eye sockets held the tiniest pupils Novak has ever seen, gleaming white as well in its dark eye rings, like a morbid living bullseye.

The pale man looked at Novak with a face like no other, with no other emotions to convey besides giving a blank stare, he knew he saw a face of anger. He sensed it for the room grew colder and the window frosted up and the man’s claws dug into the armrest.

𐍅𐌰𐍄𐍃𐌴 𐍉𐍆 𐍄𐌹𐌼𐌴

(“Waste of time.”)

The pale man huffed in annoyance but ultimately did nothing. He would not gain any significance nor insight for the fight for the thoughts in his head.

“I’m no doctor but don’t spare me your story. I know how your kind acts. Not quite like us, but close. Once human, forever not, after whatever the hell you got yourself into.” Novak said, elbow on knees, looking at the pale ‘floating’ head.

𐌹 𐌳𐍂𐌴𐌰𐌼𐌴𐌳. 𐍃𐌴𐌴𐌹𐌽𐌲 𐌰 𐌼𐌰𐍃𐍃𐌹𐍈𐌴 𐌱𐌴𐌰𐍃𐍄 𐌱𐌻𐌰c𐌺 𐌹𐌽𐍆𐌴𐍂𐌽𐍉 c𐌰𐍃𐍄𐌹𐌽𐌲 𐌰 𐍃𐌷𐌰𐌳𐍉𐍅 𐌰c𐍂𐍉𐍃𐍃 𐍄𐌷𐌴 𐌷𐍉𐍂𐌹𐌶𐍉𐌽 𐌻𐌹𐌺𐌴 𐌰 c𐍉𐍅𐌻 𐍉𐍈𐌴𐍂 𐌰 𐌷𐌴𐌰𐌳. 𐍄𐌷𐌴 𐍃𐌿𐌽 𐍅𐌰𐍃 𐍆𐍉𐍂𐌴𐍈𐌴𐍂 𐌽𐍉𐌽-𐍀𐍂𐌴𐍃𐌴𐌽𐍄. 𐍄𐌷𐌴 y𐌴𐌰𐍂𐍃 𐍉𐍆 𐌻𐌹𐍆𐌴 𐌼𐌴𐌽𐍄 𐌽𐍉𐍄𐌷𐌹𐌽𐌲. 𐍄𐌷𐌴 𐍈𐌹𐍃𐌹𐍉𐌽 𐍀𐍂𐍉𐍈𐌴𐌳 𐍄𐍉 𐌱𐌴 𐌰 c𐍉𐌽𐌿𐌽𐌳𐍂𐌿𐌼 𐍄𐌷𐌰𐍄 𐌹 𐌽𐌴𐌴𐌳 𐍄𐍉 𐌰𐌽𐍃𐍅𐌴𐍂 𐍆𐍉𐍂 𐌼y 𐌲𐌰𐌹𐌽.

(“I dreamed. Seeing a massive beast, black inferno casting a shadow across the horizon like a cowl over a head. The sun was forever non-present. The years of life meant nothing. The vision proved to be a conundrum that I need to answer for my gain.”)

“What do you think it means? Do you think it’s an end time thing?”

The pale man scoffed.

𐌷𐌰𐍈𐌴 y𐍉𐌿 𐌷𐌴𐌰𐍂𐌳 𐍉𐍆 𐍃𐌿c𐌷 𐌰𐌿𐌲𐌿𐍂? 𐌹 𐌳𐍉𐌿𐌱𐍄 𐌹𐍄, 𐌴𐍈𐌴𐌽 𐌹 𐌷𐌰𐍈𐌴𐌽𐍄 𐌷𐌴𐌰𐍂𐌳 𐍉𐍆 𐍃𐌿c𐌷 𐌰 𐍄𐌷𐌹𐌽𐌲, 𐌽𐍉 𐌻𐌴𐍃𐍃 𐌹𐌽𐍈𐍉𐌻𐍈𐌹𐌽𐌲 𐍅𐌹𐌽𐌲𐌴𐌳 𐍃𐌴𐍂𐍀𐌰𐌽𐍄𐍃.

(“Have you heard of such augur? I doubt it, even I haven’t heard of such a thing, no less involving winged serpents.”)

“I doubt you will even scratch the meaning of it, grasping it as well will prove to be the same.”

𐍄𐍉 𐍃𐌰y 𐍃𐌿c𐌷 𐌰 𐍄𐌷𐌹𐌽𐌲…

(“To say such a thing…”)

“Hey, even beings of lasting life struggle with mere riddles, mysterious and understanding it. That’s the irony of it, to live such a life, means you’ll learn a lot or spend so much on one thing.

Understanding it will not trump all that was wasted, you will come to realize that in death by my hands or the next hunter who faces you. Albeit, I’ll be the only one you will always see.”

The pale man sat in silence for nothing else came to his mind about the threat other than the constant annoyance he would find if Novak were to still be alive. He frowned or that’s what Novak thought at least, the pale man also looked around at more than just the outside, then spoke at last.

“Leave.”

“...”

With nothing more to say between each other, Novak got up, put on his hat and bid thee farewell to the pale man. They knew what was going to happen next but refused to speak about it as they stated before, neither were in a state for action.

The whole house was vacant as requested of Novak, the wind seemed to blow harder against the walls and chill the windows. Nothing but scattered candles lit the main downstairs room. All that remained was Novak's other request that he secretly asked for, that required one of said scarce candles.

The calm morning light shone against the snow, its crystals gleaming in Novak's eyes as the fire from the Inn lit up in an instant that plumed smoke into the blue sky. The crunch of the ice grew distant from the Inn that Novak walked away from. He knew that the creature was gone but still had to purge the evil that loomed. It was half of what he was meant to do, and someday he knew that they would meet again under different circumstances that would have one leaving.

As the smoke plumed in the distance, a man under an umbrella gazed at it without a blink. His grayish white skin hid itself from the sun above in layers of thick clothing. He was no stranger to the visions that took many in life from prophets or fortunetellers but he always knew there was a true side of it. Sometimes there was nothing but the truth to look on and it was that that had bothered him because he could do nothing with the truth in his dream. It was just simply there…until he had the understanding to say otherwise.

"צע אַרע רעאַדי?"

(We are ready?)

The pale man looked back, nodding in agreement to the red haired, brown robed man, who was fidgeting the headless cardinal necklace he wore.

The red haired man blew out fire from his nose, smiling; showing his few rotten teeth.

"שאָמע נאָע. טהערע יס סטילל טימע פֿאָר יאָו טאָ ענראָלל."

(Come now. There is still room for you to enroll)

Unable to travel as he normally would, he would have to go by foot once again, in daylight no less and through the tiresome snow-covered terrain. This would not stop him from figuring out his place in his visions. Even if it meant to adhere to practices that beckon powers even beyond his own.