The Hunt Begins

“Under the Mask”
 
The metal of the mask was heavy in his hands.
 
Nevermore wasn’t sure why it was heavy - it was a thin set of metallic plates that Batian had specifically made for him. The lens would let him go out in the daytime or be exposed to bright lights without having to avoid them and the hood and cowl would do the rest.
 
He wasn’t ready, and he knew it; that was the problem. He’d returned to Eisen with a single intent and enough training to begin, but it was the beginning that was the problem. He’d already started establishing his alter ego - it was so difficult sometimes to play the part of the spoiled noble who sought only drink and distraction. To appear weak and useless, to appear helpless - it pulled and chafed like ill fitting clothing.
 
Here, in the privacy of his den, he finally felt like he could think.
 
The process to hollow out some of the earth underneath the manor was proceeding along. It had taken more coin than he wanted to think about to get someone to shape earth enough to hollow it out - and again the act, one more spoiled noble squandering coin on a private panic room, even if this one was overlarge. It would be impossible to find from the house unless one knew where to look, and both secure and accessible from the outside. It would be a perfect place to begin.
 
He’d pulled the funds from the corners of everywhere, all but shaving the coppers with a razor in order to make sure that Baron Reginald couldn’t find or track it. While his ‘father’ ostensibly controlled the house's finances, he had left much of the Eisen household to Nevermore’s care. Nevertheless, however, there was always the risk that Baron Reginald would swoop in and investigate and so the utmost care was needed.
 
His eyes traced back to the mask, the black metal shining in the dim light of the hollowed out cave; he didn’t bother with torches, but the moon reflected through various nooks and crannies in the cave system. He didn’t feel ready, some part of him noted, even though he had all the pieces he needed to start.He didn’t feel ready, even though he’d begun the practice of honing his skills - Vodacce had done wonders for refining his ability to hide and skulk about. In a way, he’d been hiding all his life from the father who reviled him because of how he came into the world.Vodacce has been the place where the idea of the mask - of hiding out in plain sight - had been born and now as Nevermore held the mask in his hand the reality of it seemed to strike home.
 
He’d never been a fighter. Until the curse had manifested, he’d been sickly, ill, anemic, and bookish. The curse had strengthened his body even as it burdened him with the eternal hunger that lived in the back of his mind ever since that day.
 
His hands moved the mask to his face, settling it into the latches on the cloak and cowl that would keep it in place even as he moved. Turning, he looked at himself in the mirror for a long, slow, moment. The light armor moved easily on him as he shifted, feeling the fit and lay of it and the cloak covered most of him. He knew that the shadows would be his greatest ally in the fight to come - that he would need to walk in the darkest places and the deepest shadows in order to hunt the things which hurt mankind - for only in the darkest shadows of the deepest holes in the most wicked of the world’s places would he find the monster he was hunting.
 
Ready or not, he mused, as he turned to leave, the hunt begins.