and more Grindels

It was already nearly dark by the time Candlemass finally made it back into town and went to collect the mission objectives, as he told me. The night was nearly springlike, but still too early for treefrogs and crickets (peepers and creakers, as he calls them, which I still think is cute), and altogether rather enjoyable. But it was still rather dampened by the realization of what he would probably be dealing with.

A rash of cattle thefts had broken out shortly after the Red Skull scare. Something not entirely uncommon, Candlemass assured me, as occasionally farmers would panic and steal their neighbors animals in reaction to their numbers dropping. However, not even a day therafter, the cattle began to reappear, their bodies stripped entirely of meat until they were nothing but skeletons. Everything except the head. It was almost immediately after the first occurrence (one is enough, but two is too many for coincidence) that the village council convened, and the council head decided it was a matter best dealt with by the Punishers. And, so, Candlemass was swiftly recalled.

As expected in a crisis situation, the Order headquarters was nearly abandoned, except for "one of the little Blackwater boys" who was manning the reception desk, and considered Candlemass with an open sort of awe, and gave him the information compiled thus far on the cattle attacks. When he was finished, Candlemass knew immediately what they were dealing with. 

At the same time of the cattle dissappearences, there were also an unsually high number of young people coming up missing. For the youngsters, however, there were excuses that the cattle could not account for; chores, lovers trysts, injured feelings. But, as Candlemass knew, it was from the same root.

Grindels.

Grindels (or Grindles, or Gryndils) were a type of water demon that pounced out on unsuspecting passerby and either devoured them or, if finding them attractive or valuable enough, kept them in their network of caves. They were, in form, almost like humans, with slick, mottled skin, and brutish faces with tendrils like catfish near their mouths and noses. Though their feet were nearly flippers, their hands were long and thin, and ideal for grabbing things at they passed by. Grindels, Candlemass said, were always bad news because they were nearly impossible to catch, mostly because of the fact that they existed freely in an element humans could not. And, furthermore, something Candlemass abhorred.

Candlemass holds no fondness for being immersed in water against his will, and the prospect of Grindles meant being freely immersed in water for possibly longer than he could endure.

Nevertheless, he set out after collecting the mission information, and went to the bog where he'd always highly suspected of Grindel activity to be. Candlemass has always had a very keen intuition, and he's learned to trust it over his own sense of reason, and he knew there were Grindels in this bog.

So, Candlemass did the natural thing when it came to Grindels. He fell asleep next to the bog, kicking out his legs and propping his head and back on a tree overlooking a watery part of the marshy land. He said he figured it was perhaps a bit too effective when he woke up, and the Grindel was standing over him grinning and leering. 

He hardly had enough time to take in a breath in shock before it had grabbed him by the neck and started choking him. The world started quickly growing dark as his oxygen supply was cut off- he could feel the cartilage in his neck being squeezed and start to crackle. He could feel the Grindel's face was inches next to him, it's breath moist and clammy on his neck. 

In his panic, he fought back, something he assured me should never be done with a Grindel. It only became excited, and started beating him with one hand about the face and torso until he became dazed and compliant again. 

So,  dangling in the thing's grasp, his head bleeding and swimming in pain, Candlemass did what he'd done with the Stalker all those years ago- since it was nearly spring, the bog had begun to thaw, and gas was beginning to be released to the surface.

He immolated it.

He said he'd nearly lost himself to the blaze as well, since he could feel his eyelashes getting singed. He didn't even realize it was dead because he was still gasping and coughing when he saw the shriveled remains of its arm near him, something he burned separately.

Privately, he told me, he was glad no other Punishers had caught on where the Grindel had been. It was one of his more embarrassingly successful missions.