Title: Monster at Reichen Glen
Summary: Overlooking a small village is a cave, seated within the magnificent silver woods of Reichen Glen. Hidden among the trees is a fiend with an insatiable appetite for curious travelers. Sherlock and John hire a mercenary to help track it, but little do they know how he came to survive a trip to its lair.
Warnings: Violence, sexual situations, and dub-con.
A.N.: Written since I don't have my computer and this idea hit me like a freight train. I will say, it's pretty weird. Italics mark past events. Enjoy!

Monster at Reichen Glen

There had been four of them in the party: the two trappers, a traveling doctor, and Moran. Normally, he only did mercenary work, but with times being hard, he wasn't one to refuse a simple job such as this. He had been hired as an extra as they trekked through the woods, in search of the elusive andersh. With the growing season having been going on for a month, the naturally silver foliage of the Reichen Glen was now a deep new green, and the secretive animals shining fur and sparkling antlers were no longer invisible against the brush. Just the horn alone, onyx as the bark of the trees, could feed the four of them for months, the beautiful fur enough to retire on.

Sawyer had been mostly quiet, medicines at the ready in case of any attacks from packs of velfin or bites from the local insects. Moran had seen little danger coming their way, though his bias opinion was fueled by the crossbow already loaded and forever in his hands. Wilkes Junior was more nervous however, muttering about monsters, and the legendary drevin that was said to roam the glen, feeding upon unfortunate travelers. They had been hunting for two days, and not an andersh in sight.

"It's the fiend! We should be on the east of the forest, where it doesn't live." Wilkes Jr. had murmured, eyes wide in fear as Moran pointed out their bad luck.

"Boy spends too much time at the pub, listening to old drunks tell tales." His father had laughed, clapping his son on the back as they continued to check the traps. "The andersh is a quiet breed. I'll be damned happy if we even see one!" The trappers had come here to see if they could catch their fortune this season, though Wilkes Sr. had little hope. Above, the night threskin cooed their warming melody, the violet songbirds their constant evening companions.

"Does this monster have a name?" Sawyer had asked incredulously, taking a sip from her water skin. She was a strong woman, easy to joke, though Moran had seen her deck a man for grabbing at her rear in the inn. "Has anyone seen it?"

"They call it nothing but a man-eater. Only a few have seen glimpses. Say its got eight legs and the face of a man. No one who's gotten closer has ever lived to tell the tale." Sawyer had snorted at this, rolling her eyes. "What?"

"Monsters. drevin. It's all legends and superstitious locals."

"To a city dweller, possibly." Moran retorted finally, annoyed with their bickering. "I've seen drevin. Velfitz, sirens, even a grod. They're always around, but we won't be bothered if we don't give them a reason to." No one had much to say after that, the group wondering exactly how many of his scars were from humans and what ones were from the hel-spawn. Moran spent the silence enjoying the threskin songs, hand gripping his crossbow with a relaxed yet deadly professionalism. It took another night to find an andersh, but the excitement died as swiftly as it came.

The pub was rank with the ripe smell of alcohol and sweat and dim with the low candle light. Few patrons roamed the small space, wallowing in their drinks as the night lethargically moved on. Moran was settled in for a quiet time with his pipe, but two men, a hunter and the governor's brother, ruined it simply for him.

"Sebastian Moran?" The shorter one asked, his soft blue eyes steady upon Moran's face. He gave a noncommittal grunt, blowing out a wisp of smoke and his visitors settled in across the marked and burnt table before him. The village was of moderate size, yet most knew about the eccentric brother of the governor, who spent most of his time bent over corpses and badgering the local guards about the crimes. The hunter was new, however, rumored to be also a doctor, having settled into the town not long before Moran had returned from his last job. Rumor had it that the hunter and the eccentric had begun some sort of friendship. The gossiping innkeeper's wife would be delighted to hear that this was true.

What was odd was the hunter himself. Short with and easy face, there was something else about him, a hidden pain behind his eyes as he had scanned the room. It didn't take much to place it, Moran having seen the same in dozens of others, hiding their true natures from the very people that feared them. A velfitz turned hunter, how funny.

"You're here about the drevin." Moran stated dryly after the introductions had been exchanged.

They came upon a small alcove against a sturdy cliff, in search of new areas to lay their traps. The sun had begun to set and the nightlife awoke from its daily slumber, the cooing and chirping a welcome comfort as they trekked determinedly through the dense foliage. A call, a low moan of anguish called them to the clearing in a hurry.

"Oh my God." Sawyer had exclaimed in a low whistle, gaze roaming over the layers of webbing, translucent and feathery, that caked between the trees and the rocks as if decorating a large opening to a deep cave. The webs were thick and enticing, a gentle snowy tinsel added to the area though Moran didn't need to touch one to know of their adhesive capabilities. The Wilkes cared not for the deceptively deadly netting hovering all around them, not with their attention drawn to an andersh caught fast in one section of the webbing.

"Count your stars, men. And Sawyer. We got us a free offering, and what a pretty buck he is." The two trappers began to saw the creature out.

"What in Hel are you doing?" Moran yelled, grabbing Wilkes Sr. by the wrist. Something wasn't right. Not a sound could be heard since they had entered into the alcove as even the insects were hushed by this small area. He could feel his neck prickling, the ever present paranoia of being watched now tenfold. He didn't like the Wilkes; the younger was a whiny thing and the father a bastard, but if they died, he had no money to gain. "Leave the thing."

"Do you realize what its worth?" The trapper almost shrieked, eyes boggling that Moran could even begin to suggest such a thing.

"It's wrapped up like a present for you! This isn't luck, its a trap. We're being hunted. If we leave now, we might make it out." Wilkes opened his mouth to protest, and Moran shook him once. "What do you value more? Your wallet or your life?"

"I-" There was a snap, and they both turned to find the other two gone. Moran had enough time to grab his crossbow from his back when he was thrown aside, weapon clattering away as pain burst across his ribs and arm where they collided with the earth. He lifted his head with a great effort, the numb spreading throughout his left as he struggled to grab his crossbow, only to freeze at the sight before him.

He'd seen monsters before, the dreaded drevin in all their types charging for his carcass, but this was something horrible. A long spike of a leg pressed his arm into the rocky earth with twin black claws digging to his flesh. A sneering warped man's face cackled at him, fangs glinting in the moonlight, and a another one of its eight creeping appendages tossed him away again. Heart stuttering and panic rising, Moran scrambled to wriggle away, watching in horror as it picked up Wilkes, plunging its enormous canines into the older man's chest. Wilkes let out a final gurgling moan when the fangs pulled out with a sickening sound, flailing for a moment before falling still, blood pooling beneath him.

The drevin threw the corpse over his shoulder as Moran finally made it to his shaking legs only to have the monster's gnarled hands grip his ankles in a vice and drag him greedily into the dark of the cave.

"I fled the cave after cutting myself free with a small pocket knife. He must have been distracted by the others." Moran finished. The two had listened quietly as he told of the encounter, John in rapt attention and Sherlock constantly rolling his eyes and huffing dramatically.

"Is that all? He just let you walk out of his lair without so much as a nip?" Sherlock asked incredulously, disbelief written clearly in his well-bred features.

He can still feel the press of lips, barely concealing fangs pressing to his ear, a hand dancing along his hip. "So lonely all the way out here," was the low whisper and Moran pulled fruitlessly at the strong legs. "And you're going to help me with that."

"He's a drevin. God knows what they have going on their heads, right, mutt?" He sneered at John, face a mask compared the chaos of his mind. John ignored his comment, surprisingly, driving on with their actual purpose of being here.

"The Governor has issued a bounty on the head of that drevin. It's been at the heart of too many casualties and-"

"You want me to lead you to him? To the belly of the beast with only a man and a velfitz along to take him down, in his territory?" He laughed bitterly at the thought. "Ask the captian of the guard. I'm sure he'd love to impress the governor."

"The most experienced mercenary for hire, and you're frightened of a drevin." Sherlock scoffed, long since bored with this subject.

"I know drevin. A mercenary knows them as well as a hunter. This isn't an ordinary monster, you ass."

"What? Is he massive? Tall as the trees? Strong as a god? I've heard enough tall tales. Come, John. He's wasting our time."

"None of those things." He said quietly, rubbing his hands together. "Drevin are inspired by hunger and greed. This one just wants to watch you squirm. See you hurt and beg and scream for help when there is none. He lets you feel safe, have a taste of hope before taking it back. I didn't escape him. I'm out of the glen, out of his cave, but that monster is still here." He tapped the side of his head. "With me, and will be, until he's dead."

"Then get the piece of mind. Help us." John almost pleaded. He sat back, thinking on it for a long moment. There mere idea of going back there had him freezing. He had been shot at, stabbed, been in battles that most people couldn't even dream of, yet this monstrosity had not just frightened him, but shaken him to his very core. He had pulled something out of the mercenary and replaced it with a vile infection of memories that haunted his nights and days.

Something pulled him, however. A strange sickly fascination to return, to see the creature again, even if it was just to put an arrow into its heart. This is what he told himself at least, as the memories flickered behind his eyes and the low burning began in his abdomen.

"Fine." He said finally. "But if I can, I want to kill him." They agreed to leave the next morning, oerses packed and ready for the trip. The dewy early morning had an ominous feel as mist rolled in from the glen. The moisture stuck to their skin as they mounted their steeds, determined in their quest.

"How can you ride that thing? An oerse should be smart enough not to let a velfitz sit on it." Moran had asked John when they set out from town.

"Never had a problem with them before." It was said in a way that suggested Moran was not the first to question such a thing. Some time passed before he asked another question, curious about his partner.

"Why did you become a hunter? You would think a drevin would want to protect his own kind, so why kill them?"

"Why do you kill yours?" John shot back, a smug smile in place on his lips.

"I lost my faith in humanity a while ago."

"You could say I did the same."

"Shut it, both of you!" Sherlock finally yelled, nose deep in a book despite riding as well. They quieted, neither quite wanting the other man to become even more irritated than he was. With only the wildlife the cover the silence, Moran slipped back into his own thoughts, a tumultuous and dangerous place.

He wasn't in the forest with them, riding his oerse through the dense foliage and sweating in the abnormally hot day, but back in the cool of the cave, panicking and terrified. He had never known fear as that, every second dragging by with a monster roaming the caverns and chambers, a constant ticking accompanying his steps. Even now, he could feel the grip of the web clinging to his skin, the damp pricking into his skin, and the oppressive quiet of the place that only added to his paranoia.

He had found himself stuck in one of the chambers to a large expanse of web, unable to move and half out of his mind. Every click and drip of the cave had him flinching and searching around for the monster ever since it disappeared after putting him there. Moran waited, tense and scared for seemed like days, as time had no meaning in the dark of the cave. Exhaustion began to take over, and despite the terror ever present around him, he drifted off, swaddled by the silken trap.

Moran awoke to find himself having been moved into a smaller room, still bound around his wrists and ankles. There was a splashing sound and the smell of a hot spring his his nose, the tension in his limbs worsening as he long to fall into the heated water. Groggily, he blinked to adjust to the low light, breath seizing when made out the outline of another being in the room.

"Ah, you're awake." Came a cool male voice as he approached, and Moran relaxed, grateful for another human being.

"What are you doing here? Where is the drevin?" The man before him did not answer, and it was too dark to see his face. Only the outline of a thin body with a pack on his back could be made out. Carefully, he began to pull Moran closer to the pool. "What the Hel are you doing?"

"You must be cleaned." The tone was as deadpan and emotionless as his motions, and soon a warm damp cloth was passing over the skin on his arm, wiping away the grime and dirt of the past few days.

"What do I need to be cleaned for?" There was no answer, just the apathetic swipe of the cloth and the low gurgling of the spring. "Who are you? Where are the others?"

"Incubating. The boy and the woman are too small, and they will be fed until they are big enough. The other man however..." He left it off, a teasing note to his voice and an odd waver to his speech that suggested he was not from around the area. "Why do you ask? Planning an escape?"

"What if I was?"

"Would you help the others? Save them, I mean. Be the hero of the day?"

"No. That would be a waste of my time. They would slow me down." There was no reply, the cloth moving to his face, gently over his cheeks and delicately along his lips. He was beginning to adjust to the din, his companion's features becoming more announced. Large eyes focused intently on where the man was cleaning, his thin shorter body crouched before Moran. "What's your name?"

"James. You?" He asked, a smile flashing on his lips for just a moment as he lifted Moran's shirt. The ministrations and the warm body next to him were having a predictable effect on Moran, his skin heating from more than just the warm cloth with each lower swipe across his chest. He had to keep himself from squirming, the soft touch a tease to what his rapidly interested need craved.

"Sebastian. I could take you with me, if you helped." Jim laughed, a full out chuckle that seemed surreal in this situation.

"Oh, save me, but not your friends. I don't think so." The last bit was said in a sing song way, mocking him. "You don't escape here. One way or another, you'll never leave. Now, relax." It was an end to the conversation, and all Moran was left to think on was the smooth touch being allotted to him by Jim. A curious hand pulled his trousers down, running along his upper thigh.

"Stop." Moran warned, gasping when the cloth passed over his groin, which had swollen with the attention. Jim pressed his hand down, illiciting a choked sound to force its way from Moran's throat.

"If I could have you now, I would." Jim whispered, letting his palm rest for a moment more before continuing his work. It was the sweetest kind of torture, with death looming so close and a willing partner stroking him almost fondly everywhere except where he needed it most. He didn't know where to stand, whether to demand Jim finish him off so he could face his fate with one last bout of ecstasy, or to scream at him to leave Moran be so he could wallow in self-pity.

It ended all too soon, Jim pulling his clothes back on quickly. With a forceful hand, Moran's head was tipped back, a viscous liquid being poured down his open throat, Jim holding his mouth and nose close until he swallowed the foul brew. Satisfied with his compliance, the other man pressed a blade in his hands as a drowsy weight settled over him.

"Wait ten minutes after the drevin visits." He heard the man's voice lower, filling with fright. "Help me. I'll be waiting." Was murmured into his ear and he fell forward as consciousness slipped away into the dark.

It was a half mile from the lair that the oerse's became restless, refusing to move forward when the first of the webbing appeared. They opted to leave them behind, to be gathered after the deed was done. It wouldn't due to be struggle with three beasts as they moved in closer to their quarry.

"Easy now. I'll only be gone awhile." John told his own, patting it's dark beak while it panted in agitation. The other two were in a similar state, hooves stamping and great heads tossing as they tied them to the trees.

"Don't waste your breath. It doesn't have the capabilities to understand you, John." Sherlock sneered, ignoring his steed in favor of glaring at his partner.

"She understands the point of it, unlike you." He replied coldly, Moran snorting as Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh. Once the oerses were settled, they began to move on, Moran leading with the others trailing carefully. The silence had begun around them, not an insect chirped as they moved ever closer, evading the growing patches of white webbing as much as possible.

"The netting is set up to hide a direct line to the cave. One misstep and the drevin will know we were coming from all the way out here." Sherlock had warned after observing the webbing, though his eyes had been alight with curiosity. "A trip line disguised in all this matting. Neat."

"Sherlock." John said in exasperation. "Man-eating monster, remember?"

"Never eaten a man, velfitz?" Moran asked, a teasing smile upon his face.

"I prefer my meat without a moral code, thanks." Came the retort, and he was going to continue the bantering, but a loud crack of wood breaking quieted them. They waited, tense and observant of the dark night around them for a few breathless seconds. "How intelligent did you say this thing was?" John asked when the moment passed.

He hadn't waited long after awaking from the drug before slowly cutting himself free of his bonds, not keen on seeing the horror again. He dropped to the floor unceremoniously, pain alighting in his feet and traveling swiftly up his legs, causing him to pause until it passed. Moran stood still, listening carefully for any sounds of the drevin returning, but only the dripping of water and whistle of wind greeted him.

Still in the dark, Moran ran his blade along the wall to direct him, cutting through the webbing and scraping the rock as he slowly, methodically, made his way through the beast's lair. His objective now was to find Jim, and get them the Hel out of the cave, far away from the drevin. Moran hungered for a good meal and a soft bed, for people with the proper amount of legs and maybe a willing partner to join him in his rented room. Possibly Jim would be grateful enough to award Moran with more that just verbal praise...

Bumping into his said target and nearly flaying him open with the small knife had not been in his grand scheme of things. "Jim?" he asked quietly, taking the blade away from the other man's throat.

"You could have killed me!" Jim heatedly whispered, overtly angry, yet Moran was elated to hear him all the same. The man could be screaming his head off, and Moran would still be ecstatic at another human in his midst.

"Do you know the way out?" Instead of answering, Jim began to show him, steps sure and quick despite the dark. Now behind the man, Moran could see the bulk he carried. It was curious, shaped as though a bundle of sticks tied awkwardly together. He didn't question it, focus entirely on navigating the winding passages and keeping up with his surefooted guide.

A light began to appear, and Moran rushed ahead, eager to leave the dark, pushing Jim aside. Expecting the entrance, he was sorely disappointed when he found himself in s circular room with a high ceiling, a round hole in its center where light from the mid-afternoon shone through. The room was furnished with elegant furniture, crafted by only a masterful carpenter, and several near-bursting bookshelves, lined with texts of varying size and age. It was almost a home containing a dining table, chairs, and even a desk ladened with bottles and beakers of a creative variety; the quarters of a scholar or a professor.

"Why are we here? What is this..." He trailed off as he turned, seeing his guide in the light for the first time. A shorter man with a small body, non-threatening as could be. Large dark eyes stared at him with glee, mouth upturned in a triumphant smile as he began to laugh. To Moran's horror, the bundle on his back began to unfold, and revealed, he could see they were not sticks, but legs. Six pale thin, crooked legs touched the ground, lifting their owner into the air slightly as he approached Moran, who was frozen in the terror of the scene.

"You were so predictable. So easy to trick. Did you like my frightened whimpers?" Jim asked, head tilted to the side. He widened his eyes and put on a begging expression. "Help me, Sebastian. Please!" he mocked himself before reverting to the predatory smirk. This was it. This was where he died, gutted and eaten by monster posing as a helpless victim.

Moran raised his blade, taking a defensive position as Jim came upon him, and the drevin scowled at the display. "Stay back!"

"Oh, give up. It's a lot less effort." Jim knocked the weapon away with one of his legs as Moran took a swipe, letting it clatter to the stone floor. He lunged, aiming for the small body, yet two quick limbs pushed away, pinning him down by his wrists with Jim elegantly following, hovering above his prey with ease.

"Very." He answered, fingers tightening on his crossbow as they continued forward. The cave was just upon them, dark, entrance highlighted by the layer of silk radiating from the hole. There was no avoiding it now with the webbing blanketing the rocky ground. Cautiously, they entered, lighting up torches as they went to illuminate the sightless way. Now with the fire and backup, the twisting caverns and passageways seemed less daunting, though the tension between the group was thick. The drevin must know they were there, wandering about the cave like rodents led into a maze.

Coming to a fork in the path, one way leading down, the other to the left, it was Moran who suggested splitting up. John and Sherlock gave him looks of both wonder and suspicion, but neither argued. Moran felt, if they were discover the monster tonight, he would be the one to put an arrow through its skull, to be the one to take the manic delight straight from those cold black eyes.

And so, he descended, ready for anything and keeping his ears peeled for the sounds of a fight in the other direction. He cared not if John or Sherlock died; it was a price to pay for luring the creature out of hiding.

"Look who came back to play." The voice came from behind him and he whipped round, finding nothing but rock and webs. "Just couldn't stay away, could you Sebbie?"

"Come out here!" Moran yelled, searching around wildly. "I've got a shot with your name on it, you coward!"

"Who's the coward? The one with a weapon and two men, or..." he felt breath, hot and excited behind his neck. "The one right behind you?" He turned around, firing a shot at the wall, wincing as it snap against the stone. A giggle could be heard from somewhere around him, the clicking of crooked legs above. "You want me? Come find me." The footsteps were moving away and Moran doggedly followed, ignoring the shouts of John and Sherlock behind him. He had a goal now, his prey in relative reach and his trusted crossbow still firmly in his hands.

He found himself in a tall chamber, unknown to him, oddly clear of webbing or any artifacts. Moran searched, unable to see his quarry, yelling out in frustration. "Show yourself!"

"So angry. Did I break you last time? Or are you eager to forget?"

Pinned with no means of escape, he felt the drevin nuzzle his neck, free hands trailing down Moran's chest. "I have problem, Sebastian."

He could see Jim now, crawling down from the walls, frowning dangerously. He was in his more human form, uncaring of the crossbow aimed straight at his heart. "I will kill you."

"Will you?" Jim challenged.

"No," Moran gasped and he began to struggle against the hold when Jim squeezed his thigh. He felt the sharp sting of his wrists catching on the clawed feet, blood flowing to the floor.

"You were so willing before," Jim reminded him as he deliberately undid Moran's trousers. The mercenary kicked wildly when they began to be pulled down. He wanted the drevin off, wanted to run, to kill the damned creature, to hold him down, take him...

"Get off!" Moran snarled, but Jim responded by slamming him hard to the floor.

"Don't move!" Jim snarled back showing off elongated fangs as two more of his legs caught Moran's ankles. "Its all fine in the dark, but once we light things up..." His grimace morphed into a sickly sweet expression. "Do you think we're so different?" Jim was straddling him now, the pads of his fingers caressing Moran's face in mockingly affectionate way. "How do you distinguish yourself from the monsters of your nightmares?"

"I'm not eating people."

"You kill for lavish expenses and an over-sized property. I do it for hunger." Jim leaned down, his own hardness rocking into Moran's slowly, teasingly. "Who's the real monster here?"

Moran heard John and Sherlock pound into the chamber, stopping short of the scene before them.

"Glad you brought an audience. I do love a crowd." Jim raised himself above them, spread his arms. "Take your shot then, Sebastian, if you can."

"Please." He begged, eyes closing, not able to meet the drevin's gaze. He felt humiliated, broken. Was he the fiend? He couldn't dwell on the questions, the raw lust and panic still vibrating though him didn't allow for such thoughts.

"Please what?" Jim asked, having stopped all motions. Moran had no verbal answer, instead relaxing his arms and legs, pressing his hips into Jim's with a needy sound. With a gleeful grin, Jim pressed three fingers to Moran's lips. "Get these nice and wet for me then."

"Shoot him!" John yelled and Jim echoed it, mockingly. Moran pulled the trigger and there was a yell, John falling to the floor with his hand fumbling around an arrow sticking out from his left shoulder. Blood gushed as John's breathing became labored, the small violent twitches already beginning in his arm.

"You'd better dig that out, Mr. Holmes." Moran sneered when Sherlock made for him, a livid fire in his eyes. "That arrow is lined with silver. In few moments, he'll be seizing until his body gives out."

"For God's sake, Sherlock, please!" John begged behind them, struggling as his muscles began to lose control. Sherlock cursed Moran before doing as told, and the mercenary turned to Jim, who was watching with unsuppressed triumph. This was the choice he had made, as he followed Jim out of the cave into the dawn, away from the humans, in to the arms of a monster. If asked why he trailed behind the drevin, why he chose the man-eater over humanity, Moran would have no answer. Instead, he would shoot the interrogator for their bold questions, knowing that the action would make Jim smile.

If anyone wants more in this verse, I might write oneshots for Sherlock and John. For those who read Flight, it should be updated in a week, since my computer is nowhere near me till then, and what I need to write it is on there.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. Any questions on lore or anything can be asked at my tumblr (link on author's page). Feedback is welcome and well-loved.