Crimson light pulsed faintly in his palm. Lorghar watched the shimmering scale, its warmth a curious anchor in the chill morning air. The alley's familiar stench of refuse and stale water clung to him, but his focus had sharpened, a predator's instinct overriding the urban decay. His path led east, away from the city's denser, squalid heart. The scale’s pulse intensified with each step, a silent compass guiding him through increasingly desolate streets. Dilapidated buildings, their windows like vacant eyes, gave way to crumbling walls and then, finally, the skeletal remains of forgotten outposts. Wind whipped dust into his eyes. This was the city's forgotten edge, a wasteland of broken dreams and discarded things. Scavengers, gaunt and wary, picked through mounds of debris, their movements slow and listless. They barely registered Lorghar, another ghost in the grey dawn. Further out, the ground turned to cracked earth, choked with dry weeds. The city wall, a distant, imposing barrier, seemed to mock the desolation here. The scale throbbed harder, a low, insistent hum beneath his skin. This was it. Movement flickered in his peripheral vision. A small, hunched form, no larger than a badger, scuttled between two overturned wagons. Its hide, a mottled grey-green, shimmered with an unhealthy sheen. Spindly limbs, tipped with sharp claws, propelled it forward in a jerky, unnatural rhythm. Blight creature. It was even more repulsive up close, a crawling embodiment of decay. A low growl rumbled in its throat, a sound like scraping stones. It rooted through a pile of refuse, its snout twitching, seemingly oblivious to Lorghar's presence. He needed it pristine. No direct confrontation. That would risk damage, and the bounty specified an intact sample. His mind raced, cataloging the terrain, assessing the creature's simple movements. Resourcefulness, that was his true weapon. Carefully, he began to work. He found a length of rusted wire, strong enough for a snare. Behind a broken cart, he dug a shallow pit, concealing it with loose planks and a thin layer of grit. His movements were precise, quiet, honed by years of surviving unseen. Another scavenger, a hulking brute with a matted beard, shuffled closer to the Blight creature's feeding ground. The man carried a crude club, his eyes wide with desperate hunger. He saw the Blight creature, then hesitated. Fear warred with starvation. Lorghar watched them both, a plan forming. The brute was a variable, an obstacle. But also, a tool. His power, still a nascent whisper, could be used. Not to harm, not directly, but to manipulate the environment, to create a ripple effect. A slight inclination of his head. A barely perceptible shift in his will. A small, loose stone beneath the brute's foot suddenly shifted, rolling with a loud clatter. The brute stumbled, his club clattering against the ground. His sudden noise startled a flock of pigeons roosting nearby. They exploded into the air, wings beating furiously, a sudden storm of feathers and panicked cooing. The sound echoed unnaturally loud in the desolate quiet. Other scavengers, already on edge, looked up. One shrieked, pointing vaguely towards the pigeons. Another, mistaking the noise for something larger, something dangerous, let out a guttural cry of alarm. Panic, a contagious disease, began to spread. Lorghar watched the scene unfold, a cold satisfaction blossoming in his chest. His 'accident' had worked. The brute, confused and disoriented, scrambled away, his own fear now outweighing his hunger. The small Blight creature, momentarily distracted by the sudden commotion, paused its rooting. This was his chance. He moved, swift as a shadow, circling wide. The Blight creature, its primitive senses overwhelmed by the scattered chaos, scurried directly towards the hidden snare. A soft *thwack* as the wire tightened around one of its spindly legs. The creature thrashed, a low, gurgling sound escaping its throat. It was surprisingly strong, but the snare held. Lorghar approached cautiously, a heavy rock gripped in his hand. He didn't want to kill it, just incapacitate it. A quick, precise strike to the base of its skull. The creature shuddered, then went limp. Its body, though still, pulsed with that familiar crimson glow. He knelt, extracting a small, hardened piece of its chitin – a scale, similar to the one he carried, but larger, more intact. He carefully placed it into a small, clean pouch he'd prepared, securing the drawstrings tight. A deep breath escaped him. The first step. The first real test of his cunning, his nascent power. He had orchestrated it, manipulated the situation, used others as unwitting pawns. No one was harmed, not truly, but the outcome had been entirely his design. This was how it would be. This was how he would operate. Ruthlessly. Every interaction, every obstacle, every person, would be a resource to be exploited, a piece on his board. The thought brought a grim, unyielding determination. He was not just surviving anymore; he was rising. --- The journey back felt lighter, despite the weight of the blight sample in his pouch. The sun had climbed higher, casting harsh shadows across the city's grim facade. The market, now bustling with midday activity, seemed almost vibrant, a stark contrast to the desolate outskirts. He navigated the crowded thoroughfares, his senses alert. The memory of the cloaked figure, the sudden gift of the pulsing scale, still nagged at him. Who was he? What did he want? Questions without answers, for now. He pushed them aside. First, the bounty. Lord Valerius's estate was a modest affair, nestled among several other noble houses in a slightly less grimy district. Still, the walls were high, the gatehouse guarded by two burly men-at-arms, their leather armor scuffed but serviceable. They looked bored, their gazes sweeping over the common folk with disdain. Lorghar approached the gate. His worn clothes, the dust on his boots, marked him instantly as 'trash'. He expected a sneer, a dismissal. He received both, along with a curt jab of a spear to halt his progress. "State your business, boy," one guard grunted, his voice thick with authority. His eyes, cold and assessing, swept over Lorghar's slight frame. "I have a Blight sample for Lord Valerius," Lorghar stated, his voice even, devoid of the usual deference expected from someone of his station. He held up the small, clean pouch, careful not to reveal its contents directly. The guards exchanged a glance. Surprise, then suspicion, flickered across their faces. A gutter rat with a Blight sample? Unheard of. The bounty was known, yes, but usually, it attracted seasoned hunters, not ragged children. "Step forward," the first guard commanded, his tone hardening. "Let's see it then, boy. Don't waste our time." Lorghar stepped closer, pulling the drawstring of the pouch. He inverted it, and the pristine Blight scale tumbled into his outstretched palm. Its crimson glow was faint now, a barely perceptible shimmer against the grey of his skin. It was perfectly intact, clean, its edges sharp and defined. The guards leaned in, their expressions shifting from skepticism to something more guarded. One of them, the one who had spoken, reached out a gloved hand. Lorghar placed the scale carefully into his palm. His eyes, previously dismissive, narrowed. He turned the scale over, inspecting it closely, his thumb rubbing against its smooth, cold surface. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "This... this is too perfect. Where did a gutter rat like you truly find it?"

Chapter 6: First Hunt, First Deception