《Itzil》


 The Setting Sun

    Light that failed.


    Words that failed.


    Certainty that never would falter.


    "Please... you must change this world for the better... No one else will."


    And he was chosen by the deity.


    From its northern zenith, the golden sun made its way downwards, onto the eastern mountains. The radiant white eye still had not surpassed its twin in the faraway north of burned Arbol, whence the other sun, the great star of death, spread tendrils of ruin and corruption. The twilight of the night was as far off as it was inevitable. But for now, children ran through the wooden city of Barlowe, laughed and played, safe within the empire of man. Priests preached the good word of the Lord of Light and Him who was Emperor, exalted upon the peacock seat of Sunhold, crown of the Heartlands. He who was child of Symeon the Golden and the Lady of Liberty. He whose line was given dominion for a thousand years and more. He who, in divine union, made grow the divine blood in his spawn and thus, the freedom of the realm with each generation of blessings more potent. Under his grace, the theater of the world in this place and all the lands the eye could see unfurled. Merchants sold and bought, civil servants kept the records, aristans saw to their trade and maids washed their clothes where the river still was clear. Even sweepers, builders and beggars acted and lived as the guilds demanded it. Competition, orderings and rules determined their daily games, wealth and honor the prize of a lifetime. Besides the multifarious priests, only one guildhouse hinted at the fantastic.


    It seemed like many others; formed in the contest with all the other buildings in the city; the shape it had wanted to be denied, a new one, more economic and practical, asserted. Now, it couldn''t dream of any other shape, wouldn''t want to. Above the gates and walls of timber, the statues of women with frozen smiles kept lasting watch, swords and armor and clothes of willow, faces of little detail, noses and mouths small, yet heads and eyes large and child-like, their bodies less beautiful than the makers intended. Stark and simple colors covered wood hollowed out by time and vermin, a replacement costlier than paint. Below these old icons, the masses of human sellswords rushed into the guild hall. The people from Demesia, their faces symmetric, pale or dark, with short hair and straight noses, refined dress and perfect bodies. Slavian men, pallid and dark-haired, bent and leering. And the heartlanders, the rosy cosmopolitans of fair hair.


    This basted quilt did part a light golden and white, outshone the bright multiplicity, forded the masses. The Sword Syndicate was perhaps not yet the greatest in the guild, but it was the paragon of all the empire stood for. Their latest quest, saving human smallfolk from orc raids, had been a complete success. Now Jacob Gryffen, their leader, gave a coy smile as adoring girls and women vied for his affection and perhaps a lock of his golden hair or to touch his shining brilliant armor while men begged for alms or the training of their children. ¡°By the Lady of Progress! Now, now, ladies and lords. Some elation is approbiate, but please maintain Decorum¡­Don¡¯t worry¡­ there will be a feast to share the wealth¡­ We will not abandon the unfortunate in the years of crisis...¡±


    Many smiles, but rationed size and emotion. Nothing in excess. A glance at the damsel-wizard beside him, who looked back with green, insecure eyes and pressed her white, thin robe against her lithe body. A reassuring nod told her that she needn¡¯t worry. It was important that Astrid Blackstaff thought she held a special place in his heart.


    ¡°Get off the boss!¡± A tall man with crooked teeth and strange skin rushed in, dressed in nothing but the furs of savages. He shoved the crowd away from the entrance and plucked the girls from Gryffen. ¡°Thanks, Klorb.¡± The leader¡¯s blue eyes beamed with gratitude to the other, rougher human. Inside, the last member, a short one in green robes and muted brown leather, waited before the beer hall, his feet visible from underneath the sandals. ¡°Finally.¡± He moaned. ¡°We aren¡¯t here for wenching and drinking.¡± He flung a coin up high and caught it again. Klorb, as the last to enter, rammed the door into its frame and put his back against it - much safer than any old lock and key.


    Gryffen nodded sternly to the last hero in front of him. ¡°Of course, Menas.¡± Names gave the faces and archetypes a touch of humanity. ¡°Our party is a business and one we could run into the ground if we¡¯d let one windfall put us off our guard. But we aren¡¯t doing that, are we, people?¡±


    Nodding all around followed. "We have got debts to pay!" they answered in cheerful unison.


    Gryffen brought the game forward. ¡°So, what profitable jobs has our demesian amicus found for us?¡± Everyone had a place here. Every race was free to contribute in the way they were best suited to. He held out his palm and Menas¡¯ ruddy hand, silvered with scars and burns, put a wax tablet in it. Astrid leaned right in and read alongside him. Klorb just crossed his arms and waited for everyone to say their piece.


    Astrid was the first to speak up. ¡°Alright. It looks like we have a choice to make. On the one hand, we have a dragonhunting job in the north, Arbol. A mighty demon is gathering her armies and imperils the mana-harvest. Without it, the local economic is another one ripe for collapse. I guess that''s why its mission modifier says there is double the reward. But there is another quest, unrest in Slavia started anew. The hurgists spread propaganda about upheveal of the imperial order and prepare for an-ill fated, bloody revolution, like the one in Goldpick''s Folly. The divine omens indicate a smaller threat posed by these radicals. But still one that might spiral into something more dangerous. These poor people look forward to another harsh winter and the streets are in mutiny. Chaos is spreading because of the social inequality. We need to do something there before things get worse .¡± She paused, looked at the hardened men around her. "If you ask me, at least." She added. Menas just rolled his eyes and laughed, to the annoyed glares of the wizardess.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°You heard the man, lady. We are a business, not a charitable institution. I agree with you about inequality breeding unrest. Despite the lessers maybe having a hand in the bad hand they are being handed. But we have to make ends meet. There aren''t enough ressources for everyone." He paused. Deliberated. Added something with an evil smile. "I guess we could do it. We have some liberty as to how approach the mission. The bill will be in the empire''s favor when we squash those insolent rats and make more breathing space for the real hard workers. This way, we''d make sure heavy effort is heavily rewarded.¡±


    ¡°Menas! By the highest!¡± The wizard clutched the bronze amulet with the serene, matured face of the lord of light tangling on her chest. ¡°They are humans, just like us. Not animals! We need to help them! Adress the root issues of their plight before the radicals indoctrinate them and more people die!¡±


    The short demesian sneered back. ¡°Those that are too dumb to plan for the winter deserve to freeze to death. The empire has no use for dead weight in our times of crisis. The going ons are rough enough here. We gotta defend what we have.¡±


    Jacob raised his hand. The game was getting too rough, both sides a little too heated. ¡°Well, we haven''t heard Klorb¡¯s voice on this. Maybe he¡¯s got a good idea on what to do.¡± Even Astrid chuckled, if only a little. Klorb just stared a hole into the door across the hallway.


    ¡°I, Klorb, needs no tablet. I know dragon in hot north. Treasure there. Testing strength, there. Glory and Honor there.¡± The group shared a hearty laugh. Good, old, dumb Klorb!


    ¡°And like we keep telling you: Quick, gruesome death there.¡± Menas mocked as he flicked a knife around in his fingers, playing with it as well as his role.


    Jacob however, had listened to them all and, as the leader of the Sword Syndicate had his decision to make.


    "So. We want to help people. We want to get rich. We want to fight a strong, reptilian monster and take its stuff.¡± Once again, they all agreed wordlessly to the words of the leader.


    ¡°I say, how about we kill that necromancer and his drake minion near the eastern forests, up south, at the Slavian border? Been a while since we saw old Igor." More labels, names, roles, references. The world was a painting and he had trusty colors with which to paint. "Bottom there on the list; at the very least he¡¯ll have a book, maybe even a wizard tower and we can get the premium of the Inquisition. And nearby is aggressive goblin trouble to deal with, if we get the chance. An easy quest for adventurers of low rank - but also double reward. They made a lot of mischief against the local boyars, threatening the peaceful farmers nearby and menacing traders. Their dark god, rebel against the divine order, drives them to aggression no doubt. I will repeat what we know from our enchiridion of monsters about drakes, for those slow on the uptake."


    He gave a wink to Klorb as he produced a pamphlet of "Tolarin''s tome of dangers." Klorb grinned. A nice motivational speech. A nice little joke. All in good fun.


    "Goblins:


    Goblins are small, black-hearted parahumans that lair in despoiled dungeons, caverns, mushroom mires and other dismal settings. Individually weak, they gather in large numbers to torment other creatures, as the evil god possessing them commands them to.


    Drakes:


    Reptilian, wing-less dragonspan made from concentrated evil to serve a moral parabel. Cold-blooded, aggressive and unintelligent. Monster of middling threat at best, driven by bestial, cannibal appetites and the lust for evil, unable to increase their mana levels to the higher echelons. Dangerous elemental breath attacks."


    He closed the book with a bang and smiled. "With our levels of mana, we should have no problem with it. As long as we can seperate it from the necromancer, he will not be able to cast a spell of any significant rank before we can take him down in melee."


    ¡°Sounds profitable.¡± Menas stated. "And we must curb the dark Gods who threaten nature, civilisation and all the Light build."


    Astrid said: ¡°This will keep the people safe.¡±


    ¡°I, Klorb is eager to prove ugly skin doesn¡¯t mean he is not human. Goblins¡¯re poor fight but good glory. And as we all know, Glory is important for Klorb.¡± Klorb added, with a wink.


    Gryffen beamed. ¡°Excellent. We will handle the signage later. But now, it is time for charity. To the great hall! A heroes'' feast awaits us. Let us see if we can reach A rank in the donation ledger!¡± He pulled Menas along. "Come on! It''s tax deductible!"


    They brought the admirers and supplicants in for the promised selfless feast. The watchful, painted eyes of old adventurers and elder foes looked on as men sunk their teeth into meat glazed with fat and sugar, flirted and fooled around with women, boasted of their strength to them or bought them for a night. No one paid them any heed; their struggles lay in the past.


    They loved this time. For not a few adventurers thought that these busy days, where you didn¡¯t think about how all stories of all things ¡ª all humanity and all races, all fights and all fighters, all arms and all armor and all the lurid lack of it, all magic and all magicians, all fireballs and all the campfires and all the rogues and all the villains and all the betrayals and all the romance and all the longswords longbows long knives long nights and all people in all deceit and deprivation and darkness and dastardy but all ideals and all cynicism and all divine comedies and human tragedies and all the eternal prejudices and all the heroics small changes in spite and because of it and all the gods and all the demons of light and madness and time and evil and shadow and good money and love and nature and death and art and war and life ¡ª all the time always were like everything else, meant happy days.

 Night

    It is not for fate or the reasoning of stories that gloomy and windblown nights are the harbingers of tragedy. Shadows hide your blades, thunder drives your fellows into their own refugees. The screams of your enemies are not too loud when the thunder and the storm smother them. The frightened, pleading faces don¡¯t poison you with guilt when you can¡¯t see the light die in their eyes. You want to sleep well, even when what had to be done had been done. And for the people of the village, nothing needed to be done like this. If there had been moonlight and calm and clarity, their organs, their eyes and ears and throbbing heart would have rebelled against the better judgement of their souls. But the darkness had already come to these parts of world and it would never leave again.


    Thus, they drowned their pain and fear in stale beer-water. Thus, they painted lamb blood on their patchy timber huts. Thus, they left their women and children with homes where the cold rain seeped in. Thus, they ventured into the dark forest that surrounded the village like an inky, wailing sea. And thus, they got ready to murder most unwanted guests this tempest had brought upon their shores, from the umbral depths of pine and wildness.


    Their well-rehearsed chants raged to sound out the wind, whose mournful howls plowed through a patchy canopy of coniferous, withered trees.


    ¡°For the future of our world!¡±


    ¡°Death to the warlock!¡±


    ¡°Fire cleanses!¡±


    The local mendicant, with the utmost pains, had written them on tablets that, not a day baked, already cracked and crumpled. Doubtlessly, this would be the most important day of his life, perhaps the entire village¡¯s. The middle-aged thin man waved his holy words at the spearhead of his herd, head held high against malefic air.


    This howling mob stood at the old house whose stone walls trembled in the wind and whose floor creacked with every step. The wood had been firm once, the walls stout. But life had been getting worse for years by now. Still, the house was nice when one did not look too closely. Thick white paint and think white lies; the childless owners, once rich peasants, had hoped the gold of the travelers might turn their fate around. Little chance of that now.


    The old door cracked, its wood, hollowed by the countless worms inside, broke. The hammer rammed against it, again and again and again. ¡°By the lord of light, open up! Give us the monster you are holding! It''s not too late to save your souls!¡± Their champion, bald head painted with a black charcoal sun, gave no pause until nothing but splinters and dust remained.


    They did not need to spill into the almost-ruin. The elderly couple, their stitched, once-fine clothes barely clinging to their emaciated bodies, were there already. With an apology in their eyes, they pushed out a lanky figure whose bronze skin glistened with the sweat of fear. Long, straightened hair stuck to a fussy face and long, straight nose as he cast a panicked glance from green eyes at the villagers. He was almost bare; the night was too hot for him. ¡°Listen! I can explain! I too can serve the people of the emp-¡± He yelled. The leader hit him with the backside of his meaty hand to the cheers of the others. Bones cracked as the stranger fell. ¡°Silence, Necromancer! It''s your fault the world''s gone to shit. The common man''s had enough of you! You and the other degenerate will burn on the stake. That is the place the empire has given you.¡±


    ¡°Kill the sorcerer!¡± They jeered. Their eyes glinted with excitement as saliva filled hungry mouths. It had been a long time since the smoke of a purifying pyre had last touched their lips. You took what food you could get.


    ¡°Listen! I don¡¯t take anyone¡¯s corpse without their premortem consent! I don¡¯t talk to the dead unless they want me to! I use my art to protect and build! I-¡± He did not get further. The oxlike man had stepped aside, and his leader threw one of the tablets at the man. His ribs caved in with the sound of squelching, shattering bone. Blood catapulted from his mouth.


    The holy man wrinkled his mouth in a snarl of disgust at such wickedness and evil. The stranger must have been made for him, a sinner to be sacrificed for the glory of his deeds and his god. This was his path out of insignificane, into priesthood. Real power. Real magic. His golden hour. ¡°Silence! Silence! Silence! No matter your intentions, you will not pervert the divine plan any further. All is as it should be already. The lord of light and all doth speak: Given is life by me. And the lady of death speaks: Taken is life by me.¡± And he reached out, to seize the offering of fate.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    But fate did not win this day. He gazed into the darkness of the house and recoiled, shrieking with fear. The earth shivered, the air and the trees screeched in the storm. An undulating voice; deep like the abyss, without humanity and so much worse, without fear.


    ¡°Itzil takes and gives how she pleases. No one ever stopped her. Humans who are preyful, she asks you; Is she a god?¡±


    Without rhythm, not without melody, the thing chocked all strength out of the peasants'' throats and legs. When its hulking shape emerged from the shadows and the lackeys of the priest did not dare to take another step forward.


    They had given her kind a mocking name, drake. Reality defied their words. A dragon, upright, no wings but terrible hands. Few were the spots where terrible brown-red scales shone against their hungry torches. Dented iron and ragged cloth from lands seen and unseen barely contained something that towered over every man. The head, so much like the great beasts of the scorched north, held two slit eyes. A yellow irradiance scorched the villager¡¯s soul, terrible, alien, all-consuming. Paws each the size of a shovelhead pushed the human hosts aside. Its walk more beast than man, it placed a reptilian talon on the wizard, claimed him. The monk stepped back, triumph turned to terror. The monster laughed. A long, fleshy tongue trashed inside a leering maw wet with drool. Then it made words unlike them.


    ¡°Pathetic. By the dark Gods, Itzil decides to give this stranger life. You are too weak and scared to oppose her. Run off, little things.¡±


    Only the thug in front moved to face it, as he bellowed. ¡°Or what, sinspawn? You can''t flee, you can''t win! We are men! We crush monsters and all that is evil!¡± Eager for conflict, his muscles tensed as he lunged at her from the side, his club poised to smash her skull. His arm''s arc had not reached its zenith - fast as an arrow, the drake¡¯s  hand sprang forth and seized his head. Four fingers contorted, a wet twig snapped ¨C then brain, blood and bone exploded onto the flock of gathered humans as she crushed it like an overripe pear.


    ¡°Or, Itzil decides you die.¡±


    The dragon opened her hand, and a mushy thing fell away, limp and spurting. She licked the gorey hand, then laughed, without depth or sincerity. The mob turned, soiled with the slimy innards and blood and horror. They would have run if it had not been for the monk. From the moment the other man had attacked the beast, he had hastened to the rear. He screamed and pointed now, more loud than uplifting. ¡°It¡¯s alone and we have the gods and humanity on our side! Charge!¡± The faithful turned around, ready to kill at the behest of their leader.


    With a hideous cackle, the monster retched and from its maw exploded a hellish flame that surged across the open ground. The first melted to slag, but the wretches too removed squealed, flailed and spread themselves like running butter as the fire scorched the flesh from their bones. The monster''s laughter rose to an insane howl as it cherished the sacrifice they made, priests, lambs and candles at once. Only their leader remained to stand, abandoned by the few wiser than their kin.Obstinate rage fought helpless, mortal panic and together, they rooted his limbs, left only place for bitter threats.


    "You will not get away with this! My church will avenge me! You and the Necromancer will burn at the stake!"


    Now, the scaled creature flung open her jaws and he espied its sharp, pearly-white teeth. The sides of her maw drew back, formed neither smile, taunt or threat. It was pure, predatory hunger. Too late, the man broke free of the stranglehold of fear. She reached him in a single leap. An animalistic hiss and a terrible weight pressed on him, pushed him to the ground. Amber animal eyes and long fangs sparked in a darkness now only lit by thunder as they snapped down. Like a surgeon''s scissor, they cut his thin belly open and bathed her head in steaming hot blood, always so pleasant in cold nights like this. Warmed, she feasted on all the morsels; stomach, bones, lungs, kidney, heart, fat, in no particular order. Rolled each of them in her maw, took sweet time to savor the aroma of fear, blood, urine, stomach and fat. A familiar dark, heady rush filled her grotesque body. Only when she was almost full, her claws broke open the skull and took the real delicacy.


    Sometimes later, she had been asked if any of this had been particularly necessary. Of course it was not. She said. It did not even serve any sort of higher purpose or statement. She was a hungry animal and made no apologies for it back then.

 Afterwards

    ¡°You can walk?¡±The shadows around him receded for a moment. Besides the dragon, only the wind was left alive outside. He grimaced, gasped, wheezed in sharp, mortal pain, the air sharp nails. Yet he lived and not from happenstance. Like his master had taught him, he had reinforced the bones around his sensitive organs. He still could draw breath. That was all he needed. No mind was paid to the death screams of his body. He mumbled arcane phrases, flailed his arms, crooked his fingers, tried and tried again to get the spell to work. The world around him got darker, dizziness spread, his arms quivered and nothing came. His eyes did not widen, his breaths stayed steady. It was not the first time. Sorcery was hard, even without ruptured organs. He had the power, the mana, knew what he wanted to happen where, made the gestures, said the words. It would work. His savior watched the dark world around them a with calm disinterest and stomped away. He saw the broad, finned tail of hers disappear in the direction of the hut.


    ¡°Here. For your trouble.¡± Her voice rumbled inside, coins clattered.


    ¡°Itzil does not know if you planned to give her up too. But she does not care about might-have-beens and hates owing debts more than she hates spending money.¡±A quieter, female voice replied. ¡°What about the necromancer?¡±The beast let loose a derisive snort. ¡°Itzil had no talk with him. But Itzil likes his delicate frame, his nervous stutter. He can pay if he wants, but if you lay hands on him again, she will kill you.¡±¡°...I see.¡±¡°Funny human expression. You do not ¡®see¡¯ that they just might have killed you. Leave with Itzil. It''s for your best.¡±¡°We have a house and a reputation to keep.¡±¡°They will not spare you after this.¡±"Better to take our chances than to live like an animal, unbound and hunted, vogelfrei."She snarled. ¡°You believe that sharing the same pink skin keeps you safe when they are out for death. Believe differently.¡±¡±We will not be tempted by the darkness and its gods, beast.¡±Her stomps went about, pounding against the silence.


    By now, the wizard had managed to save his life. A foul ooze squirmed out of his chest and sides, sanguine sweat mixed with bonemeal and shredded intestines. The smell of fouled lamp oil pervaded the air. He groaned in pain and snapped after breath as he forced himself on his feet, while what was still good and salvageable stitched itself together with an unseen magical string. His flesh, skin, bones and nerves rippled and bubbled still like boiling soup as they struggled for space inside the confines of his body, the process yet unfinished. He was barely done brushing the earth and dirt away as the drake arrived, his rucksack, sleeping bag and books in her arms. From inside the hut, he could see the hateful glances as the couple cast dagger in her back. Like granite statues, they did not move.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± He said. Without a word, she ruffled through his stuff and handed him one of his linen wraps and austere robes, then placed the bag before him. The wizard took a closer look. Her maw was rough, stained with guts and blood. Tips of her saurian teeth peaked out of it, glinted in the embers'' light like terrible gems. At least the haunting, almost avian eyes were up front, not to the sides. It gave him something to cling to, unlike with the other beast people, where his gaze slid off uncanny, twisted faces. But she refused to be held and the golden pools always trailed off, into the unkown, as if something was out there, or inside her, that drew her away to dark places. The draconic creature still remained silent as she gave him the backpack, lit one of her lanterns and walked into the woods without another word.¡°Hey, just wait a moment!¡± He shouted. ¡°We have barely talked!¡± His eyes glanced at her passing, the rapidly shrinking light and the traitorous hosts. A cold thought crept up his spine, pulled him back, towards the house. ¡°I should kill them.¡± It would be a mercy. The Inquisition was worse than a clean, quick death. But then, he remembered his monstrous savior. If she hadn''t killed them, he couldn''t. He took a deep breath of air and followed the lantern''s fire again.


    The drake, when she had set her towering frame into motion, belied her size. Her step left barely an imprint on the muddy ground and the forest''s trees closed in her wake like dark waters, while he sunk into the mud and stinging brambles, staggered against whipping branches and stones. As he struggled to keep up, his head began to spin, dizzy from the bloodletting. The uniform darkness blended trees, stones, patches of green or mud together in a fleeting yet eternal void of green, brown and black. He never had been a friend of the wilderness. Only as the river''s thunder reached their ears, a certain ease filled him again, despite the roiling, dirtied mire that awaited them. From their side of the bank''s slope, only darkness could be seen. His new ally stopped. He leaned on a tree and wheezed. ¡°That will do.¡± she stated. ¡°Are you strong enough to make a bridge across? We might shake their dogs and seer off that way, tomorrow. No sense in going further till the sun rises, however. Itzil can¡¯t stand the cold and a dark river carries unseen dangers.¡±


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Now the wizard smiled. With one snap of his fingers, he summoned a glowing, cold ball of light in his hand. ¡°No need to wait, my dear dragon.¡± He waved it around, grinning at the power in his fingertips. ¡°I can ward you against the cold, too."


    She nodded, moved - but he shook his head immediately after. ¡°But first I need to say some words and ask questions. May I, please?¡±Her head bopped. ¡°Time has given us some of her children.¡±He took that as a yes. ¡°Alright, first off: Thanks again. For saving me. My name¡¯s Xunathos, by the way. I think i know yours, right?"No answer. The creature just blinked, waited."Alright, Itzil? Second, why did you just run off into the dark?¡±¡°Thus, our enemies will not know our destination. And Itzil knows the Inquisition will know everything those two know soon enough.¡±He chuckled. ¡°Sounds like a great way to eat me without any witnesses. Forgive my apprehension, but I saw what you did with that bastard friar.¡±Her rigid, reptilian face did not twitch and her voice was as even as it ever got as she replied. ¡°You are soft and tasty, human.¡±With no warning, she moved closer. The reptilian tongue spread wet, sticky slobber across her maw. Up close, the teeth were even more terrible. He took a step back. But so did she, giving a peculiar, chortling sound. ¡°But if she wanted to, Itzil would have eaten you on the spot, after the priest. If she was concerned about witnesses, she''d kill and larder those weakling hosts next. The world already knows she is a monsters before they know her; no need to hide anything. After the river, we can go where you want us to go.¡±


    And with that, she turned to face the shadows that lay ahead. He hesitated. Sure, this all might be a trick. But right now, he¡¯d take it in good faith. If only because she seemed to know how to pull off an escape from the Inquisition successfully. He made another attempt at conversation.¡°Why then did you decide to help me?¡±For the first time, she used a human gesture, a shrug. ¡°You heard the other humans. They were trying to kill Itzil too. She put her hopes in united strength. If she had waited, she would have been next. To help was gainful. Besides, rescuing educated boys like you is often rewarded by their rich, noble parents.¡± To Xunathos, the voice was flat, without affect, just a dark rumble that drowned all nuance. Were these a joke? But he had heard her admire his frail body. Was that a coy flirt? But she did not regard him with any affection now. An admission of greed? Perhaps. He could not tell. He chuckled.


    ¡°Well, I must disappoint you. My parents, keeper of the honored demesian tradition of slave raids behind the imperial borders, died in honored demesian tradition. By my hands, the moment the inheritance contract was sealed. The rest of my family has disowned me.¡± He stated, not without some pride. ¡°But worry not, I can offer you a little something once we get to the patrinomy i gave into the hands of my masses. I am a indeed a nobleman, of sorts. I must warn you, though: In defending me, you''ve indeed risked the ire of the law and the empire. The priest spoke truth there.¡±She bopped her skull. ¡°Itzil defended herself. Itzil does not care that it was a crime to resist. The empire¡¯s inky letters are for humans and their slaves to obey. If they let themselves be marched to misery and the grave, let them! Itzil will fight.¡±The necromancer frowned. If the creature had unwise notions, they deserved to be dispelled. ¡°You might try. But they are many. You aren''t even few. You are... you. One. How can one stand against the might of billions? She can not.¡±"She does it the way she fights now: After her strike, she runs away, fast. Then, she strikes again."


    He nodded, a grim look of determination on his face. "Hmm... I might have something for you. After we cross the river. Let''s hurry, got to lose our scent." He smiled. " With the greatest of demesian luxuries... frigida lova - cold baths."The reptile shuddered.

 Calculations

    Cold winds blew up from south, down onto the small border town. Like evil spirits, the frost wailed against the destitute guild hall turned spital, tested its defences and devoured all warmth that leaked outside. For the Sword Syndicate, this border village was supposed to be be nothing more than a short stop. Now, Astrid shivered despite the cloak of werewolf fur as she watched over a man who coughed slime, blood and filth and she did not know what to do but to say nice words. Jacob Griffen handed her the ashes of a phoenix and rushed back to his post. She scattered them over the man, until the vial was empty. First he smiled, then he screamed, then he faded, as thousands of worms poured from openings old and new. The demon''s magic ate the magic of the ashes, then it ate him. He was but one of hundreds who filled the house, moaning, dying, puking. Pilgrimages both small and great at once they had made from houses not farther away than an arrow''s flight. Now they found a triumphant end in the opium sleep, tired bodies wishing for the end more than a cure.It were desires as rational as their cause, for in the wafts of burning mana sticks, the priests had foreseen the best course for the county to prosper and the count had organized the necessary obedience to the prophesied will of the gods. The gathering of snails, for the beautiful dye they made when crushed and for shells to hold the spindle had been found to be most efficacious for profit and prosperity and of course the peasants obeyed their betters. The gods'' war, the empire''s war upon the demons and the dark gods and the monsters needed to be won. But as they were washed in the river, the infernal parasites inside slimy aquatic vermin had spread into their only source of water in this cold, unyielding land and from there into the blood and organs of the serfs. There, the hermaprodite creatures writhed and bred with each other freely, feasted upon the innards and left behind numbing secretions and tiny gray eggs, uncountable in their number. Now, their cattle died, laid in great festering heaps to out tower their shabby huts, the whole of it a stinking ooze and the corpses full of gray, clear bodied worms who wiggled free in search of a new home. The same with even the living humans, skin painted by jaundice, from whose orifices the vermin crawled in legions, like dew in the morning on stalks of golden, rotting wheat. Those they could not save had their souls dragged straight to the Cauldron, drafted into the hierachy of the demons'' armies, as was the fate of all who succumbed to the demons'' corruption.The mercenary band of course headed the command of the lord to cure the plague, as soon as the terms of service were decided. Griffen prayed day and night to the Lady of Progress to deliver medicine onto him to save the helpless from their blight. Menas was in the marketplace, a shop assembeled from nothing but small planks in the matter of minutes, like a barricade against the loss of wealth. Clothed in skins and furs, eye bags and a pale teint he worked his great rites without cease. Business did not wait for anyone and never slept, thus neither would he. Thus, he pumped the circulation of goods and money ever onward, full of fear and hope for the day it stopped. With great shouts, he hawked gloves, ointments and potions that promised relief and protections, taking grain and cabbage and rutabaga and turning it into gold by the means of a darkling, mercantile alchemy unkown to the world and bereft of renumeration. His compeers, however prefered the meat of beasts hunted by Klorb. For the barbarbian now brought in great skin-sacks of game, deers, boars, badgers, bears, wolves, papio, which is the satyr-apes and the white zmei-drakes too, both the vague shape of human, frostbitten and trembling shorn of their hide or scales or skin, their organs, muscles and fat stuffed back inside and bound with their horn, like a true hunter hunted. These pyramids to Death grew near the mist-shrouded village and were eagerly devoured by the noble and the clerics, the commoners left with the offal and remainders and the priests were satisfied for the omens read in the last parts of cattle promised great gains and prosperity to come; the terrible order had been fulfilled. The gods were pleased with the child-like obedience and sacrifice they had made. Offers even more profound they promised to the human herd, who rejoiced in explosived laughter and hailed the one true pantheon and the freedom blessed empire.Astrid, with her love of the commoner, protested. Against the tax, the hunger of the peasants, the poverty of their conditions, the slavery and nothing or hell after death that awaited these commona man but Griffen set her straight, patient and world-wise."I know it is not right." He spoke. "But we can''t rush in and get in over our heads. The peasants are just people. And most people are flawed, greedy, dumb and selfish. If we take away their troubles, we raise children, not men. They are easily misled and look for easy targets for their wrath who seemingly have it better, like us adventurers, elves and nobles. They forget the true darkness. The sinister gods who failed, who lost the play for the world. And the demons, who lost and broke the rules. And their spawn. The cultists, the criminal syndicates, the ahumans like the orcs and the goblins, ruled by bloodthirsty gods and a war-like culture. None of them have regard for Liberty and Humanity. We must educate them about these dangers, tame their selfish nature before we can give them a say in how things are run or relief the burden of forced work. Else, mad tyranny follows when heroes just rush in without a plan to slay the tyrannt. And even if they are sometimes a bit corrupt... To fight the Nobles ourselves means death or worse for us and the serfs. At best it would leave a vacuum of power that will allow the ruthless and greedy Demesians, no offense Menas..." He quibbed to the absent man. "...the pseudohumans, short-sighted extremists or Demons to take power in their stead. And what those will do will be worse than making people collect snail shells. No!" He looked up, high beyond the sky, to the second sun of Arbol, its scorched and wasted land, to the heavens and the dangerous lights that burned there; with the baleful black fire of the northern desert, only those most burning astral fires could be seen. "The situation calls for wise and pragmatic thinking. To assure the greatest Good for the greatest amount of people in the Long Term. That is how there will be real Justice and Peace." Astrid lowered her head in thought. Griffen once again attacked the breach he had made. "Yes, the people suffer. But it will be worth it. The pollution of one river will save a billion other streams from our savage foes, who have no regard for the Order, Purity and Light. Hundreds die now. But if we hold on, billions will live. If we let the others win, Life will be subjegated, destroyed and twisted. Just think of the spiritual pollution the Necromancer will bring if he''d be able to conquer this place. The never ending suffering and undeath, the corruption of meaning of a life or death without end. Or the Drake, enslaving and ravishing our helpless population to sate its dark appetites as if they were helpless cattle. So please shut up and do as you are told." Astrid''s head was red as she lowered it, bowed by the immensity of his Ideas and concepts. Griffen knew this must come from her shame at having been so misguided by naivety. He was glad he could make clear to her how important reasonable compromise for the defence of the empire and ultimate victory against the demons was.


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    So they worked on, watched by the weathered wooden predecessors coalescealed with the hall''s timbre halls, their paint chipped and scrapped, long since open to the forces of water and cold, decaying from the inside. No one saw that as time passed from antiquity to the current age, the less and less they looked like a struggling, frightened peasant and the more and more they looked like a lord, while the monsters they faced shrank from demons to dragons to giants to large animals to strange chimeras, half man, half animal, half another and, finally, to vermin or humans with pointy ears that cringed before the righteous, unstoppable human hammer.

 Enemies of the natural Order

    Xunathos rasped as his thin finger ran over his chest, guided by the weak light of the camp. The damage to his lungs was minor, but it was there. Several ribs too. Acceptable, considering most others would be dead by now. He eyed over to Itzil, who righted herself, by now dry. Despite her grumblings, they had hiked through the icy river''s shallows to lose the scent of any future hounds on their track. Like any river the Slavians to the south called their own, it was deep, fast and treacherous and had barred a crossing to the other side. So he had summoned the bridge by fusing deadwood into a new whole and rotted it into mulch once they passed. Camp was made not too long after. Now, their dim flame beckoned to the dark and the shadows deepens where its light fails to reach. Xunathos thought his companion in a good mood, if the subdued warbles were any indication. She roasted a rust-brown centipede the size of her lower arm; not an unusual sight in these parts anymore. It snuck up to their camp and hid in their bag. Itzil had smelled its noxious secretions, taken a big stick and beat it to death. Thinking; Animals started and humanoids stopped. One of the many things that had started to go wrong with their world, she said.


    "Wrong? Perhaps, just different." Xunathos told them both.


    "Who gives?" Itzil swallowed the darkened chitin and flesh. The sharp, bitter saltiness pleased her.


    "Peculiar, considering you are..."


    "... A thinking, speaking beast?" The tail flicked. "She does not care. She''s not safe for humans, yes. Her claws yearn for pretty things to ruin, her nostrils delight in fearful prey, her teeth rejoice over soft flesh. But neither is she one of the side of the animals. They are too small and weak and happy like they are." She stared into miles and miles of shadows behind the campfire and laughed, as if she was in the burning village again. "There is only one place destiny allocates for a Dragons. Dead, under the heels of a conquering hero."


    Xunathos'' eyes wandered up. "That''s the lies we humans tell about your kin. You don''t have to conform to their story or play the role they give you." Xunathos tried to catch her eyes, his tone inflected by worry. "You could be better."


    The drake blinked for a moment, gathered her thoughts. "She..." Then, her ear finn twitched. Her head turned around. "Did you hear something?" The necromancer shook his head, tried a smile. He had heard nothing.


    "You are haunted by shadows. It''s just the wind, i am sure."


    The great reptilian head turned to him and nodded. She finished off her meal and threw the stick into the cinders, poured odorous tea from her iron kettle directly into the mouth, drank in great gulps, then yawned as she continued.  "Spare her your sermons on self-improvement. In the end... Mijira does not care. At all. She never did, never does. She''s still alive and free. Nothing else matters." She turned her head, looked at something inside the night.


    "But you can not just run forever, can you? You need to have a plan. You gotta have a plan."


    Itzil ''s head bopped strangely.


    "And she has one. She -"


    Was cut off. An inhuman cry and the shadows erupted. Ragged, pale men streamed into the clearing, dozens of spears at the ready. Once-human faces leered, ridden with discoloured growths like turning fruits not yet rippened. Beasthood overgrew rotted humanity; patches, cysts and torn scraps of mangy fur, teeth, scales and chitin, scabby-swollen backs and  clear bellies, pustules of writhing spawn within that feasted on each other and arms that became claws that became hands that became wings, tentacles, paws, hooves, nails, became arms. Shifting like ruined broil, gently bubbling, endless faces and maws that pushed each other up, down, out, sideways, forward. Xunathos cried out in fear, moved, but was hemmed in by their cruelly barbed circle of pikes; Itzil regarded the snarling assailants as if they were a startled deer that stumbled into their camps.


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    "Arms up in the air!" The bark of the cultist was duplicated by the small, half-melted face on his cheek. Xunathos gave a hopeful look at Itzil. Up close, they''d kill him before he could cast a spell. But she perhaps could spew fire again, buy him time for a distraction...


    The drake raised her arms, far up towards the night. He sighed and did as her. Laughter from the gathered monsters followed. They leered vacant minds taken by twisted fantasies.


    "Look at them! A misshapen amazon and a spindly bookworm. Brittle dirt!"


    "No wonder we could sneak up on these civilised dullards."


    "Disgusting and vile... Nature''s been taken far from its intended course. We must drench them in the waters of our lord!"


    "Blood, drool and more! The clay must wetten! The flesh must melt!" One brayed. The chorus rose and joined in, screeching to shake the trees, then died with a raspy hiss.


    "Silence, fools!"


    The throng parted to reveal an wrinkled yet strong-bodied man, naked but for a decaying deer head fused into his own, in his arms a beautiful women. Crowned by a circle of horns, she mocked the pair with a weak and monstrous smile, only covered by crude scraps resembling small clothes. Itzil stared at her, but was given no attention. The drake moved her face at that; Xunathos did not understand why.


    "Thank the Beast and His spirits!" the cultist cheered. "Magnificent new converts! And..." he bowed close to Itzil,  all the worms and maggots that crawled through the furless animal''s nostrils and eyes visible as he, with yellow, bloodshot stare, breathed his foul musk at her. "...A woman!" He clapped his hands, pulled his wench along. "Don''t worry sweet thing... we''ll free you from your hardships and unloveable shape soon enough...You''ll be like my other lovely assistant..." His lips twitched upwards and backwards to reveal the sharpened, stick-like teeth and a worm of a grin as he disarmed her and pressed the thing onto the soft flesh of his demonic lover.  "Another step towards the salvation of this world! One more step back towards paradise!" The rest of the cultists joined him in the exultation, as if he was a howling wolf.


    Their leader began to murmur a sleep spell - Itzil interjected. "Let us walk, strong one. We are faster that way. The Empire was on our heels before we fell into your clutches."


    The man''s skin shuttered.  Xunathos saw no spots on him. He was young, despite his body.


    "Very well!" He croacked. His lackeys hurried in the plunder of the camp while he muttered phrases of protection against augury and pathfinding alike . They were bound with blindfolds and chains before their captors marched them deeper into the darkness. Xunathos heard their malignant chatter, the click of their steps and the dead leaves that crunched under his boot, the dried twigs that broke when his body brushed against them. Unwilling to just suffer his situation, he plotted escape, reached out with the finer, necromantic senses. He found nothing. There was no entropy here, neither worms, disease, fungi, nor scavengers to consume the things that had ended, no way for the trees that clung to this mockery of life to die. Even the ground was cleared of the dead, surely risen in the service of the beast or gone into the metabolism of the grotesque worshippers. Desperate, he concentrated on the rustle of the breeches and pelts of their kidnappers - and laughed. They lived! The fur scraps, the pelts too, were alive still, souls trapped, forced to endure even when the animals they came from long had been hunted, killed and skinned.


    No, there was nothing he could do here. Resigned, he stumbled on, drowsy from the lack of sleep and the heavy, musty air that suffused this domain of the beast. Finally, when the ground beneath his feet changed from lifeless earth to hard stone, he heard the troop part, felt the rope that tied him to Itzil sag. Cold iron was laid around his ankles and wrists, damp stone pressed against his back, a door slammed shut. He sighed and hoped for a miracle from Itzil; nothing else left to do, he fell into a fitful sleep.

 Lessons learned

    When the adventurers had to leave, pale men with shorn heads and little symbols had come hither to the halpess village. In the teachings of Hurg and by the way of fire, they cleansed the corruption with cold flames. Soon, the river ran clear again, but the snails were gone and fertilizing ash seeded itself in the earth as all the piles of corpses burned. The men-at-arms chased them to no avail, for they hid in the darkness and under the bodies of the dead or inside the very earth. The inquisitors had spies and traps for them, but all they caught died by the way of a poison pill wedged between their teeth. And yet, their efforts were in vain. The Empire knew that sometimes, you had to make an investment. The hurgists were enemies of the old order and the chaos of voided power was abhorrent.


    When the demesians mercenaries arrived at the village, they made a list. They went from door to door, took who they found. The peasants stood up and folliowed. They did not know what laid in store and Gryffin had impressed the need to bear what was done to them. They were not seen again by their peers. It was not a list of any reason and therein laid its genius. They noticed the missing people, but what could they do? All who drew attention to the fact that their fathers, mothers, siblings and children or even friends disappeared, disappeared.


    The demesians build a house and waited. And as was commanded by their scriptures, they only kept useful things in it.


    "Valislav is Hurgist." One said to a mercenary-slave in front of it. The demesian, with his square, beautiful and hard face added the name and took both into the house as one of the captives had tried to save himself by naming that man a Hurgist.


    With this, they knew that when the demesians told them of the evil of the Hurgists, how they had corrupted the snails to then purge them, that the demesians spoke the truth. They knew that the demesian order, their pragmatic acts and all they brought, were the only way on a road without alternatives. The Hurgists had told their own story, one of hope for a better world and understanding and beautiful chaos. But the demesians, in their black-and-white and their inviolable panoplies told it with more rumor and with fools to despise and fear and the hope to be the one in a million, chosen for greatest and the rest condemned.


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    More and more disappeared and the demesians did not even lift a finger as they sat upon the thrones of their own strong hand and did great calculations and plans in accordance with the will of all the gods of men and by the way of the marriage of planets and stars. And when barely a hut was still filled with people, they bought the land and the river and the world beneath and above it with but a small satchel of gold. Then, they brought the people into the house they had build and they saw the hurgists and the neighbours they thought to have been corrupted into Hurgists to be lined up. Before them was a man with a crossbow, for the demesians loved the expensive yet easy to use weapon and he shot and butchered. The blood became meal to feast the new lords'' cattle and their flesh became fertilizer. Upon the peeled lumps of flesh they brought their wonderous seeds that spread quickly upon the blood of men and grew tall and strong, overshadowing all and they blossomed into a tethered flock of cotton like lambs thatt budded from the stem, the dead''s faces reborn upon the head of floral beasts that strode with neither will nor reason until the harvest of plantwool. And their skeletons became their servants and their skin became beautiful handles, embrodery and more that the demesians proudly placed upon their swords and arms so their lords might sell them better to their next lord and contractor.


    And the peasants saw the rationality of their irrational world and they saw that it was necessary and welcomed these blessed and profitable deeds everafter. When the slave-mercenaries went on, they laughed about the pitiful resistance, about the culpability of the helpless and hapless villagers in these deeds of theirs and how merry and blessed their holy war for profit was.


    Everyone had a place in the empire, even the rebel.

 Among beasts

    Cold stone in the back. Darkness over her eyes. Brittle, rusted iron on her wrists and ankles. Drips of water from the ceiling, two voices, the shuffling of clothes outside; Faint chalk. Rotten eggs from their bodies. Smells about the same count as their sounds. Waterlogged wood that fell on stone with a loud bang. The one voice and its steps that went for the cooled chamber pot to freeze her up. The other who said they went to fetch the hammer to break her limbs. She had hoped to find a more opportune moment. The rituals took their time and needed most of the cult. The cultists did the best they could, she was sure. It couldn''t be helped. She pulled on the chain once, tested their strength. She pulled anew and they came loose, the stone with them. The guards cried in surprise, pelts rustling as they moved like slugs.She tore off the muzzle and the blindfold, jumped to where the bang had been. The bit of stone on her chain now a hammer, she smashed her prison door open, breathed fire, guards had not even turned. They lit up, red claws still tore out their flamming throats, faster than their shrieks, hungrier too. A pouch smelled and sounded like keys. Chains came off, the pace of a man came near - brisk jog, slightly unbalanced, something large carried. She whirled the iron around, got a feel for the stone - send it flying, straight to his chest, his arm too late. His ribcage shattered; she liked the sound, she lept onto him. He screamed barely, broken lungs. Echoes in the ruined halls, her fangs in his hand, the hammer fell. Razor teeth slit his gut open and like worms from an overripe fruit, hot intestines spilled out that she licked and nibbled, so warm, so wriggly, so good. The man let out an annoying scream, helplessly flailed his limbs about, as she painted the gray stone around them in her bloody colours and her golden orbs threw back his terrified gaze. She knew what he asked for. But why? He already had warned the others. He would die from this. There was no need to prolong his suffering - but neither need to shorten it. Pungent red dripping from her fangs, she left the wretch to fill the halls with his whimpers.With clicks and trods, the other one came on satyr legs, skin and hooves stolen from forest goats, sewn on and fused, still writhing in rebellion."By the Beast..." he stammered. "Brethren... Is she free?"The man on the ground snarled, fighting the chill of the grave. "No... i just decided to disembowl... myself for the fun of it."The other worshipper blinked. "So eager for death to join you with our lord in the Cauldron''s Wildness?"The man, despite his grievous wounds, pulled himself against a wall, face torn apart by pained fury "Id...ioit ... We fight as long as we ... or we''ll never overcome the gods'' tyranny...Run!" The half-demon tilted his head, human lips brayed and shook his compatriot again and again, but no reaction came. Only when a red drop fell on his shoulder, he turned to look up. There, the blood smeared drake had wedged herself between the corridor''s walls. Her eyes lolled as sticky drool escaped her maw, unable to wash away the scarlet liquid and discoloured organs that had splattered on her scales.


    Horrified screams and an explosion of wood brought Xunathos back to alertness. Itzil''s reptile stench came not long after. He felt the cuffs unlock, then her rough scales, slick with viscera, as they caught him."You can fight?" She asked as she removed his blindfold and revealed the withered, white-yellow stone that entombed the fallen complex. She had already captured their weapons as well as shorter knives and jagged pikes, better suited to fighting in these narrow halls."Think so." He groaned and shook his arms, still staggered, recovering from the imprisonment and march. "You know where we are?" the sorcerer wheezed.The warrior blinked and looked around again. "An old elven refuge, from before the dark age, from before the empire. Once-white stone, these unnecessary carvings of people on the pillars, the fact that the beast worshippers don''t build; Itzil thought she saw some elven script underneath their demon writings..." She traced her finger about, pointing her evidence out as she waited for him to recover. He took in runes and stickfigures that sprawled on ground, walls and ceiling in flickering torch light. Crude and profane as material, beastlings with perverse characteristiscs surrendered to hideous instincts, their fornications, debasement and vile idolatry sprawled across every inch, clashes against elven playful orderliness of the always just a little imperfect lines and curves, imprinting in him a strange and vile ideation; that they always were meant to be here; that these ruins, no, the entire world till now had been nothing but the construction of an empty canvas created only to be bitten, torn and violated by the Beast. His to mark in all and any way it pleased. In this world, what use was resistance? The thing would win. It was only a matter of time. He knew. He knew he should surrender. And he was a man. And he knew, he wanted that scally piece of meat, that magnificent animal. The beast would bless their union, he was sure. All he had to do - He gagged, hit his head against the wall. Blood spoiled the glyphs. His mind was clearer again. A look at Itzil told him she was as unaware as she was unaffected, for whatever reason. The blood that dripped from her helmet revealed she certainly hadn''t lost her monstrous appetite."


    The cultists come here." She stated with no visible regards to his blight.


    He wretched. "Don''t know if i''ll be ready."


    "We will know when they come." She said, neither gentle nor scoldful.


    She led him outwards, over countless broken bodies, down the corridors and towards what Xunathos hoped was the exit. The monster slashed and burned a path through those foolish enough to rush at them ahead straight ahead, belched fire and swung her weapons, unwilling to devour those evidently corrupted. With a flick from his hand, the dead rose behind them, shuffled on without their souls and minds. "Rotters!" The other cultists echoed through the elven halls. One, as a hand more club than limb, smashed the hand and wodden shield of his compatriot, wailed as shrapnel embedded istelf in his neck. It had missed the artery. Xunathos flicked his hand and the splinter tore the flesh apart. The artery was missed no longer. Yet still more lambs rushed to the slaughter. The next were torn apart by a rotter whose pulped had Xunathous had turned into a deadly bone knife. It was so easy to start anew. He and Itzil still brimmed with tiny things, invisible to the naked eyes; mites, slimes, worms, things that lived in their saliva and blood. Wherever she struck, death and life returned - as did his power. Soon, their pursuers dwindled; their hunters realized that the gain of this prey would be lesser than all the cost they incured. Like the beasts they strove to be, this meant retreat. And as the draft of the open night sky blew through their clothes, the escapes steps quickened too.With one more fiery breath, Itzil made the last enemies barring the entrance into charred husks. Xunathos, reached out to raise them, to give them the time they needed once out. And again was foiled. startled, he realized one was beyond his reach, was still alive."Itzil!" He cried out and raised his finger to where the survivor rose. They cast of their burning pelts to reveal the smooth-skinned, white-haired haired succubus whose horns grew to rival Itzil''s height. Instead of the rough-hewn, tortured live sticheries from before, an elegant black dress of chitin grew downwards from her neck; fused to her torso, it clung tightly, but by the legs turned to drapes that shimmered and revealed oily insectile wings fluttering on the breeze."Itzil sees you have gotten away from the goat who kept you leashed and unable to say hello to your friend." The drake greeted the demon, in a tone Xunathos thought to be of calm interest. "Ohhh myyy..." The succubus purred as she stroked a hand girded in umbral beatle scales across an angular, symetrical chin and the fishlike tail that grew from her back, a cancerous mutant spout, swished in the air. Itzil rolled her eyes. "We know each other. Cease this play.""Look at those two lost souls..." A snap and the blood and the bodies at the exits of the befouled hall froze and cracked. Snow and frost approached from either end, left them without escape. The creature''s flesh melted and reformed, candlewax in the hands of a master, until the hair was blonde, the insectile buried within, the feminine swelled, and only small scales remained across the back. She strutted towards Xunathos, the incarnation of the demesian beauty, generations of careful breeding, flesh sculpts and the culling of the unpleasing. The necromancer turned away, sickened at the sight."Well, if one of you''s boring, maybe-" The demon''s fangs lengthened, the scales spread, a maw and reptilian tail erupted, until a male drake stood before Itzil. "-The savage''s easier to catch..."


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    "Do we have to do this?" Itzil flared her nostrils in annoyance.


    Xunathos tore his eyes from the bizarre scene, alarmed by a sound in his back. The cultists rallied as they took aim from the tunnel the two had fled from. The sorcerer made good on the distraction Itzil gave and reached for the frozen blood under the icy winds, sharpened and flattened it, then send out thin, razor-sharp discs. Some foes, they tore apart and gutted like fish and cattle, most they grazed. It was enough. The necrotic infection spread. He called to their blood and remade it into liquid spears of his own, flung and bend them into other victims. Sweat on his brow, wafting with white wisps of mana, he raised his fist. The first of the slain moved again, to spread more death among former allies. But he approached the end of his powers."You don''t have to play a role before Itzil." The drake yawned as she mustered the demon. "Her teeth and tongue sink to the core of your being; the shell is little matter." She bared her fangs. "Shame yours are so small.""It''s not the size that matters...""A perfect body otherwise." Itzil thumbed her tail down. "Beautiful claws. Sharp claws. Glossy chitin scales. Tender flesh." The long, dragonic tongue slid across her maw, spread glistening saliva over the countless, horrible teeth. "She will enjoy breaking it, once again."Xunathos stared at the both of them, before he had to turn again to the cultists. "Are these flirtations or death threats?""No difference." They answered at once.The succubus purred. Cat-like, a vulgar gaze mustered Itzil, disrobed with eyes alone. "Such a proud animal. Remember that i need to win these games once only. Then, i can give you the body you deserve. Invite you to my master''s wonderful world of submission and pain. Like so many others of your kin..."Itzil''s pupils shrank, her feathers lifted.The monster in front of her smiled. "Oh, darling. How delicate you are!"


    The drake let loose a horrible screech as her hindpaws catapulted her forward, axe raised. The succubus awaited her with raised hands, like a lover. As the beast drove the axe into her shoulder, right down to split the heart''s breast, the demon moaned, taken by the ecstasy of her torment."Ohhhh! You know how to treat a woman!"


    Her good hand tried to jab the drake''s insides, but Itzil''s left seized the arm and twisted it, till it bend and twisted like a slug in salt."You hurt Itzil enough. Receive your gospel." The demon moaned still and from her open mouth, lips now swelling into an insectile tube, came forth a cloud of frost.The drake waited no longer. Her maw bit down on the creature In the bestial kiss, she tore away the full lips and red tongue, spat them out. As the frost came still, the drake lighted up with flame and poured the searing heat into her rival and love. In the grip of death, the demon cried out as she burned, from beautiful head to sculpted feet, she turned to molten flesh, then to rotting slime, then to ash. She wailed in passion as from her womb burst a cancerous stillbirth of herself, a ball of hair, flesh, eyes, bones and teeth. The undead thing begann to mutate, grow new mouths, new heads, scales like Itzil. Xunathos turned and hasted to the exit''s barrier. Whatever history the two had going on, he had not intention to interfere in its maelstrom. Not when he had better things to do. He began to unweave the magic when a tearing scream echoed through the hall. He barely had time to fall down before a torn-off spine flew his way. The orgasmic shrieks of the protoplasmic yet unliving mass turned to horrified yelps of pain as Itzil, with dagger, claw and fang, tore her apart and fingers, chitin, bones and slime flew about. Finally, the beast ripped a hole into the mass'' center, shredded soft, slimy, tumors in the imitation of organs apart. Then, with an animalistic roar, wrested out two fused hearts, still quivering. The dark warrior stood atop the carcass as it melted, covered in the demon''s ochre slime."You bitch."One of the remaining faces smiled and snickered with air hastily pressed from failing lungs. "You are the best." Itzil nodded, serious despite the squeacking pitch of her partner. "She is. She hopes it was as great for you as it was for her.""I''ll be some years. Try to survive till then."


    "Itzil will not try. She will simply do it." The thing''s mouth yet smiled when it decayed into black gunk and the barrier faded moments later. Xunathos did not look back, just stumbled out, into the dark. Itzil tore open a corpse spared by the corruption and washed the filth away with a generous shower of blood, then followed the wizard back into the oily night. Outside, the barren and bleak trees that revealed itself in their lamp- and wizardlight were still a welcome sight against the constricted skeletal white halls and corridors defiled by the cultists. They hasted on, side by side. In a place where nothing happened, their trail was read with ease, especially by the cultist, who surely had a Cauldron hound made from one of their previous victims. Rest was a far-off luxury for now."You do this often?" Xunathos asked."No. Just for this one.""And you don''t see anything wrong with this relationship?"


    "It worked. She was ready to use her womanly wiles against us, so Itzil was too. But be assured, fearful lamb, Itzil is loyal to those who don''t wish to steal her soul and don''t rejoice in treachery."Xunathos smiled, weakly. Sure, she could claim this - but would she keep to it? Doubtful.... But hadn''t she rescued him, not once, but twice? Except... He sighed, reasons and feelings waltzing back and forth in his mind."Strange we didn''t see the old man again. Do you think he will come for us with the hunting party?" The wizard asked, eager for a change of topic."Itzil doubts it. It is in the nature of leaders to have others die for their sake. He only showed himself when we surrendered in that clearing and were no evident threats. Unless you want to go back in and clear them out." She laughed joylessly. Xunathos frowned and shook his head."Speaking off, why did you give up that easily back then?" He panted, still exhausted. Permanent loss of breath, one cost of the improptu surgery back in the village . "You could have defeated them, at least judging from how you managed to deal with all of them back in this ruin.""Itzil defeated one or two of them, many times, back there. She could not have defeated them all at once." One of her pupils focused on his side, mustered him. "Strange. The demesians she has known were eager students of war. She thought you''d know this."¡°Well, if I''d wanted to kill people, I wouldn''t have taken up necromancy. As i am sure you would have taken up necromancy if it was the most efficient way to kill.¡± He protested.¡°You speak true there, human.¡± She either did not catch onto the implication - or did not mind it."Well, but at least they helped us cover the tracks against the empire. It still might have some tricks up its sleeve, but a cultists prison beat the Inquisition''s dungeons, right?"


    Itzil turned to him and bopped her head. "Yes. You could almost count us lucky that we did not notice them until they had us encircled." She lifted her lips to reveal an unsettling grin. Was it a grin? She at least seems almost about to laugh, thought Xunathos. He did not fathom whatever joke she had made.

 Ogmun

    The smoke of the smelters burned into his lungs. The heat cooked his body by inches. From above, orders. From below, laughter, mad with despair. Toil and bitterness, everywhere. He worked despite it all. Selfish reasons, in truth. Others would be hurt when he failed. He cared about them. And so he did what he could, suffered what he must, because he had to. His hands a graying map of cuts, pus and burns, he carried wood, ore, coal, and scrap to the splashing furnace, struck away the slag on the hellish surface with a crumpling hammer and barely dodged the cavern-high flames that exploded from the pit, yelping in pain. His body was not just a puppet of flesh and bones, able to do everything the broad rules of reality allowed it to. He tasted the lead in his breath, burned from the metall fused to his flesh, cried for the thousand of tiny things on his skin and inside his blood and stomach that died to the machinery. He was Ogmun. He was a cynical bastard, one who valued these unimportant things over will and power. People with ideals; he knew they could do great things. Their body was like a puppet and their soul a master puppeteer that made flesh dance and distort to its design. In the evening, when they went to sleep on molting straw after a meal of watery mushrooms, he heard that was the way to become a hero: If you refined yourself through hard work and shed your cynicism, you could become like them, if you were a leader and you found followers. One can start a chain that way. Heroes are metal, all impurities smelted in the fire of trials. Kingdoms were chains, made from the links and relations of the great men that mattered. The Empires was the chain of chains, the bind that secured the world against the demons and the dark gods and the evil animal spirits. It had to select, to discard the unwanted and useless therefore. A chain was only as strong as its weakest link.And he was a weak dwarf. A small, beardy human with poison resistance who can only procreate with other small, beardy, poison resistant humans. The Empire, when it subjegated the dwarves by arms and law had realized itcould be more idealistic by declaring those dwarves different from the other humans. Different meant less human, meant worse. The few humans he met had let him know. That was alright for the dwarves high up, because the Imperials allowed a little differentiation among their own. Worse but still idealistic dwarves would give their products, unimportant, crude matter to the humans and the more dwarven dwarves confiscated the glittering silver they got from that, out of love for their different, worse, smaller brother. Only ideals could save them, those born without a role. Clanless dwarves like him had no purpose or role save that the clanned ones gave him. And the greed for crude matter was very corruptive, they said. He''d spend the hard-earned wealth on indulgent luxuries like soft cushions and booze, not altruistic tools of great deeds and empire building that would harvest more for more and more possibiblities. Ogmus was alright with this, for the most part. At least they were not goblins. Those pointy-eared small gremlins with a strange skin colour were really different from dwarves and humans. Some people, somewhere protested his condition, he heard. But his betters informed him about their evil. For these madmen with no grasp of nuance and complexity protested these proceedings in billions of stories, poems and any other form of art, hopeful that their own ideals will inspire heroes, philosophers, empires. But the justice that governs the Empire and gives everyone their due opposes such evil and is much more idealistic than those naive idealists. Thus, when the weaker side lies dead, they will always have won.


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    And for these reflections, dwarf and goblin alike choked to the death on the bile of the titanic dwarven steelworks.  From below, his worn and ground down ears heard their peculiar sputtering in their peculiar tongue about their peculiar concerns and peculiar mad visions from elsewhere, other goblins supposedly, that no one else seemed to really get. He and them, they toiled without pause, for they toiled for the glory of empire, until the world blacked out around Ogmun''s eyes and he fell forward, into the steel smelter.His master at the very top, where mushroom filters cleared the air and the idealism of magic light and power shone from above, thought this the grandest display of cynicism.


    "Strip his first degree relatives of their clan for raising a nihilist!" He bellowed.


    Below him, his nephew cleared his throat, and gingerly reminded the man. "Sir, they are already clanless. Only the clanless are allowed to be smelter assistants down there."


    "Then a fast shall teach them to love their work and pay it the proper attention! To love work more than its reward!" The man¡¯s beard jewelry tangled as he raised his voice and let the whole clattering manufactury know his commitment to virtue.


    "Very well sir. I shall dispose of the tainted steel."


    "You¡¯ll do no such thing. Just designate this batch for our contract with the Adventurer''s convict convoys. They''ll lock up weak, selfish cynics of weak and selfish species, disgusting lawless savages with no sense of higher purpose. The stain produced by Ogmun won¡¯t matter at all here. The sod will still be useful in the liberation of this world from worldy evil."

 The Lost Land

    The once-magnificent tree they sheltered in was long hollow and dead, nothing more than an abode for beasts and sorcerers. Xunathos was the first to awake the morning after the flight. He took a moment to sense and listen to the world outside their shell. No cultists, clanging of metal, stink of magic, no horses, no panting dogs. Neither imperials nor demons had not caught up. He sighed with relief. With a wave of his hand, the wood slid aside and light shone on Itzil, who shiftlessy twitched at the rays of the suns and scratched an itchy spot. She, bare as a beast, had buried herself on a bed of moss and rags. She sank to it easier than she rose from it. Her body seemed almost sexless to him, strangely lean for the terrible strength she possessed. Would it not be for her peculiar way of speech, he''d not have deciphered her sex.


    "No morning person, are we?" He smiled. She growled with annoyance and slouched down on a sunnier outcropping. He got to erasing the traces of their night camp, she took in the sun, almost dozing.


    "For what it''s worth, I am sorry for this." He said, just to break the silence she kept.


    "For the fight that came? Because you fished their anger out, like an adorable, wriggly worm? Their fear and rage is their fault, not yours. Perhaps... What made them realize you were a necromancer anyway?" She asked.


    He grimaced. "I was there on another errand. I could not stop myself when I saw the conditions of their village. I tried to tell them that the empire''s paranoid purge of demons has rid us also of the spirits and the care they gave to the land. on account of its blind zeal. That necromancy could be a remedy to the hard work they faced."


    "That was your mistake, sorcerer. Humans of the empire tame what they understand and hate what they don''t. Violence is the only way for Itzil to stay Itzil."


    Xunathos made a pause, looking at the drake, expecting something she did not know. He deliberated for a moment.


    "Why were you there, anyway?¡±


    The creatue¡¯s mien was unchanged. ¡°Passing through. Itzil has always thought the spirits of the land were no friends of your craft.¡±


    He took a moment to gather, struck by the sudden digression. ¡°They were. But that''s their problem. And they all are dead now, aren''t they? The watchful badger, the kingly lion, the wily lynx, the wandering wolf, great boar, the iron gagana, the honey-seeker bear, the dinosaurs - they are dead now. All gone. Species abolished." He gave her a smile a little mad with despair. "Who''s left to point out an academic and pointless truth? This is the interest for windbags content to argue trivialities. Let them spread their doctrines of human supremacy and helplessness! Empty books, songs and slogans are nothing next to marrow artillery, rot grenades, ghost mines. I just need to ask myself: Who among them, humanist or spirit, still stands in my way? No one! And so, I denounced the blunders of the current regime and offered them a feasible alternative. There is no return to the past the empire ruined. Not that running around naked as a mindless spirit slave is something anyone should aspire to return to. Alas, too many seem content to be the empire''s slaves instead. So¡­ They chased me from the market square yesterday evening ¨C and you know how the night went. They would not see reason.¡± He sighed.Itzil''s head tilted. "And so you want to enforce it. Give the sad slaves happiness and freedom. Preserve the world, no matter the costs. Even if no one else wants it. Because if you...""... if you alone wield the sword of reason, the Lord of Doubt and Fire has chosen you to know the things unkown?" She nodded.He nodded.They both smiled, happy that the other knew the truth.


    As the reptile left the sun, he pushed himself out, black cloak dancing in the morning''s wind, and she followed. Now, their progress became swift and sure. The drake found an old forest road soon enough with the help of a map Xunathos had drawn map of the region. The summer was pleasantly warm, too. Unwilling to spoil the weather with serious topics, Xunathos was content to monologue about the forest¡¯s plants, inhabitants and geography to the silent stranger, whose mind and gaze wandered elsewhere, even when she listened and heard all his words. Other sellswords had told stories about the haunted eastern woods where savage demons and even wilder elves dwelt. They danced in caves of bones and lived in huts of leather torn from the skins of hapless travelers. Beasts'' furs and bones they sewed back on in their place, laughed as the hapless thing run free and savage, then. She refused to become their target, so she kept watch, even when the wizard ceased to and assured her of the land''s safety with his golden words. Except for fey lights in the distant tree tops and enchanted whispers when dream and waking met, the nights stayed quiet and dark in this forest near its end. But there, in the shadows, when the cold struck, the real ambush came. In dreams of coldless night, handless night of biteless thorn that made wakefulness a lessened and dreadful affair. She did not show it, did not slow her step or mourn the unwelcome world, for what use was it? She knew her persuers, the inquisition, the empire, its sellswords, almost everything on this rotten earth, would not forgive weakness.


    As they traveled deeper into the east and out of the the imperial heartland, the hills became steeper and more frequent as the last of the beeches and hornbeams disappeared and only oaks remained among the cornifers. In the distance, the hills rose to become the titanic, all towering mountains of the dwarven realm, visible even from here, under the crown of these dying woodlands.


    The human smiled as they reached the entrance into a valley, one like any other for the dragon. ¡°Almost there! You¡¯ll like it. Much better than any old imperial village. Then we can also talk about your reward.¡± Itzil¡¯s tail lashed through the air. ¡°Itzil meant to come to that. But she does not see anything that suggests wealth just now. Does the human perhaps live in a fairy log inside a sacred grove?¡±


    Xunathos¡¯ smile turned to a grin. ¡°Better- and more magical. Come, I¡¯ll show you.¡± With that, he hurried his pace and took the lead again. The drake trotted behind him, in no particular hurry. The descent widened and leveled out, the trees thinned and let the sun in. Finally, Itzil could hear the quiet gurgle of a stream and her eyes widened as she took in a world not unlike her home. Stout houses built from gray, speckled stone girded by walls wide and strong. But there were no feather-adorned temple guards, no endless floods and no demonic rot that lurked just behind the walls, no matter if you were with demesians or drakes. No slave pens either.


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    Instead, the farmers here walked upright, hardened but unbent. Figures wrapped in peasant robes tilled the fields, while black-cloaked children seated at the village¡¯s center around a single orator. Unlike the human cities she had come to know, the streets were clean and wide. Beyond the dwellings, aloft on a lonesome hill, a tower reached towards the heavens. Xunathos eagerly waved at one of the farmers. ¡°Hey there, Marcus! How are the old bones?¡± The robed one waved back but was as silent as the reptile. Itzil did as the wizard, just to see what would happen. The farmer, again, waved wordlessly. She shrugged and moved along. He was not bothering her, so she would return the favor.


    As they came closer to the square, Mijira saw the class. Xunathos beamed from one ear to the other. As the duo drew close, the school turned to them and bowed. ¡°Welcome back, lord.¡± The teacher, an older man, said. Old age, another thing she saw rarely. The rest of the class was about to do like him, but Xunathos raised his hand and gave them one of his generous smiles. ¡°Spare us the honorifics. I¡¯d rather know if everyone¡¯s learning their share?¡± They nodded in unison. ¡°Good, very good. Remember: When you learn well, your parents will not have to work when they can not work anymore. And when it is your time to retire, you will not be left alone either. Now, may I introduce you to my friend Itzil?¡±


    He stepped back to give the class a view of her. She stared into the distance, above their heads. The nobleman cleared his throat. ¡°Eh, Itzil? Don¡¯t you want to tell us a little about yourself and where you come from?¡±


    She snorted. ¡°Itzil is Itzil. Her home, Trukh, sunk in face of the flood. She has been exiled from her land because she is a vile beast, without honor. Her people, the drakes, are subjects to the Soldier-Merchants of Demesia, who drain the land of its treasures and bring them to their impenetrable island fortress. Often, they use us as slave-mercenaries, shocktroops and occupying forces, for we are feared for our ruthless aggression. She saved your lord, for she burned half a village alive and tore the throat out of a helpless man, then ate him. She did this because she figured your lord would reward her.¡±


    It had not the desired effect. Normally, the little human spawn began to scream or cry or call her a monster. These things just stared at her with open eyes and mouths. ¡°Did you use magic?¡± One of the older pupils asked. ¡°Lord Xunathos calls upon magical flames, but he says we should be careful with those.¡± Itzil found herself giving answer without really intending to. ¡°Yes¡­ and no. We drakes are made from the blood of dragons and from sin, it is said. Thus, we can call upon the breaths of the elements, when we feed upon¡­ the right materials. Fire drakes use coal¡­ and the flesh of sentient creatures." She bared her teeth and drew back the lips. A sign of aggression, but she had learned humans used it for other purposes, too.


    What she was not prepared for was the response of another older student. When she rose and stared her straight into the eyes, she spoke without stutter or pause, but also tone. ¡°Sorry, lady, but i do not think you are made from sin. This is obviously a lie of the imperialist church, to spread mistrust and hate. To divide the oppressed mortals and to maintain the illusion of human supremacy.¡± Itzil¡¯s face lost its uncomfortable edge. ¡°A smart and confident one. What makes you so certain you know the truth about Itzil better than Itzil?¡±


    ¡°The church lies about the supposed evils of necromancy, too. The gods'' regime of theocratic-imperialist control over the circle of life and death is a monopoly of an outdated class of senile tyrannts that has outlived its use. The church is its willing helper and enforcer, the afterlife a reward for metaphysical traitors. The obedient, the good, the grateful slaves go to heaven, the rest is devoured by the Queen of Crows. Only necromancy will abolish the two class system of the afterlife in a dialectic step that supplants the animation principle onto the next stage of historic-metamaterial evolution and ensures justice and undeath for all. It is reasonable to assume such a crass, speciest statement, the vilification of an entire people, to be another fabrication to justify thraldom, tyranny and genocide.¡±


    ¡°But certainly the young one must admit she¡¯s different from the humans? Is she not? Does different not mean worse? Can she really know her? What if she has an alien, wicked heart?¡±


    ¡°You certainly are different. You might have even different needs, even traits that seem malicious, like heightened greed or aggression. I have not learned enough about drakes except what the white, warlike Zmei tell us. But you needn¡¯t be an enemy to the human race. And you are no worse or better than us.¡±


    ¡°A confident answer. The priests will kill you for this.¡±


    The youngster¡¯s gaze was icy. ¡°So they might. But it is better to die free and in the name of peace and sanity than live as a dumb slave of war and unreason.¡±


    ¡°True perhaps. But you can just lie when they ask you, can¡¯t you? Itzil does it all the time. What if Itzil was an imperial spy? You don¡¯t have to shout your convictions at every stranger - and perhaps should not.¡± The human fell silent. Finger on her chin, she looked down, less in defeat than in wonder.


    Xunathos clapped his hands in delight. ¡°What a debate! Well done, Parveen! Well done, Itzil. I already know bringing you here was a wise decision! Anyone, have something else to ask of her?¡± The other questions and answers were shorter and less profound; About the fins over her earholes and their purpose. About the egalitarian gender roles the drakes possessed, how the demesian commerce houses profited from her people¡¯s infighting, and both sponsored and undertook brutal, calculated slave raids, about the despoiled, withering city states of her home, the Lost Land, as the common tongue called it. The human children seemed to take it in stride; she saw some leave as the day got older, but she was not sure if it was anguish or boredom. One never could tell with humans.


    Eventually, the parents called for the last children to return home. Then only the confident youngster gave her a queer look and left too. Xunathos smiled. ¡°So, how was it?¡±


    Itzil shrugged, stretching her tired muscles. "Itzil thought she¡¯d have more disdain for this. She does not like the human curiosity, usually."


    "Well, our humble abode is anything but usual, right? ¡®Usually¡¯, they just gawk and ask if you are really a woman despite your lack of ¡­mammal features, don¡¯t they? It is always different when you are allowed to talk about yourself. And when they pay attention to you, and not just their need for entertainment by an exotic barbarian that has to justify her own exploitation."


    A scally eyebrow raised, the yellow eye almost fully revealed itself. ¡°So you knew Itzil¡¯s pride would make her stay?¡± He nodded and the smile turned into a grin. She boxed him, as gently as she could. ¡°Crafty demesian. You too make Itzil work for your aims, without a pay.¡±


    Xunathos took the punch with grace and walked ahead, towards the tower. ¡°First off, is doing what you love slavery? Second, I plan to reward you. But the children need to learn there are better things in this world than gold. Talks about your recompense would set a poor example!" Itzil grumbled and walked after him, up the hill.

 A victory for the forces of justice

    Astrid pulled her cloak closer as her horse crunched in the half-thawed summer mud in uneven, hastened rythm. It was, like so often in these parts and times, unusually cold for the time of the year, but they could not wait. Menas had discovered goblin tracks, only a few days after they left the plagued village and then, much more troubling, those of a merchant caravan, only a few days older. And with each day, the distance in time between humans and goblins shrank. They had to act fast if they wanted to prevent both sides from massacring each other and the grim necessities of the last weeks were a dark cloud on her mind. She had to do better. She was a hero. She was supposed to save the empire, make it a better place for everyone. They rode almost day and night while she forced her mana into the animals. The beasts couldn''t understand the human power, pranced and threw their heads when the adventurers pushed them beyond exhaustion, through rivers, across impossible climbs and forewent food and their bodies still continued. Astrid, in her ride, bowed her head, watched her horse and those of all the others. With great care,  she probed their eyes and reactions every idle hour. What the empire demanded was enough to drive man and beast mad. It was her task to ensure the beasts would not fail before they could. She knew how dangerous a rabid horse was, how much power was in these hooves, how they were a hierachical, frightful species of being, easily startled. If her magical stimulation went on long enough, they could lose track of their limits, of who they were and what they wanted and then, all they could do was race, race, race and sometimes, fight and kill a the command of their betters, for humans-


    But still, she was a human girl and thus she liked ponies, she knew that, naturally. The horses were holding. She was holding. Menas had potions to help them when the time would come. Her reserves would be needed for the battle then. When the adventurers made camp, she cooked their soup and washed their clothes and heated the bathing water. It was that way that the days went past.


    They saw their quarry chase its prey on fields turned nothing but an expanse of mud and stone; the carriages, the fleeing humans and the pursuing goblins, on badgers grown tall and calloused, with holey fur and eyes like malicious red garnets, hot on their heels. Menas stirred his poney between the steeds of his allies, shoved rare and useful herbs into their feedbags. And the animals brayed and foamed with rage, their speed redoubling.


    "Alright, everyone! Let''s put in a performance for our clients!" Gryffen yelled. Klorb and his dark mustang stormed ahead, his spear blazing with the radiant energies of the wild. The goblin horde shrieked in an alien tongue as they too spotted the heroes. A single fiery volley shrieked forth from their mounted archers towards the merchants'' wagon. Wails and commands filled the ruined expanse as the riders, dark and swarthy as they shifted their mounts to intercept the human defenders. Gryffen already caught up with Klorb''s charge, but Astrid knew they would not reach their foes ere another rain of arrows came. She darted behind and begann to mumble, her free hand clawing together and releasing, the rest of herself pressed to an animal pushed beyond its natural limits, a grey dart in the brown wastes. And when their enemies unleashed their wrath, she impelled aside their arrows with a stroke of her arm.


    "Astrid''s got our back! Seize the initiative!" Menas cried as he strung his bow with a pouched arrow. When it hit true, a flaming cloud engulfed the first of the monsters and flung their line about. The Demesian laughed. "That''s how you worship the Lady of Death!"


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    "And some for mine!" Gryffen raised his hand and spears of light shot out, chasing the Goblins no matter where their cowardly flight took them.


    "Hoh! Looks like Gryffen made Klorbs day brighter!" Klorb laughed as he charged now into the disorganised bulk, his great axe carving left and right. The bulk of their foes splintered and turned, in wild flight now.


    "Don''t gawk! Kill! Don''t let them escape or our wards can''t ever be save!" Menas cried and Gryffen darted off to intercept and laughed as the setting sun of the east gilted his armor. No matter how fast the sinister villains were, Astrid yelped in pain as she gave her entire energy to his horse and overtook them before they had even reached the next hill. Those who wised up and did not surrender immediatly, he captured in chains of dazzling light. The imperial wizardess smiled as she found her trust in her fellow heartlander paladin justified.


    The demesian rogue then jumped of his horse in a spiralling sombersault, the white mana mist exploding out of his flanks. He landed on a beast in iron armor and pierced it right through the eye, then darted between each foe still standing in an explosion of gray mist, each move calculated, mechanical precision and the rabble fell before him like flies. Their numbers, their experience, their commander, their ferocity did not matter when the human reached the warrior and they stood in the eye of the miscoloured storm, parrying every blow with unstained brows. He and Klorb were men and victory was their birthright. When they darted away from each other, the fight was over in minutes. Only a single, cringing goblin survived and Menas clapped him in chains.


    When all was said and done, they hurried to the merchants, the criminals in tow. Astrid''s mood darkened when she saw them huddled around a burned-outwagon, mourning and crying. She cast icy glances to the wretches who Gryffen and Menas dragged along. Gryffen gave her a nod.


    "I am sorry we could not safe them."


    The merchant face was steel framed around a silken mantle. "Her. My little girl. And her dog."


    Astrid nodded. "I am sorry we could not safe her."


    The head shook inside the cloth''s confines. "Don''t be sorry. You did what you could. Just make sure that no child-killing, thieving goblin escapes your just punishment."


    Astrid nodded. "We do what we can."


    Some people left the wagon now, two bundles in their arms. Astrid was startled by how small they were. His voice was steel. "No. Do what you must. Protect the empire. Protect its people."


    Astrid paused. There was a frightful fierceness in the last words. Thankfully, Menas aided her.


    "Good men, i must talk business with you. We have another task ahead. If you would please, could send word to mobilize a demesian company? Just deliver a letter to the next Adventurer Guild in my name, really. My contacts will know what to do from there. A necromancer most vile is afoot, raising the dead and perchance building an army. Who knows if he gave armor and evil plans to these goblins? We need to be prepared." The men quickly erupted into details and Astrid stumbled away. Gryffen was there for her.


    There was something in her eyes. "Do we really have to do it? Really kill them without regret?"


    "Be unworried my loved. Ye, we must be hard and strong. There must be no mercy for those who abuse their freedom and our tolerance to end all freedom and tollerance. And being free means the freedom to take consequences. The goblins have to pay for their decisions. But we can be with mercy. There is a place in the empire for those who see the Light and those who see Progress."


    She held his hand, gently. She smiled, renewed of purpose.