《The Dark Lord's Cookbook》


 Prologue: The Belly Of The Beast

    Aching and wheezing, the young woman with dark blonde hair leaned against the wall, thanking the gods she''d made it this far. The lean quickly slipped into a slow slide down to the floor as her knees protested against her. She didn''t resist, the desire to stay on her feet leaking slowly until her bottom hit the floor.


    With her thoughts wandering, Lia Hart''s mind fell on the only time she could remember being so exhausted in her life.


    It was when she and her family fled their homes when she was a child. In the panic which followed the news of the Dark Lord''s army approaching the border, everyone had ran carrying what they could. Some with only the clothes on their backs. She remembered being so small then, her father, laborer for the local salt mine had to scoop her up and carry her to safety.


    What followed were sleepless nights on the hard ground and what felt like endless hours of marching. During the day the sun beatdown harder than usual and at night every sound would wake her with heart pounding terror. The constant fear and worry from the adults around her ate away at her thoughts until even sleep became impossible. Her mother told her stories to keep her spirits high but even those didn''t help.


    But worst of all, was how cold it got when the wood for fire ran out. It had been early autumn yet the chill which set in when the sun went down made her miss her home. In the night, her feet would become numb and her toes wouldn''t feel any sensation no matter how much she rubbed them together in her boots. It took so long just to get used to walking again after stopping.


    While she was no longer that child, returning to what was left of Saltbridge village had stirred up memories. But it wasn''t just the memories that hurt. It was the reality of what the Dark Lord had done to them.


    Lia''s family no longer had any land to call their own. Their small cottage was gone, replaced with a burnt out husk and their barn reduced to a pile of lack and wood.


    But those were nothing compared to what she felt now. Despite the cold, she desperately wanted to sleep. No, actually she wanted a meal, maybe her mother''s stew... five bowls of it, at least. Then she''d-


    A tap to her side made her glance over to Barrelfist, the alchemist was holding up one of his stamina potions for her to take. "Almost at the end of all this." He grumbled in his usual way, his own trembling hand causing the green contents to slosh. He repeated himself much more quietly, as if to himself. "Almost at the end of all this."


    Barrelfist wasn''t actually the dwarf''s name. His kind were well known for not sharing their family names freely with strangers and went by nicknames and such around others they weren''t on very friendly terms with. Lia knew this because of the many of the dwarves who had defended Saltbridge against the horde to buy everyone time. Growing up around them gave her experience to sway one of the greatest alchemists to her mission. A dwarf who was considered the greatest alchemist in all of Solamnia, who was also very keen on keeping his past a secret. And yet he had joined them instead oftelling them off.


    When they first met, the dwarf introduced himself to the party as Barrelfist The Alchemist and because it rhymed a little and dwarves tended to get very... physical when someone demanded their real names, they just accepted it.


    For some reason, it was only occurring to Lia now she hadn''t ever asked where the nickname came from. It could be just as obvious as she expected, he was a dwarven alchemist with fists like small barrels. Huh... She wondered why it took this long for her to puzzle that one out. It was as good of a guess as any. Then again, until this very moment it seemed every other thing in the world was more important, more urgent than getting caught up over someone''s name...


    ''Now that we''re so close to putting an end to the Dark Lord''s reign of terror,'' she pondered, taking the potion gratefully. ''If we get through this maybe...''


    She shook her head from the dark thoughts. Self-defeat this close to saving the world would only blunt whatever edge she had when the time came, it was probably her tired aching body throwing her concentration off. Chatting with him, or rather, him chatting to her helped distract Lia enough to calm her nerves. She was grateful for that.


    With the short pause, she sipped the potion in her hand slowly and breathed a sigh of relief as the weary cloak settling over her senses was yanked away. With her need to be on high alert for any trouble, she was able to quickly force down those old memories.


    Even then, it wasn''t easy as her mind rebelled against her wishes and dragged the rough journey her life became ever since she was chosen by fate. If any of the gods had senses of humor then Mittera must''ve been having a happy jape at her expense.


    ''Why me?'' It was a question simmered in the back of her mind, rising like it always did like the stench of an open latrine in summer. She was the daughter of a salt miner and a seamstress. Until her 18th birthday, the worst fight she''d ever gotten into was when Elliot, her once little snot of a brother, slipped a beetle in her hair.


    Now here she was with a holy sword on her hip, deep in the lair of the Dark Lord Calade, and the entire world''s future on her shoulders.


    Callade, the Reverend Of Nightmares and Enslaver Of Horrors, built his fortress right on top of the old salt mine.


    A blessing as much as a curse. The highlands made for as much a natural fort as any built by hand. Once you passed through the hilly grasslands and low forests, all that awaited were craggy, sheer cliffs, narrow passes, and uneven outcroppings which would crumble under a gnome''s feet, much less a horse''s hooves.


    The number of direct, stable roads, the very lifeblood of the area shrank the higher one got into the mountains, making any invasion so much harder. And this was before, watch towers, frequent patrolls, and guard posts filled in most gaps one could take.


    They''d found a way through to the fortress thanks to T''Sane''s pathfinding, though. Weaving a roundabout route which got them past the outer defenses and right towards the mineshaft.


    The mine was long and deep, stretching down into the earth and extending far into the caverns below. When compared against the high, heavily guarded walls so chock-full of enchantments and wards that seemed to make the very bricks vibrate in their mortar at a distance, there really was no option but to go over or under. And out of the two of those options only one would prevent them from being swarmed by the enemy in seconds.


    However, anyone half-familiar with a mine knew one abandoned for over ten plus wouldn''t be safe. At best, the tunnels would be much narrower and winding, parts inevitably collapsed from disuse. Perfect for funneling the enemy into an ambush, but difficult to pass through. At worst, the very structure of it would be so unstable with risks of collapse a worry on everyone''s mind, made worse with the weak light only torches could provide.


    Lia shivered. At its deepest, darkness became an almost physical presence.


    Thankfully, they didn''t have to stay so deep for long.


    Lia remembered her father telling her about a branching shaft built by the local dwarves in case of any collapse in the main tunnels. It would allow the miners an escape as well as a spot to a mount rescue effort for any trapped inside. Between that and Barrelfist''s indispensable knowledge of mining, they were able to find a path through the maze like and cramped interior.


    By some miracle of the gods watching over them, their luck held. To everyone''s surprise, the salt mines weren''t as abandoned as they expected. In fact, one of the main reasons for its remaining stability was that there were undead and demons working the mine. Even better, clearly there was no expectation intruders would get here since the most of the monsters were armed with were pickaxes, shovels, and buckets. Not even a single guard to keep watch. An oversight on Callade''s part but one Lia wouldn''t complain about.


    The groups they happened to cross paths with among those twisting routes were handled easily and without raising an alarm.


    There was no guarantee it would stay that way though. The holy blade, Light''s Call, reduced the foul creatures to ashes but the rest of the party was armed with silver edged weapons and much weaker purifying enchantments, leaving plenty of evidence of their intrusion left in their wake. On top of that, there were so many new tunnels they passed which some of the Dark Lord''s servants could be working in.


    It was only a matter of time when a guard went looking for a missing work group or someone passing through stumbled across the bodies.


    This was why they were hiding in a small storage area at the lowest level of the fortress proper, practically an alcove with a door, waiting for T''sane to get back. The elf had the lightest step of all of them, and was charged with setting out a distraction for them to use.


    "I''m starting to think we''re getting lucky." Lia said, mostly to herself. "I hope we..." Words failed her. Her thoughts were just too much.


    Instead, she let the warmth of the potion she was drinking spread through her body and sighed.


    Barrelfist nodded in understanding to her unspoken words, his braided black beard and bushy mustash making his smile so much more obivious in the dim, cramped room. He wandered over to Rux, pulling another stamina potion from his many satchels strapped around his waist. "''ere. Take a sip before you drop." He urged.


    The half orc was keeping watch through a crack in the door, the barest sliver of orange light slashing and flickering across her face from the torches out in the hall. Her eyes darted to from the hallway to the room they were hiding in every few seconds, constantly scanning for anything that wasn''t supposed to be there.


    The dwarf raised a potion at her and without so much as a glance his way, she palmed the ceramic bottle, broke the wax seal with her thumb, and swilled it down. All the while, her attention locked on the area outside.


    When she''d joined, Rux Yotu was wound tight.


    And now, this deep in enemy lands raised her hackles considerably. Lia couldn''t blame her for it. For most of the journey, Calade''s agents seemed to be so numerous and endless. And after the rumors of what happened to the Count of Embers...


    The only reason Lia could figure why she wasn''t an even more paranoid mess than Rux was because of the sword. Light''s Call was a comfort throughout all this.


    The other woman''s body vibrated with tension as every step brought them closer to destiny. Every muscle was primed and ready, her alertness becoming almost a physical thing in the air around her. Her instincts were honed to a razor sharp edge, sharper than any blade and in the face of danger the group could feel her palpable presence protecting them all. She kept them all safe, always watchful, always vigilant. Her eyes never strayed from the shadows that threatened in the night. Instincts which saved everyone''s skin more than once.


    Lia had never met a full-blooded orc, much less a half-orc before embarking on this quest and so it was quite a surprise meeting Rux. The woman hailed from the seven southern lands, her brownish-green skin and exotic features and well-spoken manner hardly fitting the stories of brutal, ugly barbarians Lia grew up on.


    At least, well-spoken when Rux decided she had something to say which wasn''t very often. If it wasn''t for the distinct bottom tusks protruding from her bottom lip, the woman would''ve thought her as fully human. Though even if she had made such a assumption, Rux would''ve quickly disabused her of it. The half-orc was a warrior, a fierce one, and not to be trifled with.


    Her dark, curly hair was pulled into a thick ponytail, tied off at the end, and her ears were pierced in two places.


    The half-orc''s plain leather armor only made the massive slab of iron sheathed on her back standout all the more. Lia knew from the stories that orcs were stronger than the average man, but the deft skill Rux used wielding a great sword almost tall as she was stunning. There were fighters with daggers that moved slower with a thrust than her with a slash. It was like watching the woman dance, every slash and parry set to a quiet song that could only be heard by her. She has seen the half-orc fight a few times up close now, even sparred against her once.


    ''And once was enough.''


    She must have started young, had a harsh teacher, or just worked harder than anyone, Lia didn''t know, but the half-orc was a sight to behold.


    The whole time during her watch, a hand was never far from the roughly woven sword grip over her shoulder and Lia knew anything that could possibly make trouble would be dealt with swiftly.


    "Have any stomach cures, my friend?" The whispered question came from their mage, the halfling''s timber unmistakable in the quiet, stuffy air.


    "Afraidnot." Barrelfist replied, shaking his head as Lia glanced at the magic user. "I got a few more stamina ones. Might take the edge off if-"


    "No, no. Keep those for when you need them."


    Barrelfist''s brow furrowed in worry as he shuffled through his satchels for something to help and she couldn''t blame him.


    Therald Sprock didn''t look well.


    The usually jolly man was hunched over, his hands clasped together in front of his chest, his eyes closed in silent prayer. His breathing was shallow, complexion pale, and she was half certain he lost a bit of his paunch in the time they''d left the mine.


    She could see him shivering through the darkness of their hiding spot, his robes doing nothing but making it more obvious. The reason was mana exhaustion which was totally different from the physical kind. Lia had tried to get the wizard to explain the difference to her but the halfling had a tendency to ramble and she''d given up after getting ''A Thesis On Processes of Ritual Obscura And Their Potency Within Circles''.


    Not once but twice.


    This sickly quiet didn''t suit him at all. He''d been like this since they exited the mines.


    While the dark lord hadn''t put guards in the tunnels, enchantments and magical traps littered almost every corner of the place. The sheer amount of them had Therald blow through half his potion supply. Nothing to worry about, at first. Barrelfist always carried his own supply to supplement the groups. Enough to get through any trouble and have some left over for the mage to cast an illusion on them so they could sneak through the fortress halls to get to the throne room.


    It had been the plan, at least.


    A plan which folded like a lean-to in a storm when they came to the doors leading out of the mine and into the fortress proper. The ward sealing them was so monstrously powerful even Lia''s magically-inexperienced senses could tell it was the kind of thing that needed multiple spellcasters to break without setting off the mother of all traps and not pass out from attempting it... or a single one being feed potion after potion after potion.


    The latter option nearly killed the halfling. Apparently stuffing those things down someone''s throat with no break in between could be poisonous.


    It was the second reason why the party had hidden in the alcove, waiting for T''sane to get back. With the wizard like this sneaking around with illusions was impossible.


    The gnome smiled. It was thin, forced, and didn''t fool anyone. "I''ll manage, feeling better right now in fact." He coughed, trying and failing to clear a rasp.


    "Good thing, too. We have to get moving." A voice replied making everyone jump. Rux''s hand grasped her weapon but quickly relaxed as he stepped back and opened the door. T''sane eased in smoothly, a shadow bleeding into shape before their eyes despite the light cast on him from the hallway. "Up," he said, his voice not the slightest bit muffled under the black scarf covering most of his face. "We need to be ready."


    "Where you followed?" The half orc was already grasping the long handle of the sword on her back, eyes searching for trouble in the hallway beyond.


    Lia was about to do the same in the elf chuckled as if the question was such a silly thing to ask, a musical sound that tickled the ears reminding Lia, yes, it was silly to ask. "No, the distraction I set up will go off soon. I mean for us to be on our feet by then."


    No one asked any questions; it clearly wasn''t the time for that. They all gathered themselves to be ready on T''sane''s signal. They knew they''d soon found out what exactly his signal was. Lia knew the elf was more than he claimed to be and what he claimed to be was gamekeeper for the Elven royal family. It explained his skill with the bow and tracking, but he was without a doubt the quietest person she had ever met. His ability to track save them so much time and got them out of more than one ambush out in the wilderness but still...


    Her musings were cut off when the floor under their feet vibrated with an impact, she felt from the heels of her boots all away to her spine. It was an aural pulse of sound violent enough to shake the fortress to its core. Everyone glanced at the elf who shrugged. "Quite the store of volatile reagents in a warehouse. Dangerous place to be leaving lit torches about..."


    Everyone leapt into action, turning the corner into the hallway and Lia kept up with them. Her legs pumped long strong strides, matching the thumping beat on the floor from her fellows.


    With what had to be one hell of a fire happening somewhere in the fort, the path to the throne room was clear. Going up from the lower levels to the ground floor was easy. They passed empty guard post after empty guard post. It did nothing to ease the tension though. Lia never thought a maze of empty halls could feel so... uneasy. T''sane led the party, himself leading them a zigzag pattern up stairwells and through hallways.


    Finally, they reached the biggest and grandest hall which led to the throne room. It''s importance made obvious by the pair of undead Knights standing before the massive double doors like an honor guard.


    They were still as...well, as the dead, the dark armor making it appear as if they were statues. The gleaming breast plates and raised swords wouldn''t have been out of place in any royal''s home. But under the polish and presence, there was a suggestion of alertness within the unnatural stillness of their stances like a pair of boulders ready to fall at the slightest breath of wind.


    The pointed helm on their heads had holes for each eye and enough space for a head where a vile green-red glow came from within.


    Unlike an honor guard, the moment the armored monsters noticed them rush into the main hall Lia saw them twitch and move of their own accord. The eyes of the flying skull painted on their helmets turned to track her, the gap between the visor revealing nothing but inky blackness and that glow.


    A chill ran through Lia''s body. She couldn''t help it.


    Before either knight could draw their weapons or make a sound beyond a single metallic boot on stone, T''sane''s arrows blessed with holy magic, thumped into the eye slits of the monster''s helms. Four arrows in three seconds, one for each eye. They crumpled to the fine carpet beneath them.


    "Let''s hope the rest of this room isn''t as well guarded." Rux mumbled in her thick accent as they walked over the dead guards to the doors. Lia couldn''t help but agree as the rest of the party congregated in front of the massive entrance, letting out a breath she hadn''t realized she''d held.


    They all stared at the floor to ceiling double doors. The huge slabs of dark onyx were engraved with patterns of gold. Must''ve been found in the mine, Lia guessed. That explained a lot. The dark Lord had no use for salt, after all.


    "Therald?" she asked. The halfling nodded, some of his usual rosy color back in his cheeks. He raises hands to the door and closed his eyes. Seconds later, he opened them again confused.


    "Nothing."


    "Nothing?" Rux was scanning not only the door but the entire hall as if expecting enemies to suddenly sprout out of the walls. The news seemed to only make her yellow gaze go from sharp to piercing. "What do you mean nothing?"


    "It means just that, there''s nothing." He closed his eyes again, pressing his hands up to the stone. "No wards, enchantments, seals... I don''t even feel a preservation rune on this door."


    Lia frowned.


    That meant the door was open. It was suspicious and she didn''t like it one bit.


    She looked at the others. Everyone was looking back at her.


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    "We''re going in," she said.


    A nervous sense of... Calm of all things settled in Lia''s chest. Beyond it, she didn''t know how to feel about the lack of traps. Was Callade just so confident knowing to get this far? Maybe. It hadn''t been exactly a skip to the market to get this far in the first place.


    While it was obvious nothing was going to happen if they open the doors, everyone still hesitated.


    This was it after all. The dark lord was on the other side of this and...


    Her attention dropped to the holy blade in her hand. Light''s Call was cool, smooth leather grip drinking in warmth from her hand, the saber not too heavy and not too light.


    She could feel the weight of the responsibility pressing down on her, a responsibility which had followed from the day she pulled Light''s Call from the stone at the spine of the mountain. It was a burden that weighed her down, and there were times she wanted to run away from it all.


    Lia took a deep breath.


    She knew she couldn''t though. There was too many people relying on them to put an end to Callade, a man who was prophesized to end the world. Who once ravaged the old kingdoms and laid waste to The Jeweled City before taking the name of it as his own. For hundreds of years, he''d existed like the deepest fog...


    Unknown but dangerous...


    Hiding...


    Plotting...


    Who knew what he would do given even one more day?


    If they failed, all the lands would be in danger, and it wouldn''t matter how far she ran or how long. He would consume it all and leave the world barren. As with every time she found herself wavering, she thought of family. Her older brothers conscripted into the militia. Her sister fleeing to the west. Her father taking care of her mother back home...


    With one final heavy breath which did nothing to steady her growing nerves, she gripped Light''s Call and they pushed open the door.


    It swung back so easily she was tempted to ask the halfling if he was certain it wasn''t enchanted. Even with all of them, she''d barely had to put her weight into it before the thick wood practically fled from her palms. More impressive was the silence while it did. No grinding of stone or groaning of something before forced open which only served to make the darkness which greeted them all the more ominous.


    Where Lia expected to see some lavish, opulent throne room or a massive guard regiment with shields up and steel drawn, instead was the most barren room of them all. Between the twilight drawing beams through plain windows and the light from the grand hall at their backs, the place was cast in shadow she could only just see through.


    They all entered the room slowly and in good order, and as she glanced around, the lack of decor was disturbing. Callade was well known for his cruelty, the way he''d strung up the Count of Embers''s body on his borders when said Count invaded being the least among his displays of depravity. It had been by the grace of the gods the Count''s soldiers had managed to escape. Even her worst fear of seeing a throne made out of the goodly races bones would''ve, in a sad way, been more comforting to see. Instead, there was bare stone, no finery, not even a single scrap of gold considering what the door to get in was like. The air smelled slightly stale and she could see motes of dust floating around, disturbed by the flow of air following their entering.


    The shadows squirmed.


    The reflexes that came from years of experience took over and Lia lunged to the side where the shadows shot from the walls to impale the spot where she''d been standing. She hurried to check on the others but found they hadn''t been targeted, their weapons up and ready for an attack that never followed. "What was that?" Barrelfist grunted, shuffling through his satchel.


    "That was a friendly greeting." A deep rumbling sound, one that took her a moment to realize was chuckling, echoed from the furthest end of the room ahead of them, a part still entrenched in the deepest shadow as she faced it. The source was from somewhere beyond the darkness, beyond the light, and looking in front was her best guess.


    "Well, well, well, what''s come to visit me at this time of night?" a voice rolled out from the shadows, echoing off the walls and drowning out all other sounds Lia''s companions were making. "If I didn''t know any better I''d say it was Mistress Light''s Call and her merry band herself." The words bounced of the walls in that way only large empty rooms could and Lia gripped her sword tight and tried to pierce through the shadows with her eyes, only to feel that calm settle back into her chest.


    With a sound like someone snapping their fingers, the room suddenly lit up.


    Torches and glowstones alike flared to life along the walls so fast, Lia had to rub her eyes to clear the flash away. The sight wasn''t any nicer than before, if anything it was worse.What greeted them in the light made her mouth go dry and her knees watery.


    The throne room wasn''t a throne room at all. It was a massive arena.


    A ring of stone columns encircled a large stone pit in the center of the room. Spectator stands rose up on either side, the kind she''d read about people would watch the bloodshed and death.


    And clearly blood was shed here. The stone was stained with dark splotches of brown and black and bones, weapons, and discarded armor littered it''s edges.


    It also contained a dragon.


    The hulking creature curled up like a lazy house cat was still large enough to hide the wall behind it. It''s massive scaled head rose and turned to look at them ever so slightly, it''s massive blue slit eye focusing on them. The dragon shifted, it''s coiled bulk unwinding as it''s head began to rise. However, it was stopped by a hand wave. Seated before it, practically lounging in a simple granite throne was the Dark Lord himself. "Don''t mind them, Gytur. Best you take care of the business outside before it spreads."


    It''s massive, scaled chest and forearms bulged with strength that could fell hundreds, and it''s mouth opened to speak, the red liquid that dribbled from it''s jaws steaming in the air and sizzling like molten metal where it touched the stone. "Master," it''s voice was like a massive boulder rolling down a hill,"It shall be done."


    With far too much speed a creature that size should have, the dragon ''Gytur'' stood and in a blur left out through an arch way its body had hidden and with a powerful flap of wings took off into the darkness of that hall. Lia couldn''t hear the fluttering wings over the thunderous boom the dragon''s claws made when it hit the ground to send an aftershock through the floor.


    Then it was gone, leaving them alone with the dark lord.


    In that flight from Saltbridge so long ago, Lia had never glimpsed Calade in the flesh. From there it had been nothing but gossip and rumor. She''d been told such elaborate descriptions by drunks who swore they saw him just down the street to half-mumbled details from a veteran who fought against his undead hordes and no two were alike.


    Personally, she expected to be meeting a wizened old man,practitioners of magic not being known for their intimidating physiques or youth. Possibly even an intelligent corpse of some sort. Still, even then she was surprised when she laid eyes on him.


    The first thing which stood out was how young he seemed. Young enough to be friends with her or her brothers, a handsome face, long, messy black hair, and a smile almost friendly enough to be described as approachable. So young she would''ve thought any mage capable of the power she''d seen since arriving in these lands would''ve been well known throughout the kingdoms as a once in a generation prodigy.


    But according to everything she learned about her fated enemy in her quest to find weaknesses to exploit, Calade had been less of a known threat and more a instant disaster. Like a violent storm previously unseen sweeping across the land and leaving utter desolation and destruction as it went. Even the prophecy of the Dark Lord lacked details about who it was and even what he was. It didn''t matter now though. Calade was the legend, a nightmare, one she had never thought she''d be looking at in the flesh as she was now.


    The true nature of the man came to remind her as the rest of her mind looked past the face. It''s where any semblance of humanity started and ended. The evidence of what foul magic he used to twist himself stripping awayany last remnants.


    His eyes were a brilliant red and his body appeared to be a fusion of man and dragon. The scales covering his arms and legs led to dagger-like claws on the ends of his fingers and toes. All he wore was simple linen pants one could find on any regular person on the street that were draped on loosely and an open black robe which did nothing to hide the man''s massive bulk. Though he lounged in his throne quite a ways away, Lia could tell the man was huge. His scaled armored shoulders were wide enough for Therald to sit on comfortably, his chest hairless and smooth, running down to his lower abdomen where the black scales that armored his legs began. All of that plus, a massive pair of horns rising from the top of his head made the man seem even taller.


    All of those thoughts, those impressions felt as if they were happening some other time. Her eyes only looked at him and that was all she could do. Words failed her and she wasn''t even sure why.


    Calade didn''t seem to mind, his smile had grown and gave pause to them all.


    Lia couldn''t see any weapons until she looked down at his hands. Odds were he didn''t need them, never mind he was aparently confident enough to sent his enslaved dragon away. Still, she couldn''t help but notice the massive staff leaning against the throne, clearly in easy reach. Obviously, that was his magical focus.


    "Sit, sit won''t you?" Calade asked, his tone mocking. "I''m afraid I don''t have any sweets or cakes to serve you or even a table to serve it on but feel free to take a spot on the floor if you''re not comfortable standing." He shifted to a more upright position as if to get a better look at her and the others. It brought into sight his draconic tail,


    It unsettled her, like everything else about him did. The Dark Lord seemed to understand that. He seemed to pick up on her discomfort right away for he hummed in satisfaction, arms leaning on the throne''s handrests. "Well well, well, you look nice in the light. It really suits you too. If I didn''t think so, I would never have guessed you could be so well dressed out of your field clothes, Lia."


    Her name came out of his mouth with such easy familiarity as if they were associated. It was enough to shock her to speak. "You know my name?" A second later the rest of what Calade said caught up to her and she felt herself tensing at the implied threat."Wait, how...?"


    "...do I know you?" The dark lord finished. "I make time to know all threats to my life. At least, the legitimate ones."


    "Lia, be quiet," Therald hissed under his breath from where he was. "He might try to bewitch you."


    Whatever she wanted to respond with left her then. She was ashamed to admit she''d forgotten that. They all had discussed the possibility Calade would use mind magics of some kind.


    When she didn''t speak again, Calade chuckled. "What? No cutting remarks to say, Therald, failure of the September Academy? No witty retorts to serve me with, Murdod? Oh, sorry, Barrelfist. You know how the saying goes, the bigger they are the harder they fall, and I''m... Well, I''m bigger than you all. No? No witty comment to serve me with, T''sane the kin killer? What about you, Rux Yotu exile of Clan Vasta? None of you have anything to say?"


    The implication was obvious. Calade knew personal information about them in one form or another, despite the fact that no one had spoken up at all and it seemed like he could tell what they were thinking without much difficulty just by looking into their eyes- though from how other''s glanced with pensive, worried looks at each other.


    Lia felt herself relax again as they ignored him after a moment of tension-filled silence. Thank the gods no one else had risen to the bait.


    The dark lord hummed again, drumming his fingers on his throne before standing up. At his full height, the man was nearly a giant. "Ah, well. I was hoping to have a conversation before I killed you. Undead and demons are great for labor but lack in stimulating conversation." Picking up the staff right in the middle, he tapped it against the stone and smiled a smile full of razor-sharp teeth.


    "Well, let''s get this over with." He reached for something over his shoulder. She thought it was a shortened javelin when he pulled it out of a previously unseen quiver. It was only when Calade took aim so casually and quickly that she realized what she thought was a magical staff was the biggest arrow she''d ever seen being drawn on the biggest bow she''d ever seen.


    Rux was already been in motion to take her position the moment the dark lord rose and it saved the halfling''s life. She was next to the wizard, pivoting and sweeping her massive sword in front of him right before the whip crack of the bowstring snapping forward bounced around the empty room.


    The shrill whistle of the arrow ended in a sound Lia couldn''t describe even in the moment. Rux grunted at the impact, somehow holding on her weapon as the glittering missile slammed into the flat of the blade with enough force to pierce it, at least 2 and a half inches of metal, the wickedly shaped arrowhead quivering to a stop an inch from the halfling''s nose. Therald let out a choked sound, tripping and falling flat on his rear in an attempt to get away.


    Before the dark lord could fire another deadly shot, Barrelfist moved and Lia wasted no time doing the same. She went straight for the Dark Lord, making herself a hard target by darting from side to side as she moved.


    The dwarf was stalwart though, not to flinching away as he threw a ceramic jar about the size of a potato at Callade with everything he had. It was obvious to Lia the jar and whatever it held wasn''t going to make it, too much ground between them and their enemy. The smile on the monstrous man''s face made it clear he knew it too.


    "Down!" T''sane''s commanded. Without thinking, Lia stopped her charge and ducked into a roll.


    Barrelfist''s grunt of effort as he threw something else was clearly audible even over the sound of the elf''s bowstring snapping forward to send his arrow on it''s flight and Therald''s chanting.She was back on her feet in time to see Callade''s smile fade as a pair of arrows shattered the two jars now in the air.


    The acrid smelling contents sprayed wide, covering the rest of the space to splatter Callade from head to toe. Immediately, he roared in pain as the liquids chemical reaction sizzled against his skin and with a FOOOM, flared into flames. A line of yellow-white light, one of Therald''s spells finally ready, turned the flames from orange to a bright blue pillar that covered the man''s upper half in even more flame.


    Rux was at her side then, her weapon cracked where the arrow had struck but still whole and the pair of them moved to quickly put an end to Callade while he was distracted. No one was foolish enough to believe this was enough to kill him.


    However, the opening she''d hoped they could take advantage of was gone like campfire smoke in a gale. To her horror, the Dark Lord, a burning mess of magic and angry hate against all things right and natural slammed the hilt of his bow against the floor. It shattered on contact, the smooth surface now treacherous and jagged, bringing them both up short.


    He didn''t even bother trying to put himself out, his laughter growing madder by the second.


    "Your time is nigh!" He cackled.


    They all threw themselves to the side to avoid the blast of pure magic radiating out from the place Calade had been standing. The surge of energy smashed against the walls, shattering the surface around the point of impact and sent a shockwave rolling towards them.


    Before either she or Rux could rise off their knees, he was suddenly in front of them in a rush of air. Even through the flames, she could make out his heaving shoulders and the snarl painted on his face. His eyes were ablaze. His inhumanly perfect, dark brows furrowed together in rage, and it was only at the last second, she realizedhe wasn''t bothering to look at anyone else.


    Rux swung and Lia''s eyes followed the blade just long enough to track the blow before setting herself in the optimal position to follow up with a thrust a heartbeat after. Somehow, by the gods, somehow this monster avoided them both. With a pivot so quick, the woman almost thought she''d stuck an illusion; she went sliding past his dodge. She felt the CLANG buzzing through the air as the sword clanged off the bow, he''d kept a hold of and spun around in time to see Rux go for another swing. Dust flew, golden sparks showered downward, and a ringing metallic screech filled the air as the blade clattered down the length of the weapon and with a flick of his wrist he sent the sword flying.


    The ease in which he did it wasn''t just what made Lia''s stomach go cold, it was how Calade still wasn''t even looking at Rux clearly dismissing the half-orc as a threat, his attention purely focused on her.


    The top of the bow began to glow, and she felt the Dark Lord''s magic gather. A spell far too big to be cast unassisted. The bow WAS a focus!


    Rux was still attacking, undeterred by the loss of her sword and drew a dagger to plunge into the man''s rib The Dark Lord grabbed her by the leather chest piece and like she was an unruly child, lifted the half-orc up and threw her into the far wall. Hearing the crack of hard leather as Rux hit, impacted didn''t dare look to see if she was okay. Instead, she swiped Light''s Call for his face.


    To her shock, his invincible poise broke as he grunted, hurriedly backing away from the strike. The pop of breaking ceramic as Barrelfist threw two more jars at him, was followed by the flames growing so bright it was hard to see through them.


    It only lasted for as long as it took the mage to turn the magical staff in the dwarf''s direction. A sickly green spell lanced from the head at crashed into Barrelfist with enough force that it threw him off his feet and extinguished the flames entirely in one solid gust. The halfling was already running over to him, the dwarf not so much as twitching when he rolled to a stop.


    The Dark Lord''s robe was gone, turned to ash but unbelievably that was the damage on Calade. His skin was steaming from the heat, but his heaving breaths were not from exertion but anger.


    Lia didn''t let up though, she couldn''t. She wasn''t sure how badly Rux or Barrelfist were hurt but she couldn''t let him do anything else.


    Light''s Call felt absolutely wonderful in her hand as she swung again. This time Calade blocked but was forced to move backwardsas Lia pressed the attack, swinging from any opening as her foe backed away. The arrows T''sane kept firing bounced off his bare skin, making it more and more clear she was really holding the one weapon that could do some damage.


    The Dark Lord barely managed to swing the peculiar bow across his body in time to fend off her strike, but not fast enough. Her blade slashed across the back of his right hand, shearing the skin open cleanly, drawing out a thick line of blood even as another arrow bounced off his unarmored chest.


    She wouldn''t have thought such a small thing would''ve hurt a normal man but the wound glowed and Callade snarled in pain, grit his teeth, and shoved.


    Lia staggered, raising her sword expecting the next strike,but instead he retreated to the throne. He was still gazing at her, calculation in the red chips of ice that seemed to glow out from his face, like a predator taking measure of prey putting up more fight than expected. His arm snapped up, blurring faster than anything she''d ever seen in her life and with a THWACK, he caught the arrow T''sane fired. It would''ve struck him in the eye if he hadn''t but Lia doubted it would''ve done anything.


    "Pathetic." he spat, looking back at them with glowing red eyes as he snapped the arrow and threw it to the floor. "I''ve been looking forward to killing you ''heroes'' for a long time. And this is boring me. Surrender now, I have no more wish to waste my time on you fools."


    Lia wasn''t one for witty retorts, so she surprised herself when the question slipped out."Then why were you the one who backed away?" Her calm covering over the fear, she swallowed hard and eased herself forward, boots crunching the floor. She balanced her mind in the teachings of her instructors, shoring her thoughts with prayers to Mittera against this creature wearing a man''s face. It was odd, like she was both in her body and watching from a distance. The young woman wanted to run and yet couldn''t, wouldn''t, turn her back. "I''m not the one backing up."


    "I think," He pointed the staff at her. "I''m done playing around." He intoned; the words as dark as the shadows flickering in the corners of the room. Then a thunderous CLAP of magic...


    The surge of ice in Lia¡¯s veins wasn¡¯t from the drying sweat cooling on her skin. In a sudden blur of unreality, a detached weightless feeling enfolded her as something, the very place around her, moved. It tore away everything around them. The room, the presence of her allies, even the light... All if it was ripped away. The sound of the magic still echoed in her ears, but far away. The reverberations still barely registered yet were felt deeply.


    All of it, ripped away as if it had never been there.


    Only she and the Dark Lord remained, standing in a place not of this world yet at the same time still of it. A powerful magic spell...


    Her focus though was in the wrong place. Eyes on the staff, Calade spun it and send a blast of force that caught her just over the right shoulder. The force was enough lift her from her feetand send her tumbling. Turning her tumble into a roll, she got her feet under her quickly and so was up and facing the right direction when her opponent pulled a massive sword out from behind the throne. In anyone else''s hands, the weapon would''ve been a great sword. In Calade''s, it was just shy of a longsword. The weight of the weapon had to be tremendous but the man wielding it looked like he could have been holding a fencing sword with the ease he took up a stance. It glimmered in the dim, cold light of this isolated, empty place, emitting a repulsive penetrating aura


    His deadly lunge was announced with the lightest twitch, a movement easily missed if Lia wasn''t looking for it. He was barely a glimpse of a fraction of a passing shadow, weapon snapping at her like a viper. Terrifying speed considering the size of the man it was attached to and Lia caught the calculated strike with Light''s Call. The power behind the opponent''s blade crashing against her''s would''ve certainly ripped it from a lesser swordsman''s grasp but Light''s Call wasn''t so easily removed from it''s chosen wielder''s grasp. Still, the shape of the hilt dug aching lines into her palms; she gripped it so tight.


    The impact sent up a flash of sparks, lighting up the room for an instant before they were encompassed back in the twilight darkness. Back in the deceptive gloom, she pivoted and ducked under the next swing aimed for her neck to fully face his attacker. She turned aside three thrusts, stepping back with the first two before twisting their blades together on the third.


    Any other time, she would''ve wondered where this strength came from. Callade was more than twice her size and yet, each intense exchange meant to crush her guard and split her like a log, didn''t.


    There was no more time to think. No options to consider. No words to say.


    All of her strength was behind a single purpose, nothing else mattered. His size, his magic, his cruelty, none of it was going to stop her. No hesitation,


    She was going to kill this man.


    Lia felt her heart ignite with this single thought, the spark that would consume her enemy in a raging inferno. Every fiber of her being driven by the single purpose of annihilating this man; nothing else could possibly matter. The saber in her hand vibrated with the power surging through her, its blade glowing brilliantly as if to match the intensity of Lia''s fiery determination.


    And the will of Mittera, as well as all the Gods, was made manifest and tangible.


    She slashed, ethereal moonlight glinted down like a hundred blades, slashing through whipping shadows of the void.


    She parried, the frenzied blaze from bonfire torches denied her enemy any advantage of his speed or strength.


    She thrust through the bind, throwing foul arcana aside in a thud of rippling magic.


    With every crash of steel on steel, Light''s Call brightened under its master''s touch, gleaming and glimmering like liquid silver as it cut through not just the air but anything in it''s path. The opposing blade was no exception; runes inscribed in its essence were cleaved apart by the unyielding truth contained within the honed length of blessed metal.


    She pressed forward, chopping the saber down and away to push the Dark Lord''s weapon aside. He twisted the momentum into a feint, using his superior reach to bring the sword around and down towards her head. Lia saw it coming and ducked under the strike, then rose like a tidal wave to split him from legs to chest.


    He moved to block but much like water, Lia spun her blade, it''s length a glowing beam as hot as a forge yet comforting as a summer day, flowing into a thrust that would skewer his heart.


    Snarling, Callade whipped up his own sword to intercept hers. The clash of metal was deafening, sparks flying as the two swords collided.


    Lia spun her blade, it''s length a glowing beam as hot as a forge yet comforting as a summer day, deflected his sword before it came close to her chest.


    Magic poured through them both, the twisted foul energy from Calade clashing against the holy magic of Light''s Call. The link between her and her weapon seemed to ripple through her body; through her soul. The way it sunk into her, the way the blade moved of it''s own accord. She wasn''t chosen by the blade anymore, she was the blade itself. Each slash, dodge, and riposte were moving fast enough no mortal warrior would''ve been able to keep up.


    This, for Lia Hart at least, didn''t matter. Every swing, every redirect, every adjustment in footwork was a means to an end. What mattered was who was struck first. They could''ve been battling for seconds, hours, or years but until he made a mistake time didn''t matter. The clash of weapons was deafening, it shook the room. What was even more thunderous was the sound of the Dark Lord''s laughter. "It''s over. It''s all over!" The words were shouted with triumph. "You did what you had to do."


    She gave her taunts no regard. No mercy.


    It was the only thing that ran through her mind in that instant. All she needed to do was strike.All she had to do was keep striking.


    It didn''t matter what she''d done in the past, they were nothing, she was nothing but Light''s Call.All that mattered was this moment where the future laid out before her was blocked by him. She would strike this man down.She was going to kill him. She had to kill Callade.


    She WOULD kill him.


    When the chance came, she didn''t miss it.


    The spell-breaking Callade''s blade suffered had been clearly taking its toll. The runes not totally destroyed guttered and wavered, spitting mana like a dying campfire.


    Therald once told her about what was happening. What happened when runes linked together were broken randomly...


    He described it like an avalanche. Eventually, the runes still working would collapse in on themselves and depending on how much magic was used, things could get... explosive.


    He swung another crushing blow at her and-


    BANG!


    The dark lord''s blade broke. No, it shattered.


    With the sound of a gong crashing through a glass window, the bits of metal sprayed out following the arc of his attack, brilliant, polished pieces catching her light and dazzling the void.


    She pushed through. He reflexively raised a clawed hand, grabbing Light''s Call but Lia''s sword tip continued forward, plunging into his chest with a sickening squelch.


    Instantly, she was back in the throne room. Every part of her ached, sweat seeped from every pore, and exhaustion slammed into her making her gulp in every breath she could.


    Light''s Call was buried to the engraved hilt in the Dark Lord''s chest, blood streaming from the wound. The beast of a manleaned forward and for a brief moment, Lia was certain he was going to kill her anyway. It wouldn''t take much for him to plunge the remains of his sword into her side. His hand twitched ever so slightly then a whistle and an ugly smacking sound.


    An arrow sprouted from his right eye. His focused malevolence fluttered away into confusion as if he couldn''t process what just happened. Sword forgotten, he raised a trembling clawed hand to the shaft and felt it.


    He choked. ¡°Impossible¡­¡±


    "No..." the dark lord''s voice began filling fear as he pawed at the arrow, so bewildered he didn''t realize the hand he was using was missing fingers. "No, no, no!"


    Lia twisted then pulled her sword back, looking at the blood now on her hands and covering the blade. It was dark and thick, almost like oil than anything she could call blood. The dark lord collapsed to his knees, remaining eye wide and staring. She wanted so badly, so badly, to say something to really turn the screws, to make the truth he was dying really hurt. To sink in the absolute the judgement he''d soon face as he stood before the gods would find his withered, husk of a soul wanting. Hells, his demons would probably be chomping at the bit to rip him apart in the Bowels of Wickher, the underworld not known for its mercy.


    She opened her mouth and the contempt just... didn''t come. As outside of herself she was while fighting with all the dark lord there was no fire in her belly now. She only felt calm. At peace. The emotional distance and exhaustion of the fight was catching up.


    She slit Light''s Call across his throat. She expected him to start gurgling, clutching his neck as he drowned in his own blood.


    Instead, he went rigid, and as he did, she saw power drain out of him like water through an opened floodgate.


    His remaining eye rolled crazily in the socket and then fell from their orbits. The flesh began to crack; a bright glow outlining the wounds.


    "Ah.. Ah..! " His voice was cracking, raw, and filled with pain as if every nerve in his body was being set on fire.


    The flesh split open in dozens of places, thick black ichor pouring out and down his face. It ate away at his jaw and skull, the light in his remaining eye dimming and dimming as the light from the sword grew; the glow of it now filling the room.


    The skin was pulled taut on the bone, the flesh turning black as if starved of blood. Then the broken, dead husk burst into flames, fire erupting from every pore.


    She turned her head away from the inferno.


    Lia barely had time to process that before the throne split apart with a thunderous crack, collapsing onto itself in a heap of stone and metal. By the time she glanced back, all that was left of the dark lord was a charred pile of dust on the floor.


    With a deep breath Lia exhaled; the air feeling cleaner as his magic extinguished.


    She dropped to her hands and knees, hands shaking. Her whole body was wracked with shivering. Yet still, she managed to chuckle. A chuckle which started as a wheeze and grew into a laugh. T''sane managed to find her way next to her, his arms wrapping around her. His grip was strong, just enough to be reassuring without overbearing. She laughed, she cried, and she shivered, but she never let go of her blade. When she looked up at him he looked as if he were going to say something but only managed to smile. ¡°You did it,¡± he told her. ¡°You won.¡±


    "No, we won. It''s done." Lia said. "It''s done."


    The laughing was infectious, spreading to the others. Rux, Barrelfist, Therald, they were okay, thank the gods. She fell on her back, flopping boneless to the stone as the stress holding her up poured out like grain from a torn bag. She continued giggling like a girl half her age, even as everyone hurried to her side. It was done.


    It was done.


    As the heroes celebrated their victory, a figure with a massive frame and pair of horns flashed into being more than ten miles away in a teleportation circle in the middle of the woods. The spell had been prepared in advance, the complex spell forms carved and shaped by hand into the stone of a boulder. The man in question had about a moment before gravity asserted itself and he tumbled off the round surface to land flat on his face. His luggage, not an inconsiderate amount of it he''d timed to teleport from another room in the fortress to this spot as well, fell after him. Still disoriented from the teleportation, a chest bonked him in the back of the head with a jingling. Of course, it was the gold chest with the impeccable aim.


    It didn''t hurt and the burn from his cheeks was more out of embarrassment. He stood in his dignity after all, even if there wasn''t anyone to see it. He was forced to correct that initial assumption as with a whoosh of air that would''ve flattened lesser men to the ground, a black dragon winged out of the sky to land in the small clearing. The sense of curious humor coming from the beast told the man he''d been seen making an ass out of himself.


    "Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, standing up to give the dragon at pat on the snout. "I''d like to see you do better."


    The pair took to the skies and were miles away within minutes. Two days after the Dark Lord Callade''s defeat, a young, perfectly average man wandered into the Micellian markets pulling a rough two-wheeled cart behind him. Not one of the citizens or guards paid him too much mind among the streets teeming with travelers and merchants who came from all around the mountain range''s trade routes. The only thing of note about him was the rather large, well-behaved raven riding on his shoulder which no one paid much mind to either.


    He made a trip to the local trader''s guildhall, a rather basic looking one for such a large trading hub in these mountains, and several above board and under the table transactions later the man left the trade city''s walls with a four-wheeled wagon and a strong plowing stallion to pull it.


    A couple of the local toughs noticed his leaving alone without so much as a sword on his hip and followed.


    When the wagon finally got past the mountainous checkpoint an hour before nightfall and out of sight of the guards stationed there, they struck.


    When the wagon set out at sunrise the next morning, no one paid much attention to the rather large piles of ash just off the road. At the next town, a perfectly average but extremely polite young man met with a the leader of a caravan that happened to be passing through. To said leader''s surprise, the late arrival didn''t even try to haggle him on the price for joining and paid in full. "For the convenience in numbers, the price is certainly worth it," the man would remember him saying as he passed over the coin.


    The caravan was heading for the southwest along the Azar road and in the following weeks, the news of the Dark Lord''s defeat reached them by way of messenger service. There was a full two days of celebration in which the caravan barely made half a mile''s progress. The young man who''d joined partied just as hard as anyone else, chugging down his body weight in ale and mead.


    Finally, the caravan was passing a small out of the way road when the young man broke off from the group. He thanked the leader for having him on and even refused what was left of the fee since he wasn''t going to full route.


    "Kid," the grizzled caravan leader spoke up. "Can''t believe it but I''m just realizin'' I never asked yer name."


    The young man didn''t even need to think about it.


    "Lot." It was a name he''d not used in so long and he almost had to wipe away tears when he said it. "Lot Oritz."


    Lot rode his wagon down the road which was wide enough to accommodate a horse and wagon. It was as he made his way towards the out of the way town that he noticed the building. He gave it one look and smiled, knowing what he needed to do next.


    The mayor of Timbervale was just getting his paperwork done for the day when a young stranger was shown into his office. The dwarf almost tugged at his beard in frustration at the thought of more paperwork until the man brought up the building on the northwest side of town coming from the Azar route. A conversation was had, a deal made, and the stranger left a property owner.


    Lot Oritz was an odd one, to be sure.

 Sweeping Up

    Lot Oritz leaned into the old rickety wood chair behind the Inn''s bar, his Inn''s bar, and gazed around at the decrepit and dusty walls, broken chairs and tables, and the bulging, sagging ceiling leading to holes which allowed in more of the midday sunlight than the grimy windows.


    At least, from the windows not already shattered.


    In the middle of this decay, sat Lot who began to grin as he took in the full finality of the situation.


    Then he began to laugh. The laugh grew into a cackle bordering on hysterical. Soon tears stream from his eyes, his face began to ache, and he started coughing from all the dust being shaken from the rafters.


    It still it took a while to get a hold of himself again. He only managed it when a creaking sound above his head caught his attention and he quickly got up and sidestepped a teetering bit of roof crashing down where he''d sat. " Argh!" It didn''t save him though. Without thinking, he stood to his full height and ended up catching his horns in the ceiling that couldn''t support itself for more than a second or two before it collapsed. Dust and bits of debris coated him with a extra face full of old, flaking, gray paint.


    The damage was minimal, and he was far enough out of town no one was going to come around to see what the noise was about. Not that he expected anyone coming around to investigate even if they had, noises from a building this old and rundown wasn''t going to get anyone''s attention.


    So, he brushed himself off, pulled his horns out, and still laughing. "Up yours, you bastard!" He bellowed towards the sky. "Up yours, you son of a bitch! I won." With that, he fell backwards into one of the chairs which creaked dangerously at his weight, an exhaustion beyond words suddenly crashing down on him like an avalanche even as a manic joyful energy filled his chest. "You''re not getting another damn thing from me!"


    So many years, over a century, and he''d finally got one up on his mortal enemy. He was yelling and laughing and pointing up at the hole in the ceiling while tears streamed down his face. He refused to weep, but his emotions were swept from his control as if he''d dropped the reins of a spooked horse.


    It had taken him so long to get here, and now that he was at the top, he was overwhelmed.


    The racket caught the attention of his familiar, Fash who was at his side in a streaking flash of black scales, diving through one of the holes above to land on his shoulder. An air of concern came from the tiny dragon, tendrils of dark smoke sprouting from it''s snout.


    "Its... It''s alright, I''m fine. Just..."


    As he sat there, catching his breath, he tried to cobble up the words he was looking for. That he had never felt more alive, that for the first time in a long time the sun had risen, and he didn''t dread the day before him. That he no longer felt like a bug beneath the hovering heel of a giant eager to crush him.


    That he was no longer a monster to be defeated, a sacrificial lamb brought to slaughter


    Lot paused then, brushing the cat-sized creature''s head to soothe it as much as to think, its knife-point scales like soft fur at his touch. "It''s finally over." He settled on.


    No, it wasn''t just over. It was finished. He had done it. His whole plan gone better than he hoped.


    The Dark Lord Calade was dead, ''fallen'' at the hands of a hero whose life had been as much a pawn as his. With his destruction came Lot Oritz''s liberation. Though the path to freedom was never easy and the deep scar across his knuckles served as a reminder, he still stood alive, defiantly throwing his middle finger up to Mittera, God of Prophecy.


    The small dragon seemed to come to terms with Lot''s outburst and began to bask in the sunbeams coming through the hole above.


    ''That it is, Lot.'' She mentally purred, silently linking her mind with his own to give him a calming sensation, the words more feeling than actual thoughts.


    "I never thought I''d live to see it." He admitted. Lot glanced down at himself, having not entirely gotten the last laugh.


    The leftovers of his ''Lordship'' remained. His draconic spiked tail, his over 9-foot musclebound frame, and the massive pair of curved black horns which had sprouted out of his head when he was a child, were parts he couldn''t get rid of.


    He could hide them though. Magically suppressing and transforming his features was easy enough and he''d held it for weeks on the road here.


    Letting it go for a little was a matter of relaxing a mental muscle. A muscle he only relaxed when he made sure he was alone.


    Closing his eyes and pulling on the men around him, he compacted himself into that generic run-of-the-mill face he took up when he first left the worst part of his life behind. The first time he attempted this when he was young it had been painful, but now it was second nature to him. He could change his appearance with ease, and it was just another weapon in his arsenal.


    One by one, the most unnatural parts of him were smothered by his human disguise. It was much like squeezing into clothes too tight, almost physically uncomfortable but it was necessary to maintain the charade.


    His body began to slowly change. The thick, impossibly strong muscles slowly went soft and lean. He began to shrink and the mana flow in his veins was tamped down. Opening his eyes again in this familiar form, looking at his hands, now devoid of the scales and claws that had once adorned them. They were plain, ordinary human hands.


    The transformation was complete.


    His body began to carefully morph, as the impenetrable muscles receded, and his figure grew slim. His once clawed hands were now plain and human-like, absent of any scales. As he opened his eyes in this new form, a disorienting moment occurred while his perspective from 6 feet was readjusted. In the distant corner on a peeling wall, a dusty mirror had somehow survived, untouched by too much wear.


    He gazed over it - admiring almost nostalgically the face of a child grown into the man he should have been if destiny hadn''t intervened. It was a visage of innocence that made him long for better days.


    Where the sharp, slightly inhuman features of Calade would''ve made the average person balk at the sight of it, this one fit right in. Handsome enough to be notable but bordering on forgettable in a crowd and the natural tan of his skin and hair which had been rapidly darkening during his transformation and now settled as dirty dish-water blonde hair and caramel skin. Brushing his hair out his eyes, he managed to tie it in place before it fell back and noticed the slight points to his ears. Just a little bit too pointed to be fully human, but not enough to stand out. Blunting them with a thought, he smiled.


    He had to admit, he preferred this face and was going to have to be very mindful about how he looked both without and within.


    The first time a wizard had seen him on the road, he''d been reminded just how easily he could be seen through if he wasn''t paying attention. Whatever gave him away had sent the wizard screaming for the hills. He''d never seen a man that old move that fast without the aid of magic before. To his credit, he would''ve gotten away if Fash hadn''t swooped down and knocked him out with a swat of her wing. His familiar''s weight changed depending on what she wanted in the moment. After that, wiping his memory was easy enough. A good enough reason to avoid the bigger cities.


    This time, he twitched only a little when the crawling under his skin started. He could feel the power, the inhuman parts of his body and magic, squirming unhappily against his will and doing their darndest to stretch out. They fought and eventually the power and magic within gave up and retreated back into his body. His mana was especially restless, all that power whining about being confined and demanding to be used.


    Lot smiled at that. Well, that was tough turkey.


    The dark magic he was born with had been a millstone around his neck as much as the prophecy and neither had given a fig about what he wanted. Just one thing out of many that hadn''t. It wanted to be used, to be called upon in spellcrafting, but he wouldn''t let it.


    If he had spent decade after miserable decade putting on the pretense of ''Dark Lord'' destined to enslave the world and do it without complaint, then his magic could be displeased all he wanted.


    It was dangerous, it didn''t follow the same rules as mana usually did. It was unpredictable and had a mind of its own at time, it attracted the attention of the wrong kinds of creatures, and threw off the balance of the mana flows in any area he used it in. But, he wouldn''t use it.


    Never again.


    If it thought being uncomfortable was enough to make him go back to playing some role a half-mad prophet some thousand years ago shouted at the top of his lungs within earshot of someone important who thought, it should be written down than the dark powers didn''t know him.


    Mittera''s Song itself had been broken, the god''s will defied.


    He was just Lot Oritz again. A man with a simple dream to follow in his family''s footsteps.


    "It''s time to live. So," he began, glancing at Fash with an excited smile curving his lips "What do you think of the property?"


    A delighted sulfurous trill bubbled from the dragon''s throat, followed by images and sensations sent through their link. The glittering blue of the lake catching the early morning sun, the crisp chill air flowing on the wind from the mountains, the vibrant green of dewy grass and lush trees.


    In short, he was satisfied to say the least.


    Not all of what Fash surveyed was Lot''s though.


    Technically, he only owned the Inn, the land the building sat on, and maybe a sliver of the road crossing its front. While he wasn''t explicitly told by the mayor that he couldn''t use the land around the Inn, Lot suspected if an Inn so far out of Tembervale could be owned then at the very least he might be able to buy more property later on. As tempted as he was to simply go to town and and make some inquiries, he''d already thrown around enough coin buying this place sight unseen.


    Bringing attention to himself like that was just asking for trouble.


    Another groaning creak sounded right over his head and this time he took two steps to make sure he avoided the debris. "Well," he mused. "I could always focus on expanding later, right, Fash? Best focus on making this place livable right now."


    Getting this place ready wasn''t going to be easy, especially without using magic. More specifically without using his magic. Oh, he could easily pull from the foul well within him and rebuild this place in the blink of an eye but doing so would taint it, corrupt the building some way which would all but light a bonfire to any half-competent scrying mage that ''Calade Was Here!''.


    Lot only had one chance to make his identity remain unguarded and would be damned if it failed because he spent all afternoon redecorating.


    So instead of using his power he was going to have to get his hands dirty.


    While it was not as dramatic, or as showy, it would get the job done. Luckily, he did have some options to make the job easier stored away in his cart.


    He''d left his cart next to what was left of the stable on the southside of the Inn where the plow horse he used to pull it was grazing around. It took him no time in searching through the chests that held his little collection of books, tools, and sundries to find what he was looking for.


    So instead of using his power he was going to have to get his hands dirty. He chuckled at the thought. ''Lord Calade'', a man who''s only magical ability made the very kingdoms tremble in fear, was going to have to do a lot of manual labor. It was going to be a good time.


    While the building was technically sound, many signs of wear and tear were present. Dust coated the walls and ceiling and the cobwebs that coated it were many years old. None of the furniture was usable, even the chair he sat in fell into pieces when he got up. A glance at the exposed wooden insides showed termite damage.


    Taking a moment to reset the illusion on Fash to make the familiar look like a raven and letting her go back to flying, he began a list of what he needed to fix up the place. It started as a mental one but he figured out quick that he needed to start writing it down if he was going to remember. Before he did that though, he shuffled through the satchel he kept at his side and removed a sprit contract. A wave of nostalgia washed over he as he took in the lightly green glowing words on the roll of parchment. He''d carried this with him since he''d first set out on his own. The first ever sprit contract he''d made under the guidance of his old teacher.


    He thought about that for a moment then chuckled, clearing his throat. Though she was capable, Inelle could hardly be considered a teacher. Being a hedgewitch in a small out of the way village his hometown was, she was just a random old lady who knew a thing or two about magical contracts. Her actual ability was mediocre at best but he''d learned from her that practical application mattered so much more than theory.


    A small grin tugged at his mouth as he remembered the old woman. She''d been kind to him back then, though he supposed that was to be expected of someone who had looked at a weeping, 5-year-old boy with blood pouring down his face where nubs of horns were sprouting through skin and didn''t slam door immediately upon seeing this person. That far up in the mountains, she could''ve left him to the elements and not even had a body to take care of afterwards.


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    To then take that child in, raise him, and teach him the best you can makes you a saint. At least, someone deserving of being called a saint.


    She had taught him so much other than binding sprits to items. Shown him other ways to use magic than the one he was born with. His teacher''s other lesson had been one of caution, however. The first contract he''d made other than the basic for summoning for his familiar was to bind the spirit of a dying wolf they''d stumbled upon when out gathering. It was an old one, left behind by its pack and because it refused to die, it willingly made a contract with him. With Inelle guiding him every step of the way, Lot had gotten a Predator Spirit.


    He swiped a thumb over symbols and the paper glowed. A small orb of green rose from the light and took the shape of a wolf in seconds. It sat in place as if it was on solid ground, awaiting an order.


    "That building over there?" Lot indicated the Inn with a wave. "I want all pests in there dead. Spiders, rats, doesn''t matter. The walls should be free of any of them."


    Predator spirits were good for hunting and it didn''t matter what shape they took before, they could easily become a spider, rat or some other small creature to fit in the spaces it couldn''t when it was alive. With a nod and a yip, the spirit vanished and flew off towards the building.


    With that taken care of, Lot left the building at went to what remained the stable on the southside of the Inn where the plow horse was grazing around. It took him no time in searching through the chests that held his little collection of books, tools, and sundries to find what he was looking for.


    He''d left his next to what remained the stable on the southside of the Inn where the plow horse was grazing around. It took him no time in searching through the chests that held his little collection of books, tools, and sundries to find what he was looking for.


    Charcoal stick and parchment in hand, the list began to grow.


    First thing was setting up the bedroom. While the hole in the roof seemed to be the only structural damage, the upstairs was beyond use. Well, beyond use in the way he wanted. Taking a moment to take in the dilapidation of the place, he started scribbling down what he would need. He was almost done when he heard a voice calling to him.


    "So, uh, good morning!" Lot turned to see a young man, maybe 25 or so, standing at the road. "You must be the new owner?" The man gave an awkward wave, seemingly caught between being apologetic and curious. Lot made sure to give him a smile, trying not to look surprised. He hadn''t heard anyone approaching. Thank the gods he hadn''t been seen in the inn earlier.


    Idly placing his completed list of what he needed to order off any merchant he''d might find in the town, he went to the stranger and reached out for a handshake.


    "That''s me, yes. Lor Oritz, nice to meet you."


    The man wore a rough shabby brown shirt, a ragged pair of pants, and shoes which clearly were on borrow time. A floppy straw farm hat sat at a crooked angle on his unkempt hair. He had a pleasant expression, though his eyes were a bit too focused, and his jaw hung a bit slack. "Um. Nice to meet you too, Mister Oritz. I''m Albert, Albert Hensley."


    They shook hands and suddenly, Lot found himself at a loss for anything else to say. He could talk business with anyone and for improvised evil speeches but more than a month into his freedom and chatting with others still hadn''t come to him yet. "Well, uh, hello Albert. Are you from around here?" Somehow, he didn''t wince when that gem slipped out. Of course, he was. Where else would he have come from?


    Albert confirmed his question with a nod. "Yup. Born here, but I''ve been off for a bit. Just come back with a friend from the Greenfield militia."


    Huh. "You were a soldier?"


    "Yup, yup. Used to work the fields south of here before the draft. Lord Tober let us all go home when the news came. You know, about the News."


    And there it was. ''The News.'' That''s the form word of his death had taken. No one explicitly said the dark lord''s death or used his name, rather people had come to just calling it The News. The reason behind it as far as he found out was few were comfortable enough mentioning his existence in anything but the vaguest, roundabout terms. In the caravan, when the royal messenger had passed along the news, Lot couldn''t help but notice that when his old name was spoken aloud even the burliest travelers among them would shiver like they touched a wet rat in the dark.


    He''d tried asking why once and the other passengers had avoided his gaze for days like something was wrong. So he stopped asking, more than a little nonplussed. The name and his title had been stamped from the minds of the people on the same level as the creatures below.


    So ''The News'' it became.


    Rather unfair all things considered. Had he been stuck with a role he''d never wanted and played it up? Yes, but he wasn''t the man who had dragged the kingdoms into this mess, it had been done long ago. And he certainly didn''t drink blood or eat children.


    Lot gave a heavy sigh, shaking it off. He was no longer Calade. Just a man named ''Lot'' and he had a farmhand in front of him who he could be sociable with. "The News, huh. Well, I know what it means, at least."


    His visitor smiled, shifting his feet. "Got home yesterday and decided to go for a walk this morning and found you."


    "Oh, I see." Lot didn''t really but nodded anyway. "Ah, do you know much about this place? I mean, it''s a bit of a mess." He gestured to his surroundings and Albert gave a short chuckle.


    "That it is, sir. That it is. I don''t know if you noticed but this place used to be a small manor house before it got left to crumble. Some rich family lived here once, maybe a lord''s son or lord''s daughter or something. At least that''s what my pa used to tell me when I was a kid."


    "Huh, I thought it was an abandoned Inn?" Lot mused, looking back at the building. He''d assumed so at the time of purchase and the mayor hadn''t corrected him. Now that he was looking at it, there were certain... decroative elements that hinting at a more extensive use. A stone balustrade leading to a second floor balcony. A square bare spot where a plaque might once have been. Maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him.


    "Ain''t been used as an Inn in years, sir. That is if anyone ever used it as an Inn. I don''t remember it being open anytime I was growin'' up." Albert scratched his chin, the man''s eyes darting down to the list in Lot''s hand. "U-uh, you uh, you need some help? I''m pretty handy with a hammer and nails and stuff."


    "Help would be nice but I can''t take you from your own work..."


    Whatever else lot wanted to say was gone as Albert started to laugh. "I just got home yesterday and anyone not working at this time of the mornin'' is either noble or don''t got a job... Guess which one I am?" The rough shaggy man broke into a wide grin and Lot couldn''t help but laugh too.


    "I guess you don''t have anything to do today, eh Albert?"


    "Nope. Not a thing. You can call me Al though."


    "Sure, Al it is."


    Al craned his neck to get a look at what Lot had on his list. "Woah, uh, you want all this by tonight?" He looked back up to Lot''s face. "You got a lot of work ahead of you, mister Oritz."


    Lot went to speak but found he couldn''t. He coughed and started to rub the back of his head. "Yeah... Yeah I do. Definitely gonna need help. How about a gold coin per week and you show me about town to who I need to speak to in order to get this list done?"


    From the way, Al''s eyes went wide, Lot could tell he had overpaid. That was fine. He had plenty of coin. He swallowed, trying to get his throat to work. His voice cracked when he found it. "Uh, sure! Thanks for the work, mister Oritz! I''ll be here at this time every morning ''till you say otherwise."


    There wasn''t much to thank him for, as Calade he''d stored up multiple king''s ransoms worth of gold and even taking only a fraction of it still left him with so much, he could''ve literally paid hundreds the same and barely loose anything in the bargain. A greedy part of him wished he''d taken everything, but he knew the heroes who ''slew'' him might get suspicious if the vaults were clear of everything monetary and magical. He almost flinched when Al grabbed his hand and shook it, pulled out his musings about "That''s great and all... and you can call me Lot, alright?"


    A sharp caw from above made Albert jump as Fash, the tricky little thing, swooped down out of the trees to land on his shoulder. Staring at it wide-eyed, he spluttered. Lot chuckled and reached out. "Okay, Fash. You''ve had your fun."


    With another caw, she hopped to his arm and shuffled to perch on his shoulder. He then smiled at the still staring Albert. "Sorry about that. She likes to dive on people like that." He left out the part where she''d usually do it to claw knights off their mounts. Probably would only make the man even paler.


    As they walked, Al chattered on, pointing out the best places to buy supplies, where to find the best ale, and which craftsmen were the most reliable. Lot listened, nodding along and making mental notes. He couldn''t help but feel a sense of contentment settle over him.


    With such basic and easy conversation, for the first time in years, he felt like he belonged somewhere.


    The Westlands, a vast expanse of evergreen forests and quiet villages; a place untouched by wealth or grandeur. The rolling hills were blanketed with humble dwellings, the air was thick with the delicate scent of nature. Barely a whisper of opulence echoed through the Provinces of Mont.


    Few manors, fewer forts, and no palaces, far from the bustle the bigger cities and ports and their bureaucracy. It was in this simplicity that the people of the Westlands found a kind of solace that couldn''t be found in any other place. It was a stark contrast to the opulence and grandeur of the Kingdom''s capital, which was teeming with nobles, merchants, and all manner of people.


    Far from Mittera''s clergy, the bastards.


    Hells, towns like Timbervale were hardly unique scattered throughout as they were.


    If he was just looking for a place to lay his roots, he would''ve been spoiled for choice. The caravan passed through several idyllic places like Silvermount, a fishing village along the widest point of Silver Stream River or Sami''s Roost, more a large, developed logging camp full of Teamsters and their families than any royally recognized town but with potential to grow into something more.


    Lot wasn''t looking for potential.


    He wasn''t looking for idyllic.


    He was looking for a home. A place to look around and ask a single question: ''is this where I''d like to die?''


    ''Oh, the irony.'' Lot snorted a chuckle and waved away the curious look his new... Associate gave as they walked. If he ever admitted to anyone why he chose Timbervale the moment he saw it, curious would be the least of it.


    Coming over the rise on foot this time didn''t blunt the beauty of this place. In fact, it only made it more magnificent. The small village nestled in the valley below was a peaceful scene oozing with warm and comfort.


    Lot looked around, taking it all in. He had never been much of a nature person, but with the rolling hills and the dense forests, he couldn''t help but feel at peace. He turned to Al beside him, a smile on his lips. "This place is something else, isn''t it?"


    Al nodded, chewing on the end of a reed he''d plucked from the ground at some point. "Home sweet home."


    Small houses close together separated by rough fencing, green as far as the eye could see.


    Finding his answer in this little town was


    Lot had considered itching his horse up to the cart to ride into town but changed his mind. A walk felt good right now and he was hardly going to buy everything he needed today.


    "So, you were in the militia?"


    "Yep, and before you ask we didn''t see any real combat." At his confused look, Al went on. "Bandits, you know? Most regulars were taken by the Kings so..."


    "Someone had to do the patrols." Lot figured, petting his familiar''s beak with a stroking finger. Fash squawked, tilting her head. He followed her silent urging and scratched at the indicated spot. Lot knew about the Pact of Iron, the alliance of the five kingdoms. It was signed shortly after the initial ramping up of terror when he''d taken Saltbridge.


    Charles of the Spring, Emeline Keryth Caimoira, Asenth, Lord Of The Black, Khonith Krondah, and Wymark, the Council of Esrior Gulf, came together in historical meeting to unite their efforts in warding off Callade''s predations.


    How amusing it was to hear them bickering like sparrows, while he stood quietly in their midst. Illusion magic, a clever tool indeed.


    Brushing his humor aside, he asked. "Should you still be keeping an eye on the roads though?" Barely a month had passed since his defeat but one of the last orders Lot gave to his forces was to cause chaos in their wake. Keep bloodshed to a minimum but not letting his enemies have a moment to rest. It wasn''t out of spite either. If his own armies simply broke without him there without causing a little bit of trouble, he knew it would be suspicious. After all, his legend would not allow half measures.


    And as Master Inelle once taught him, "Too little resistance can be just as worrying as too much. The easier something is when you know it should be hard should be telling enough."


    "Nope and glad of it. The rear levies returned to Greenfield 10 days ago. With the dark one gone, praise be," he made a holy sign with his right hand, "his armies retreated. ''Least that''s what I heard from the boys coming back." He chuckled rubbing the back of his head, clearly relieved. "Glad I never faced one of those demons myself. Stories weren''t pretty."


    Lot choked down his own laugh into a cough at Al''s grim tone. "No doubt."


    Demons? Hardly.


    Contracting demons wasn''t only dangerous and foolish as one mistake in the summoning meant a soul shredded to ribbons by very eager claws and teeth but to assume you were going to be the one to get one over on the deathless creatures who preyed on the weaknesses of mortals, was just the arrogant thinking that we get you killed.


    If demons had any leeway, any loophole, in any deal they struck, it spelled doom for the sorry soul who thought themselves on top.


    No, the creatures his enemies fought were not demons. Lot found necromancy and the subsequent schools of bone and flesh craft simpler. An army of empty husks piloted by willing contracted spirits was less stressful, he imagined. At least easier to deal with than creatures from the pits who waited to take advantage of any misstep.


    Especially, when demons were so eager to feast on his soul specifically.


    Besides his one dealing with a certain demon went as poorly as anyone could''ve guessed.


    Frowning, he tried to push the thought away but as they passed the first squat fencing keeping a herd of sheep in a meadow, that single thought loomed in his mind and like a net in deep, dark water caught the memory and dragged it up. Long settled emotions stirred, rising likes clouds of silt.


    He took another step towards his future and suddenly found the next in the past.


    On a day much like today, bright and shining and green.


    The Fool and the so-called ''just'' God.


    Lot stumbled through the grasses, every step bringing a sharp stab of pain that radiated across his back. He hurried in spite of the pain, getting to the small cluster of bushes.


    Ducking underneath, he curled up against the wooden stakes that surrounded the brush and drew his knees into his chest. The scratch of dry earth made him feel less alone, and the shallow pool of shadow blocked out some of the bitterness and fear that threatened to take over.


    Squatting in the corner of his father''s land by the fence, the little boy tried to muffle the sobs racking his body. Here he was hidden from all sides; the only saving grace in this small pocket of safety that stood between him and his father.


    He put his hand to his face, feeling the throbbing heat radiating from it. He could smell iron, and when he pulled away, he was glad to see no blood.


    He could feel the tightness of swollen skin across his cheekbones and a sharp pain on his nose - he''d been thankful his father had been too drunk to deliver one of his more powerful backhands this time around. But then it went wrong when his father''s bleary gaze fell on him and somehow figured out he wasn''t hurt like he should have been.


    Then he grabbed the staff Lot used when he herded the sheep. Lot was given only moments to curl into a ball the best he could before his father fell upon him with a wild dog''s viciousness.


    He hadn''t held back either, bringing each blow down as if the intent was to bury him into the barn''s foundations. Each blow was like a hot iron, searing pain across his body, scorching into his memory. The pain had been unbearable, but it was the look in his father''s eyes that had shaken him to his core. He would recognize it for what it was years later, cold calculation.


    It was as if the man knew his previous punishments hadn''t hurt as much as they should have and was trying to make up the difference.


    He stopped for nothing. Not when Lot begged and pleaded or writhed in pain with each strike, the punishing blows landing on his back until the thick wooden staff shattered with a CRACK under the force of his father''s hand. Lot lay there, broken and bruised, barely able to draw breath through quivering lips. Tears streamed down his face as he felt every muscle in his body scream out in agony.


    Lot lay there, he didn''t know how long, barely able to breathe, tears streaming down his face. Warm sticky blood began rolling down his back and his rough spun shirt began to cling.


    Tossing the single piece of the rod aside, his father growled with disgust as he ordered him to leave, and Lot scrambled away, barely able to walk.


    Now here he was, trying to move as little as possible, weeping and bleeding.


    His hands gripped his legs until the knuckles turned white. What had he done this time? A dumb question, he knew. It didn''t matter. Not today. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow either.


    "I can...be good..." Lot hiccupped as he lay there, his shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs. "I...can be..."


    "Ah, do you really think it matters, young one? That being ''good'' holds any water in the grand tapestry of existence?"


    Lot yelped, first in surprise then in agony as he spun around and fell to the dirt. Halfway in and out of the bushes, he had to blink the blurry tears away so his eyes could focus on...


    Two strangers faces looked down on him from the fence. One was seated on a board, the other stood across and was leaning against the fence post.


    Generally, the other villagers looked upon him with pity or disgust. Lot knew full well his father wasn''t favored in the eyes of many. He was as much of a cheat as he was a drunk. The wool they sold was barely worth the sheep shorn for it and barely paid the debts his father complained endlessly about yet refused to stop making.


    The boys in the village often bullied him that the village headman would kick them out any day now. There was no such mockery from them though.


    Sitting on the right fence post was a gangly looking man. Thin and all sharp boney angles with a hawk -like face peered down a at him over a thin curved nose. He wore a fur-lined brown vest which draped loose from the shoulders of his narrow slickly frame. His trousers were just as slack, the cuffs tucked into plain boots and awkwardly belted far tighter than should''ve been comfortable for a man his size. Despite all of this, he sat motionless on the post, watching Lot intently.


    Standing next to the left fence post and across from the thin man, was another stranger. He was wearing robes so fine and white, Lot couldn''t imagine what it could be made out of. The stranger''s robes were long and flowing, with intricate golden embroidery along the hemlines. He wore a golden chain around his neck, and his hair was a soft, silvery color that cascaded down his back in loose waves.


    For some reason, he was more surprised by their teeth than anything else which hooked his attention. Not a single tooth was missing from their dazzling array, gleaming so...white. Even the prettiest girl in the village, Haya the headman''s daughter, was missing one of her top right teeth which made he look... prettier somehow.


    The silver haired man however seemed irritated more than anything.


    Lot tried to sit up, his back throbbing in pain and barely managed to lay sideways using his arm to prop himself up. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice hoarse from crying.


    The thin man on the fence post grinned, revealing his teeth to be unnaturally sharp. "We are but humble travelers passing through," he said, his voice like gravel. "And we couldn''t help but notice a pitiful creature like yourself lying here in the dirt." The man in the robes shot his companion a disapproving look. "Let''s get this over with. I deem he''s useful enough, Tzin."


    "Agreed, Mitterra."


    So many questions were running through Lot''s mind, he never noticed the pair reaching down to touch his forehead until their fingers pressed against his skin and burned. By the gods, it burned. It surged with the force of a wild fired unleashed, coursing through his veins, an inferno igniting within him. He couldn''t help the scream that ripped through his throat as he writhed on the ground, feeling like he was being consumed from within. Even as dirt and other things ground into his bleeding back, he barely felt it as his vision went white.


    That''s when his father''s face appeared, grinning down at him in that way he knew the explosion of violence was only one wrong word away. Yet Lot didn''t instinctively panic, the need to draw into himself and be as small and unnoticeable as possible nowhere to be found. Rage flooded his thoughts, searing through him until his muscles convulsed with the effort of containing it until it felt like he would burst. The pressure was almost too much to bear, and he squeezed his fists tight against his chest in an attempt to contain the ferocity bubbling deep within him.


    Every finger wanted to be around that man''s throat and let him be the small scared one, for once. Lot could practically feel the man''s windpipe crushing beneath his fingertips, the satisfying pressure of his grip releasing all the pent-up anger and frustration he had been bottling up for years. It was an exhilarating feeling, a high he had never experienced. Yet no... that was his father. His only family. It was wrong to hurt your family, right?


    Right. Besides that, would be too quick, too easy. The sheep shears would make it last. Then he''d start on the village boys. Oh, could they talk when they knew he wouldn''t fight back. How would those tongues wag if they were cut out and fed to them? What would they taste like? Lot''s felt as if he was suddenly drowning in it as he tried to process what had just happened to him. He felt different, like a wild animal that had just been unleashed. A small voice in the back of his mind told him that this was wrong, that he should try to control himself, but the rage was too strong. It consumed him, threatening to take over completely.


    Then it was gone.


    When he came to, Lot was lying on his back, staring up at the sky, horrified and thrilled breaths heaving out of him as his mind crawled slowly out of the bubbling hate. The pain was gone, replaced by a warm, tingling sensation that spread through his body like honey. He sat up, expecting to see the two strangers still there, but they were nowhere to be found. Then it was as the ringing in his ears finally began to clear that he heard his father''s voice reaching across the fields from their house and-


    "You alright there? Al''s words cut across the memory, slicing the past cleanly in two and dragging Lot back to the present. "The sheep that interesting?"


    Lot shook his head, clearing it with a chuckle. "Used to sheer sheep growing up," He answered, the half-truth souring even as he smiled through it. "Just thinking of better days."


    Fash cawed in his ear, not fooled for a second. Not that he was trying to fool her.