《REND》 Chapter #1: Come As You Are REND vol. #1: The City at the End of the World Chapter #1: Come as you are Basked in the orange morning light a column of carts was slowly making its way down a dirt road. The lone path was set on the east facing slope of a mountain range and closely hugged the edge of the lush forest growing at the foot of the mountain. The heights commanded a great view of the narrow stretch of farmland further below where beyond the fields of golden wheat and groves of blooming orchards a jagged shoreline hugged the white foam covered ocean shore. There were four horse drawn carts, all filled to bursting with lumber and barrels of coal, save for the last one in the line which also carried two passengers seated in the back. The two guards keeping watch were armed with crossbows and positioned in a manner facing the line of prisoners following the caravan. For their part the nine convicts looked malnourished and unkempt. Their hands were shackled and tied to a thick rope the end of which was fixed to the cart in front of them. They were closely followed by six guardsmen carrying halberds and dressed in a manner most uncomfortable to look at. Their helmets, ordinary in every other way, were adorned with the cast steel expressions of human skulls. The guardsmen wore brown tabards over their steel mail shirts that proudly displayed the heraldry of their lord ¨C a bright red handprint crudely stamped across their chest. The caravan eventually made its way down the slope of the hill and headed towards what looked to be groves of gray, withered trees. The end of their journey was drawing ever closer, but for the tired prisoners it couldn¡¯t come soon enough. Among the nine prisoners one struck out as particularly odd. Jorgen was a larger than average man, well in his thirties, and built like a bull. Endowed with a head of hair as thick and black as pitch, he exuded a strong sense of masculinity bordering on the bestial. It was therefore fair to assume that he was much stronger than any full blooded human had any right to be. Jorgen¡¯s heavy chain restraints rang as he shuffled down the dirt road towards his execution. As the lead man in the column of nine he had the dubious honor of sharing the company of the crossbow armed sentries at the back of the cart ¨C an honor he would have loved to forego given their grim aura. The two people facing him looked nothing like the other guards in the caravan. Their fine clothes, the lack of fear in their expression when faced with supervising the execution of one such monstrous individual as himself; it made Jorgen wonder just how much death they had witnessed in this strange and oftentimes merciless land. The man sitting on the left had a long, pale face and his thin build made him appear almost harmless. Oscar wore a dark blue coat of simple cloth over the black cotton clothing beneath. He maintained a stiff posture as he cast his dispassionate gaze over the prisoners under his guard. The other sentry was a hazel haired woman. At a glance Jorgen though her pretty ¨C certainly not suited for a life of hardship ¨C but his instincts warned him otherwise. There was indeed something rather dangerous about her relaxed expression and the longer he studied her porcelain perfect features the more convince he became of it. She didn¡¯t just seem at ease standing guard over condemned murderers and rapists, rather, she was bored by it. He could have dismissed it as a show of callousness or naivet¨¦ if it wasn¡¯t for the look she was giving him. Vivian stared at the hulking, unkempt man with the eyes of a predator lying in wait. Her fingers caressed the loaded crossbow in her lap in a show of willingness to wield it with deadly purpose. Her gaze was almost challenging. Go on, it said, give me an excuse. Jorgen did not, however. He stumbled after the cart in silent submission to his fate. It had rained earlier in the morning and the dirt road beneath him was still covered in a thin layer of mud. Jorgen raised his bruised, black stubble covered chin from his chest and allowed the first rays of sunlight to graze his face. He had spent the previous night awake in his cell and it was showing. Feeling dazed from the potent combination of exhaustion and malnourishment Jorgen had reached an almost trance like state. His senses were all at once heightened and free flowing. It was an inebriation of the mind through which he sought to savor the last moments of his life. He hadn¡¯t forced himself into it to escape his reality. No, he thought of it as one last experience to enjoy. After all, death came only once. For most people, anyway. As he turned away from the blinding sun Jorgen glanced upon a fiendish looking tree growing at the side of the road. It was a twisted wraith of misery, reaching tall with its stringy appendage like branches on a field of freshly cut grass. Like withered fingers ¨C leafless and seemingly lifeless ¨C the little gray twigs of its canopy reached for the skies above. The roots beneath it ran shallow and in several places struck out above the ground like the veins of some warped limbs seeking to escape the pressure of the invisible forces hidden beneath the soil. Its bark was rough and flaking and upon its trunk was etched an expression that no human made lightly; one that no normal tree had, if nature could convey such emotion at all ¨C a face twisted in dreadful sorrow. As Jorgen marched further down the mud caked road he passed many more such abominable trees. Each and every one was smaller than the last. I am almost at the end of the line, he realized as the bleached white bones begun to stick out from beneath the wrinkled veins of the wraith trees. They had not grown large enough yet to fully cover up the horror hidden within them. Born of death and nurtured to life by their sacrificial offerings, they might have frightened a lesser man, yet Jorgen looked on unfazed ¨C admittedly still dizzy ¨C but fully aware of the garden of death that he was about to become a part of. The abominable grove ran in four rows on his left, stretching far down the side of the road. It ended at the foot of a hillock upon which the lumber mill stood. Jorgen overheard a whispered exchange among two men in the line behind him. He turned his head and found a young Temple priest deep in prayer. The youth was matching the pace of the prisoner behind Jorgen as he went about performing the last rites of the condemned man. Who will pray for him? Jorgen wondered as he gleaned at the young priest from the corner of his eye. The priest¡¯s hands were bound just like those of the others, but the guards had foregone the leg restraints so that the young man could move about his business of praying with the prisoners unhindered. Clutching a thick, leather bound tome in his bruised fingers the short haired youth feverishly flipped through its weathered pages in search of any words he could not recall; passages that his inexperience warranted to be red to the prisoner, not recited from experience, as he likely had none. Will he do me the same honors? Jorgen wondered as he saw the priest laying his bruised hand upon the prisoner in a parting gesture ¨C a blessing. Are we not guilty of the same crime, he and I? As if to answer his unspoken question, the Temple priest glared up at Jorgen with an expression of pure disgust. With a swift motion he closed the book and slowed his pace to distance himself from Jorgen as much as the guards allowed. Beckoned by their halberds he fell in with the other prisoners at the very end of the line. Jorgen smiled as he noted a trace of fear in the young man¡¯s expression. I should have expected nothing from zealots. As he turned back to facing the cart he winced when a breadcrumb struck his face. Flung by the woman sitting opposite of him it bounced off of his forehead, landed in the mud and disappeared beneath the feet of the marching criminals. Vivian had set aside her crossbow and was now busy plucking at a half eaten loaf of bread. She carefully peeled off the crust bit by bit and threw the nail sized pieces at Jorgen in-between feasting on the soft and foamy middle. The sight of food made Jorgen salivate. He swallowed a bitter mouthful of air and lowered his gaze as not to tease himself with the sight of the freshly baked bread. The alluring smell of it, however, he could not escape. Not with the nose he had. ¡°Come on,¡± Vivian said and flicked a piece of the crust at Jorgen¡¯s head, ¡°Be a good dog and catch it. I know you want to.¡± Jorgen winced in response to the woman¡¯s taunt. ¡°I am not an animal,¡± he said in a low growl. Vivian looked to the pale man at her side. ¡°Did you catch that?¡± she asked. ¡°I couldn¡¯t hear a word over the noise of this damned cart.¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Oscar secured the crossbow firmly in his lap before moving to answer. He made gestures at his companion with his long twig like fingers. Vivian observed his gesturing and her annoyance turned to amusement when the pale man was done. ¡°Not an animal, he says?¡± She flicked another bread crumb at Jorgen. ¡°We are both predators,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s just that you are more beast than man. And I happen to enjoy hunting difficult prey.¡± Flick. ¡°Come on,¡± Vivian taunted him. Jorgen kept silent. Flick. ¡°Show me something interesting,¡± she said. ¡°You could at least go a little wild on your way out. You do know that we are taking you to your execution, right?¡± Flick. ¡°I haven¡¯t killed one quite as large as you yet,¡± Vivian said and pulled her leather collar down revealing the supple skin of her neck. ¡°You want a bite out of this, don¡¯t you?¡± Jorgen lowered his gaze. Disappointed by the lack of response from her captive Vivian set aside the loaf of bread and reached out to Jorgen with her hand. Oscar tensed up in response to Vivian¡¯s sudden bout of recklessness and pointed his crossbow at Jorgen¡¯s chest to dissuade the chained man from meeting her challenge. The tip of the bolt was too shiny for simple steel. Vivian held up her hand right in front of Jorgen¡¯s face. ¡°You must be starving. Don¡¯t you want to try a bite?¡± she asked. Oscar¡¯s grip around the crossbow tightened. ¡°You will soon rob me of my existence,¡± Jorgen said, ¡°The least you could let me keep was a shred of dignity.¡± The mute man lowered his weapon and tapped Vivian on the shoulder. With a nod of his head and a slight frown he expressed his desire for the overeager killer to stop harassing the prisoner. As reluctant to obey as she was, Vivian did not try to press the issue and withdrew. This made Jorgen think that the mute man was the senior party in their relationship or that ¨C at the very least ¨C she respected him enough not to fight over it. Either way, he was grateful to be left alone. In a short while the caravan had arrived at the end of the line of wraith trees. Vivian and Oscar remained in the cart while the other guards set about organizing the prisoners. They overlooked the whole operation from their vantage point in case that any of the poor bastards would try to flee, but it was just as likely that the simply felt like handling the prisoners was beneath them. Jorgen was the first one to be parted from the group and brought down the slight incline at the side of the road. Having descended the embankment he noted six other prisoners already awaiting their fate in the long line of sacrifices. Bound by rope and chain to thick wooden posts they looked like able bodied creatures, if a little withered by the weather. Soldiers, Jorgen thought to himself, Pilgrims, perhaps? The discovery warranted a conversation with someone more informed and the large man turned to his escorts for the answer. He hadn¡¯t spoken to his guards before. He hadn¡¯t felt like there had been a reason to do so, but now his curious mind began to wonder. He couldn¡¯t let the questions go answered ¨C that would be too painful and in his mind would sour a perfectly fine summer morning. ¡°What was their crime?¡± Jorgen asked in a deep baritone. The voice fit well with his hulking form. Muscled and by no means a lean man, he was clearly in the prime of his life ¨C not old enough to feel his strength fading, yet neither had he the vestiges of youth still present in his tired face. As it was, wisdom had the tendency to age its seekers beyond their years. To that end Jorgen had had his share and looked the part. The two guards closest to him exchanged long looks through their masks as they considered whether to answer the soon to be dead man¡¯s question or to let it fade away with him. This was exactly what Jorgen had sought to avoid. He did not want to make it any more awkward for the guardsmen than it already was. They have their own problems, he reasoned, No use in passing on mine. Finally one of the guards decided to engage with the condemned man. ¡°They broke the truce,¡± he said with some discomfort lingering in his words. ¡°Is that so,¡± Jorgen wondered out loud. Was that my crime as well? He closely examined the delirious captives as he passed them by. He surmised that they had likely endured a day or two already in this state. Their skin had begun to blister under the effects of the weather, but nothing more of their fate was revealed to him. They hadn¡¯t been tortured, not in any apparent manner anyway. The law in these strange lands was quick and harsh, but it wasn¡¯t cruel, at least not by his standards. ¡°Breaking the Baron¡¯s truce is the worst crime that an outsider can commit,¡± the other guard said, his voice muffled by the mask. He gestured for Jorgen to approach the nearest free post at the end of the line. ¡°They will be made an example of, just like you.¡± ¡°Is it common to punish murder in this manner?¡± Jorgen asked out of curiosity. The two guardsmen once more exchanged long glances in silence. Jorgen abused the fact that they found him interesting enough to speak to. He thought that it was warranted, given his predicament, to indulge in a little selfishness. The gods, if there really were any, likely wouldn¡¯t hold it against him if he did. ¡°They didn¡¯t kill anyone,¡± one of the guards finally said. ¡°But I did,¡± Jorgen replied. ¡°Aye,¡± the other guard replied. ¡°But there are worse crimes than murder, just as there are worse fates than death¡­¡± He lingered on the last word as he looked both ways along the row of tree wraiths. The first guard shrugged. ¡°I suppose someone thought better of wasting a strong soul like yours,¡± he said and tapped on the wooden pole. ¡°At least you will be turned into something useful.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the first guard nodded, ¡°We shouldn¡¯t be wasteful.¡± He briefly raised the iron mask to grace Jorgen with a human expression. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said in an almost compassionate voice, ¡°It will be over quickly. There is no need for you to be alive for the corruption to take hold ¨C only that you are present at the inception.¡± Jorgen smiled in response to the guard¡¯s sudden show of humanity. The grizzled Skand realized that there was a kindred soul hidden behind that iron mask. He would have relished an evening with him over keg of ale. The stories this man could tell him of the Blighted Lands, of the dead, the dying and the undead¡­ Alas, it was not to be. Jorgen took a deep breath and sighed deeply. It was all the defeat he would allow himself. After all, if death was all but inevitable, why did people lament it? Jorgen thanked the guardsman for his frank answer with a respectful nod and eagerly assisted his captors with binding his chains to the post. Less could be said about the others in his party as some of them broke down in tears once it was their turn to be bound to the poles. Only the priest did not waver when his time came. The youth took up his position at the end of the row with dignity, marking the very last position of execution for the day. When the guards had made sure to tighten Jorgen¡¯s bindings they stepped back to observe the result. The large man was left to place his weight on the thick wooden pillar. Even with his considerable strength there was no way Jorgen could possibly break free of it. The silverite chains pressing into his thick arms made sure that the corruption inside of him could not emerge either, not that he would have allowed it to. They were one and the same, he and the darkness, but Jorgen made sure to be its master, not the other way around. This was it, the end of his road. All that was left to do was to await the arrival of his executioner. Once the guardsmen had reported the completion of their task to Vivian and Oscar the two of them left the caravan on the side of the road. They climbed the shallow incline leading up to the lumber mill and disappeared into its fenced premises. ¡°It¡¯s been a good life,¡± Jorgen whispered to himself. ¡°Could have been longer,¡± he contemplated with a tired, resigned grin dawning across his face, ¡°Could have been sweeter.¡± He thought of closing his tired eyes to rest a little. It would be a while before his restraints would become torturous and Jorgen had arrived the end of his reminiscing, so a little sleep felt permissible. It certainly felt enticing to the weary man. But, just as he lowered his head to rest, a distant rumbling noise once more drew his attention. His bloodshot eyes scanned the road both ways until sighting a horse drawn cart. It was slowly rocking its way down the very same road that he had just walked, likely erasing his footsteps ¨C his last and pitiful claim to existence in this cruel world ¨C as it went. As the cart drew closer Jorgen thought that he could make out two human shapes seated in the front ¨C a driver and a passenger. Behind them, hidden beneath a thick brown tarp was a stack of what he surmised to be crates or chests or some other such bulky cargo. It was all fastened tightly to the wooden cart with thick hemp ropes. The driver was a young white haired man dressed in ornate, if a little stained robes of the Temple. He paid no attention to the prisoners awaiting their fate, instead focusing on the road ahead of him. A Temple priest, Jorgen thought, But he is far too young¨C No, must be an acolyte. But the white hair? The visage of the young man bothered him. It was as though there was an aura of wrongness about him; a sort of deeply personal discomfort in his features that verged on the apathetic, yet it was somehow strong enough to be passed onto others near him at the merest sight. Jorgen had seen broken men before, but nothing quite like the young man holding the reigns of the horse, he reckoned. Down south, when the harsh winters came, the families often had to decide on who got to live and die when supplies ran low. Likewise, when a Skand raiding party went north, little mercy could be expected from the brutal mountain folk as they plundered their way through the meager livelihoods of the blightmen. All of that cruelty was too much for some. Jorgen figured that the youth must have gone through some truly troubling experience to warrant such a striking presence of gloom about him. No matter, he thought and looked to the Temple priest at the end of the execution row. At least my little angry priest will get his last rites done proper. Good for him. Having taken the measure of the man steering the cart, he shifted his interrogating gaze to the passenger at his side and Jorgen immediately felt his mind hitting a stone wall. His head even recoiled a little in surprise, as much as the bindings allowed. He had previously sighted the glint of armor and the shape of a blade beneath the passenger¡¯s crimson red cloak and had assumed him to be a soldier, but that notion had now been shattered completely. A raven haired woman sat on the right of the young priest. Sculpted like a goddess, she somehow managed to defy the notions of time and beauty, as while from a glance she seemed much older and wiser than the man at her side, the woman exuded nothing but vigor and sported the complexion worthy of world renown. They way she sat, the way she slightly shifted to gaze upon the rows of the dead and dying men at the side of the road ¨C it all looked simply perfect, regal and¡­ deadly. The woman¡¯s eyes cut the scene apart like razor sharp blades as they jumped from one pillar bound offering to another until finally fixating themselves upon Jorgen. He could do little but sigh in amazement. This chance encounter alone was worth dying for, he admitted to himself as he followed the cart with his weary eyes. To know that such a woman existed¡­ Questions flooded his mind in her passing and, for the first time since his incarceration, he was starting to feel regret for his fate. He felt like had just peered through a doorway leading into a bright new world. He had so many questions to ask her, yet he didn¡¯t even know her name. And, chances were, he was never going to. The horse driven cart passed them by and slowly trundled its way into the walled courtyard of the lumber mill upon the hillock. Chapter #2: Beasts, Monsters and Crooks Wind whistled through the rafters of the shadowy lumber mill. The room was filled with that warm smell of recently sawed wood, courtesy of the stacks of pine and teak planks that lined the walls. At the heart of the mill stood a massive band saw, but a few other mechanical contraptions could also be seen hidden in the corners alongside the carpentry stations. Gears of green copper, rods of bronze and steel ¨C much of the equipment looked to have been cobbled together from salvaged dwarven machinery. The brands and runes of a dozen clans and a thousand artisans painted a map of the dwarven world. They were bits and pieces ¨C taken by trade or force ¨C and much like their once proud creators they now served a purpose most utilitarian and crude ¨C as cogs in the machines of war or the economies that fueled them. Amidst the stores of resting lumber and sleeping machinery a man was hard at work under the red glow of a lantern¡¯s light. Wearing a fine silk shirt that he had left unbuttoned, the man paced around the carpentry table bare footed as he leveraged the chisel against the wood. His black velvet pants were covered in sawdust and showed signs of recent abuse by the rough surfaces of the workstation. The man clearly did not care for destroying his expensive clothing as he went about his feverish carpentry. The chisel in his hand etched shapes into the soft wood to the rhythmic thumping of the mallet as it struck. Lost in his work he failed to notice when a woman covered in a dark red cape slid her way into the workshop. Walking ever so softly across the worn out floorboards she moved to position herself at the man¡¯s back in an effort to hide her approach. The floorboards creaked slightly as they gave way under the weight of the man as he paced around his table, yet the crimson woman made no sound as she walked across the same foundation. Weighed down by heavy armor her steel clad feet slid across the ground in eerie silence. The sharp shadow of her form walked ahead of her while all the other shadows in the room obeyed the red lantern¡¯s light and lingered in the background. Having finally sensed her presence the man ceased his frantic chiseling. His grip tightened around the mallet in his hand ¨C a show of anxiousness. Perhaps it was a sign of fear. His heavy tool remained raised for the swing as he examined the armored woman from the corner of his eye. The strange shadow shifted beneath the woman¡¯s feet and took its place behind her, where it remained dancing to the flicker of the lantern¡¯s light. Realizing that she had been noticed the woman gave up on her clandestine effort and stepped half way out into the open. She graced the man with a sad smile as the lantern¡¯s light now fully revealed her armored shape. The left half of her body remained hidden under the veil of her crimson cloak. The man¡¯s face warped in a kindred expression of sad joy as if the realization was unwelcome but expected. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since your last visit, Diana,¡± he said without turning to face her. Alistair carried on with his woodwork while conversing with the woman standing in both the shadow and the light. ¡°If I had let my guard down you could have gotten within an arm¡¯s reach.¡± ¡°Always weary of assassins, are you?¡± Diana asked. Her raven black hair rose and fell around the edges of her armored collar as she tilted her head. ¡°Have you that many enemies, Lord Wayland?¡± she asked. Alistair changed out his tools for a piece of sandpaper and set to smoothing out the edges of his carving. ¡°The first hundred years or so were the most hectic,¡± he said, ¡°Sometimes the last man¡­¡± He paused and gave her a second look, ¡°Or woman, was still swinging from the gallows when a new noose had to be measured. I knew a hangman in every village back then. By then name even, if you can believe it. And in spite of what common folk might think of them, the executioners do make for better company than the priests. Honest the lot of them. Don¡¯t fear death either.¡± ¡°So, what changed?¡± Diana asked, ¡°Did the Dread Lords learn to leave you alone?¡± ¡°No,¡± the man replied and chuckled. ¡°By the end of the century there were none left. None from before the Fall, that is. The ones that rose to power after their passing¡­ they just couldn¡¯t measure up to the Damned generation.¡± ¡°You are talking about merciless mages past their expiration date,¡± Diana said. ¡°If anything, in un-death they have become more dangerous.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Lord Wayland admitted, ¡°But they are too sluggish, too paranoid to exercise the true extent of their power. With all the infighting, I sometimes wonder how they have managed to last this long, or why the rest of the world fears them so.¡± ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s enough to be feared,¡± Diana suggested. ¡°Earn a reputation for savagery and problems ¨C meaning people ¨C will avoid you like the plague. That much you yourself have established, I reckon.¡± Diana¡¯s face warped in a sly grin. ¡°Oh, how they talk of you and the curse you carry. The black dragoon, the red dragoon¡­ the red baron, I think was the latest.¡± Alistair nodded. ¡°I prefer the last one, yes. The name looks good on the bottles of wine that I ship out to Harn¡¯Ador. The dwarves certainly don¡¯t seem to care for how I got it as long as the red keeps flowing.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure that the Dread Lords can¡¯t be placated with a dink,¡± Diana said, ¡°No matter how¡­ exotic is namesake.¡± ¡°No,¡± Alistair admitted, ¡°But they are not a threat to me or the Temple at the moment. Not unless they band together their armies for a new march south ¨C which they won¡¯t.¡± ¡°They might,¡± Diana suggested. ¡°The pilgrims have lost two fortresses in the last month alone. With the paltry support they have gotten for this season of campaigning I wouldn¡¯t be surprised to see their retreat turn into full blow rout.¡± ¡°And what if does?¡± Alistair asked. ¡°Pilgrimages have ended in disaster before, but no matter how strong the Dread Lords might seem when facing an outside threat, I have never seen them pursue a common goal without imminent threat looming over their dried up heads. They are but children playing in the ash: squabbling over the coals of what once was; hoarding the ambers of what little remains. Mere shadows of the monsters that came before,¡± He said and gave Diana a weary look. ¡°Not like you. Not real monsters. Not to be feared.¡± ¡°Is that what I am to you?¡± Diana asked, ¡°A monster?¡± Alistair let go of the worn out strip of sandpaper letting it fall to the ground where it settled among the sawdust. ¡°We both are,¡± he said and looked her in the eyes. ¡°Is that what why you have come ¨C to remind me of it?¡± ¡°I have come to remind you of your duty to our master,¡± Diana said. ¡°If you want to remain in his good graces then I suggest you start delivering what was promised.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± Alistair said and snapped his fingers, ¡°Might as well show you the fruits of my labor.¡± From the corner of the dark room emerged a hulking black armor clad warrior. The floor boards creaked in pain as the creature lumbered its way to Alistair¡¯s side. As the black knight took its place next to his master the creature¡¯s un-dead state was revealed in its face ¨C a bone-bare expression glared at Diana in silent anticipation. Its head was the one part of the body that wasn¡¯t covered by the heavy plates of armor and only a dark red cowl shielded it from the elements. ¡°I could let you spar with it,¡± Alistair suggested, ¡°But I would rather do it elsewhere. I am sure you wouldn¡¯t want to make a mess of this place.¡± ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary,¡± Diana said. ¡°I trust that your death knight knows how to fight, but I see that it still shares the common weaknesses of its ilk.¡± ¡°Does it now?¡± Alistair said. He picked up the chisel from the table and threw it over to Diana. ¡°Why don¡¯t you give it a try?¡± The red priestess flipped the chisel in her right hand and grabbed it by the sharp end. Then she threw it at the knight¡¯s head. The weapon carried true and looked like it would hit the undead warrior between the eyes when a dark aura flashed into existence around the knight¡¯s head. The chisel veered off from its target and flew past the skull, piercing the cloth of its cowl and embedding itself into the wall at the back of the room with a loud thud. Alistair winced in disappointment. ¡°I would have preferred for the aura to deflect it completely, but, then again, it was you throwing it. As you might imagine, no mere mortal can expect to land an easy hit on one of my death knights.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t even using my strong arm,¡± Diana remarked. She walked up to the death knight and examined it. ¡°How many do you have?¡± ¡°Too few to make a difference, for now,¡± Alistair answered. ¡°Even one is excessively expensive to produce, but I am sure that I can streamline the process in the future. The bones need to be of top quality, as does the armor. Once I have assembled the physical body, however, shortages of soul essence and arcanite are my biggest concern.¡± ¡°I will see what I can do about it,¡± Diana said. She slid her fingers into the gaps of the knight¡¯s armor and tested how much the joints gave way when pressured. ¡°There is too much space between the plates,¡± she noted. ¡°I could drive my sword up into it,¡± she said and pointed to a weak spot at the bottom of the chest plate, ¡°And if I could leverage myself against one of the legs, I don¡¯t think the arcane bindings of the bones would hold.¡± ¡°Blunt trauma and physical tearing is still an issue,¡± Alistair admitted, ¡°But I don¡¯t have the forge facilities or craftsmen to carry out full body casting. For now we will have to make do with the traditional methods.¡± ¡°Hold back on full production,¡± Diana advised him. ¡°If it means inferior warriors, then we shouldn¡¯t be wasting resources while we are not sure that we even need an army assembled. You should focus on the procurement of soul essence instead. As for arcanite, I will look into the matter myself.¡± ¡°So I take it that you are satisfied,¡± Alistair asked. Diana nodded. ¡°Your work in the field of necromancy is what will bring this world out of its dark age. Undead labor and sentries, however, won¡¯t be to everyone¡¯s liking. There is still a war to be won and we need all the assets we can get.¡± Alistair waved at Diana¡¯s concealed left arm. ¡°Come on,¡± he said, ¡°I showed you mine, now show me yours.¡± Diana slowly pulled away the cape revealing a twisted and uneven shoulder pad and then the rest of the disfigured arm. Upon closer inspection in became clear that the armor she wore actually ended at the shoulder and the crude, gray and black thing that sprouted forth from it was a part of her body. Hard like stone and bulky, the uneven mass appeared to have fused with her flesh. ¡°A gift from the Night Father,¡± Diana said and clenched her talon like fingers to show Alistair that they worked as intended. ¡°A crude tool ¨C to be sure ¨C but a necessary one.¡± Alistair shook his head in disappointment. ¡°And what was the price? How much exactly have you given up to bear this power?¡± ¡°No more than you paid for your curse,¡± she replied. ¡°Fair enough,¡± Alistair agreed. ¡°So, what is it that brings you to my little corner of the world?¡± he asked. ¡°I trust it isn¡¯t the great wine and excellent company.¡± ¡°I¡¯m headed down south to Harn¡¯Ador,¡± Diana said. ¡°From what I have gathered the city holds quite the collection of Titan artifacts. Some even say that it is one of the original dwarven holds. And if that is true, then there should be a gateway hidden at its core.¡± ¡°You think that the gate might still be functional?¡± Alistair asked. Diana shrugged. ¡°What have you heard of it?¡± Alistair picked up a fresh strip of sandpaper and carried on with his work as he spoke. ¡°Wild rumors, mostly. But from time to time I have been getting reliable reports of unusual arcane activity in the upper districts. The funny thing is ¨C the reports always coincide with the death of a high king. So that¡¯s, uh, roughly every forty years or so that the slave markets get flooded with requests for merchandise gifted in magic. And that¡¯s just about the only time that traders bother bringing elven slaves to the Golden City to sell.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t that strike you as odd?¡± Diana asked. ¡°Dwarves purchasing elven slaves? And potentially dangerous ones at that...¡± ¡°Dangerous if kept alive,¡± Alistair said, ¡°But the thing about the slaves that get shipped to Harn¡¯Ador around the time of the king¡¯s passing is that none ever seem to leave the city. And then there is the issue of the dwarven nobles going missing. I have lost contact with one too many business associates over the centuries following these ¡®funeral processions¡¯. Whole families, in fact, have simply disappeared in the wake of one. Their slaves, retainers and household guard all get erased from the official ledgers. Census data gets altered too.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Now, if this was happening in any human kingdom I would have written these disappearances off as the new ruler cleaning house. You know, getting rid of old competitors and the disloyal members of the court. But this is Harn¡¯Ador and it has only one ruling family. They have no opposition, no internal strife and political ambitions to curb. So, I am left to consider two possibilities: either the cream of the dwarven society in Harn¡¯Ador gets purged ¨C for whatever reason ¨C after a high king dies, or¨C¡± ¡°¨CThey follow him into the afterlife,¡± Diana said. ¡°And the need for blood sacrifices to power the arcane engines in the bowels of the Harn¡¯Ador hold is what triggers the fluctuations in magic during the funeral procession. The gate requires a lot of souls to be opened.¡± Alistair nodded. ¡°I haven¡¯t been able to keep a reliable informant inside the upper city for centuries now. It¡¯s all webs of lies to the outsiders and unwavering loyalty to the clans on the inside. But things are slowly changing. I could probably learn a lot more if got access to the High King¡¯s court, but they have been very careful to limit my interaction with the nobles directly. ¡°All this time and they still haven¡¯t given you access to the dwarven quarters of the city?¡± Diana asked. ¡°They know what I am,¡± Alistair said, ¡°They still fear me ¡®corrupting¡¯ their society. As if knowledge of the necromantic arts was some disease that could be passed on by mere proximity. The bloody thing takes study and a good deal of luck not to end up a hollow lich by your own hand. Not that the purists would even consider it. ¡°Yet they still trade with you,¡± Diana noted. ¡°Trade with me?¡± Alistair scoffed. ¡°They can¡¯t get enough of my wines. And the mythril dust that I produce in my moon gardens is the standard that they hold all other merchants to. If you see a dwarven noble walking around in that accursed moon metal jewelry then you can bet I had a hand it making it. And they spend half of their days drunk so I have my hand in that business too.¡± ¡°And yet we are considered beneath them,¡± Diana noted with irony. ¡°No,¡± Alistair raised his hand, ¡°When they look down they see our shadows and think that they can tread on them with impunity. But in realty we loom so great and dangerous over them that they have yet to realize their insignificance in the grand scheme of things.¡± ¡°Yes, it¡¯s always a surprise when a shadow kills you.¡± Diana¡¯s ear perked up as she overheard soft footsteps coming from the entrance behind her. Her shadow once more shifted in a way contrary to the light falling over the room. Having covered up her disfigured left arm with the cape she gave Alistair a serious look. ¡°I think our time is up,¡± Diana said. Alistair nodded. ¡°You look good,¡± he said. ¡°All things considered.¡± Diana smiled. ¡°Time certainly has spared you its heavy hand.¡± *** Vivian passed the two human sentries standing guard at the entrance of the lumber mill and went inside. Leaving the sunlit world behind her, she delved into the shadowy realm in search of her master. ¡°Lord Wayland,¡± she called out to him while navigating her way towards the red lantern¡¯s light. ¡°The witnesses have arrived and the prisoners have been¨C¡± Vivian trailed off as she noted the presence of the crimson woman and the death knight standing guard at her master¡¯s side. ¡°¨Cprepared¡­ Is everything alright, My Lord?¡± she asked. Her hand instinctively reached for the dagger on her belt. ¡°Its fine,¡± Alistair replied. ¡°She is an old friend. I should probably introduce you,¡± he said and gestured at the red priestess, ¡°Vivian, this is Diana¨C¡± ¡°Albrecht,¡± Diana said and bowed her head. ¡°I am sure you have already met my little brother, Lucius. Please tell me that he has not left the cart unsupervised. ¡± Vivian looked confounded by her implication. ¡°The white haired Temple priest? I saw him arrive a little while ago, but¡­ you weren¡¯t in the cart with him.¡± ¡°You probably just weren¡¯t paying attention,¡± Diana suggested. Vivian¡¯s gaze narrowed in response to the implied negligence on her behalf. ¡°You weren¡¯t in the cart,¡± she said with confidence. ¡°I said that you didn¡¯t see me,¡± Diana corrected her, ¡°Not that I wasn¡¯t there.¡± ¡°Ladies,¡± Alistair intervened, ¡°Let tend to more pressing matters. Thank you for notifying me, Vivian. Please, let the servants know that I will be having my breakfast now.¡± He turned to Diana. ¡°Would you care to join me? There are some matters that we can still discuss freely.¡± ¡°I would be delighted, My Lord,¡± Diana said and followed Alistair outside. They were met with frantic scurrying of well dressed servants as they went about preparing the breakfast table on a grassy hillock next to the lumber mill. The spot they had chosen had a good view of both the compound and the dirt road leading through it. The seats were also set high enough that the prisoners could be seen at their posts further down below. By now a few interesting figures had gathered inside the compound alongside the Baron¡¯s guards and servants. There was the overstocked cart that Diana had arrived in. A band of wood elves had taken up place beside it. They looked like they were arguing over something. Then there was a lone elven woman standing on the opposite side of the road from the rest of her kind. She had a bow slung over one shoulder and a backpack over the other. While Diana and Alistair took their seats at the table, Vivian went down to get Lucius to join them. She soon returned with the white haired youth in tow and showed him to his seat next to the priestess. Vivian then took her place standing at her master¡¯s back. The mute man, Oscar, remained near the elven visitors watching over them. ¡°You must be Lucius,¡± Alistair noted and leaned forward to shake the man¡¯s hand. ¡°Lucius Albrecht,¡± the youth confirmed and accepted the greeting. ¡°Pardon me, Lord Wayland, but I will start by apologizing on Diana¡¯s behalf. She can sometimes be a little tactless.¡± ¡°Yes, your¡­ sister¨C she can be very direct. But that is not a bad trait have for a servant of the faith. Speaking of the Temple, what is your current relationship with the clergy? Are you still an acolyte, or are you on a pilgrimage? The white hair ¨C I believe it was a side effect of your upbringing?¡± ¡°Arcanite has flowed through my body from a very young age,¡± Lucius explained. ¡°I am sure you have seen its effect on mages and priests before.¡± ¡°Yes, but it takes them years to ruin their bodies with the stuff,¡± Alistair said. ¡°A man of your youth shouldn¡¯t be exhibiting such symptoms. I feel sorry for your health. The Temple does call for sacrifices from its followers, I suppose.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be,¡± Lucius said, ¡°I haven¡¯t suffered any ill effects from my training. I am sure that there are others who would have paid the price gladly, if it was for the betterment of mankind.¡± Alistair smiled. ¡°No ill effects, you say...¡± ¡°I counted fifteen prisoners when I arrived,¡± Diana said shifting the conversation. ¡°Have you been saving up or is this a special occasion?¡± ¡°A coincidence, really,¡± Alistair answered and waved for one of the servants to bring forth wine. ¡°I believe some were brought in for fighting in the streets of one of the harbor towns. The others caused some trouble with one of my wood elf vassals. They were running a smuggling operation through their forest.¡± Diana burst out in laughter. ¡°Are they nuts? Who would risk breaking your laws? What did they expect would happen?¡± Alistair waved at Vivian beckoning his servant to elaborate. He then took out a glass vial and poured a spoonful of bright purple dust into his wine cup. ¡°A pilgrim ship came into the harbor about a week ago,¡± Vivian explained while Alistair was busy stirring his drink. ¡°They had suffered damage in a storm on their way to the Golden City. We arranged to help them with the repairs, as per our treaty with the Temple. Unfortunately, the pilgrims decided to assault another traveler in the town during that time.¡± ¡°You mean the werewolf?¡± Diana asked. Vivian winced as the priestess interrupted her. ¡°The very same,¡± she said. ¡°We allow trade with Skand raiders in our ports. In return they give our lands and shipping a wide birth.¡± ¡°I doubt that the pilgrims attacked him because they took him for a pirate,¡± Alistair suggested and took a drink from his cup. ¡°Passionate the holy warriors are, but it often causes them to lose sense.¡± He looked to Lucius. ¡°I hope I am not offending you?¡± he asked. ¡°Temple¡¯s servants tend be touch on the subject of stray dogs from their pack.¡± ¡°Not at all,¡± Lucius replied. ¡°The Temple is big and its people are countless in number. Overzealous fools are plentiful among us, unfortunately.¡± ¡°The pilgrims attacked the beast in broad daylight,¡± Vivian continued. ¡°The Skand killed eight on the spot, four we later had to harvest on account of them being mortally wounded. The eight that you saw next to him are what was left of the crew.¡± ¡°The Temple is sure to take an issue with this,¡± Diana suggested. ¡°I don¡¯t think they will appreciate you sentencing pilgrims to death without a senior Temple official at hand to defend them.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t really care,¡± Alistair said. ¡°They have no power here. What little respect they have garnered with the peasants over the centuries can all be lost in an instant, if I so desire. These are my people and my lands.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± Diana moved on, ¡°The pilgrims broke the truce and they get to die for their trouble. Fair is fair, but what about the werewolf? Wasn¡¯t he the offended party?¡± ¡°Are you arguing for the life of a beast?¡± Alistair asked. ¡°The life of a monster,¡± Diana corrected him. ¡°I am curious, is all.¡± ¡°The beast wounded two of our guards before the mages arrived and restrained him,¡± Vivian explained. ¡°That also constitutes him breaking the law.¡± ¡°It is simply such a waste,¡± Diana said. ¡°I could really use a heavy handed brute like him in Harn¡¯Ador.¡± ¡°You still haven¡¯t told me what you were planning to do,¡± Alistair said. Diana leaned forward and tore off half a loaf of bread. ¡°I think I am going to open up a bakery,¡± she said and gave Vivian a questioning look. ¡°I am sure your people could supply me with some grain to get me started. Or, better yet, a wagon of flour so that I don¡¯t need to worry about the outrageous prices in Harn¡¯Ador¡¯s markets.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± Alistair said and leaned back in his chair. ¡°Amuse me.¡± Diana nodded. ¡°I am an outsider, so I will probably start off my business in the wrong side of town. Shady Shore, probably. A fishing port is out of sight and out of mind, after all. ¨CCan¡¯t take over one of the trade harbors what with all the crime and corruption in human districts. Not yet, at least.¡± ¡°You¡¯re going to have that beast baking bread in Shady Shore?¡± Vivian scoffed. ¡°Seems a bit reckless when dealing with an animal, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what sort of work he is going to do yet,¡± Diana said. ¡°All I know is that he could be more useful alive than dead.¡± ¡°Why not,¡± Alistair said. ¡°You have my permission to take him. Do you want any of the other prisoners as well?¡± ¡°No,¡± Diana replied, ¡°They bore me. But I would like to have your assassin with me,¡± she said. ¡°I am sure I could find a use for her and her silent companion.¡± Vivian¡¯s gaze narrowed in disgust. ¡°I must refuse,¡± Alistair said. ¡°She has served me well and I would loathe to ever part with her.¡± In response to her Lord statement Vivian dawned a self-satisfied smirk that only the guests could see. ¡°However,¡± Alistair continued, ¡°I believe I could loan her to you. Some things still require her attention, but Vivian should be able to handle them handily.¡± Vivian¡¯s eyes widened in disbelief. ¡°My Lord,¡± she objected, ¡°Are you sure¨C¡± Alistair raised his finger to silence her. ¡°Lady Albrecht and I are about to embark on a very peculiar business relationship. Surely you wouldn¡¯t mind being my eyes and ears in Harn¡¯Ador? This is not a punishment, my dear. You might not realize it, but being around Lady Diana can be very rewarding for an individual. If anything, it would help you improve¨C I don¡¯t mean to say that you are lacking in anything particular, but growth must be embraced. And the best way to do it is through challenge. Take it from a man who has led many lives. Don¡¯t pass up this responsibility I am offering you.¡± ¡°I just don¡¯t see what I could possibly learn from overseeing this mad scheme,¡± Vivian said. She gave Diana a look filled with contempt. ¡°She¡¯s a Temple priestess. What does she know of the shadows?¡± Diana gently brushed her right hand over the crimson cloak covering her left side. ¡°You will find out soon enough,¡± she said. ¡°What about that girl?¡± Lucius asked. He pointed to the lone she-elf standing on the side of the road. ¡°Maybe we could bring her along?¡± ¡°Probably,¡± Alistair shrugged. ¡°She has become a bit of burden, actually. I was wonder on how to deal with her.¡± He turned to Vivian. ¡°Bring her to us, please. Oh, and let the elders know that we will start executing the prisoners soon. Our honorable guests shouldn¡¯t be kept waiting much longer.¡± Vivian nodded and left her Lord¡¯s side. She soon returned with the elven woman. Aela was a tall woman of humble stock. She carried her long straw yellow hair in a single braid over her shoulder. As a wood elf of low birth she likely had spent most of her life as a hunter or a ranger for her tribe. The long time spent in the wilderness had weathered her skin and her hands looked like they were accustomed to hard work. As she was brought before her Lord, Aela kneeled before Alistair and presented her bow in a manner similar to a knight presenting his sword in fealty. She bowed her head as she spoke, ¡°Lord Wayland, I offer my bow in service to your house. I am Aela Weisoth. I am daughter of Lidian and I swear to carry out any task given to me. If you accept, then I will fight and die in your name.¡± Having said her peace, the she-elf remained kneeling as she awaited her Lord¡¯s reply. Her hands were lightly trembling, but it was not because of the weight of the bow. ¡°She¡¯s terrible at this,¡± Diana noted. ¡°Rise, daughter of Lidian,¡± Alistair ordered. He nodded at the group of elves that were now heading for the execution grounds. ¡°I understand that you have been banished from your tribe in light of your transgressions?¡± ¡°I¨C have¡­¡± Aela replied and bowed deeply. It was a stiff gesture ¨C she probably wasn¡¯t used to graveling before nobility. ¡°You already failed your people,¡± Alistair said. ¡°Helping smugglers isn¡¯t something I look on favorably either. Or am I wrong? Did you or did you not commit this felony?¡± ¡°I did,¡± Aela answered, ¡°But I only did it to¨C¡± Alistair coughed in his hand to silence her. ¡°Whatever the justification, I don¡¯t care. You committed a crime and punishment is rightfully due. And now you expect me to take you under my roof? You could be the best archer in the whole of the land, for all that I care, and it still would smell foul to the other tribes.¡± Aela bowed her head. ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°You should be thankful to your tribe¡¯s elders for all that they have done to spare you,¡± Alistair continued. ¡°The only reason why your human accomplices are being executed and you are not is that you are not an outsider. But my protection will only extend so far. Break my laws and my benevolence no longer applies.¡± Aela jumped at the opportunity to explain herself once again before her lord. ¡°I know that smuggling was wrong, but¨C¡± ¡°It¡¯s not wrong!¡± Alistair shouted over her. ¡°It¡¯s a pretty damned good way of making something of yourself, if you can pull it off. But you couldn¡¯t. You took the wrong path at the wrong time of day and as a result I am obliged by law to kill six poor sods that got caught because of you. Daughter of Lidian, you do not disappoint me because you broke a law that forbade the trade of whatever silly thing they caught you with. I didn¡¯t make those laws; the merchant guilds have forced them on me as much as the rest of the living world. Whatever your actions were, they probably caused no real harm to my people, anyway. No, you disappoint me because you were negligent. How long have you been doing this?¡± ¡°About a year, My Lord,¡± Aela replied. ¡°Now that was a lie,¡± Alistair said. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me. I can sense your guilt.¡± He looked to Vivian. ¡°How long has she been doing this?¡± Vivian shrugged. ¡°The smugglers changed with every trip. We couldn¡¯t get much information out of the men we captured.¡± Alistair looked to Diana. ¡°Two and a half years,¡± the red priestess proclaimed. Both Aela and Vivian were taken aback by the accusation of the stranger. And at least one of them knew for certain that the red priestess was speaking the truth. ¡°How much money did you make over the years?¡± Diana asked. ¡°What did you do with it? And why would you risk it in the first place? Unfortunately for you, that matters not right now. Maybe someday you can unburden yourself of the guilt, but it is not this day.¡± Diana turned to Alistair. ¡°Lord Wayland, I sense that this girl had no malicious intent, but I agree that her crimes should be punished. Would you mind if I made her work them off?¡± ¡°Fine by me,¡± Alistair said and waived for the elven woman to leave. ¡°You can take her, the werewolf and one of the carts from the guards. That should give you enough assets to get started in Harn¡¯Ador. I will send Vivian and Oscar down to the Golden City when I can. I expect this to make for a fine distraction.¡± ¡°Is there anything that you would like for me to arrange once I have established myself?¡± Diana asked. ¡°Well, if I could finally get to see the dwarven quarters with my own eyes, I would consider it to have been worth my while,¡± Alistair said. ¡°If you can keep me supplied, I will have you standing before the High King himself,¡± Diana said. ¡°That would be very kind of you,¡± Alistair grinned, ¡°I have always wanted to pull a dwarven king by the beard ¨C see if the damn thing comes off! Now, if you will excuse me, I have people to kill.¡± Lord Wayland finished his wine and left to carry out the executions.