《Barrow of the Lost》


 Prologue: The Hero Who Killed Me

    Let me tell you a story.


    A long time ago, in a land you are quite familiar with, I think, there lived a little boy. The boy had two parents, who were cordial enough on the weekends when they were forced to speak to one another. He had a number of toys which he occasionally even played with when he wasn''t at school or playing some new game on the vid. And he, as every lucky child should, had a puppy named Toby who he loved more than anyone else in the world.


    In a few years, he would have been going into Junior High. He would have struggled with math and science, but gotten along easy enough in history and English. He would have made friends that lasted, not a lifetime, but long enough, and through enough that they would have lived in his heart until the day that he died. And he would have had a falling out with his parents, drifting further and further away over the years as his budding attraction to other boys widened the gulf between who he was and who they wanted him to be.


    In a few years, he would have made his own choices, his own mistakes, and shattered the caul of innocence like a chick breaking out of an egg. Taking his first stumbling steps of his own volition and for his own future.


    And yet this was not to be. For as he stepped on that plane with his father, unbeknownst to either the boy or his dad, their fates twisted in the skein.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    A long time ago, in a place you are not familiar with at all, I would presume, except perhaps in dream and forgotten memory, three women crowded around a growing quilt. A number of threads were beginning to fray, threatening to pull apart the rest of their project. The threads were far too close to the knots of their work, and as they broke they would have created a cascade in the threads until the integrity of the project was lost and the weave had came undone.


    There was a single thread, however, that they found would be strong enough to tie off the breach. They realized that if they cut out the frayed cords and tied them off with this strong fiber, the damage would be minimal to the rest of their skein. And yet the cord that they needed, the one that could save every other thread in their project, was far too tightly wound with a smaller one, a newer one. And they sat in their den staring at the threads, knowing what needed to be done and yet hesitant to make that final, prescriptive cut.


    A long time ago, in the place where I found myself, I sat hand in hand with my father; waiting for the wheels to move and the engines to ignite; unaware of the forces even now staring at the short thread of my life. Of the woman so hesitant to make my final cut.


    I thought of the games I wanted to play; I thought of my grandmother, waiting for us down south; and I thought of how uncomfortable the seats were, squirming and complaining loudly. I did not think to hold my fathers hand tighter, nor to cherish those final moments of my existence.


    And yet, even still, the Kindly Ones were even then reaching for their shears. The decision made, they moved to save the canvas of fate with a single, almost insignificant... snip.

 Chapter 1: A Dirge for Lost Things

    4 Spring, 1023


    Year 1


    When he opened his eyes, the child found himself in a strange, unfamiliar street. I say street, but it was more of a cobblestone path built wide enough to let two carriages pass one another on each side. Case in point, an example was being drawn down the street in on the right, ambling along as pedestrians darted out of the way, moving along toward whatever purpose they themselves had waiting for them at the ends of their journey.


    I recall, the first thing he noticed was not the quaint houses, the antique clothing that made the style of the town around him, but rather the smell. It was like he was standing in a giant outhouse, the wisps of human rising from the street so thick that he could taste it in the back of my throat. Even as the child looked on, taking in the strange sights and sounds and smells, the world continued around him. Oblivious to his confusion and disgust.


    Memories still swirled in the child''s head, fading almost as fast as they came. For a moment, he still remembered the steel shaking underneath his feet, still felt his stomach twisting up into his chest as the world fell away from under him. The child''s father''s words echoed again in his ears, resisting the forgetfulness of morning for longest of all. "I love you," he could still hear, "Don''t worry buddy, I got this. Just hang tight, ok?"


    He held on those words, long after everything else fell away, the other fears and terrors fading from his mind like a half-remembered dream. Desperately clinging on to the familiar sound even as he found himself in the midst of an unfamiliar world.


    The child was lost, and he was afraid. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though where he had learned it, he was no longer able to say confidently, he remembered that lost children needed to find a policeman. He knew that policemen were supposed to help him find his way home, could be trusted. And yet he could not find anyone who matched the image in his head, of an adult in a blue uniform, in this unfamiliar place.


    There were, however, men with swords walking down the cobblestones. A police would carry a weapon, he somehow knew, and walk with a confident, measured step. While the uniforms did not match what he knew, what he half, almost remembered, the rest of the details seemed to him to be close enough. And he shot off through the streets toward the figures, dodging the menacing horses and buggies and men that would stand between him and his objective.


    As the child approached one of the men, he cried out, "Sir, help. Help me, please? Help?" straining to catch the attention of the man as he walked. He waved, hopefully, as he drew nearer, hopping along. "Please, sir? Over here?"


    It took a few moments before the man realize what was happening, frowning down at the child for a moment and glancing away. It wasn''t until naught, but five feet separated them that he finally looked back, quirking an eyebrow and, ultimately, taking a deep breath, "Out of the way child, go find your parents before you get yourself in trouble."


    The man''s voice was deep and hard, rasping in a way that was one part endearing and two parts intimidating, but no anger sounded from the man''s throat. Only impatience and a hint of worry. The child spoke up, closing the distance to barely a foot, "Sir! But sir," he began, released as he only then realized that a part of him had been holding its breath, half expecting the words the man spoke to be as strange and unfamiliar as the rest of the world around him. And yet, it was not so, and the sound of a human voice only empowered him, antagonizing him on to figure out where he was. To find out what was happening to him. " Sir, my parents are gone! I cannot find them!"


    The man with the sword frowned, looking down at the child as pausing, as curiosity edged on the purpose that had been driving his feet forward for a moment. "What do you mean they are gone? Just run along home then, I''m sure they will find you soon enough."


    The child scrunched up his face. Apparently, he was very deep in thought, but the way his eyes searched, back and forth, it became evident that the idea that he was reaching for was out of his grasp. "I... don''t live around here," the child paused, "I think." He glanced up at the man''s eyes, "I don''t know where I am!."


    The man bent down, the movement was brisk, impatient, and the metal clothing that he wore jangled against his sword as he moved. He put his hand on the child''s shoulder holding the gaze, "Well, that shouldn''t be too much of a problem really," his eyes glancing over to the side, half closing and seeming to read some invisible script for a moment. "We just need to pull up your information here and..." The man paused.


    Scrunching up his eyes harder, he seemed to narrow his focus, concentrating and tensing his hand around the child''s shoulder. The moments stretched on, the child blinking and squirming in confusion, as the strange behavior began to eat away at the edges of the relief of finding someone to help him. Finally, the hand moved, but it did not let him go or relax into the comforting gesture it had felt but a moment ago. Instead, the man''s hand squeezed tighter, and, eyes wide with shock, he pulled the child toward him.


    "What is your name, urchin?" The man spoke his words as harsh and cold as the pressure of his hand. "Why don''t you have a name?" The question started as a mutter, almost as a person talking to themselves, but as the sentence breached his lips, it grew in strength. What started as a statement of wonder and confusion turned on its head and became the command of an authority figure. "Tell me your name."


    The child hesitated, his mind striving to remember, catching at the fragments of his own life, his history, but too quickly falling away. Something whispered to him, as if from far away, but before he could catch the words they blew away, seeming like leaves rippingapart from their trees in autumn. "I... don''t know," the child muttered, now feeling fearcreeping in. It began, too, as a question, a statement of wonder and confusion, but it ended now in a place of fear. A place of terror. With a quiver in his voice, the child once again found the eyes of the man, "I don''t know."


    The moment gaped in front of them, the two staring at one another dwelling upon the unanswered question in front of them. Their eyes held in a seeming eternity of moments, weighing each other with the problem stretching between them. The man was the first to break the silence, "Follow me, brat. Now."


    . . .


    The stairs of the administrative building were a long shining marble. The middle of each step sagged, as steps and rain had worn away rivets in the stonework after much use. The child and the man trudged dutifully up toward the building, saying little but frowning deeply.


    They twisted through the hallways of the building''s interior, walking with purpose against the flow of bodies leaving. The man led the pair into a small room at the end of a far hall, closing the door closed behind them. The child thought of running several times as they walked, but when he weighed the options before him, finding himself suddenly in this strange place with little memory of where he was or where he had been, his instincts told him that there were far worse places he could find himself were he to run away.


    Inside the room sat a little man with a beard, hunched over a stack of towering paperwork. There was a long scar down the side of the old man''s face, from eye to chin-hair, and despite the age, the old man''s skin showed signs of a hard and violent life. It was some time before he looked up, noticing the pair standing in front of him.


    The old man''s voice was cracked, but firm. It rasped out of his throat in slow waves, "Arnold. my man." The man squinted his eyes and stared closely at the child and the man in front of him. "Well, well. What is it that you''ve got there, hurm?"


    The man, Arnold, spoke quietly now. In stark contrast to how he had belted out his words on the street, now they whispered from his lips as if afraid to wake the piles of pages that lined the desk and the corners of the room, "An urchin I found on the street, Lord Archibold." Arnold bowed reverently.


    "Yes, yes," the old man, Archibold spoke. "I can see that, after all. I do have eyes still. Despite what my granddaughters say. But let''s see," trailing off, he muttered as though he was talking more for his benefit than any other. "But what makes this one special, hurm? There are urchins out on the streets aplenty, after all."


    Before Arnold could provide an answer, the old man leaned in. His eyes took on that unfocused glare as if he was looking past the child''s face rather than at it and soon alighted with quiet understanding. "Oh, I see, I see! Yes, this child has no name." Blinking, he muttered to himself, "How peculiar. How peculiar, indeed, hurmmm?"


    Arnold stood with his back ridged toward the side of the room as if understanding that no response was required from him. And in fact, after several seconds the old man continued, oblivious to the thoughts of the two in front of him. "Let''s see, yes? Let''s see," he muttered, walking over to a shelf and pulling out a large book. As he paged through it absently, he whispered, "Even if a baby''s parents had died before giving it a name, one would have been assigned to it, I think." Flipping quicker, "The world-soul would have corrected the oversight in a matter of days, yes. Not," glancing at the child quickly and looking him up and down thoroughly, "a matter of some decades. No."


    The child blinked, confused for a moment. He knew he was not supposed to speak back to adults, but the old man needed some help. "Excuse me, sir," he began. "I''m ten years old," he informed the man with some authority, holding out ten fingers to be sure he was understood.


    Lord Archibold and Arnold both opened their mouths for a moment, as if to speak, but then closed them. In Arnold''s case, it appeared as though he had thought better in the middle of the intake of breath,whereas Lord Archibold''s eyes started to twitch in the middle of forming the words, catching on a page in his book and devouring the words with ever-increasing energy.


    Looking up after some increasing few seconds, the old man exclaimed, "Yes, yes, I think I''ve got it right here." Nodding, "The summoned. Or recycled, as it were." He scanned the pages, "Hurm, yes. The Court of Twilight. Tricky ones, those." Looking at the child intently, as if only then remembering that he was still in the room, "You are most lucky, child. Yes, there are those who would murder you on sight, if you had appeared in their cities. Quite brutal, some of the practices described herein." Flipping a page, "Yes, most uncivilized indeed. But then your lady Goddess never was popular with the Empire."


    The child''s eyes widened, as he tried to decide if the old man was merely strange, or whether to consider the chance that the old man was, instead, simply batshit insane. Pardon my french. Unable and, in fact, probably too young to leave his questions unvoiced, he spoke quietly up at the old man, "My Lady Goddess? Unpopular? No, I don''t think so." He paused, scrunching up his face, "Mommy always said, I think, that God was a boy. And that he didn''t much approve of girly things. Well, at least, not when I wanted to do them" Pausing, he squinched harder. "Mommy... Mom. I had a Mom? I think? Why can''t I remember her face?"


    A glance of pity caught in the old man''s eye for a moment, before the next idea seemingly caught his attention. Oblivious, seemingly, to the child''s tears he shook his head, "No, no. I suppose you wouldn''t remember that. For the best really. No, no, whatever it is that you think you know you should quite certainly forget." Nodding, he bent over the pages of the book, "Yes yes, it shall happen soon enough anyway, I think. But have a care! Do not be spouting madness on the streets or a similar fate may befall you as befell other children of the Dawn."


    Lord Archibald waved his hand, drawing up a paper and pressing a stamp upon it with his other. To Arnold he spoke, barely skipping a beat, "Take the child to the Sepulture for the night. Sleeping within its walls should resolve the situation, as well as any lingering soul-sickness. After that, you may collect the child and deliver them to the northeastern orphanage. Of all of thecity, the northeastern block will likely be least concerned with asking questions of our little immigrant here, I should think."


    Taking the parchment from the old man, Arnold nodded and put his hand once again upon the child''s shoulder. He moved to steer the two of them out the door as the old man, seemingly finished, started hobbling back toward the cushion of the chair at the desk. With a certain amount of relief and appreciation, feeling like going to the guard and seeing the old man was a very wise idea indeed, the child shouted as he was turned, "Thank you, Lord Archey!" The words were leaping forth in a child''s sing-song, "Thank you lots! I hope you have a great day and stuff!"


    Lord Archibald merely let out a huff as they moved to leave the room, and the door was shut behind them.


    ...


    Arnold had delivered him to a stone building, looking very much to the child''s mind like what a church should look like, though it didn''t quite match the vague, fading memories of the ones he had seen before. The steps and the walls here were made, not from marble as the building had been earlier, but this time from a stable, granite stone. It only now occurred to the child how much these constructions mismatched the wooden houses and long, one-story brick shops that lined the other sides of the streets. These critical facets of the city, buildings of government and prayer, being having seemingly been erected by a different hand or method than the rest of the town.


    Inside the building was dark, the torches lining the walls in the sepulture alongside the church lighting their way but also serving as a stark contrast to the long windows of the administrative building, or the slowly lowering sun outside. The hallways never seemed to end, there in the darkened structure, flickering on and on in the dim light of the flames. After some five long minutes, Arnold turned the child to the right, entering a small room upon which rested a thin slab of stone covered with a generous helping of straw.


    There lay a bucket and a jug alongside the stone, which Arnold pointed to as he directed the child inside. "Safer to be in here a bit early than roaming the streets outside," the guard stated with some authority. "Just try to get some sleep. Use the bucket if you feel the need and there should be some water there that is safe enough to drink. I''ll be along in the morning to collect you."


    There was a smell now, that was beginning to register against the child''s overstimulated nostrils. Not of human waste now, but somehow it felt worse. The building smelled strongly of mold and rot, and the odor crawled its way down his throat and, seemingly, into his very soul. "You''re going to leave me? Here?" the voice came out incredulous, quivering.


    Arnold reached into his belt and pulled out a tuft of unleavened bread, tossing it into the straw of the makeshift bed. "What? It''s safe enough, I assure you. None would dare assault a resident of these halls. And as creepy as it may seem, I assure you, there is no better place for one to come to realign with the Dreaming."


    The child frowned, reaching out unmollified, "Please, sir. You can''t just leave me here!"


    Arnold quietly moved to shut the door. Just before the edges clasped closed, he said in a softer, more compassionate voice, "Relax, girl. I''ll be along first thing in the morning."


    The child heard a wooden latch slamming shut on the far side of the door before he found the will to close his gaping jaw.


    . . .


    Chapter 1: Epilogue


    <div>


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td>Primary attributes have been chosen: Dexterity and Charisma. Allocation and distribution locked until Aziza Awakens to the first Circle. All allocation to primaryattributesincreased by 200%.</td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    <div>


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Template Added: Daughter of Twilight


    The Goddess of Dawn and Dusk has personally adopted you as her child and imbued you with a fraction of her power. Spells and abilities may now be unlocked from the following restricted category: Divine. Such gifts will still be primarily dependant on meeting the applicable prerequisite circles and accomplishments.


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    <div>


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td>Aziza has previously met the prerequisites for the following abilities:</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Child of Dawn


    Prerequisite: Daughter of Twilight template; Primary attribute Charisma


    Mana points and regeneration will now be generated baseduponCharisma rather than Intelligence. Note: Arcane powers and ability unlocks are unaffected and still require intelligence thresholds having been met.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Divine Gift


    Prerequisite: Daughter of Twilight template


    Access to divine spells aligned to the Court of Twilight. Primary attribute for all Court of Twilight castingis:Charisma. Current spells availableare:none.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Nephalim


    Prerequisite: Not born to a mortal race; physical body generated from a divine agent rankedat:Demigod or above.


    Penalty to attribute increases has been removed. Nephalim''s patron may now intervene on their behalf on a limited basis. Spellpower increased. Lifeforce increased exponentially.Psionic resistance increased 50%.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Virginal Knight


    Prerequisite: Female; knight has not given birth to a child; knight has given a name tofeycreature: unicorn


    Familiar added: Unicorn (Toby)


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Elf Wildling


    Racial: Member of Elf Wildling race


    Lifespan: Unlimited. Fertility: Low. Increased Dexterity +10. Increased Mana +50. Psionic resistance increased 35%. Error: Psyonic resistance may not be increased beyond 100%.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Alien


    Achievement: 1+ years spent in extra-dimensional space


    Skills and knowledge adapted and adjusted to intra-planar varients. Memories from extra-dimensionalsources are locked: level 3 restriction.


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Abilities added.


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    <div>


    <table>


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td>


    Error, access to meta-data restricted to first circle awakening. Aziza meta-data may not be viewed at this time.


    View access denied.


    </td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    Burlap?He considered, something about the material did not seem right to him, but the details seemed to flee from his thoughts even as he strove to remember what material it was that his pants should in fact be. It was this confusion, in fact, that distracted him as he finished pulling the string and went to raise the bucket up to his hips. He was so distracted, in fact, that he failed for a moment to see that all was not as he had expected it to be.


    herself.

 Chapter 2: Fools and Their Money

    53 Summer, 1034


    Year 11


    slirp.


    Chapter 2 Afterword


    Damage taken from source: Self


    Lifeforce reduced by 2%


    Damage taken from source: Ground


    Lifeforce reduced by 32%


    Chrasima score increased +1


    Initiating rest. Lifeforced restored: 0.5% per hour...

 Chapter 3: Gods and Kings

    54 Summer, 1034


    Year 11


    Madam Brunhilda was waiting for her at the table when Aziza finally clawed her way out of her bed and sleepily walked down the stairs from the upper loft. The girl considered turning right back around and hiding under the straw on the slats of her bed for a moment, but as the older woman''s eyes caught sight of her, Aziza quietly huffed and marched the rest of the way down the staircase.


    The Madam had become more and more crotchety as the years passed her by, and despite the influx of ''generous benefactors'' leaving tidy sums for the establishment''s care, her mood continued to worsen with every new wrinkle upon her brow. "Lazy elf wench," the woman muttered as Aziza came within range of her voice, very clearly spinning herself up. "Sleeping all day every day. You should be out, learning a trade. Worthless children are sold to the Underside when they come of age, you know."


    The girl stifled a smirk, knowing exactly what ''horrors'' were there to be found in the Underside, but had learned better to let her emotions show on her face some years before. Instead, she simply ducked her head meekly and moved to sit at the table in front of the Matron, knowing this was the fastest route to the end of the inevitable lecture.


    "It may feel like you have all the time in the world to you now, but you''re building habits that will last the rest of your hermetically long life, and everyone knows that your," she spits on the floorboards," ''people'' have ten times the penalties that the rest of us do.


    "You do realize that it will take you a decade to learn what a good human girl could pick up in a year, don''t you?" She glanced back at Aziza, checking to make sure the girl was appropriately cowed before continuing, "If you don''t pick up some craft now, the only thing you''ll be good for is lying flat on your back."


    Aziza couldn''t help but grimace at the old woman''s vulgarity, and Brunhilda dove down upon her as she saw the girl''s weakness, "If you would wake up at a reasonable hour and ask the markets, I''m certain you can find someone who could make use of someone..." glancing unabashedly at the young girl''s pointed ears, "like you. I know chamber pots or washing dishes may not exactly be glamorous work. But it''s better than the fate that awaits you as it is, I can assure you!"


    The badgering went on for some moments longer. Aziza simply gritted her teeth and accepted it. Once or twice a year the Madam would get desperate and try to have her escorted to do some of the ''honest work'' that she always harped on about, but while overpowering the young girl wasn''t exactly difficult, the adults soon found thatkeepinghold of her was another matter entirely. And after a week of hanging out with her friends in the Underside, Brunhilda always found her right back in her state-mandated bed, as though nothing had happened. Whatever adults the woman had struck deals with having by then abandoned the idea of wanting her.


    As the children''s tutor came in for the afternoon lessons, the Matron''s admonishments came to a close. Aziza suspected that the old coot thought of the schooling as punishment for the children who for whatever reason were not otherwise employed. The children never seemed to feel that way though, and she and the other youths crowded around the figure of old Sir Yellenstag as he found his seat by the fire.


    As far as educations went, Aziza always felt that this one was almost criminally weak, though she couldn''t remember what it was that she could be comparing it to. And yet the old knight was volunteering his time to come in and speak with the orphans on the wrong side of the city, and she felt nothing but gratitude and admiration for the old veteran for his efforts.


    He had been coming in to ''teach'' for the past six and a half years, she remembered. And as her guardian became more sour and cruel with the passing years, so too did Aziza become more and more attached to the old man and his stories. He mostly taught the children their history, regaling them with tales of daring heroes, cruel kings, and the various intrigues of courtly politics. He had tried to branch out into other things such as courtly dancing, at times before, but he was always quickly admonished and quickly redirected under the cruel glare of the Matron. The woman felt, she had said, that such children had no need to know how to dance like the royalty and should instead be learning how to properly wash a gown or mend a patchwork blanket.


    Never the less, the respect that the man commanded as a Knight, as well as being a veteran of a half dozen wars kept Brunhildafrom barring him out entirely. Hoping perhaps that some of the man''s reputation might rub off on her, she always dutifully provided him with a bit of bread and mead as he sat, offering lectures to the children about how lucky they were to have a man of Yellenstag''s stature deign to notice them.


    The knight was remarkably closed lipped on the topic of Awakening and the Circles, much as he was regarding any of the terrible details of the violence he had seen during his days of combat. Never the less he weaved a clear picture to the young minds of the ways of power each day, of what noble house was currently in favor and how laws could be made and amended.


    "Children!" The man''s voice boomed out, still strong and loud after his many years. "Come, listen, I have something special for you today."


    Settling into his seat, the knight reached over to pull out some scrolls from his travel bag, laying them out on the floor in front of him. "These are official proclamations issued by the king himself," the man lectured, "and you can tell by the seal stamped into the bottom there, you see. One does not need to be able to read at all, not to be able to recognize an official seal when it is presented to them."


    The man nodded to himself, pointing it out for the children who huddled around the papers, "Now, if you see that seal there," he pointed, "That is the seal of our king and is a proclamation of the highest authority. Note the depth of the impression and the way blue and red waxes merge in the middle there, yes?"


    The children oooohed and awwwwed appropriately as he continued. Aziza, kneeling primly to the side of the cluster, craned her neck to see over the rest of the youthful heard, skimming over the words on the parchment. "If someone hands you such a letter, younglings, you best do exactly what they say, no doubt about it! For disobeying a written order from your king carries with it an immediate sentence of death."


    A tiny hand raised up into the air, as the little boy known only as ''Rat'' asked his question, "But how can we know we are following the order if we can not read what it says, sir knight?"


    Yellenstag nodded wisely, meeting the boy''s eyes, "Now, don''t you worry about that at all. Whoever presents such a document to you has the full blessing of our King, have no doubt! And they will certainly share with you the details of the proclamation when issuing you a dictate. After all, it would be fool-hearty to have a government of letters when only the highest nobility even knows to read, for sure The king must always have great faith in the recipients of his proclamations to go and spread his word!"


    As he spoke, Aziza busied herself with the body of the document. The spelling, she noted, was somewhat atrocious, but also close enough to convey the proper meaning she supposed. The signature down at the bottom, it was clear, was also written by a completely different hand than the body of the document. The letters of the name shook as if written by a child, taking their time with each digit, but unsure of how the final product should look. The blocky signature stood a stark contrast to the practiced, smallish letters that were... mostly... in the right order throughout the rest of the document.


    Aziza kept her mouth shut as she read, knowing that displaying gifts that outshone the others would less likely result in praise than in beatings. Even still, her heart warmed as she pieced together the fact that the parchment the good knight had brought was none other than his very own elevation to the knighthood. It made sense, when she thought about it, as likely the kind old man had no other examples of the king''s seal to show them, and considering the ability to recognize that seal when it was presented to them could someday be the very actual difference between life and death for the little ones, the knight had risked much to bring it along for their benefit. She couldn''t even imagine what would happen if such an important parchment were to be somehow lost or damaged.


    Thankfully, the importance of the seal itself was enough to convince the other children to treat it with the utmost respect and reverence. And despite their crowding around to see, she could smile to herself as she also felt their absolute reluctance to draw too close to the document.


    The knight took back his parchment, soon continuing on to explain how the good King Ricter was getting on in years and would soon be succeeded by his son, Prince Talis. The man spoke well of the prince, telling the children of battles they had foughttogether back when the boy had served as a general, and assuring him that the man was not the type to squander lives without very good reason. He also paid some small lip service to the Emperor Yis, who ruled the various human kingdoms across the continent. There wasn''t much to say, they all knew, being a small kingdom so far from the capital, but the knight knew his duty and would never forget to pay his proper respects to the empire of men.


    A bit earlier than usual, SirYellenstagslowly rose from his seat, taking his feet. "Well, that is enough for today I should think!" his voice boomed with a jovial rumbling. "I have an errand to take care of now at the docs and must soon be off." He looked around at the children his eyes widening with an exaggeratedcuriosity, "Now, I wonder, would any of you little ankle-biters like to come with me? See the city in the care of this grizzled old veteran?"


    All of the children''s hands shot immediatelyin the air at his offer, the younger ones standing up and jumping up and down in their excitement. Aziza was absolutely no exception, twisting her hand back and forth and shining her very best impression of cuteness up at the Knight. The old man guffawed, smiling warmly at all the excitement shining around him and shook his head happily, "Now now, I don''t know that I could get along all that well with a dozen or so of you ankle-biters dodging at my heels. Let''s see now, I could probably manage... three." He nodded with a finality, "Yes, three!"


    "You there," he pointed at a small boy in the crowd, "and... you. And... yes, you too girl. Go ahead and ask permission of your Ma''am there and get yourselves ready." He continued on, with that, to point at Jame, Rat and, finally, Aziza herself. None of the children were able to contain their excitement. The three of them jumped up in a flash, lightning quick and ran to swarm around their matron. Aziza''s hesitance to approach the Madam was momentarily forgotten in the sudden joy of being picked, and the girl stood right along next to the others, bouncing and begging for permission to go.


    Brunhilda waved a quick, dismissive hand at the two boys beside her, sending them toward their bunks to pull their travel boots and jackets from their drawers. As her eyes fell on Aziza however, not uncharacteristically really, the old woman''s head shook no. Razing her voice to a much shriller octave, her ''command voice'' as she called it, she turned toward the good sir knight, "I''m sorry, Sir. This one can''t go. The docks are no place for a young girl - and anyway, this fey-wild beast should be out looking for work, not taking field trips to places she has no business to be."


    The old knight simply nodded a quick acknowledgmentand chose again, this time picking up the older gnomish boy Bune. "What about this one here then, I could use a young, strapping lad there to keep watch on the others!" He winked at the boy conspicuously, ignoring the child''s smaller stature.


    Bune did not jump like the others but he did give a brief pump of his fist in excitement, as the older boys would tend to do, and run off directly toward his bunk without bothering to check in with Brunhilda first. Aziza frowned, wishing that she had shared a similar thought and not bothered to ask permission, but it was too late now she realized, and the idea of disobeying the knight had never even crossed her young mind.


    . . .


    Aziza dutifully spent the afternoon helping with the cleaning. She scrubbed the tables and walls with a dirty rag, stopping only long enough to dodge the backhands MadamBrunhildawould send her way when she was caught daydreaming about her future. It had been years since the old woman had managed to land a blow, and she preferredbeing the target of her wrath over some of the younger demi-humans in the orphanage, so she soldieredon regardless.


    She dreamed of what it would be like when she finally Awakened. In her mind, she was able to pull Toby right out of her dreams and ride him around town, waving magnificentlyat the people below. She was so sure that Awakening would give her the same powers familiarto her friends in Underside, as it was known that each circle came with progressivelymore powerful abilitiesand a greater potential for growth of a person''s standard attributes. Someday, she felt certain, she would be strong enough to stand side by side with Morrison... or perhaps his children, she decided, after she had taken some time to think about the timeline. Someday, she could be their right hand, shadowing through the city with her friends always a step ahead of the watchful nobility. It was a dream, but it was her dream and she refused to give it up.


    Admittedly, when she had first come to the orphanage, she had had different dreams by far. She remembered that she had dreamed of being a blessed knight of the Twilight Queen, trotting through the countryside on her unicorn and helping those in need. In the end, such things were the innocent dreams of youth; she came to realize this far too soon, for the Madam, even then, had wasted no time in explaining to the children how things were.


    Daydreams aside, soon enough it was time to start dinner. And even as the children crowded around the stove with their Madam, the wayward field-trippers made their way home. SirYellenstaghad not bothered to stop inside, but the quick skurrying feet of Rat, Bune, and Jame sounded in the entry even as the stew bubbled and shook.


    Setting the table, the children brought out the stew and unleavened loaves of bread. All knew better than to try to reach for the food before the matron had her say, and they sat impatiently, trying very hard not to squirm, as the woman cleared her throat.


    "Thank you, Ra, for this meal," the woman began her ''blessing'', as she did every night. "Thank you for the brilliant rays from above that birthed and nourished our crops.


    "Protect us also from the whimsical courts, who seek to divide your light selfishly between their seasons, respecting not your rule of true law." She continued the prayer in the standard way, blissfully unaware of the rock that always sank low inside Aziza''s stomach as she spoke, "In your name, we allow mercy to the children of those demons, the demi-humans, in hopes that they one day are reborn in your light! We pray that they may someday find the strength to cast off the animistic flaws of their form and are reborn in spirit as true and proud human beings - forevermore standing tall under your brilliant sky.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings."Protect us and allow us to serve you, our graciousand loving caretaker, and forgive us for our own sins and imperfections, as we work to emulateyour perfection. In your love and your light, we follow." Lifting her head, her eyes shot toward the children of the demi-human races purposefullybefore she took the first bite of her stew, signaling the children that it was finally time to eat.


    There had been a time, long ago, when Aziza had first come to this place that she had tried to argue. The idea of a superior race of beings sounded so unfamiliarand somehow wrong to her young mind that she had not been able to keep shut her mouth. She quickly learned her lesson afterword, during her days in the cellar, as each day the Madam came to spend hours explaining the flaws in the girl''s thinking. And once Aziza was able to recite back the Ra''s curse on each sub-human race word for word, only then was she allowed to rejoin her fellow children.


    She had been sad to learn that the curse placed upon the elves was the greatest of all, being that of immortality. For never would they be allowed a rebirth in the perfected form of the human, unless first their fey bodies were shreddedin the machinationsof violence and war. And while the whole ideology still rung somehow false to her, grinding against a half-remembered core of her being and ideals, she had to admit that her lifespan was something of a curse. For even if someone did deign to adopt her, to raise her as their own, they would be adopting a child for the entirety of their lifespans. Her intended parents would grow old and die, likely before she even had reached her own adolescence.


    Chapter 3: Epilogue


    As Aziza danced through the streets that night, shadowing potential marks through the city and darting through shadows and alleyways, back at the orphanage all was not entirely well.


    In the morning she would find that another child, yet another of her siblings of happenstance, had disappeared in those midnight hours. Though she had begged the other children to wait for her, to say goodbye before they left, still every year there was some fewer orphans being housed in the Northwest district. MatronBrunhildastood by her claim that they were runaways, hiding elsewhere in the city as they abandoned their duties and abandoned their gratitude to her specifically for housing them and keeping them safe.


    Brunhilda, as always, claimed that the missing would soon find their way back, and those who did not must have been taken by the Underside for whatever nefarious and deviant purpose the thieves and murderers would have them for. And it was accurate enough that the missing would indeed occasionally find their way back, appearing out of the city again with the changing of the seasons to regale their peers with epic stories of their daring exploits.


    The second part of that claim though was a lie, as Aziza had discovered so very early on. As she had made her way into the sewers and the caverns beneath the city to confront the truth of the Underside for herself. It was easier than she had expected, in retrospect, to stumble upon the dens of scum and villainythat collectivelyanswered to ''Underside'', for not three seasons had passed in her search before she found herself face to face with Mad Morrison.


    When the rogues found her, deep in those caverns beneaththe buildings above, she had assumed that she was lost, that she would be sold or used or worse as the ground-siders had always warned her. And if she was older, perhaps, or weaker then she may have been right to worry. She cared less about the danger back then, however, than she did for the truth. She wanted to find her missing friends, to strike out toward the villainson her own, rather than sit in the darkness of night waiting for them to come claim her.


    But her fears, drilled into her by the Matron, the knight, and even the other children in her home, turned out to be unfounded. For as she stood before the ramshackle throne of Morrison, shaking her fist defiantly and demanding that he give her back her missing friends, something twisted in that old bastard''s heart.


    Instead of taking the girl and selling her, or whatever else it is that Undersiders were said to do, instead, he merely fed her and introduced to his lieutenants, laughing at her bluster and her demands. The food was good, better even than any she had before tasted in her memory, and the following night she made her way back under the city to demand, instead, more of the cakes and wine from the night before.


    Years passed, and though the girl never managed to find her friends, she was thoroughly distractedin finding a place where she could belong. And while she could never bring herself to leave the familiarityof her home above, neither could she by any stretchof her will stop returning to the dank and foul corners underneath the city and the friends and tutors who waited below.


    Such it was then that even as Bune did disappear out of his bed in the dead of night, as so many children had done before him and as so many would do after him as well, Aziza barely even noticed the loss. So focused instead was she on dodging the Matron of her home and sneaking off to her friends in the darkness, that she no longer even felt the loss of the missing until much, much later in our story.


    In the years that followed she couldn''t help but wonder whether, if she had investigated sooner, if she had not allowed herself to become distracted with her new friends, with the new place she belonged, but had instead followed up on those early disappearances, she wondered if things would have gone differently. Maybe if she could have then struck away the fate that awaited her while it was new, before the madness Perhaps, she would soon come to dwell on the thought that she could have prevailed before the axhad its chance to fall.


    We all have our regrets when looking back on the days of our lives, and I can easily tell you my own. It was not the theft, nor even was it my association with thieves and murderers in those early days of my life. No, instead it was my own heartlessness, my own distraction in the face of what I had known from the very beginning. That is what I regret. And that is what I blame for these scarsacross my body and across my soul.

 Chapter 4: Quest

    54 Summer, 1041


    Year 18


    The fist exploded through her gut as she doubled over from the pain. Defiantly, she brought her eyes up to stare back at Jame. It was not comfortable to hold his glare, not while she was struggling for breath through the swelling bruise across her diaphragm, but if Aziza was anything, she was stubborn.


    She had ghosted our of her window that evening, as she had been doing for all these long years. Her practiced footfalls had made barely a sound as she padded across the floor and darted out the side of the building. Dangling out the window frame by her right hand, and pushing herself away from the wooden slats with her knees, she had hopped to the ground with the practiced flourish of a professional. She had been free and clear she had thought, she had assumed, up until the very moment she had turned to dart away through an alleyway.


    Rather than the cold embrace of darkness, however, what she had found instead that night was the form of three fellow orphans. They quickly moved to surround her, reaching to hold her still. Even then, seeing the large shadows of two boys and a girl standing tall above her, Aziza didn''t grasp the danger. She felt like she had raised all three of them, their little child smiles still shining brightly at her in her memory, and she remembered all of their scraped knees, childish fits, and stolen treats.


    So it was that as they approached her in the night, reaching for her, she was just a hair slower than she should have beento run away. And that moment of hesitation, that millisecond, was all the little thugs had needed. As she tried to dart away, to skirt the hands of small Poe, she had instead spun right into the waiting form of the second orphan, Darius. If she had another second, she felt she still could have slipped his grasp, but her time was cut suddenly short with the boy''s massive fist to her gut.


    "You think we don''t see you sneaking off in the night?" Jame started, seeming inclined to try his hand at words after he had failed to cow her with his stare. "Staying out until the morning hours and then sleeping all day while the rest of us work?" His fist took her in the stomach yet again, driving the air yet further from her despite the desperate fire in her lungs.


    Poe, as if taking the hint, stepped closer to the boys and hovered over the heaving body of Aziza. Aziza looked up at her for a moment, desperately pleading with her eyes, before Poe''s cold tone came crashing down on her, "Elf bitch, heading out and hitting the town while the rest of us slave away at our actual jobs." Her hand darted in, taking Aziza quickly and solidly across the face, "It''s time you learned your place, party girl."


    The deep voice of Darius resonated slowly, picking up the thought as Aziza wheezed in his grasp, "Ya, par-ty girl." Aziza could not see his face, but she somehow felt the boy''s leering steer across the back of her neck, "Come party with us, par-ty girllll."


    Until that moment she hadn''t thought to fight back, not seriously. The idea of hurting the children who she had helped raise, who she had seen grow up had never even entered her head. But something about Darius tone, something about the way his words crawled across her spine and down her neck broke her out of that stupor. Something about the situation didn''t feel right, didn''t feel like the good-natured bullying that children tend to do, and deep in her heart she suddenly realized that she was fighting for her life.


    Her arms twisted quickly against Darius'' thumbs, ripping their way out through the cracks in his grip. As fast as her arms were, however, her legs were quicker, and her foot stomped bodily against Darious'' shin before darting out to tag Jame right in his knee. She didn''t dare breathe as she lashed out, not trusting in her swelling diaphragm to function as she moved, and Aziza knew she had a second left barely before her body betrayed her.


    Her eyes darted for an opening as the boys yelped out, but saw Poe already moving to cut off her retreat as she moved. Against one of the boys, two even, she felt she would have been fine, but Poe being there, with her own meaty human hands, left her at a sudden impasse. She moved to dart away, feinting right and then left, but Poe avoided the bait. The older girl just bent down with her arms outstretched and ran in for a tackle.


    When Darius'' hand finally found it''s way back to her arm, moving higher and tightening the grip, she finally surrendered. Understanding came to her in that moment of her inevitable fate and the futility of this type of struggle. With no path left to her, with her diaphragm starting to pulse as it screamed for her to breath, she finally, reluctantly drew one of her daggers from her wrist.


    They were crude bits of steel, the weapons she carried, made more for throwing than for stabbing and lacking even a semblance of a hilt. Still, in her practiced hands, it didn''t much matter what they looked like. It mattered only that her daggers were in reach and that there was a point of the ends.


    Blood squirted from Darious'' thigh as Aziza''s practiced thrust found its mark. The blade was deep in the meat, buried deep within the cords of his muscle, but her hand reacted without her conscious thought, twisting the blade cruelly and ripping it free with a slurp.


    Poe hit her then, tumbling onto her victim''s body and driving the pair down to the ground. The dagger held firm in Aziza''s practiced grip as she fell, twisting as she widened her arms and hugged her assailant to the ground. It wasn''t an ideal situation to be in, being pinned in the dirt by a body that outweighed her by a goodfive stone, but with the weapons in her grasp and the decision already made, Aziza felt no fear at all - only pity.


    A hand grasping Poe''s back, the other at her dagger, Aziza buried the wet steel between floating ribs, spearing cleanly a kidney. She abandoned the blade as she bucked her hips and rolled, spinning the surprised Poe onto her back only to drive the knife even deeper into her body, tearing as it was slammed by her weight against the earth.


    A second blade flew from her fingers before Aziza was even fully standing, sinking its way into the soft flesh of Jame''s stomach, dropping the last of her assailants. She had it in her mind to question them, to blame the demented little group for the disappearance of so many other orphans, but thought better of it as she found herself standing over the broken and bleeding bodies in front of her. There was no way that Jame could have been hurting or killing people when the first disappearances occurred, barely being out of diapers himself. And the other two wouldn''t have been in any more of a position to hurt anyone until these last handful of years.


    Instead, she quietly walked over to Jame, kicking the blade still embedded in his stomach as he clutched and cradled the wound. "Who put you up to this?" she demanded. "Was it the Madam? What did she say to you?"


    The voice of the boy in front of her came out of a squeak, reminding Aziza of nothing more than how he used to scream out when he was hungry, when food had run low. The voice sounded desperate and young and hurt, "No one. No one put us up to it. We just were tired of your shit..." he managed to get out before wretching yet again, spilling the rest of his dinner on the cobblestone.


    To the side of the boy came an angry hiss. Aziza''s eyes quickly darted over to Poe, paranoia shooting through her body. But the girl hadn''t even yet been able to stand, she just lay on her back and hissed words evilly, even as a dark stream of her blood pooled around her body, "You think you won, bitch?" Her eyes shone triumphantly even through the extreme pain, "Don''t expect to be able to come back here. You just assaulted three children with deadly weapons, you know. Do you even understand what you''ve done?" A short, triumphant laugh gurgled from the girl''s lips.


    Squinting her nose, Aziza walked over to Poe, arching an eyebrow, "You seriously think this is a first for me?" Spitting on the dirt behind the sprawled bodies, "Well it isn''t. Hell, this isn''t even the second. Do you have any idea the things that I''ve done to keep food in our pot, to keep clothes on our backs?" She frowned, a strangely serious expression on her young face, her eyes haunted, "You don''t know what it was like, before. You won''t remember what it was like here when the kids here were more concerned with starving to death than they were about hurting each other."


    She heard Darius behind her struggling to get to his feet, his face pale and white from the blood even still shooting from his leg in little jets. Poe just smiled back, spitting at the ground through the side of her mouth, "You think you are some savior?" The words brought forth a wet sludge from her mouth as she spoke, frothing with the words, "You''re just a lazy thug. Don''t try to justify yourself. You just stabbed three kids in the middle of the street; you''re just a piece of shit."


    Tears rolled down her cheeks as the adrenaline started to leave Aziza''s system. Darius fell back over, collapsing against the wet stones underneath his body, and as she surveyed the wounded in front of her. She suddenly understood that all three of these children could die. There were supposed to be Awakened who could heal such wounds with a wave of their hand, bring people back from the brink of death. Hell, if the stories were to be believed, there were people who could cross that brink and breath life back into the recently dead. But people like that did not find themselves on the northwest side of Illmouth, nor would they be concerned with the problems of orphans on the wrong side of town.


    Still, it was one thing to know, to realize what it was that she had just done, but it was another entirely to know what to do about it. She wanted to call out, to raise the alarm, but the guards rarely ventured into this side of the city, and any help she achieved would be more likely to help her to the hangman''s noose than to save the children on the ground in front of her.


    Instead, at a loss, she retreated down the long alleyways and into the familiar sewers below. Fear and horror blended in her stomach as she ran, and her only thought was to find Mad Morrison and confess what it was she had done.


    It occurred to her briefly, for half a second before she forcefully pushed the thought away, that it would have gone better for her if she had slit the throats of her attackers before they could tell anyone what had happened. Likely enough she hadn''t been seen, the trio would have tried to ensure that they were alone, and if there was no one left to tell tails, then there would be nothing that could connect her to their deaths.


    She knew better though - she did not want the children to die. She hadn''t even wanted to hurt them in the first place. She had simply been in a poor place with poor options in front of her and had reacted on instinct. As bad as the current situation was for her, just as much what she had done horrified her to the bone, the idea of inflicting more violence, more pain, made her physically ill.


    . . .


    The Underside was bustling when she finally cleared the darkened sewer paths and found her way into the hollowed caverns that housed the city''s thieves. There were men laughing, women selling their stolen goods at the markets, even a few children darting back and forth across the stone on some errand or another. It was comforting to her, approaching that den, to see life continuing. In the back of her mind, she realized, she had half expected the place to be unnaturally still, the entirety of Underside holding its breath at the knife now dangled precariously above her head. Metaphorically, of course.


    She made her way toward Mad Morrison''s chamber, barely sparing a glance or a word for her friends as she passed. She gave Tob a nod, Eria a half-hearted smile, but dodged away before anyone could engage her.


    Morrison''s door was closed when she got there, as sometimes happened. Rather than wander through the market or find one of her partners and plan, she instead just sat down next to the door and curled her arms around her knees. Waiting.


    It was some hours before Morrison''s door opened and he looked out, seeing the small girl huddled so intently by the door. Without a word he merely nodded his head, beckoning her into his chamber.


    He listened intently as Aziza''s story spilled out of her small lips, patent and quiet as the words tripped and crowded each other in her frenzied confession. It was some time before she finished, but he sat forward and listened to every single word until finally, she stopped, spent. It was some moments before he finally responded before he was confident that the girl had said her piece.


    Thoughtfully, he took a careful breath, "Well, Aziza, truth be told I had expected this sooner or later." He closed his eyes, focusing before he continued, "It was the reason, in fact, that I pushed you so hard for your Awakening. It was my hope, all this time, that you would Awaken before worse came for worse. For while sleepers may make a life for themselves in the world above, live long happy lives, that is not true for those of us who huddle here below.


    "You''re welcome down here with us, of course, until all of this passes. I''m sure there are still jobs down here you can run, and there''s room at the inn for someone such as you." He nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his eyes, "But still, I think your first order of business should be to see Lady Erisa the Watcherwoman. More than anything else, Awakening should be your goal, and she may be able to help you with that."


    Aziza raised an eyebrow, "Erisa? You mean the old apple-seller, Sir? She never looked like much to me."


    Morrison''s face cracked into the smallest smile as she spoke, snorting, "Yes well, she''s quite a bit more than she appears I think you will find. Each of us is given our own gifts in awakening, and hers happen to be of particular value to a sleeper. I think you should see for yourself." He shrugged, turning back to one of the many ledgers spread across the small table beside him, "Let me know if you find any trouble here and don''t worry about the world above for the time being. This is your home now. As it has been for some time now, I would imagine."


    Aziza bowed her head for a moment before turning away, the formality between the two old associates having mostly faded some time ago. The little underground inn would be the priority she knew, with the uncertainty of not knowing where she would sleep eating at her for the first time in her memory. Lady Erisa would come next though, without a doubt. Morrison was kind, despite his usual blustering, but she knew just how understated the importance of her Awakening had been. Without some precious skill or ability, she would be at a severe disadvantage to her compatriots, and there were many places down in the Underside that was dangerous at the best of times even to those who had already achieved their Circles.


    . . .


    With a room to call her own and a quick confirmation that it contained a bed that was not more wood than blanket, she made her way further down into the city. Scarred, unwashed figures scurried to and fro through the tunnels, up to something unlawful to a one without a doubt, and yet she somehow felt safer here, with these rogues, than above in the world of so-called ''law'' and ''order.'' Especially after her run-in with people who she had considered more family than friends.


    The shops in the Undercity were musty. Each was drilled out of the side of the cavern, shadowed, worked walls leading back past the booths into long shadowed alcoves. The merchants, though rarely engaging in antics throughout the overcity, were not to be trifled with. They consisted mostly of former thieves and agents who had moved on to a retirement in the impromptu city that the denizens of the underworld had once carved out for themselves. They didn''t look like much, and more than half of them were more straight batty than wise, but even among the Undersiders, they were given a broad, respectful birth.


    Some ways through the maze of shops and stands Aziza found what she was looking for - a long, pine table piled high with fruits and vegetables. There was a comically oversized picture of an apple carved into planks and hung over the open stand. Lady Erisa was talking to some old denizens of the city, as she tended to do, while the girl approached, words low and unintelligible to anyone further than a foot away. Aziza busied herself in a show of inspecting the produce while she waited for the gaggle to finish.


    Some two minutes after she had arrived, the gaggle of seniors dispursed and Aziza was free to approach the old woman. She hesitated though as a strange feeling crawled up through her throat. Desperation and forboding clawed against each other in her chest, struggling for control of her body.


    In the end, it was the Lady herself who ended up doing the approaching, hobbling over and narrowing an eye at the young girl, "Somethin'' I can help you with there little missy?" Her voice scratched and whined, but the glint in her eye showed anything but decrepitude.


    Swallowing loudly, Aziza looked up at the woman. "Yes..." she paused, licking her lips, "I was sent here by Mad Morrison. He... seemed to think that you might be able to help me with a personal problem that I''ve been having?"


    Erisa clucked through her teeth, "Yes, I can''t say a young thing such as you would be quite so interested in what the fruit looked like." She nodded, turning away, "Follow me, follow me, little one. I expect that we have much to discuss."


    Aziza moved along quietly, finding herself at a loss for words. When the pair were far back in the corner of the shop, crates and fruity smells rising around them, the old woman turned back to the girl, "Now, what is it exactly that Mad Morrison would have of me then?" Narrowing her eyes, "I''m retired from all the huffling and scuffing above, I''ll have you know. And if you''re plotting something devious I expect you''ll be disappointed."


    Shaking her head, Aziza only shrugged, "No no. He said that you might be able to help a person concerning matters of... Awakening." She muttered her words to the woman''s watchful eye, finding herself looking away as the words dipped into a silence that the old woman seemed unwilling to shatter.


    After some time spent in that silence, the old woman staring and, perhaps, sizing her up, Lady Erisa finally spoke, "Now now, young thing. You''re what? Fifteen in elf years? What would a babe like you want to go messing with all that for?"


    Aziza glanced back at the woman''s eyes before finding herself, once again, looking away, "Some people attacked me above. Good people. But I did some bad things to them and I..." pausing, the enormity of the night''s events only now fully processing in her thoughts, "I can''t go back. And I can''t stay a sleeper. Not if I want to stay down here."


    The woman shook her head, moving in with an uncomfortable closeness, "Now who put that fool notion in your head, girl? Can''t stay down here a sleeper. Ha!" The woman spat on the ground as she continued, "Many who ''Awaken'' discover truths that they would rather not have known. And many others fail to find any comfort in the supposed ''power'' of the Circles.


    "No, no. You are young, healthy. Just stay asleep. Live. Find someone to take care of you," her eyes moving up and down the girl''s body, "If not now then soon, I am certain, there would be plenty who would give their souls to do just that. There is no comfort in waking up, and often precious little benefit."


    Aziza, fighting her urge to take a step back, to accept the words of the woman and make a quiet life somewhere, protected, looked up instead. Meeting the woman''s eyes, she spoke with all the authority a somewhat pubescent teen can muster, "No, ma''am. It''s not about the power, not really. I came down here in the first place, all those years ago, I came down here because I know there is something more out there. Something that I cannot find by tagging along letting others keep me safe. There is a certain something, beautiful and yet just out of reach that I see at night when I dream. That we race for beneath the sleeping stars until it''s time for me to wake."


    Erisa raised an eyebrow, "We? The power of dreams is indeed a significant thing." Nodding, "But it will not be like you expect. Even if I can help wake you at all, with my own hidden little talent, it would not be easy or safe. You''d be more likely to wind up on a pyre somewhere, your corpse decorating the winds of the east than finding whatever it is you seek." Her eyes unfocused, and looked through Aziza as if reading some arcane bit of text, "For you especially, it would be better to let it lie. Have babies, raise a family. There are precious few wildlings in the world these days; I cannot even count the decades it has been since I''ve seen you''re like walking among the humans. It would be a shame to lose you to some meaningless errand."


    Aziza shook her head, "I care little for my race or people. And less, even, given that they are not here to help me. I just want to see the world the way I do in my dreams. Beautiful. Free." The girl trailed off, not sure of what else to say.


    The woman went back to staring at her, squinting her eyes in an aura of menace that only one of her aged years could possess. It was some time before she let off, giving a sigh and a weary nod of her head. "Fine, girl. Though don''t be sayin'' I didn''t warn you." Her eyes unfocusing again, looking through the girl, long past her physical self and into some unknown abyss. "I have an exceptional ability, gifted to me with my Awakening." She clucked her tongue, "But our gifts often end up becoming our curses in turn. And with wisdom, we are so often made to regret the actions of our youth.


    "I cannot count, girl, I can not count how many young souls I''ve sent off to their deaths. Charging directly into the jaws of oblivion over whatever random jest of fate they discovered the gods had in store for them." She grimaced, a fierce look returning to her eye for a moment before she finally relented, the fight bleeding out of her expression as she continued, "I swore years ago that it was the last one when some boy charged himself directly down the throat of some dragon. The last one!" she raised up a finger as she spoke. "But if Mad Morrison sent you than I can not deny you this curse. Whatever he has in mind girl, I can promise it may not end up where the two of you expect it to go.


    "Anyway, you tell that old halfwit that we are even after this. All debts repaid. You hear?" She shook her head, "And do it before you charge off into something''s gullet, understand?"


    Aziza nodded, eyes widening. The old woman''s warnings touched something in her, some bit of fear, but it was nothing compared to the guilt, to the unease she felt at the thought of facing the world above once again. And she wanted to be something else, someone else, someone better when next she stepped out into the light of day.


    "My Awakening conferred on me a very specific ability, you see. These old eyes of mine, I can reach into someone and pluck out the quests that they haven''t yet finished. Which means little to for other Awakened, they can all look them up themselves, yes? And a quest is not something that can be stolen nor conferred, so it means all of jack and squat to those here would intend to take someone else''s destiny.


    "However! Yes, however, for the sleepers in the world, my little ''gift'' has an extraordinary purpose indeed. For each sleeper has one and only one quest assigned to them, no more!" Her eyes shone, looking into Aziza for some hint of recognition, "Never more, and certainly never any less than one! And while half, no, more than half of the damned fools out there never stumble upon it, never meet its terms of completion, there are always those who do."


    Lady Erisa leaned over conspicuously, "Now tell me, girl, tell me. What is it exactly that you think happens when those quest''s terms are met?"


    Aziza worked her mouth a few times, unsure of what she was supposed to say. "They... Awaken?" she guessed.


    "Yes!" Erisa''s voice swelled now, lost in the excitement of uncovering a long-guarded secret, "Yes, they Awaken! Whatever purpose it was that was given to them by the gods having been completed, they are gifted with skills and knowledge beyond that of their mortal kin. Usually, it is some foul thing, defeat this monster, obtain great wealth, save the life of some girl. Dangerous, most first quests are, but easy enough to stumble upon by chance through the course of living.


    "You, however, now you... yours is something else entirely. Can you tell me, I wonder, why it is that I see what I''m seeing? Why yours would be so ostensibly mysterious when others have often amounted to little more than ''kill five wolves''?"


    The young girl blinked, taken aback. There was a foreboding in hearing that her fate was different, her task was unique, but at the same time she couldn''t help but feel she must have been somehow blessed... chosen even. And she was more curious than ever to learn what it was. "My past is a shroud to me, my parentage and the place of my birth lost. Please, I do not know, but I will beg you to tell me if you would ask it."


    Erisa chuckled, a deep throaty, scratchy rumble. The sound of the woman''s mirth, somehow, frightened her even more than the woman''s earlier cold stare, "Yours is deceptively simple and yet so very, very impossible at the very same time. Your task, your quest that would lead to your Awakening is this and only this, ''Enter the dungeons of Illmouth.'' And I hope that I don''t even have to explain to you why that would most certainly end your short life."


    Aziza merely gaped at the woman, the key to her long-sought fate laid out before her if only she were to take it. And yet the old woman was right. Those who entered the dungeons of King Ricter were known to never see another day in the sunlight. It was an impossible task. And yet, above all, it was an impossible task that she must one-day accomplish if she wanted to live her own way.

 Chapter 5: Dancing With Devils

    12 Autumn, 1044


    Year 21


    The tall iron gate whispered under her as she slid over its spikes and tied the improvised bridge in place. As useful as the nobles seemed to think iron wrought fences were, she had never met one that could not be bested by a couple of planks of wood and a bit of rope.


    As she tied off the far ends of the ropes underneath the three loosely tied boards that made a hinge over the pointy bits, she hopped fluidly to the ground. It was a fifteen-foot drop, but such heights were far less imposing when she wasn''t using her face for the landing. She heard Tob and Eria plop down behind her somewhat more heavily and nodded, ready to go.


    A sewer grate had let the little party of outlaws outside of the city, and while it was likely the safest way in or out, it wasn''t by any means one of the more livable parts of the sewers, and Aziza was keenly aware that the three of them still stank to the high heavens. Never the less, sacrifices had to be made for all of them if they wanted to maintain their freedom, and a bit of sewage on their boots, inside their leather armor, and up the back side of their cloaks was, debatably, worth the exchange for increased security.


    Her search these last few years, through the library of Central and the archives in the Southeastern Quarter, had finally led her here. In front of her climbed the ancient manor of Devos on the far edges of the city, standing defiantly farther outside the city walls than would be considered by any means safe. Instead of city walls, two layers of tall, iron fencing stood high, defiantly daring any of the beasts or bestial races that liked to raid the farmland to venture in too close.


    Though the merchant family that technically owned the estate had been mostly dead and gone for some time now, the living relatives maintaining the building more for the sake ofowning it than for any practical purpose, there was still a small security team that was tasked to watch over its gates. The Devos family wasn''t unusually wealthy, as far as merchants go, though they had been particularly well-to-do during the early history of the kingdom, andwhen there were no reported goblin or beastmen attacks they generally allowed the guards guards to frequent the steps ofthe local Inn.


    Usually one would thinkit a dereliction of duty, leaving guard posts as such empty, but here in the farmland, there wasn''t as much risk as one might expect. The route out of the Underside was difficult enough that most hardened criminals never really bothered to leave the city, not unless they were after a much bigger score than a small manor owned by some nobody merchants, and the wrought iron fence was more than enough to deflect the wandering eyes of any passing villagers.


    As the two of them got to their feet on the far side of the fence, Tob shook his head and whispered, "You owe us one, Zee. No way anything in there is worth the cost of carrying it.:


    Aziza whispered back, shaking her head. "Maybe, but feel free to split anything we find. As I said, I''m only here for one thing."


    It wasn''t treasure or gold or loot that had brought Aziza there to that house that night, but rather a crusty old bit of parchment found in the back of the locked archives. There existed nowhere a plan of the castle construction, of the halls and towers and balconies therein, for such things had been destroyed by order of the king shortly after the building''s construction. What she had found instead though, as far-fetched as it might have been, was the record of who had initially built it: the family of Devos. And at the timethe Devos family conducted all business out of a singular building - this little manor in front of them.


    "I''m here for blueprints or journals if there are any. Help me look, and I''ll buy both of you rounds for a week."


    Neither of her friends said another word, trailing behind her as they sauntered up the steps in front of the mansion. Aziza looked back and forth, suddenly acutely aware of how alone and how far they were from the city she had spent her entire life in they actually were. Tob just flicked his wrist as they walked and the doors splintered in front of them, their demolition echoing through the shadows of the night.


    Aziza winced at the crashing as the remains of the door fell inward, but didn''t pause. Eria''s eyes darkened, swelling with ink-black light as she reached out with her fingertips, ripping a swirling black hole in the air in front of her. Without breaking step she and Tob began loading everything that looked halfway valuable through the void in the air. As the furniture disappeared into the swirling hole in space, Aziza moved along the hallways, doing a lap around the interior of the house - rapping on each wall with a knuckle and listening.


    Moving her way around the first floor, Aziza climbed up the stairs to the second. She tapped on the back of each stair with the toe of her boot with every step, listening for any hollow or discordant echoes from the wood. It took her all of five minutes to search the entirety of the upper level for any hidden caches with no success. She made her way back down to the stairway where her two friends were slowly dragging an entire armoire into Eria''s portable rift.


    Aziza gave the two of them a hand for a moment before she made her way back down the stairs. "Find anything good?"


    Eria shrugged, glancing back down the hallway. "Not much here, though at least it should all fit."


    Tob held up his hand, showing off a few somewhat gaudy rings he had found, "Some bling around here, though I couldn''t speak to the quality of it. What about you?"


    Aziza shook her head as she walked, "Nothing yet, might need plan B."


    She didn''t need to look back to see the grin on Tob''s face, "Rock the fuck on."


    Aziza merely shook her head as she jogged down the stairway and over to the only level remaining to be searched, the root cellar. The door had already been splintered, wooden beams and splinters littering the stairs in front of her, a gift from Tob she knew. The individual powers of the Awakened were always awe-inspiring to her sleeping mind. She was careful not to step on any of the shards of wood as she started searching down into the subterranean storage room.


    Upon seeing the rows and rows of wine racks twisting through the unlit vault she hesitated, wishing to herself that her friends had already looted the furniture here. Never the less, she used her bit of flint to light a torch against the wall by the staircase and retrieved the light, carefully inspecting each wall and floor as she passed through the wine racks.


    She was about to give up, to go upstairs and help her friends, when something finally caught her eye. In the far corner from the stairs, there was a set of wood paneling that didn''t match the other support beams. The wood was just a little, ever so slightly, different from that of the rest of the room. Faded with age, it would have been almost impossible to detect by anyone other than a trained burglar, but once Aziza saw it it wasn''t something that she could unsee.


    She moved toward the wall quickly, rapping her knuckles along the support beams. The unmatched section was, almost, as faded with age as the other supports, and yet the coloring, even after the long years, was ever so slightly off. Deft fingers picked their way across the paneling, searching for a seam or latch that she could pull apart. But no such weakness asserted itself as she sought, seemingly solidly built into the construction of the wall. She was still there messing with it some five minutes later when her friends made their way down the stairs.


    "Find something?" Eria asked as she tugged the laceration in space along behind her into the cellar.


    Aziza nodded without looking up, "I think so. Friggin Awakened architects." She glanced at the seemingly solid frame, "I''m certain there is something here, but the boards have been melded with the wall."


    Tob''s hand pressed lightly against her shoulder, "Don''t worry about it then, come help us get the wine here. We''ll take care of it after."


    The three worked quickly, their small frames dragging the long wooden stands and spirits directly outside of standard space, inch by inch their spoils being swallowed by the void. It took longer than above, just due to the furniture being more substantial with the cargo of liquid hanging heavily on each rack and having to be careful not to lose too many of the bottles as they rattled across the floor. It put them slightly behind schedule, but when it came to the wine, likely the most valuable thing in the place, none of the three were inclined just to leave it behind.


    Finally, their goods secured, the three partners stood in the stairwell with Tob standing the furthermost to the bottom of the cellar. He began to make fists with each of his hands, pulling each backward in turn. And as his fists danced back and forth through the empty air, across the room, the wood of the support beam began to tear. Fist, pull, splinter, fist, pull, splinter, the shaft was shredded by the Awakened ability over the course of a minute to a cacophony of small bangs. After less than a minute, the support beam was crashed and splintered, having been torn apart by awakened force.


    The three of them drew their weapons, Aziza with a crude dagger in each hand, Tob with his short sword, and Eria with her battered rapier. The companions fell upon the cracks, wedging their steel in between the openings and widening the holes in the construction. Another five minutes later and Aziza began to doubt what she had seen, that there were, in fact, two different types and ages of wood making up this pillar - but even still the three carried on, disassemblingwhat looked to be solid construction.


    When the base of the pillar was entirely gone, turned into a pile of kindling lining the floor of the cellar, and with sawdust coating their hands and cloaks, they found something odd about the wall behind the pillar. Out of the stonework was carved a small alcove, and in it rested aged pages tied within a binding of old leather with a silken cord. Carefully, reverently, Aziza lifted the bundle from the stonework, moving it into the void that twisted beside them with trembling fingers.


    "Ingenious that, putting parchment in there," Tob mused. "With the temperature and lack of airflow down here, those documents could have survived for hundreds of years. Easy."


    Aziza shrugged, "I''m just glad my shot in the dark seemed to pay off. Though if those are nothing more than old accounting records or something, I''ll be out of leads."


    Eria put her hands on each of their shoulders, comfortingly, but her words were filled with strained anxiety, "Come on, we can talk about this later. We left a hell of a mess in here and we really, really need to go." Her fingers deftly closed her rift as her hands came away, all bustle and professionalism.


    . . .


    "Halt!" The word rang out, shattering the quiet night''s air, freezing the three instantly where they stood. Their eyes danced across the shadows, desperately searching out the potential assailants.


    "Shit," Eria muttered, "We took too bloody long."


    Aziza only nodded as her eyes alighted on the two shadows near the now open fence, each holding a giant, ready crossbow in their hands. All three of the little band stood silently, waiting for the two to approach.


    "Stand where you are, keep your hands in the air!" Came the order from the guards, apparently having come back early to check on their charge and found the front door in splinters. As the pair inched forward toward the thieves, they moved into a hazy beam of moonlight. Both of the guards were aged, with white cropped beards pointing downwards toward their regulation chain and tabards. A little bit of yellow wetness clung to the beard of the one on the right, having been none too careful with his beer before leaving to check on the manor.


    Something struck Aziza for a moment, as their faces came into view, and as they took a few steps closer, the familiarity somehow clicked within her mind. She knew the man on the left, though he was much, much older now, somehow more haggard and warn. A chill echoed down her spine as the gears in her mind spun and ground together.


    "Arnold?" The girl muttered, incredulously, as the figures took yet another step closer, now not more than a good twenty feet away. "Is that you?"


    Confusion sparked in the man''s eyes as he looked at Aziza closer, eyes devouring the features of the young girl''s face as he struggled for the memory. Before he could speak, his companion shouted a yelp of warning, "Shit, they''re Underside! Undersiders!"


    Before the warning had finished echoing through the chill air, all five figures had sprung into motion. An arrow flew through the air at Eria, splintering into a dozen different steel tipped shards as it flew - milliseconds before the bolts found their mark in her flesh, liquid shadows sprung to cover her body, and the girl disappeared to leave the arrows sinking futilely into the wooden walls of the manor. Aziza sprung backward, hitting the floor of the doorway with her shoulders and executing a quick backward roll back into the house and out of sight. Arnold hesitated for a split second longer than should have, eyes still glittering with confusion and surprise, even as Tob waved his hand and poor Arnold flew backward a good fifteen feet to hit the dirt with his shoulder.


    The second guard dropped his now expended crossbow, ripping his sword from his sheath even as shadows coalesced behind him. His breath stuttered as he looked down, to find the long, thin blade of a rapier protruding from his stomach. Twisting his body quickly, he turned and finished drawing his longsword with a quick scraping sound, using his body as a pivot that pulled the sword out of Eria''s grasp. His strike flashed out only to disappear into a tear in reality, as Eria brandished a gaping portal with her left hand, moving it as a shield.


    The second guard had pulled his sword back, angling for a second strike when three daggers danced through the air from the doorway to the manor, taking him in the back and thigh. The pain staggered him as two of the three dug deeply into his flesh, and Eria found an opening. Using the wound in reality that she brandished in her left, she flung it over the guard''s head like a lasso and swiftly brought the edges together with her fingers, sealing it tight against his neck. It wasn''t considered good form to use a low-level dimensional storage ability in combat, but Undersiders knew well that anything could be a weapon, and they worked to hone what they had into a killing edge. Her sword danced out and back again through the guard''s chest five times before he finally fell still.


    Arnold kept getting up and flashing across the ground with incredible speed, his body flinging itself forward like an arrow in the moonlight, but each time Tob would take a step closer and flick his wrist, tossing the guard just a little further back into the dirt. The guard possessed excellent combat ability, Aziza had never before seen anyone move like that in combat, but it depended upon speed, and Tob was just a hair''s breath faster in employing his psionic bash. Against a man in armor, Tob wasn''t doing all that much in the way of damage but yet Arnold was seemingly helpless against the assault and slowly was starting to exhaust himself in the struggle.


    Watching the way the guard flew through the air with every charge, Eria and Aziza didn''t dare to get close. They moved instead to stand beside Tob as he slowly pushed his way forward, step by step, steadily gaining ground. Aziza had retrieved her daggers and Eria her sword from the now headless corpse, but even still the two waited to attack as Tob lead the dance. It wasn''t until his body slammed against the metal grate of the fence that the guard finally relented, throwing down his sword and sticking his own hands in the air reluctantly.


    The three approached, kicking the weapon away and encircling the guard. Eria held her rapier against the man''s throat, Tob standing over the man with his hand at the ready, as Aziza moved to search the pair for valuables. As she was cutting away Arnold''s purse, he still looked at her with the strange, quizzical expression, searching his memory.


    "Tell me, girl, I... helped you once, ya? When you were lost on the streets? Or was that all some kind of a grift." The older man''s eyes were haunted as the thieves ransacked his valuables.


    Shaking her head, Aziza spoke while tugging off the man''s boots, huffing with effort between words, "No, I was lost, and alone and I don''t know what would have happened to me if you hadn''t stepped in to help. You saved me and brought me somewhere safe, and I''ll never be able to repay you for that."


    The man''s eyes darkened, "Then what happened to you, girl? How did you fall in with this filth? How did you become this piece of shit who would rob a man of his boots?"


    Aziza''s nimble fingers didn''t pause as they moved on the unbuckling the guard''s armor, chuckling, "We will leave you your life, I will leave you your life. But it was Tob over here who took you down," she said the name without hesitation. When the Awakened can look past you and take your name from you in an instant, anonymity wasn''t exactly a common commodity. "And as such, as someone who has saved my life a good dozen times over, all of your valuables belong to him. Not me."


    Arnold''s eyes looked past her for a moment, scanning further, before they widened in shock, "You aren''t even Awakened, girl. How are you an Undersider?" His voice incredulous, "How could you even survive down there? Why would you risk it when you could have had a good, honest life? You''re insane!"


    Aziza shrugged offhandedly as she finished the last buckle and began tugging the chain mail over Arnold''s head, "A little help from my friends. You didn''t exactly leave me in a house of feasting and wine, after all." As the armor came off, she added it to the pile for Eria to tuck away, "Girl''s got to eat, after all."


    The man shook his head, frowning deeply, "No, don''t make excuses. It would have sufficed if you had gotten work, squirreled some funds away each day for food. Plenty of orphans made it through that orphanage before you and plenty more will make good, honest lives for themselves after you are gone. Whatever it is you''ve become, whelp, that''s on your shoulders."


    As the last of the plundered goods were delivered to Eria, Aziza shrugged, doing a little twirl and flaring her cloak, "And finely dressed shoulders they shall be." She quipped even as Eria moved to tie the man''s limbs together, shoving a good bit of mud stained rope into the guard''s mouth.


    Aziza and her friends turned their back on the mansion and the guards, and as they began their trek back into the sewers of Illmouth, she never once bothered to look back.