ã€ŠQuillTome Legacies: The Netherkingã€‹


 Prologue

    The quill''s nib touched the surface of the black inkwell, causing tiny ripples to dance across the liquid''s surface. The disturbance caught the eerie green candlelight, creating fleeting patterns that seemed to writhe with a life of their own. As the nib emerged, a single drop of ink fell back, creating a fleeting vortex in the well.

    The nib met parchment with a soft scratch, its metallic whisper echoing through the opulent chamber. The verdant light flickered across the pages of the tome, casting ever-shifting shadows that breathed life into the words forming upon its surface. The scent of ink mingled with the musty aroma of ancient tomes.

    A figure sat hunched over the writing, long dark hair falling forward to veil a face of sharp angles and high cheekbones. Elegant hands, adorned with ornate rings, guided the quill with practiced ease. In the dim light, faint lines beneath pale skin pulsed with a subtle gold-green glow, matching the eerie light that flickered through eyes icy blue but with an otherworldly gold-green shine. The quill paused, hovering over the page as its wielder contemplated the next words, full lips curled into a knowing smirk.

    The quill touched parchment once more, and words began to flow, a stream of consciousness both profound and chilling:

    Everyone believes they are immortal, until they are not. As a child in the gutter, dodging blades and scraping for scraps, I thought myself untouchable. As my power grew, so too did my arrogance. Yet, at some point, one must face the truth: all things must die. Why? Take your pick¡ªthe birth of something new, the fleeting joy of life, or perhaps the pointlessness of eternity. After all, if we were all immortal, how long would it take to get shit done?

    And so, I find myself once more scribing into my tome. My thoughts. My story. My life. Yet even this is not immortal, for one day, a foolish and ignorant soul will deem it evil or too dangerous and destroy it for whatever pathetic purpose they see fit. Or perhaps fate shall mock me, heh, and it will be forgotten, gathering dust in some library, only to burn in a fire started by some... foolish reason. Haha! For this world is filled with fools.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    It reminds me of a saying I once heard: ''Profanity is a sign of the feeble-minded.''

    Perhaps I am of feeble mind, for I use it quite often. My response to such notions, of course, is simple: fuck you. So many restrain themselves from such words because of churches or etiquette. Yet I have slain countless of these pious men, through strength, wit, intelligence, and cunning.

    So I wonder¡ªare they simply more feeble-minded than I? Or is a man of feeble mind, in fact, more dangerous than one who is not? What, then, defines a feeble mind? Does it make one lesser or greater? And if lesser, then who is greater than I?

    I¡ªwho hold hundreds of wives, countless concubines. I¡ªwho possess more treasure than I could spend in a lifetime. I¡ªwho command an army the world has never seen.

    Suddenly, his hand tightened on the quill, driving it sharply into the page. Ink bled through the parchment as his jaw clenched.

    I, WHO HOLD THIS WORLD BY ITS THROAT!!!

    The quill suddenly froze in place, ink pooling at its tip as if holding its breath. The inscriber forced a long, steady breath, easing his grip. Slowly, the tension faded from his shoulders, and the corner of his mouth twitched in a dark smile.

    Ah, but I digress.

    Everyone believes they are immortal, until I kill them. And I am immortal until I am slain.

    But regardless, I shall live for thousands of years. At first as history, later as myth... perhaps longer, as a tale to frighten children. Perhaps, even for tens of thousands of years, scholars and the common man will debate whether I ever existed, as they do the gods. They will make stories of me, great plays of me. Children will take turns playing the role of me. Of Aventus.

    For I am Him.

    I am Me.

    I AM AVENTUS MONSTROUS

 QuillTome I

    The rhythmic clip-clop of horses'' hooves echoed along the dirt road, followed by an occasional ¡°nnnrrrr¡± of complaint and punctuated by the sharp huff of exertion from the animals. Leather harnesses creaked under strain, and the wheels of the wagons groaned softly against the uneven ground as the caravan trudged forward.

    Atop a craggy cliff overlooking the path, a motley crew of bandits lay in wait, their eyes glinting with anticipation. The setting sun cast long shadows across the rocky terrain, painting the scene in hues of gold and crimson.

    "See? I told you they''d come this way, Draven. I did good, right? Right?" A small, jittery man with a mouth full of missing teeth grinned up at his leader, eyes wide with hope for approval. His fingers fidgeted nervously with the frayed edges of his tattered cloak.

    Draven, a tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp features and piercing eyes that seemed to strip away all pretense, looked down at the caravan. A wide grin spread across his face as he placed a firm hand on the smaller man''s shoulder. "Yeah, you did good, Ratty. You did real good." He let out a hearty laugh, then licked his lips, tasting victory. His eyes narrowed as he counted the wagons, estimating their potential haul.

    Turning to address the group of nearly two dozen bandits, Draven spread his arms wide. The assorted cutthroats and thieves quieted, their attention fixed on their leader. "Lads and ladies, our boy Ratty here''s got us a damn fine score. So, what do you think we do next?"

    "We attack!" the group cried out, their voices a mix of excitement and bloodlust.

    Draven¡¯s face darkened. ¡°No, you idiots! We''d die if we did that. According to Ratty, they''ve got someone with the power of Quill down there. Do you want to deal with that magic?¡° He took a deep breath, steadying himself. The mention of a Quill user sent a ripple of unease through the group. He turned to the three women standing apart. ¡°Ladiana, Yellow Lips, Trata, you three ladies, be so kind as to come here.¡°

    The women exchanged fleeting glances, their faces clouded with fear and uncertainty. One shuffled her feet nervously, her gaze darting to the ground. Another clutched the edge of her tattered cloak, fingers trembling as she gripped the fabric tighter. A third swallowed hard, her breath shallow and uneven. None dared to step forward, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.

    One of them seemed to summon enough courage to let out a whisper, her voice barely audible. "But... the Quill..."

    Draven rolled his eyes, rubbing his forehead as he arched his back and let out a long sigh. Suddenly, he snapped forward, bellowing in frustration, "Bitches, get over here now!" His voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Unless you want the boys taking turns with you instead of having your pockets filled with silver and gold!"

    "Y-yes!" the woman stammered, rushing toward him in a scramble born of fear and urgency.

    As they stood before him, Draven''s eyes swept over them, his lips curling into a thoughtful hum as his hand went to his chin. ¡°Yes, you''re pretty enough,¡± he muttered, his gaze sharp. The women weren''t stunningly beautiful, but they had a rough sort of attraction.

    ¡°Ladiana, you smell nice,¡± Ratty said with a sly grin, his voice oily. The first woman stiffened, her hand twitching at her side as if debating whether to strike him. She might have stepped back, but Draven pushed the smaller man aside with a firm shove, silencing him with a cold glare.

    Ladiana shifted uneasily under the scrutiny, her tangled black hair hanging in uneven strands around her face. Her pale blue eyes darted nervously, never settling, but the firm set of her jaw hinted at a resilience forged through hardship. Whatever she''d endured had shaped a tempered will, stronger than most, even if her wary stance betrayed a lingering fear.

    Beside her, the second woman stood with her arms crossed. Her compact, athletic frame showed the life of a woman who worked hard every day. Burn scars marred her forearms, further testament to a hard life, while stray wisps of chestnut-colored hair stuck to her sweat-soaked skin.

    The third woman stood slightly apart from the others. Her olive skin was smudged with dirt, but it was her lips that drew the attention of others¡ªa garish, uneven coat of yellow coloring smeared across them. Whatever she¡¯d used, it wasn¡¯t proper lipstick. Probably some concoction scraped together from flower petals or crushed roots. It was decent enough and had earned her the name she went by.

    Their faces were etched with exhaustion, eyes wide with uncertainty and fear. But Draven knew they held more than what appeared on the surface. These women had been driven here, just like the rest of the bandits. Survival took a certain something¡ªintelligence, strength, cunning, whatever it might be. They''d lived this long without selling their bodies, which meant they''d outlasted those who''d died along the way. They were survivors.

    ¡°You three aren''t quite eye-catching enough in these rags to catch the guards'' attention,¡± he mused. ¡°But we can fix that.¡±

    ¡°Okay, rip here, here, and here,¡± he told them, gesturing to a few strategic spots to maximize their allure.

    The women exchanged nervous glances once more, moving at a snail-like pace.

    Draven''s eyes narrowed, watching them with growing impatience. Their hesitation grated on him. With a growl, he took a step forward, his hands moving swiftly. He grabbed Ladiana by the chin, his grip iron-tight, forcing her to meet his cold, unblinking gaze.

    "You sure you''re still up for this, Ladiana?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

    He pulled her in closer, his breath hot against her ear. "If you can''t handle this, you won¡¯t get paid. Your kid will starve¡ªnot because you couldn''t do your job, but because those guards down there will slit your throat without a second thought. They won¡¯t show mercy. Don''t forget: you''re one of us. Like it or not, you begged me for a job. Well, here it is and honestly it aint a bad one im not asking you to sleep with them just seduce them so we can kill them in a way that wont get us killed."

    His voice dropped further, low enough for only her to hear, each word striking at her heart. "And if you try to pocket any loot without having done a damn thing, the boys will use it as an excuse to have their fun with you. So, choose now: get it together, or just be a damn whore."

    Ladiana nodded slightly. "I''m up for it. Please don''t kick me away¡ªI need this," she said, her voice shaking.

    ¡°Then stop hesitating,¡± Draven said, not waiting for a response. He began tearing at their clothes ruthlessly, each rip swift and calculated. The men watching felt their mouths go dry, eyes widening at the display. One man, overcome, began to unbuckle his trousers.

    "I swear," Draven growled, not even turning around, "if you pull your pants down, I¡¯ll fucking cut off what you¡¯re thinking with." The man hastily sat back down, swallowing hard.

    Draven glanced at the group, his gaze sweeping over the cutthroats with a look that dared anyone to object. The men avoided his eyes¡ªone looked down, another whistled aimlessly, and one even pretended to fiddle with a rock. Satisfied, Draven returned to his task.

    When he finished, the women stood before him, their clothing torn just enough to reveal skin¡ªvulnerable and tempting, just the way he needed. ¡°Perfect,¡± he said, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. ¡°It¡¯ll be dark soon, and they¡¯ll want to rest. You three will make them stop a bit sooner. The perverts will want to bed you, and the decent ones will pity you and want to help.¡±

    He licked his lips and rubbed his fingers together as if imagining something in his hand. ¡°I can almost taste the gold already.¡±

    The women exchanged fleeting glances, their faces betraying fear and grim resolve. One let out a quiet, bitter sigh. Another clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms. Draven caught the gestures from the corner of his eye, his jaw tightening.

    They didn¡¯t have to like it¡ªnone of them did¡ªbut they had to understand the stakes. The men were used to this life; these women were not. Refusing wasn¡¯t an option. Neither was failure.

    A member of the Quill tribe rode in the caravan, and the haul promised to be immense. One mistake, one hesitation, and it could all collapse. Draven¡¯s fist tightened until his knuckles turned white. If harshness was what it took to ensure survival, so be it. Pride and emotions could heal in time. Death could not.

    The soft rustling of grass mingled with the gentle nickering of horses as they grazed at the edge of the camp. Crickets chirped in the gathering darkness, occasionally punctuated by the low murmur of guards'' voices and the crackling song of the campfire.

    The campfire¡¯s glow wavered in the cool night breeze, casting shadows that danced across the clustered wagons and weary guards. Ladiana, Yellow Lips, and Trata lingered at the edge of the firelight, hesitating just long enough for a few heads to turn their way. Their steps were careful and calculated, mixing just the right touch of timidity and desperation to sell the illusion.

    A faint cough from Ladiana broke the guards¡¯ murmured conversations. Heads turned fully now, eyes narrowing as they tried to make sense of the figures emerging from the darkness.

    ¡°Did you hear something?¡± a guard asked, his voice low.

    The cough was faint, almost swallowed by the crackling fire.

    ¡°Eh, your head¡¯s playing tricks on you,¡± another guard muttered. ¡°Must have just been the wind.¡±

    Ladiana''s cough was soft, yet it was enough to make one of the more vigilant guards glance up from where he was sharpening a blade.

    The nearest guard to the women tensed for a moment, standing from the log he''d been resting on, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword. The sound was so soft¡ªso insignificant¡ªthat he quickly relaxed, shaking his head with a small, irritated gesture. Just the wind, as one of his companions had said. Or maybe another cricket¡¯s call, he told himself.

    Before he sat back down, the guard squinted toward the source of the sound and noticed the women emerging from the shadows of the trees. Their torn clothing, exposed skin... it didn¡¯t register at first. Only when the faint rustle of fabric caught his eye did his gaze linger a moment longer, noticing how they appeared¡ªout of place, vulnerable, like prey. Confused and filled with a stir of lust, he hesitated, but before any decision could be made, the women drew close enough for the other guards to see them.

    ¡°H-hello?¡± Ladiana¡¯s voice cracked, trembling with just the right mix of fear and exhaustion. ¡°We... we saw your fire. Please... we¡¯ve been traveling for days, and we¡¯re lost. Could we¡ªcould we rest here?¡± Her torn clothing and dirt-smeared skin lent weight to her plea, while the cracks in her voice echoed the fatigue that had settled over the caravan.

    ¡°Oh dear, what happened to you?¡± one of the merchants asked as he approached with a blanket for the trio to share. Trata would have almost thought the merchant was kind if she wasn¡¯t so used to the lustful gaze that followed her around, the same kind of gaze the merchant was trying to hide behind his false gesture, offering a blanket barely enough to cover two of them, let alone all three. This, however, only made her shiver¡ªnot from the cold, nor from the merchant''s gaze, but from Draven¡¯s prediction. He had warned that someone would try to find a way to separate one of them and bring her to their bed.

    As Trata¡¯s thoughts lingered on Draven¡¯s warning, Yellow Lips stepped forward. Her voice trembled but remained steady enough to hold. ¡°We were attacked on the road by bandits. They took everything¡ªour coin, our supplies, even our dignity.¡± Her hands clutched at the frayed edges of her clothing, her knuckles whitening. ¡°They laughed as they left us... like this.¡±

    Trata sniffled, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. ¡°We thought we¡¯d die out there.¡± Her shoulders sagged, her frail appearance disarming some of the guards, who exchanged uneasy glances.

    The first guard¡¯s eyes softened slightly, though he didn¡¯t let down his guard entirely. ¡°Bastards,¡± he muttered, his hand still resting near his sword hilt.

    A young guard sighed and tossed them a loaf of bread and a waterskin.

    ¡°Ah, the blanket isn¡¯t large enough. A pity. However, one of you may come with me. I have a cozy little room in one of the caravans.¡±

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    Everything was going just as Draven had predicted¡ªthe mixture of pity and interest was working. Even the offer of separation.

    The guards and merchants had asked some more questions, but as Draven had instructed, the women¡¯s torn attire and carefully crafted air of fear and nervousness allowed them to dodge most inquiries. Gestures of discomfort and trembling voices spoke louder than their words, drawing lingering gazes from some and pitying looks from others.

    Time seemed to stretch and blur as the night deepened. To Ladiana, every glance felt like both a threat and an opportunity, a delicate balance between pushing their luck and maintaining the ruse.

    Yellow Lips scanned the camp, searching for any sign of the Quill tribe member Draven had warned them about. Guards moved about establishing their watch posts, with servants tending to horses and fires while merchants secured their wagons for the night.

    Movement at one of the larger wagons caught her eye. A man emerged, shrugging into robes as dark as a starless night. As the fabric settled over his shoulders, she glimpsed the crimson embroidery that flickered and coiled like living flames when he moved - delicate patterns that started at the hem and spiraled upward, growing more sparse as they ascended. Though the robe marked him as someone of significance, the fabric showed signs of frequent travel - worn spots at the elbows, dust from the road clinging to the edges.

    He paused by a stack of crates, methodically rolling up his sleeves before bending to help with the unloading. The motion revealed an intricate tattoo on his forearm, swirling patterns that seemed to shift in the flickering firelight.

    She''d heard of such markings. The Quill tribes used them as a sign of pride, showing their elemental prowess. The longer the tattoo, the higher the honor, though the extent of her knowledge was just from rumors and hearsay.

    Yellow Lips felt her heart quicken at the sight of the tattoo ¡ª a clear mark of a Quill user. Catching Ladiana''s eye across the camp, she gave an almost imperceptible nod towards the wagon. Ladiana''s slight incline of her head confirmed she''d received the message, but the tightness around her eyes betrayed their shared apprehension. Now they knew who to watch, who to avoid provoking.

    Night settled fully over the camp, the darkness broken only by scattered fires and the occasional torch. As guards rotated their shifts and travelers began settling in for the night, Yellow Lips caught the eye of a particularly eager young guard. In the flickering firelight, her most striking feature stood out ¡ª lips painted a bold, unmistakable yellow, the color stark against her olive skin. She leaned in close to the guard, her yellow lips nearly brushing his ear as she whispered, "It''s been so long since I''ve felt... safe. Would you walk with me? Just to the edge of those trees there?"

    The guard gulped, mesmerized by her seductive manner. With quickened breath, he nodded dumbly, his eyes fixed on those yellow lips as he followed her into the shadows.

    "Another guard, drawn by movement in the darkness, heard what seemed to be passionate whispers followed by a wet gurgle and soft thumping against the ground. Yellow Lips'' breathless voice drifted from the shadows¡ª"Oh my... that was intense..."¡ªand the second guard smirked, "enjoy yourself, you bastard," he muttered while turning back to his post, never suspecting the true nature of the sounds that had reached his ears."

    Moments later, a figure in the guard''s armor emerged from the shadows, struggling to adjust the ill-fitting helmet. Draven cursed under his breath as he tugged at the chest plate, which hung loosely on his leaner frame. The boots, a size too small, pinched his feet with every step. He knew the disguise was far from perfect, but it would have to do. "Clean kill," he whispered to Yellow Lips and Ratty as he passed their hiding spot. Making his way cautiously through the camp, he kept his movements stiff and unnatural, hoping to pass it off as fatigue if anyone noticed.

    As Yellow Lips led her guard away, Trata had already begun to move to a secluded spot behind the supply wagons. Her fingers shook slightly as she reached for the concealed dagger at her waist. A muffled thud, a moment of nauseating guilt, and the guard didn''t return. Trata emerged, her face pale but resolute, wiping her blade clean on the grass.

    Ladiana, playing her part, kept the captain engaged in conversation, spinning a tale of their fictional village''s demise. Her voice quavered authentically¡ªnot entirely an act¡ªas she recounted imagined horrors. Her eyes, however, never left the Quill user, who had moved to the main fire after finishing with the crates, his hands occasionally moving in subtle gestures as he rested.

    Draven, in his stolen uniform, edged closer to the precious cargo, all too aware of the Quill user''s presence. He knew a direct confrontation would be suicide, but perhaps with the right distraction...

    He caught Ladiana''s eye and gave an imperceptible nod. It was time for the next phase of the plan.

    "Captain," Ladiana whispered, her voice trembling. "I keep thinking I saw movement in the trees. The way they circled us before..." She clutched his arm, eyes wide with carefully crafted fear. "Would you check? Please? I can''t bear the thought of going through that again."

    The captain frowned, his eyes scanning the shadows where Ladiana''s gaze lingered. "My men would''ve seen something by now," he said, his tone edged with skepticism. But as her trembling fingers tightened ever so slightly on his arm, a flicker of doubt crossed his face.

    "You''re probably right," Ladiana murmured, her tone shifting to reluctant trust. "You would know best¡­but I can''t shake the feeling." She stepped back as if ready to accept his judgment, planting the seed of doubt.

    The captain hesitated, his gaze shifting to his men before Ladiana''s trembling fingers tightened on his arm. Straightening, he allowed his protective instincts to override his initial wariness. "Stay close to the fire," he commanded firmly. "I¡¯ll take a quick look." With a sharp gesture, he signaled for two guards to follow him and strode toward the perimeter.

    Trata counted heartbeats, knowing precision mattered more than speed. When enough time had passed for the captain''s group to reach the perimeter, she crept toward the horses. Her dagger''s pommel struck the lead animal''s flank with calculated force. The horse reared with a piercing whinny, startling its companions into a panic. Supply crates toppled as the horses thrashed against their restraints.

    In the chaos, several overturned lanterns ignited scattered hay, sending flames crawling across the ground. The panicked horses only grew more frenzied at the sight of fire.

    The quill tribe member rose, hands weaving patterns that traced fire in the air as he moved to calm the chaos. From the shadows between two wagons, Draven took his shot. The lead ball caught the quill user just above the temple with a sickening crack.

    As the quill user crumpled, Draven raised his closed fist, then opened it¡ªa signal barely visible except to those watching for it. Like a ripple through shadows, the gesture was repeated along the treeline, passing from one hidden bandit to the next. Then shadows detached themselves as bandits emerged, their war cries splitting the air. But Draven knew they weren''t here to win¡ªjust to divide the guards'' attention while he worked. Racing to the wagons, he began transferring the most valuable cargo his spies had identified into two specific vehicles. One remained sealed¡ªRatty''s information suggested it held something special and it was also the one the quill user had emerged from.

    In the chaos of clashing steel and war cries, Draven worked methodically. "Gems, silks, anything light and valuable," he directed, his voice calm despite the surrounding chaos. Yellow Lips and Trata emerged from the shadows, moving with practiced precision. Yellow Lips swept smaller treasures¡ªjewels and silks¡ªinto a sack, while Trata strained to shift heavier crates toward the wagon.

    A guard''s cry pierced closer than the others. Draven''s hand flew to his sling without looking up from the chest he was emptying. The lead ball struck the charging guard in the torso, staggering him. Before the guard could recover, a shadow darted in from the side.

    Ratty struck like a coiled snake, his blade slashing wildly before finding its mark. The guard collapsed with a gurgling sound, and Ratty offered Draven a crooked grin, wiping blood from his face. "Figured you''d need the help."

    Draven snorted but didn''t argue, already turning back to the chest he was emptying. "Leave the grain," he snapped as Yellow Lips hesitated over a heavy sack. "Focus on the merchant''s personal chest¡ªthat''s where they hide the real wealth."

    The sealed wagon creaked as Trata secured its horses, sweat gleaming on her brow as she fought to calm the nervous animals. Ratty stepped over the fallen guard, taking up position by the wagon with his dagger drawn, ready for the next threat.

    Through the chaos, Draven caught glimpses of his men¡ªsome falling, others breaking away in coordinated retreat. They''d bought him three minutes. Maybe four.

    A crossbow bolt thudded into the wagon beside his head, and Draven''s sling whirled twice before he loosed the lead ball into the general direction of the attack. He didn''t wait to see if it connected. "Time''s up!" he called sharply. "Yellow Lips, get those horses moving! Trata, whatever''s in your hands is the last of it!"

    As the women scrambled onto the wagons, Ratty gave Draven a quick nod before climbing onto the second one. The sounds of battle began to shift¡ªthe bandits'' war cries fading as they drew the guards deeper into the woods.

    Draven cracked the reins on the sealed wagon, the horses surging forward as the second wagon followed. Behind them, the camp was left in chaos, fires flickering against the night as the bandits melted into the darkness.

    The wagons rumbled through the darkness, wheels jolting over exposed roots and uneven ground. Draven kept the horses at a steady pace¡ªfast enough to maintain distance, but not so quick as to risk breaking a wheel on the treacherous terrain. Every few minutes, he glanced back, watching for pursuit torches, but only darkness followed them through the trees.

    After what felt like hours of tense silence, broken only by the creak of wood and leather, Draven guided them toward a sheltered hollow he knew well. Ancient trees formed a natural barrier, their massive roots creating walls that would hide the wagons from passing eyes.

    "We''ll rest the horses," he announced, his voice carrying just far enough for the second wagon to hear. "And see what we''ve won ourselves tonight."

    Draven jumped down from the wagon, his boots landing silently on the moss-covered ground. "Let''s see what we managed to grab," he began, but stopped as a muffled sound came from the sealed wagon.

    His hand moved to his sling as he approached. The lock surrendered easily to his tools, and as the door creaked open, moonlight spilled across a woman huddled in the corner. She wore a deep blue dress of fine silk, its elaborate embroidery and careful tailoring speaking of wealth despite its current disheveled state. Dark hair fell across her face as she raised her head, revealing beautiful emerald eyes, bright with a mix of fear and defiance. A healer''s satchel lay beside her.

    Draven noted her beauty for but a moment before his attention shifted to the subtle quality of the wagon''s interior¡ªcushioned benches, small trunks, and more comfort than cargo would warrant.

    "Please," she whispered, her voice hoarse but steady. "I can explain."

    A slight grin tugged at Draven''s lips as he considered the potential ransom such fine clothing might suggest. Before he could respond, Ratty called from the other wagon. "Boss, you''ll want to see this. The merchant''s strongbox¡ªit''s filled with Church documents."

    "Keep watch on her," Draven ordered Yellow Lips, his mind racing with possibilities. He added, his tone firm, "Oh, and if any of you boys touch her, I''ll have the hand that does so."

    Draven admitted, even to himself, that the woman was a rare beauty, but his thoughts were already focused on the wealth she might bring. Finding her alongside the documents was an unplanned twist¡ªone that would require careful handling.

    Draven strode to the second wagon where Ratty waited. The wagon''s interior was crowded with their hasty plunder¡ªsilks spilled from crates, jewels glinted from hastily filled sacks, and several merchant strongboxes lay broken open. The strongbox containing the Church documents remained firm in Draven''s grip, its official seals gleaming in the moonlight.

    "Right then," he called out, voice carrying to his gathered men. "Time to divide what we''ve earned." His eyes swept over the stolen goods, mentally calculating shares. From a pile of jewels, he selected a small pouch, testing its weight in his palm before tossing it to Yellow Lips.

    One of the newer bandits stepped forward, hand outstretched toward the pouch. "What makes them special?" he demanded, gesturing at the women.

    Draven''s movement was subtle but immediate. He stepped between the man and Yellow Lips, his presence suddenly filling the small clearing. "They risked their necks inside that camp," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Played their parts perfectly. Everyone who works gets paid, and everyone who works gets their fair share." His eyes locked onto the man''s. "You don''t take what isn''t yours. Not ever."

    The bandit''s hand dropped, his bravado withering under Draven''s stare. Around them, the other men nodded in approval¡ªthis was why they followed Draven. His word was iron, his fairness legendary among their kind.

    "Now those of you who''ve worked with me before, split the spoils fairly. If you want something specific, work it out among yourselves¡ªyou''ve all earned that right." Draven''s voice carried authority but also respect. "For our fallen, if any of you know their families, take their shares. I''ll see they get them. Those without family..." He paused. "Their portions split between you all."

    "Yes, boss," came the collective response.

    One of the men looked up from counting jewels. "What about your share, boss?"

    "Just enough to keep me fed this season," Draven replied, patting the strongbox under his arm. "The woman and these documents smell like money to me. If I''m right, I''ll be getting far more than all of you. If I''m wrong..." He shrugged. "At least I won''t starve."

    As the men began dividing their spoils in earnest, Ratty edged closer to Draven. "Boss, what do those Church papers say?"

    Draven broke the strongbox''s seal and squinted at the document inside. "Di... divine wisdom," he muttered, finger tracing the words. "Drae... something. Churches talking about Quill tribes..." His eyes narrowed as he worked through the text. "Want to control them. Slowly. Through... reg... regulations and teaching."

    His initial grin faded into something more calculating. The Nine Churches... this wasn''t some merchant''s ledger or noble''s love letter. This was the kind of document that got people killed.

    "Well now," he said carefully, ensuring his voice wouldn''t carry beyond Ratty. "Churches plotting against the Quill tribes. Planning to take their power bit by bit." He folded the document with deliberate care. "Could be worth a fortune to the right buyer. Could also be worth our heads to the wrong one."

    Ratty''s eyes widened. "What do we do, boss?"

    "We''re careful," Draven said, tucking the document away. "Very careful. First..." His gaze shifted toward the sealed wagon where their other prize waited. "Let''s see what our noble guest has to say for herself. Maybe she knows something about why she was traveling with these particular documents."

    Draven approached the sealed wagon again, the Church documents weighing heavy in his jacket. Yellow Lips stood guard, her namesake feature curved in a slight frown.

    The noble woman had composed herself somewhat, sitting straighter despite her disheveled appearance. Those emerald eyes followed his movement as he stepped into the wagon.

    ¡°Your name," he said simply.

    She lifted her chin slightly. "Serena." A pause, then, almost reluctantly, "Serena Monstrous."

    QuillTome I

    End

 Entry I

    Ah, and so our story began. Not with a great hero, nor with a villain of grandeur. Nay, but with a simple bandit, a survivor forged from the dirt and spit of those so-called great people. Do you know what it''s like to go hungry? Not the type in which one casually says "I feel like eating because I can," no, no, no¡ªbut true hunger, one that makes you forget all complaint, all can''ts and won''ts, hmm? Heh, I suppose I have, as has this man called Draven.

    He was a pragmatist and, like many in this world of shit, he had no last name, no nobility, just his mind¡ªcrafted not from education but from watching those around him, mimicking them and learning, making what he could his and bluffing the rest. Those who worked got paid; he always made sure of it. And so he gained a last name from a title given to him by others: Draven the Pragmatist.

    Now as for the Church¡ª''Hope not for salvation, strive for vengeance,'' they proclaim. A lie, cloaked in sanctimony. Their knights cut down innocents in pursuit of evil and call it necessary sacrifice. I struggle writing these words as I try not to laugh. They are nothing more than bloodlusted soldiers wrapping their bloodied fingers around any excuse they can find for their petty vengeance, pretending to be better than they really are.

    Yet still, they are dangerous, all nine Churches. And Draven was now playing a dangerous game¡ªhe became an unwilling piece on their chess board and he knew it. He needed a way out, but he also knew himself¡ªhe didn''t have what it took to escape. But he had a plan: if he had to become a piece, then he would choose the player that used him. Of course, you''ll need to read on if you wish to know more on that subject.

    Let us move on to the Church of Knowledge. ''I am Wise, so I am powerful.'' This motto is quite good, but what is wisdom? Experience? Understanding of one''s situation, of the change in the wind, of oneself? Draven, for example¡ªhe had wisdom. He understood his place in the world and knew what he could face and what he could not. Yet often the Church of Knowledge confuses their intelligence for wisdom. It''s understandable, of course. They are educated, yet that same education is a double-edged sword. They think they know best for the world because of it.

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    You must understand: both things have to do with understanding, yet both understand differently. Intelligence can be taught, yet wisdom must be gained through life experience or the life experience of others¡ªand not just another, but multiple others. Draven''s tactics on that day were driven by wisdom. He had seen what men do when confronted by lust and pride, and he used it. His tactics were based on his understanding of human nature, a skill gained through years of survival, learning what to say and not say, how to act and not act. The Church allowed their hubris to outweigh their wisdom many times, and many times shall they continue.

    As for me¡ªwell, who is to say? I believe I am wise; I believe I am intelligent. Yet only one who walks my path can argue with it. Perhaps hundreds or thousands of years from now, there will be those who walk my path and judge me for a fool. Perhaps they will be right, but who is to say? People judge success as measurement; in some ways it''s true, but luck also factors in. So perhaps if one is more successful than I, then it was luck. Regardless, they would be able to say that they¡ªwhoever they are¡ªwere greater than I, Aventus Monstrous.

    Hmm, but enough of this. I am now veering away. I promised you my thoughts and so you''ve had them. Let us return to the past once more¡ªto Draven, where you will find some of the answers to the questions I''m sure you have, to Serena Monstrous and her connection to me, as I''m sure you''re wondering. Let us return to my story, and do not worry¡ªI shall share my thoughts again when I wish to do so.

    AVENTUS MONSTROUS

 QuillTome II

    Birds chirped their morning song as dawn¡¯s first light pierced through the rough-hewn windows of the cabin. Unlike the makeshift shacks of most bandits, this one stood solid¡ªsturdy timber, a proper door that latched, even a few glass-paned windows. It wasn¡¯t lavish, rarely did a bandit hold a home that could be called lavish, but it spoke of Draven¡¯s place among his peers, a quiet recognition of his standing.

    A stray beam of sunlight crept across the wooden floor, catching the entwined feet of two figures beneath a heavy wool blanket. The peaceful rhythm of their breathing mingled with distant sounds of the camp stirring to life¡ªthe clash of practice blades, the whisper of sharpening stones, the occasional bark of laughter.

    The tranquil scene shattered as Ratty¡¯s voice cracked through the morning air like a dropped plate: ¡°Draven!!! Draven!!! Boss!!! I got something!!!¡±

    ¡°Ugh, that son of a... I¡¯ll fucking have rat stew tonight,¡± Draven growled from beneath the blanket, his voice thick with interrupted sleep.

    A melodious giggle emerged from the same blanket. ¡°Hehe, don¡¯t be mad at him,¡± Serena¡¯s sweet voice whispered. ¡°He¡¯s been with you since the beginning, and honestly, loyalty like that is hard to find among bandits.¡±

    ¡°Damn it, Serena,¡± Draven grumbled, still fighting the fog of sleep. ¡°You¡¯ve only known him for three months. Trust me, if the pay was high enough, Ratty would stab me in the back. Granted, it would have to be enough to set him up with a comfortable life until he died old and stupid, but still¡ªdon¡¯t think for a second he wouldn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Draven!!! Boss!!!¡± Ratty¡¯s voice pierced through again. ¡°Huh, maybe he ain¡¯t home... oh, I know! You¡¯re so smart, Ratty.¡± His voice took on a sing-song quality. ¡°My Lady Serena, oh great beauty within the camp of shit, are you home?!¡± Each word carried that special quality that made one¡¯s fist itch with the desire to punch him... repeatedly.

    Draven¡¯s eye twitched violently. ¡°Ratty!!! I¡¯m up, damn it¡ªshut up and give me some time!¡±

    Serena¡¯s laughter burst forth like spring water, pure and sweet. ¡°By the way,¡± she managed between fits of mirth, ¡°I¡¯ve been curious for a while now¡ªis Ratty his real name?¡±

    ¡°Fuck if I know,¡± Draven muttered, emerging from the blanket like a bear from hibernation. ¡°It¡¯s what he told me to call him. I could care less about his real name.¡±

    A blast of cold air hit his bare skin, drawing forth another curse. ¡°Shit, it¡¯s cold. Where¡¯s my clothes?¡±

    ¡°In the corner,¡± Serena purred, her voice taking on a sultry tone. ¡°You threw them there when I asked if you wanted to play with me.¡±

    Draven sighed, a smile softening his features as he sat beside her on the bed. He leaned in, kissing her gently before pulling back to study her face. ¡°I remember how scared you were at first, yet you adapted so quickly.¡±

    Serena¡¯s eyes sparkled with mischief and something deeper. ¡°Well, when I ran from home, I certainly didn¡¯t expect to find the romance I was searching for here.¡±

    ¡°Heh, romance, huh? Well, to that I say...¡±

    ¡°Bossss,¡± Ratty¡¯s voice cut in, dragging the ¡®s¡¯ out for several excruciating breaths.

    ¡°Seriously, this is big!¡± Ratty continued. ¡°So hurry up!¡±

    Draven sighed again, his head dropping in resignation. ¡°Can¡¯t a man get a little peace and quiet, Ratty? Damn, I¡¯m completely naked with my cock swinging out, and you can¡¯t shut up for a damn second!¡±

    Suddenly, blessed silence fell. Draven and Serena exchanged a glance, his eyebrow slowly lifting. ¡°Wow, that worked?¡±

    ¡°Guess so,¡± Serena replied, trying to suppress another giggle.

    ¡°Huh, in that case¡ª¡± Before Draven could finish, Ratty¡¯s voice shattered the brief peace.

    ¡°By the way, boss, I¡¯ve always wondered¡ªdo you have a nice cock? The women always seem to be more interested in you than most of the guys here, so I¡¯m just curious.¡±

    Draven put his fingers to his forehead and rubbed in exasperation. ¡°I just woke up, and now I¡¯m suddenly so very tired.¡±

    Still rubbing his forehead, Draven stumbled over to the corner where his clothes lay scattered. He snatched up his worn leather breeches, hopping awkwardly as he pulled them on. ¡°Serena, where¡¯s my¡ª¡±

    ¡°Your shirt¡¯s hanging off the chair,¡± she answered before he could finish, wrapping the blanket around herself as she watched him dress with undisguised appreciation.

    ¡°Bossss, hurry up!¡± Ratty called out again.

    ¡°If you don¡¯t shut up for just one minute, I¡¯m going to stick whatever ¡®something big¡¯ you have so far up your¡ª¡± Draven growled as he yanked his shirt over his head.

    ¡°Ok boss, but still hurry up yeah?¡± Ratty said seemingly immune to the threats  thrown at him.

    Serena sat up, the blanket sliding down only to be caught on her supple breasts, her fair skin still untouched by the harsh life of the camp. She couldn¡¯t keep her emerald eyes off Draven as he dressed, her full lips parting slightly in appreciation. He cut an imposing figure even in this domestic moment¡ªtall and broad-shouldered, with a wild mane of dark blonde hair that fell past his shoulders. His beard, fuller and less tamed than the nobles she¡¯d known, did nothing to hide the sharp angles of his jaw or the high cheekbones that had first caught her attention. Those piercing blue eyes, so striking against his sun-weathered skin, like those of a wolf, noble in its own way.

    Her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in waves, a striking contrast to her pale skin. Where Draven¡¯s features were weathered and harsh, hers held an elegant refinement that spoke of noble breeding¡ªhigh cheekbones like his, but softer, more graceful. Her emerald eyes sparkled with an innocent warmth as she watched him, her love for him as unconcealed as her beauty. Even now, months into camp life, she moved with an innate grace that no amount of rough living could diminish.

    As he moved, muscles rippled beneath his skin, holding the raw power earned through years of survival. A thin scar across his shoulder caught the morning light, one of many marks that told the story of his violent life. Her delicate fingers reached for his weapon belt as she stared at his calloused hands, a contrast to her own graceful hands.

    ¡°Here,¡± she said. The worn leather held both his sword and his deadly accurate sling. She watched him buckle it with practiced ease, the motion transforming him fully from her morning lover back into the feared bandit. Yet she could still see traces of nobility in his bearing, an unconscious grace that suggested he could have been something else in another life.

    ¡°What?¡± Draven asked as he caught something in her gaze, a mixture of affection and sadness.

    ¡°Did you ever think about becoming nobility, Draven?¡± Serena asked.

    Draven touched her cheeks softly as he stared into her eyes. ¡°From what you have told me and from what I myself know, not at all. That life seems even more cutthroat than this one,¡± he winked as he gave her a kiss.

    Draven pulled on his worn leather boots, then shrugged into a sleeveless jerkin that had seen better days, its dark leather marked with scratches and crude repairs. The garment held hidden pockets that could hold a knife or two. He¡¯d learned long ago that comfort in camp was no excuse for being unprepared.

    With a final glance at Serena, Draven strode to the door and yanked it open, ready to hear whatever had Ratty so excited. ¡°Alright,¡± he growled, ¡°what¡¯s so damned important that¡ª¡±

    His words froze as his eyes widened.

    There stood Ratty, his missing teeth now replaced with gleaming silver¡ªa flashy testament to their months of raiding. Beside him stood a figure who towered over Ratty, though in all fairness the irritating bandit wasn¡¯t the tallest of men. The figure next to him was a woman taller than the average man, Draven was no average man however and still stood a head higher than the figure. Wild black hair tumbled down her shoulders, and silver chains were woven through her well-maintained polished leather armor. A thin scar traced the edge of her jaw, adding a fierce flair to her beautiful allure. Her unnerving amber eyes seemed as if they could peel away a man¡¯s defenses with a single stare. At her hip, a well-worn axe caught the morning light, its edge seeming to glint in anticipation of its next victim.

    ¡°Raven,¡± Draven¡¯s voice was tight. ¡°Last I saw those eyes of yours, you were leaving me to burn in that merchant convoy.¡±

    ¡°Now, now, boss,¡± Ratty¡¯s voice quivered with excitement, ¡°she says she¡¯s got something important to discuss!¡±

    Ratty¡¯s once-tattered cloak had been replaced by an indigo-dyed wool mantle that looked almost absurdly grand draped over his wiry frame¡ªa trophy from the same caravan raid that had brought Draven and Serena together three months prior. A sleek, braided whip hung from one hip¡ªan indulgence from a robbery two weeks prior¡ªand a brand-new sword rested on the other, fresh from their latest spoils. His hands, once perpetually fidgeting, were now sheathed in fine leather gloves, supple and dark, plucked from the belongings of some unfortunate merchant. The whip, Draven noted with quiet amusement, was an odd choice for someone who had no idea how to use it. But that was Ratty: always a collector of trinkets, always drawn to what caught the eye rather than what served a purpose.

    ¡°That little incident?¡± Raven pulled an apple from somewhere in her armor, taking a loud, crisp bite. The juice caught the morning light. ¡°Please, I knew you¡¯d survive. You¡¯re always finding ways to survive after all¡ªyou¡¯re too stubborn to die.¡± She shrugged and tossed the half-eaten apple his way. Draven caught it reflexively, taking an irritated bite.

    ¡°Besides,¡± she added, ¡°watching it burn was worth it.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t part of the plan,¡± Draven growled around the mouthful of apple.

    ¡°The plan went to shit,¡± Raven said flatly. ¡°I had to improvise.¡±

    ¡°Improvise?¡± Draven tossed the apple core aside. ¡°Your kind of improvising tends to leave bodies burning.¡±

    ¡°OK OK I don¡¯t want to argue. Listen there is a big job going on and big boss Kragen asked me who would be good to plan it. I told him my old boss Draven would be perfect he is always so damn careful,¡± Raven said, her earlier mockery gone now as she took a more serious tone.

    Draven shot Ratty a blood-freezing stare.

    ¡°Trust me, boss,¡± Ratty¡¯s silver teeth caught the light as he grinned. ¡°I know you¡¯re not happy, but it¡¯s really big. Lots of money, and nothing we can¡¯t handle.¡±

    Draven dragged his hand down his face. ¡°Fucking hell.¡± His long sigh spoke for him.

    He fixed Ratty with another hard stare, then shook his head. ¡°Well, you know what buttons not to push, so fine¡ªI¡¯ll trust you. You don¡¯t usually screw up on what jobs you find.¡± Looking at Raven, he added, ¡°But not here. Let¡¯s talk somewhere more private.¡± Draven muttered scanning the morning bustle within his piece of the camp. Cookfires smoked between the scatter of hide tents and rough wooden shelters where his crew made their homes, the smell of burning wood mixing with cooking meat and unwashed bodies.

    A few of his men were already up, practicing with blunted blades or tending to morning chores. Others stumbled from their tents, grumbling and cursing the morning sun.

    One of the bandits lay in a wooden tub, steam rising from water heated by rocks taken from the cookfire. Nearby, another bandit emerged naked from his tent, red marks covering his chest and neck.

    ¡°Get back in there and put on some cloth, damn it! No one wants to see your cock swinging around or those damn love marks,¡± one of the men yelled.

    ¡°You¡¯re just jealous cause I had a good ride, and I¡¯m bigger than ye... ye... ye... fucking goat lover!¡± the naked bandit shouted back, scratching himself proudly.

    "Fucking moron!" the yelling bandit spat. "That whore slept with half the camp, but you don''t see us parading around like we''re something special!"

    The trio passed by as the argument devolved into cruder insults. As they passed another tent, Ratty''s ears perked up at the sounds within, his silver teeth glinting as he grinned.

    "By the gods, woman, I can''t feel my legs anymore!" a man''s voice pleaded from inside.

    "Shut up and take it like a man!" a woman commanded, followed by a sharp slap.

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    "Ow! Mercy!" the man yelped as the rhythmic sounds continued.

    "Ratty!" Draven barked as they began leaving him behind.

    "There, thats still part of your slice of the camp." Raven nodded toward a massive oak at the edge of Draven''s territory, where the undergrowth grew thicker between his section and the neighboring crew''s space. Close enough to keep his cabin in sight, far enough that voices wouldn''t carry.

    Ratty darted ahead, scrambling up the oak''s thick trunk with surprising agility. He settled into a fork between two branches, giving him a clear view of the paths leading to their position.

    "All clear, boss!" Ratty called down, quieter than his usual volume. "I can see all around us. Nobody close enough to hear nothing."

    Draven leaned against the trunk, positioning himself so he could still see his cabin''s door. "Now," he said to Raven, his voice low, "what''s this job that''s got Kragen asking about me?"

    "It''s a merchant convoy," Raven said, lounging on a sun-warmed rock. "Ten main wagons, twelve support carts. They''re carrying silks and jewels among other things, but that''s not the real prize."

    "Ten?" Draven gave her a hard look. "Are you crazier than I thought? We can''t run with that many and get them off our tail."

    A cruel smile played across Raven''s pretty face, her amber eyes glinting with delight. "Who said anything about running? They''ll let us leave with them, or they''ll all die."

    Draven sighed, rubbing his temple. "And how exactly does Kragen think this needs my kind of careful when you two already decided on something that would make us lose more than we''d gain?"

    "What are you talking about? That''s a lot of loot." Raven stared at him, genuinely confused.

    "Yes, and we lose men doing it when we could easily get away with half that and keep nearly all our crews intact." Draven''s voice hardened. "Take half, leave half¡ªthey''d have to stay back to protect what remains. It''s what I''ve done plenty of times. Get two, leave three, works all the damn time."

    "Because they''re carrying something valuable enough to hire forty armed men." Raven pulled a small leather pouch from her armor and tossed it to him. "That''s from Kragen. Guess he thought about your whole ''losing men'' issue. There''s something specific he wants from one of the wagons."

    The weight made Draven''s eyebrows rise. Opening the pouch revealed gold, silver, and even precious gems. Just the advance could feed his crew or their families for a season if any died.

    "My people plus yours," Raven continued, "we''d have the numbers. Three days from now, they''ll pass through the valley near the old ruins. Perfect ground for an ambush."

    Draven shook his head. "No, too obvious. They''ll be expecting trouble there." He paused, considering. "The cliff road past the western fork¡ªnarrow, treacherous. Guards can''t maneuver well there, and we can control both high ground and escape routes. Even better, they won''t be expecting an attack where their own path is so dangerous."

    "Tell me about their setup," he added, pocketing the advance. "Guard rotations, wagon arrangements¡ªeverything you''ve seen."

    "I got nothing!" Raven beamed with an almost innocent smile.

    Draven''s eye twitched violently.

    "That''s what you''re for, silly," she said, stretching lazily. "Remember, I usually just jump in."

    Draven tightened his fist then let it go with a heavy sigh. "Raven, you haven''t changed at all. Fine, I''ll have some of my boys scouting. I''ll ask if any of the girls here need a silver or two so that if my boys are caught, they can pretend to be on a date or some other excuse. People tend to be stupid when women are thrown into any mix."

    He began tapping his foot as he thought. "We have three days so get your people with mine so they can get to know each other a bit¡ªat least well enough to recognize each other''s faces so they don''t accidentally kill one another."

    "Got it, boss," Raven said with a smirk.

    "Don''t call me that. I haven''t been your boss in years, not since that other incident. To be honest, I should have killed you for that one," Draven growled.

    "Ok wait, that time really wasn''t my fault, and you know it¡ªthat''s why you didn''t kill me. If it was, you definitely would have!" Raven threw her hands up, actual nervousness creeping into her voice.

    "Come on Ratty, help me out here, you remember that." Raven looked up at Ratty desperately.

    "It''s true it wasn''t, but you should have known better. Plus, boss did warn you three times not to trust her," Ratty said, shrugging.

    "How was I supposed to know such a pretty thing would have tricked me into doing that!" Raven protested.

    "I never did know why you and her had a thing going on. Raven, were you sleeping around with the boss at that time too? Boss is way more handsome than she was," Ratty said, silver teeth glinting.

    ¡°Well, I mean, the more the better, plus she did this thing with her tongue,¡± Raven grinned wickedly. ¡°To be honest, I was aiming for a threesome with boss Draven and her at the time so.¡±

    Draven was rubbing his forehead, looking like he wanted to punch them both.

    ¡°Oh by the way, I asked boss this morning but he never answered, but you¡¯ve seen it so I¡¯m wondering¡ªsince all the girls are so into boss, does he have a nice cock?¡± Ratty asked eagerly.

    Raven¡¯s amber eyes sparkled with wicked delight. ¡°Well, heh, you see he...¡±

    ¡°OK OK that¡¯s enough Raven, go! Ratty, stop asking about my cock, damn it! Now I¡¯m leaving¡ªI got a scouting team to set up, for fuck¡¯s sake!¡± Draven stormed away. A few moments later, when they thought he was out of earshot, their laughter burst out. He could still hear Raven¡¯s wild cackle and Ratty¡¯s wheezing giggles.

    Draven¡¯s grumbling curses faded into the morning air as he stalked off to find his scouts.

    Three days had passed quickly, the dawn mist clung to the cliff road like a shroud of death. Draven pressed himself against the rough stone, watching the first wagon emerge through the gray haze. His scouts had earned their silver¡ªthe convoy¡¯s timing was exactly as reported. The crunch of wheels on gravel echoed off the cliff walls, accompanied by the occasional snap of a driver¡¯s whip or creak of wooden axles.

    Something moved in his peripheral vision¡ªRaven, no doubt itching to spring the trap. He held up a closed fist, a signal for patience that he hoped she¡¯d actually follow. The lead wagon needed to pass the first marker, or this would all go to shit.

    Shouts and curses from the convoy drew his attention. One of the support carts had apparently lost a wheel. Guards clustered around it, their frustration carrying clearly in the morning air. Draven allowed himself a slight smile. Amazing what a few carefully loosened bolts, some well-placed bribes, and a handful of pointed threats could accomplish. Silver for the stable boy¡¯s cooperation, a knife to the axle wright¡¯s throat, and a promise of protection¡ªrather than torment¡ªfor a guard¡¯s family, as long as he turned a blind eye during inspections. Each piece fell perfectly into place.

    Now, they just had to wait for the chain reaction¡­

    The sound of splintering wood announced the second cart¡¯s wheel giving way. Right on schedule. Panicked shouts erupted as the falling cart forced the wagon behind it to swerve sharply, its wheels catching on the loose gravel Draven¡¯s men had carefully scattered the night before. Most of the guards rushed about in confusion, but Draven noticed a handful moving with disciplined purpose, taking defensive positions around one particular wagon. That wagon probably held what Kragen wanted he presumed.

    The mist worked in their favor, concealing just how many bandits surrounded the convoy. Draven could make out the shapes of guards rushing to secure their perimeter, their movements growing more frantic as they realized just how exposed they were on the narrow cliff road.

    A flash of steel in his peripheral vision made him tense. ¡°Raven,¡± he growled under his breath, ¡°don¡¯t you dare¡ª¡±

    ¡°Come on, it¡¯s perfect!¡± Raven whispered sharply, licking her lips.

    ¡°No, not yet,¡± Draven snapped, his voice low but firm. ¡°The broken carts are forcing them forward exactly where we want them. Once more wagons pass that bend, they¡¯ll be trapped between their own disabled carts and the narrowest part of the pass. You came to me for a reason, remember? So wait.¡±

    Raven¡¯s fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword. Her body was tense, coiled like a spring, and her gaze was locked on the guards moving into defensive positions. ¡°If we wait too long, they¡¯ll figure out we¡¯re here,¡± she muttered through gritted teeth.

    Draven didn¡¯t spare her a glance. ¡°If you go now, you¡¯ll lose half the men with you and piss away the advantage we¡¯ve worked for. Patience, Raven. Just a few more wagons.¡±

    Below, merchants were shouting orders to clear the disabled carts, but their guards¡¯ attention was increasingly focused on the mist-shrouded cliffs. A pair of scouts broke away from the group, heading up the road to check for trouble. Draven tracked their movement¡ªthey were the same two his men had reported always took point. Everything so far was going according to plan.

    The guards around the target wagon had shifted formation. Small gestures, subtle movements¡ªhis scouts¡¯ reports hadn¡¯t exaggerated. These men moved differently than the common sellswords protecting the other wagons. While the regular guards scrambled to deal with the cart problem, these ones were quietly positioning themselves for a fight.

    He caught Yellow Lips¡¯ eye across the pass and gave a slight nod. Time to make the scouts disappear before they returned with news of clear roads ahead. She melted back into the mist, Ladiana and Trata following to pass his signal down the line. The women who¡¯d helped scout the convoy now watched from secure positions as the fighters took their places.

    The convoy continued its slow crawl forward, more wagons passing the point of no return. Just a few more moments.

    A sudden shout from ahead snapped his focus. One of the scouts had found something¡ªthe body of a guard, judging by the yell that followed. Draven¡¯s jaw clenched. Too soon.

    He turned to Raven, his glare sharp. ¡°That side was covered by your men Raven!!¡±

    She shrugged, a smirk tugging at her lips. ¡°Well, waiting isn¡¯t our strongest skill. Probably got impatient.¡±

    ¡°Anyway, we can attack now. Finally!¡± Raven burst from cover with a wild laugh, her blade already drawn. Like leader, like followers.

    ¡°Signals! Now!¡± Draven roared, all pretense of stealth abandoned. Horns blasted from multiple positions along the cliff, their echoes multiplying in the narrow pass until it seemed an army surrounded the convoy. The mist worked in their favor, concealing their true numbers as shadows emerged from the rocks.

    The convoy erupted into chaos. Guards quickly formed defensive positions around their assigned wagons¡ªthese weren¡¯t green recruits but seasoned caravan guards. Years of fending off bandits had taught them well. Some shouted commands to establish a perimeter while others moved to protect the merchants.

    But the men around the target wagon moved differently. Nearby helping Draven coordinate the attack, Ratty watched them closely. Unlike the other guards, these ones had different eyes, the eyes of killers. They might have the same armament as the other wagon guards but the formation was different, and Ratty had been doing jobs with Draven long enough to tell the difference between caravan guards, no matter how veteran, and expensive mercenaries. The type that Draven would always avoid whenever spotted.

    ¡°Shit, the scouts fucked up,¡± Ratty muttered at the unexpected problem.

    He caught Ladiana¡¯s eye. ¡°You¡¯re still here?¡±

    ¡°I was about to head back, but Draven asked me to¡ª¡± Ladiana began.

    ¡°Whatever, listen,¡± Ratty cut her off, silver teeth glinting as he spoke urgently. ¡°Tell Draven they¡¯ve got expensive mercs here. The real dangerous kind. Go, now!¡±

    Ladiana ran into the mist without another word.

    From his command position above, Draven watched as Raven took off along the cliff edge. Of course she wouldn¡¯t take the safe path¡ªshe leapt from outcrop to outcrop, sliding down loose scree, each move bringing a fresh curse to his lips. He¡¯d lost count how many times he¡¯d sighed since she came to him with this job.

    Below, Raven used the last guard¡¯s shoulders to break her fall, driving him face-first into the ground with a sickening crunch. Her blade was already swinging as she sprang up, finding her second victim before the first had stopped twitching. Her people followed her lead, breaking from cover with their own war cries.

    With no choice left now. Draven¡¯s men joined the fray, emerging from their positions to take advantage of the confusion Raven had caused. They had been with him long enough to know how to use chaos and numbers to their advantage, and while their swings showed no formal training, they were swings formed from experienced combat, forcing the guards to adapt to the less structured combat.

    The archers Draven had positioned along the cliff¡¯s edge held their ground, arrows nocked and ready. Near them, the carefully loosened boulders waited¡ªa last resort he¡¯d hoped to avoid using.

    Ladiana¡¯s quiet approach pulled his attention away from the growing chaos. One look at her expression told him something was wrong.

    Ladiana barely finished her warning about the mercs when movement caught Draven¡¯s eye¡ªa figure breaking away from the convoy, disappearing into the rocks. His jaw clenched. If they had reinforcements nearby...

    ¡°Ladiana, tell the men to push them back against the cliff wall. Those aren¡¯t normal guards around the target wagon¡ªthey¡¯re elite mercs. Have our archers keep the high ground and make sure those boulders we loosened are ready.¡± He grimaced. ¡°And tell them...tell them to use my name. Offer surrender. The Pragmatist¡¯s reputation might be worth something here.¡±

    He caught her arm as she turned to go. ¡°Make it clear¡ªthey live if they surrender, die if they don¡¯t. Even elite mercs choose life when tons of rock are about to rain down on them.¡±

    Without waiting for her response, he took off after the fleeing figure.

    Draven pursued the fleeing figure through the chaos, his boots crunching against loose gravel and sending small rocks tumbling down the steep incline. He had to keep his steps light; one wrong move here could send him plummeting to the jagged rocks below. The lingering mist clung to the cliffs like a ghostly veil, the muffled sounds of battle echoing in the distance like ghastly cries.

    Something wasn¡¯t right about their movement. Draven had chased enough merchants to know how they typically ran¡ªblindly, frightened, constantly looking back. The figure ahead moved erratically, tripping on uneven ground strewn with loose shale and scattered boulders. Despite their stumbling gait, they always managed to recover at the last moment, slipping through cracks and crevices. Each time they should have hit a dead end or wrong turn, they¡¯d hesitate for just a moment, head tilting slightly as if listening to someone¡ªthen somehow choose the exact path that led them deeper into the cliffs.

    The figure stumbled suddenly near a section where the rock had crumbled away entirely. Draven surged forward, certain he had them. But they caught themselves with unnatural grace, disappearing into a narrow gap between the rocks.

    Draven matched their pace, staying just far enough behind to watch. When they slipped into an even tighter passage, he smiled grimly. He knew these cliffs¡ªthere was nowhere left to run.

    Finally, the passage narrowed further, forcing Draven to turn sideways to squeeze through. He emerged into a small clearing nestled against the cliff face, surrounded on three sides by towering rock walls. The figure stood there, framed by the jagged stone and faintly glowing mist, their back to a cliffside alcove partially concealed by overhanging ivy.

    Draven¡¯s gaze darted to the bundle in their arms¡ªa flash of soft cloth, and the unmistakable curve of an infant¡¯s face peeking out. Now Draven could see what they¡¯d been protecting.

    ¡°And which bandit are you a lowly minion or one of those who prances around with a name?¡± the figure wrapped up tightly in an indistinguishable robe asked mockingly, their face wrapped tightly with cloth.

    "Draven." Draven answered.

    ¡°The Pragmatist,¡± they said softly. ¡°Your reputation precedes you.¡±

    ¡°And you,¡± Draven kept his blade ready but didn¡¯t advance, ¡°are no merchant.¡±

    A bitter laugh then they shifted the bundle slightly, and Draven caught a glimpse of a tiny hand curled against the cloth, oblivious to the danger around it. The figure looked down at the child, their shoulders sagging with the weight of what was to come. For a moment, their eyes held such emptiness that Draven could almost feel the cost of the decision they were about to make.

    Then, like steel being drawn from a forge, resolve hardened their bearing. They looked up, meeting his gaze through the wrapped cloth that hid their features.

    ¡°I have heard you keep your word, Pragmatist. I need that word now.¡± Their voice remained steady even as their arms tightened protectively around the bundle. ¡°I have an offer for you. One that would profit you far more than this raid ever could.¡±

    QuillTome II

    End

 QuillTome III

    Shades of crimson and copper danced together in the clay bowl, blending into a rich, velvety hue. Serena tilted the bowl slightly, her emerald eyes studying the mixture as it clung to the sides before sliding back down, leaving faint streaks of color in its wake. A sweet, earthy scent of roots mingled with fresh herbs, carrying the damp, green aroma of grass after a morning drizzle she¡¯d added for stability.

    Serena dipped a fine-bristled brush into the dye with a delicate and slow movement, twisting it lightly to gather just the right amount. The mixture clung to the brush like liquid silk. Her free hand absently rested on her swollen belly, where her own child grew each day.

    Her gaze shifted to the child sitting before her, a tiny figure with pale ivory skin framed by silvery-white hair that shimmered like moonlight. The strands seemed almost weightless as they moved in the morning breeze, catching the light in fleeting, opalescent hues. Serena reached forward, brushing the girl¡¯s hair aside to expose a small section near her temple.

    ¡°Hold still, Whisper,¡± Serena murmured, her voice gentle but firm. The toddler tilted her head slightly, unusual violet eyes tracking the brush¡¯s movement with the attention a child gave things they found of interest. Then, as if reaching for something unseen, her small hand reached out to grasp at empty air. Serena smiled faintly at the familiar gesture she had grown accustomed to from this child.

    She stroked the brush against the strands, leaving behind a faint trail of rose-pink, like dawn¡¯s first blush creeping across winter clouds. Each stroke added another ribbon of color, weaving through the silver in delicate, deliberate patterns.

    Whisper giggled suddenly, reaching up again at nothing, her movement causing the brush to leave an uneven streak.

    ¡°Hey!¡± Serena laughed, the sound warm and musical. ¡°I told you to hold still, little one. Just a few more strands left.¡± She sighed, though her smile never faded. ¡°Now I have to fix this.¡±

    Her fingers ran through the streaked hair, the warmth of her touch softening the error, blending it until it looked intentional. Three months of practice had made her quite skilled at these corrections.

    ¡°There,¡± she whispered, stepping back to admire her work. Delicate ribbons of rose-pink wove through the silvery strands like threads of sunset caught in starlight. ¡°Perfect, just like you.¡±

    Whisper turned those striking violet eyes toward something past Serena¡¯s shoulder, reaching out once more with a delighted gurgle. Serena had long since stopped looking to see what captured the child¡¯s attention.

    Suddenly, Whisper abandoned her fascination with the unseen to toddle over to Serena, placing tiny hands on her growing belly. Her violet eyes widened with that strange awareness that sometimes made Serena wonder just what the child could see.

    ¡°Bruther,¡± Whisper said softly, patting the belly with gentle determination.

    Serena gave a bright smile. It was the first word Whisper had spoken this day. Before she could respond, footsteps approached the cabin door.

    ¡°I think your father¡¯s home,¡± she told Whisper softly. The child continued to pat her belly, murmuring ¡°bruther¡± again to herself as the door closed behind Draven.

    ¡°Ratty will watch over you both today,¡± Draven said, striding into the room as the door closed behind him. He checked his hidden daggers and went to the table, securing a small coin purse to his belt. ¡°I need to meet with ¡®lord¡¯¡±¡ªDraven held the term as long as he could while rolling his eyes¡ª¡°Derrimont Blacksword at the high camp.¡±

    ¡°Is everything alright?¡± Serena¡¯s hand unconsciously covered Whisper¡¯s, which still rested on her belly.

    Draven paused, jaw tightening. ¡°Don¡¯t know. It¡¯s been a year since Whisper came to us. That wagon we hit? Military weapons. Fucking weapons and armor meant for the king¡¯s forces. We fucked with knights and shit!¡± He caught Serena¡¯s sharp look and glanced at Whisper. ¡°Sorry. Since then, everything¡¯s felt wrong. Last four jobs were harder than they should¡¯ve been.¡±

    His voice lowered. ¡°And Kragen keeps asking about you. Since he saw you in camp¡­ don¡¯t like how he watches this cabin.¡±

    ¡°Be careful,¡± Serena said, rising carefully with one hand supporting her belly. Whisper still clung to her skirts, violet eyes now fixed on Draven.

    ¡°Always am.¡± He leaned in to kiss Serena quickly, then moved to ruffle Whisper¡¯s hair.

    ¡°Wait¡ª¡± Serena¡¯s warning came too late as his fingers sank into the hair, leaving smudges of rose-pink across his fingertips. The careful patterns she¡¯d created now blurred in spots.

    ¡°oops,¡± he muttered, examining his stained fingers.

    Serena sighed, shaking her head with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. ¡°And now I¡¯ll have to fix it again.¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Draven offered, giving a shrug before bending down and staring at Whisper¡¯s eyes. ¡°Seems I¡¯ve made a mess of your pretty colors.¡± He touched her cheek instead. ¡°Stay inside today, both of you.¡±

    ¡°Pa,¡± Whisper said suddenly, reaching for his leg. The word from her made him pause at the door.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be back soon, little one,¡± he promised, then headed out into the morning air.

    Ratty waited near the cabin steps, two men at his back. ¡°Got the boys like you asked, boss.¡±

    Draven nodded as he continued his stride. The men fell in behind him as he started moving toward the high camp.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about the girls,¡± Ratty called after them. ¡°I¡¯ll keep both eyes open, maybe even a third one if I can find it!¡± His silver teeth flashed in a grin.

    The path wound through distinct territories, each marked by crude banners or trophies claiming the space for different crews. A group of raiders staggered in through the lower gates, fresh from a successful hunt judging by their loaded packs, drunken singing, and the streaks of blood smeared across their tunics. One man¡¯s sword still dripped with red, leaving a faint trail as they moved.

    ¡°You know you didn¡¯t have to kill him. He¡¯d already surrendered,¡± one of the men muttered, his tone sharp but resigned. ¡°Honestly, you like killing way too much, my friend.¡±

    They shouldered past another crew heading out.

    ¡°Hey, watch it, you fucking bastards,¡± one of the outgoing raiders snapped, shoving back.

    ¡°Oh, fuck you¡ªor better yet, go fuck your mother like I did,¡± came the slurred retort from the bloodied group¡¯s leader, his grin wide enough to show a chipped tooth.

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s why your woman asked me to hug you the other day,¡± the other man shot back, his voice heavy with mockery, ¡°while staring at her pinky, saying it was bigger! Ha, now I know the answer to that secret. Need a pity hug?¡±

    Laughter erupted from the man¡¯s crew, the sound crude and loud, while the bloodied leader¡¯s grin soured. He spat to the side, his companions patting his back as if to hold him from escalating further.

    Draven and his men moved on, while the groups behind continued exchanging crude gestures and even cruder jokes until the sounds of their rivalry faded away replaced by the sound of the camps life.

    The middle grounds held the camp¡¯s necessities. Smiths hammered at stolen metal, turning plowshares into weapons. Women darned clothes and cured meats while children¡ªsome born to the camp, others taken in like Whisper¡ªdarted between the tasks with dubious messages and stolen trinkets. The smell of tanning leather mixed with woodsmoke and unwashed bodies.

    Along this area, a couple rutted against a wooden table, knocking over a barrel of ale.

    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, take it to the whore tents!¡± someone shouted from nearby. ¡°Some of us are trying to eat here!¡±

    ¡°There are also some children around here, you barbarians!¡± a woman screamed.

    ¡°I swear if my daughter starts asking me uncomfortable questions after this, I¡¯ll gut you in your sleep, you stupid impulsive fucks!¡± One of the bandits got up from the table, his hands resting on the axe hanging on his belt.

    ¡°Yeah, and the working girls charge less than the ale you just spilled anyway,¡± another added, drawing crude laughter from some of those around them.

    As they climbed higher, the rough paths became actual steps, cut into the rock. Guards stood at regular intervals, better armed and armored than the common raiders below, wearing chainmail hauberks under surcoats, steel caps gleaming beneath their hoods. These were Blacksword¡¯s men, marked by the practiced discipline in their stance and the way they watched everything below.

    Near the summit, Blacksword''s high camp dominated the hillside. Where other bandits built with scavenged wood and hide, he had stone walls and iron-tipped palisades - a proper fortress, or at least as proper as a bandit fortress can be.

    A man hung in chains against the wall. His arms were wrenched high, chains biting deep into wrists rubbed raw, old blood dried to black crusts beneath the fresh. His chest and back bore shallow cuts, each meant it inflict pain yet none to kill. Blood had dried from wrist to torso painting a gruesome art. Flies hovered over welts swollen with infection, clustering at the corner of his cracked lips, where a broken tooth jutted through split flesh.

    Draven recognized the display for what it was; the previous month''s example had been replaced, yet the message remained identical. This was Blackswords message, a message written in welts and careful cuts, same as the last one and the one before that. Draven¡¯s experienced eye swept over the familiar defensive positions, where attackers would be exposed to arrows from above, with hidden stakes placed to funnel enemies into predetermined paths. The killing ground. Whatever else Blacksword might be, he never failed to secure his position."

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Two of Kragen¡¯s men flanked the gate in partial plate¡ªbreastplates and pauldrons polished to a shine that seemed to sneer at the crude leather and stolen chainmail of the camp below. They carried themselves with the rigid posture of former soldiers, though their eyes held the dead look of men who¡¯d learned to enjoy following cruel orders.

    Through the gate lay the heart of the camp¡¯s many rumors about Blacksword and his origins. Here lay his so-called ¡®noble¡¯s court,¡¯ where instruments of torture were displayed with the pride others might reserve for heirlooms or tapestries. His men¡¯s habit of calling him ¡®lord¡¯ only deepened the speculation among the bandits below. They did not carry themselves like common raiders, and it was known he hadn¡¯t gathered his followers from villagers and desperados like the other gangs; he had arrived with them, as if they had followed him from another life altogether. Draven couldn¡¯t decide if their leader truly was fallen nobility or if his delusions of grandeur would make a peacock blush.

    As Draven continued looking around the room, he spotted Raven leaning against a pillar, her foot tapping lightly against the stone, fingers drumming a quick rhythm on its surface. Her loose-fitting leather armor creaked softly with each movement, the silver chains woven through it catching the torchlight.

    She was speaking to a smaller woman whose delicate features and short brown hair, precisely cut to frame her face, belied the deadly crossbow at her back. The woman¡¯s warm brown eyes and soft curves made her look more like a nobleman¡¯s daughter than a bandit leader¡ªat least until one noticed her strong, cold gaze and the array of small daggers carefully arranged at her belt.

    ¡°Hey Draven, look who¡¯s back from another ¡®rescue mission,¡¯¡± Raven called out with a knowing smirk, nodding toward her companion. The smaller woman¡¯s hand instinctively checked her crossbow¡¯s string, a habit Draven recognized from years of watching her cope with nervousness.

    Draven caught her eye and smiled faintly, something warmer in it than usual. ¡°Sparrow,¡± he greeted, ¡°nice to see you intact. Guess you got more girls in your crew after taking care of their abusive husbands.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, boss,¡± Sparrow said in a soft voice, her cold gaze softening slightly as she began to look down, stealing glances at the man through strands of honey-brown hair.

    ¡°And you, still breathing I see.¡± His gaze flickered over to Raven.

    ¡°What do you mean still breathing? It¡¯s only been a few months since our last job. And don¡¯t forget, thanks to me, you got cute Whisper a year ago.¡± She puffed up her chest proudly, the loose leather armor shifting slightly with the motion, the soft creaking of the straps faint but noticeable. Draven¡¯s eyes briefly flickered to her breasts, the loose fit of her armor making the movement more obvious as she adjusted her posture.

    ¡°Raven!¡± Sparrow exclaimed.

    ¡°Heh, what¡¯s the matter, Sparrow? You¡¯ve got a nice pair yourself, I know you wouldn¡¯t mind our old boss here taking a look.¡± Raven said with a sly grin, her hand suddenly reaching out to grope Sparrow¡¯s breast, leaving Sparrow visibly uncomfortable as she pinched Ravens hand.

    Sparrow shifted back, her cheeks flushing. ¡°D-Don¡¯t do that,¡± she stammered, stepping away from Raven while sneaking another glance at Draven.

    Draven sighed. ¡°Alright, alright, both of you are hot, okay? But can you not do that here? The others are starting to stare... I swear you¡¯re always causing trouble, Raven.¡±

    ¡°The fuck you looking at?¡± Raven and Sparrow snapped in unison at the men watching, making them look away quickly. Sparrow¡¯s soft voice had gained a deadly edge that reminded everyone that she also led her own crew.

    ¡°Watch¡ªif that guy can get to those two fine pieces of ass, so can I,¡± one of the younger crew leaders murmured.

    ¡°Don¡¯t. That¡¯s Draven. Both of them used to run with him¡ªSparrow, the man-hater, and Raven, the lunatic. Only Draven can do whatever he wants to them. Anyone else? Well, I won¡¯t be protecting ya,¡± an older bandit shrugged.

    ¡°The Axe sees his favorite girls,¡± a gravelly voice announced. The massive figure stepped forward, towering a head above most men, his imposing frame clad in crude leather armor. Small axe heads jutted from his shoulder pieces, their edges crusted with dried blood. A scrap of flesh clung to one blade, swaying faintly as he moved, the crimson stains glinting ominously in the torchlight. Multiple axes dangled from his belt, though the largest was strapped across his broad back.

    Behind him, a lean man in surprisingly clean leathers. ¡°Axe you don¡¯t have to keep announcing your name they know, you don¡¯t see me saying Slither has arrived do you? Though I should have someone do that for me sounds fun.¡± Slither moved with an unnatural grace that made those around him question if he had bones in his body.

    ¡°The Axe thinks you need a real man to show you how to¡ª¡± he started, but Raven cut him off with an exaggerated yawn.

    ¡°The Axe needs to shut his fucking mouth before I shove one of those toys he carries up his ass,¡± Raven said, examining her nails with theatrical boredom.

    Slither¡¯s thin lips curved into something approaching a smile. ¡°Now, now... is that any way to speak in Lord Blacksword¡¯s court? Speaking of courts...¡± his gaze slid to Draven, ¡°I heard interesting rumors about your woman¡¯s background, Pragmatist. Noble blood makes for such... complicated situations.¡±

    Sparrow¡¯s hand drifted to her daggers, but Draven¡¯s slight head shake stopped her. Near the walls, her crew¡¯s crossbow women shifted their stances ever so slightly, finding better firing positions. Raven¡¯s men fingered their weapons with barely contained eagerness, wild grins matching their leader¡¯s reputation. Draven¡¯s two remained still but watchful, their eyes tracking every movement like wolves waiting for their alpha¡¯s signal.

    Across the chamber, brutish men bearing smaller versions of The Axe¡¯s shoulder blades tensed, while shadowy figures that could only be Slither¡¯s assassins seemed to drift closer to the pillars, their hands disappearing into their cloaks.

    ¡°LORD BLACKSWORD!¡± a voice boomed from the entrance, cutting through the growing hostility like a knife.

    ¡°Kragen changed his pelt again,¡± Raven muttered. The massive wolf skin draped over Kragen¡¯s brigandine armor like a noble¡¯s cape, metal plates gleaming beneath the leather where the pelt parted. The beast¡¯s preserved head served as a hood, its fangs framing his throat, while the pelt¡¯s claws hung menacingly at his shoulders. Even the wolf¡¯s empty eye sockets seemed to glare from above his steel gorget.

    ¡°And Belad¡¯s still creeping about with that bow,¡± Sparrow whispered, nodding toward the lean figure on Blacksword¡¯s left.

    Unlike the others'' crude leathers or stolen armor, Belad''s dark hardened leather outfit seemed purpose-made for work involving the shadows, fitting close to allow smooth drawing of his bow. The weapon was distinctive¡ªtwin metal blades extended from both ends of the grip, making it as deadly in close quarters as it was at range. His black-fletched arrows rode high over one shoulder, while a sword hung at his hip.

    Between them stood Blacksword, his posture carrying an unusual grace for a bandit. Each step held the disciplined rhythm of a seasoned warrior, paired with an intimidating strut. His fine black leather armor layered over gleaming chain mail, while his polished breastplate bore mutilated decorations, as if someone had taken care to destroy whatever symbols once adorned it. A cruel smile played at the corners of his mouth, the kind that never reached his cold dark eyes.

    The sword that earned him his name hung at his hip¡ªits black blade drinking in the torchlight rather than reflecting it. Within its pommel, shadows seemed to writhe like trapped spirits, so subtle most would mistake it for a trick of the light. The weapon bore suspicious dark red stains that no amount of cleaning ever seemed to remove.

    Some of the crew leaders stood carelessly, lounging against pillars or walls. Their voices carried too loud for the room, the coarse laughter jarring against the heavy air of expectation. One idly tapped a blade against a stone column, the sharp metallic clinks grating on the nerves of those paying attention.

    Others shifted awkwardly at the edges, their eyes darting between the gathered figures as though unsure where to settle. Their clothing, a mix of mismatched leathers and poorly maintained armor, betrayed a lack of experience in both battle and decorum.

    In stark contrast, the more seasoned leaders¡ªDraven and Raven among them¡ªstood with deliberate stillness. Their postures were measured, their gazes sharp, catching every detail: the faint tightening around Blacksword¡¯s eyes, the way Kragen¡¯s fingers flexed against his sword hilt. Without a word, they inclined their heads slightly.

    Blacksword¡¯s cruel smile grew sharper as his gaze swept over the room. The clash of ignorant posturing and silent respect amused him. He gestured to the rough benches and chairs before the raised platform, the motion slow and deliberate.

    ¡°Sit,¡± he commanded, his tone holding a strange mixture that seemed to blend refinement and menace as one. The polished accent clashed with the brutal edge beneath, making it clear he was no stranger to bloodshed. ¡°Now then, for those who¡¯ve perhaps forgotten¡ªor never learned¡ªproper respect, find your manners before I have to remind you.¡±

    The newer leaders scrambled for seats, some shoving past others in their haste to appear obedient, only managing to look more foolish. A few tried to claim spots near the front, as if proximity to power might grant it to them.

    The Axe moved slowly, taking his time as he pushed away from the wall, his crude metal shoulder blades dragging against stone, the screech of metal on rock setting teeth on edge. The sound drew a slight twitch from Blacksword¡¯s eye. Slither had already found a seat without anyone seeing him move.

    Draven caught Raven and Sparrow¡¯s eyes, a slight tilt of his head indicating seats midway back. They moved together, taking their positions while their followers stood vigilant behind them.

    The room settled into uneasy silence, broken only by the occasional scrape of a boot and at times the shifting of leather against wood.

    Blacksword''s gaze swept the gathered leaders before he spoke, his controlled voice carried throughout the room. "Our scouts report increased military presence in every territory surrounding us. The kingdom grows bold, pushing into lands they once feared to tread."

    He began to pace, boots clicking against the raised platform. ¡°We must adapt. No more scattered raids and petty thefts. I propose we build something greater¡ªsupply lines, coordinated attacks, proper fortifications. The kingdoms want to call us a threat?¡± A cruel smile touched his lips. ¡°Then let us become one.¡±

    He paused, letting his words sink in. ¡°In fact, the first steps have already been taken. Some of you were assigned tasks by Kragen¡ªjobs that involved stealing weapons meant for the kingdom¡¯s forces.¡±

    His dark eyes fixed on specific leaders as he continued. ¡°Each crew will need to document their resources, their raids, their territories. Everything must be organized, recorded. We¡¯ll need detailed plans, maps, lists of every fighter at our disposal.¡±

    ¡°Write it down?¡± one of the newer leaders interrupted with a harsh laugh. ¡°Half of us can¡¯t even read our own names, my lord.¡± The last words dripped with mockery.

    Blacksword¡¯s smile didn¡¯t waver. ¡°Then perhaps it¡¯s time you learned. Or found someone who can.¡±

    ¡°And the profit in all this?¡± The Axe¡¯s gravelly voice rumbled from the back. ¡°The Axe wants to know what¡¯s in it for those doing all this... organizing.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t join up to be a fucking soldier again,¡± another voice called out. ¡°Left that life behind when I deserted.¡±

    ¡°At least you were a soldier. I¡¯m a fucking farmer whose lord made impossibly high taxes. Me and my guys can steal well but fight? Come on, half of us just swing our weapons around to intimidate and I know I¡¯m not the only crew like that.¡±

    Draven watched the room become divided¡ªthe former soldiers straightening at the mention of real warfare, the common thieves and desperate farmers shrinking back as the room grew louder and louder. His gaze drifted to Blacksword¡¯s mutilated breastplate, wondering what symbols had once adorned it. He didn¡¯t like this, what Blacksword was proposing sounded suicidal to him. It all felt wrong - they were bandits, not soldiers, so why did it feel like an army was being formed? Yet Draven didn¡¯t have enough pieces, and going against the masses would be suicide. He would need to wait and see, for that was the safest option.

    He caught Raven¡¯s eye. She gave him the barest shake of her head, her usual playful demeanor gone. She loved a good fight as much as any bandit and feared almost nothing, but she despised being controlled. To her, Blacksword¡¯s proposal wasn¡¯t just a plan; it was a cage. Even Draven¡ªa man she both liked and respected¡ªcould barely keep her in line. Beside her, Sparrow¡¯s fingers hadn¡¯t left her daggers since Blacksword started talking about documentation.

    Blacksword raised a hand, silencing the growing murmurs. ¡°Let us now discuss the finer details.¡± His dark eyes glittered with something that made even the most vocal protestors fall quiet.

    QUILLTOME III

    END

 QuillTome IV

    Metal clashed with metal, ringing through the room as Ratty deflected a guard¡¯s swing. A second guard pressed in, forcing him back, parrying desperately. Some of his attacks slipped through, but his blade skidded off chainmail, failing to bite through the padded gambeson beneath.

    The first guard¡¯s sword came down from above. Ratty¡¯s back hit a table covered in thick, leather-bound record books. Desperate, he grabbed one and raised it just in time.

    The blade sank into the cover, slowing down as it continued slicing deep into the pages. The guard hesitated for a split second as he watched the sword slow. His hesitation only further slowed the blade, as he then moved to shift his left hand toward his weapon, attempting to prepare a half-sword technique.

    However, the guard''s hesitation and attempt at changing his maneuver gave Ratty the opening he needed. He quickly used the book to control the blade and pushed it to the side as he lashed out with his own sword.

    Only to halt mid-swing as the second guard lunged in. Forced to abandon the attack, he barely twisted in time to deflect the new threat, his blade ringing against his opponent''s as he fought to keep from being overwhelmed.

    Ratty leaped over the desk and grabbed a handful of books, hurling them at the guards as fast as he could. The first instinctively flinched, raising an arm to shield his face, while the second took a step back in reflex¡ªjust for a second. The books bounced harmlessly off their armor, but by the time they realized the attack was meaningless, Ratty was already at the bookshelf.

    With a grunt, he shoved it over.

    ¡°Wait, wait¡ªfuck!¡± one of the guards stumbled back, arms raised as the heavy wooden shelf crashed down.

    ¡°Shit,¡± the second guard muttered, his mouth open¡ª

    Just in time to see Ratty¡¯s sword flashing toward him.

    The guard barely moved before the blade stabbed toward his armpit, slipping past the edge of his raised arm. He gasped as the iron pierced through padded cloth, but before Ratty could press the attack, the guard, in desperation, grabbed the sword with his gauntlet and swung at Ratty in a counterattack.

    ¡°Fuck off!¡± Ratty yelled, letting go of his sword and dodging the strike.

    ¡°I ain¡¯t looking to trade hits with you,¡± he commented as he moved to grab another sword on the floor, one which had been disarmed by method of bookshelf dropping.

    The guard yanked the sword free with a grunt, the blade pulling out from the gambeson with resistance as the tightly packed fabric layers clung to the iron blade with a metallic scrape against his armor. A small dark stain began spreading on the padding where the point had penetrated. He quickly tossed the weapon and its bloodied tip to the far end of the room with a clatter.

    ¡°You¡¯ll pay for that, you damn little rat. When you¡¯re captured, I¡¯ll ask the torturer to give me some extra time with you,¡± the guard hissed as he spat in Ratty¡¯s direction. His feet stood shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent and weight balanced for quick movement, favoring his uninjured side. His sword was raised before him at chest height, angled slightly outward, his free hand extended to help maintain the balance of his defensive stance.

    Ratty flashed his silver smile, slowly edging sideways. Slowly edging toward a stool, as his fingers brushed the braided whip hanging at his belt. ¡°Oh? Let¡¯s see if you can. Now I have the advantage of range,¡± he taunted as his fingers closed around the weapon¡¯s handle.

    The guard tensed but maintained his stance, eyes narrowing at the whip. He began a measured advance, keeping his sword positioned to deflect any strike, his injured arm slightly raised to protect his face.

    Just as the guard closed distance, Ratty¡¯s grin widened as he abandoned the whip, grabbing the stool instead and swinging it in a wide arc toward the charging guard. The guard instinctively parried with his sword, the blade sank deep into the wooden seat¡ªjust as a sword appeared at his throat

    ¡°Sucker,¡± Ratty laughed, ¡°I don¡¯t even know how to use that thing.¡± He patted the whip still hanging from his belt.

    The guard stumbled backward, his boot heel catching on the fallen bookshelf pinning his unconscious comrade. He toppled with a curse, the back of his head striking the corner of a nearby desk before he hit the ground. Stunned, he clutched his throbbing skull as the desk leg splintered under the impact. Ledgers and record books cascaded from the collapsing desk, several heavy tomes striking his helmet with dull, metallic thuds. His eyes rolled back as consciousness fled.

    ¡°You¡¯re making me look bad,¡± Ratty commented dryly, staring at the bookshelf that had now claimed both guards.

    ¡°By the way I¡¯m not that much smaller than you. Why do you have to call me little rat? I¡¯m only about a head shorter than you,¡± Ratty said staring at the unconscious guard.

    ¡°Guild work is so dangerous. I¡¯m glad I have the safe job of being a bandit.¡± He chuckled to himself as he surveyed the destruction around him.

    Ratty turned, prepared to aid his partner in crime, only to see a white carpet painted with fresh glistening red. His partner¡ªa stocky man he had been working with for some time now¡ªheld his neck, staring at Ratty as his blood dripped down, continuously painting the room¡¯s decor. He attempted to walk forward only to drop his sword, its cold bloodied iron now added to the chaotic decoration of the room, and to fall, spilling blood on the purse of silver left on the table. Payment Ratty had brought to pay the informant for his information.

    ¡°You traitorous shit,¡± Ratty spat.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to enjoy gutting you.¡±

    The traitorous informant spun his blade deeper, a cruel smile playing across his face as another guard moved to step on the dying bandit.

    The other half of the room fared no better than Ratty¡¯s as torn tapestry and broken furniture lay around. His partner had fought hard¡ªthe splintered remains of a chair and a guard¡¯s discarded helmet testament to his struggle¡ªbut he¡¯d been outmatched from the start.

    ¡°Don¡¯t blame me, blame your fellow bandits. You crazy lot have been attacking and stealing from the king, there is great reward for those against you and greater punishment for those with you,¡± the informant said.

    ¡°Now Ratty just lay your sword down and give up Draven The Pragmatist, that¡¯s who the city lord wants, not someone like you.¡± As the informant continued, noise from outside could be heard as it seemed the fighting had attracted attention.

    ¡°Ha, no chance. I¡¯m going to kill you, that guard next to you, and then for my pal that you killed I¡¯m going to¡­¡± Ratty paused as his ears picked up the sound of boots coming up the stairs.

    ¡°On second thought, I didn¡¯t like him that much, was thinking of getting a new partner. Welp, see ya.¡±

    The magpie bandit ran toward a broken door leading to the guild balcony. His eyes caught the shine of gold from its corner. A walking stick that had fallen to the ground at some point during the battle between him and the guards lay next to an elaborate chair, the cane topped with twin rubies that gleamed in the torchlight. Without breaking stride, he snatched the prize, feeling its surprising weight as he burst through the doors and leapt over the stone balustrade.

    ¡°Compensation for the bad information, haha,¡± Ratty yelled as he leaped down with his prize.

    The second-floor balcony overlooked the guild district¡¯s cobblestone street, merchants¡¯ stalls lining both sides offering shade from the afternoon sun. Market-goers scattered as Ratty descended, some pointing upward and shouting warnings while others simply fled the imminent chaos. He fell into a pile of hay, its soft straws breaking his fall.

    ¡°Ah, always a pile of hay around when you need it. It¡¯s almost like it was put here just to break people¡¯s falls.¡± Ratty patted the hay as he got off and began to dust himself.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    ¡°Man, I¡¯m glad boss had some of us old boys train under that retired drunk, whoring, fat guard, oh shiny,¡± Ratty muttered as he scrambled to his feet, pocketing a particularly appealing apple from a nearby stall.

    ¡°Hmm, all of that wasn¡¯t necessary, but I enjoy insulting him. It just feels... right.¡±

    Ratty heard the rattling of chainmail. Looking up, he saw guards staring down at him.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s my cue.¡± Grabbing one more apple, the magpie bandit ran quickly.

    Market stalls and buildings passed by in a blur as shouts erupted from behind. The guild district¡¯s narrow streets worked to his advantage as he maneuvered through tight corners, staying within the shadows of the overhanging upper-story buildings. He suddenly stopped and ducked behind a barrel as he saw three guards in a three-way crossroad.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± he whispered.

    ¡°Where is he! You go that way, you that way, and I¡¯ll go this way,¡± a guard said while pointing in different directions.

    The guards split up, each taking their designated road. One guard ran down Ratty¡¯s street, forcing the bandit to huddle as much as he could behind the barrel, hoping it would hide him.

    The guard nearly ran past Ratty before stopping a mere five feet away. He slowly turned toward Ratty, as if he¡¯d noticed him subconsciously. Ratty quickly got up and gripped the cane with both hands, bashing the guard¡¯s helm with full force the moment he turned. The impact twisted the guard¡¯s head to the left. Ratty stared nervously as the guard slowly turned his head back to face him, spit covering his lips as his eyes stared in confusion at what had just occurred.

    ¡°D-d-did y-y-you j-just hit hit me?¡± the guard, clearly disoriented, asked.

    ¡°Sorry... I¡¯m gonna do it again though. Stay down, will you?¡± Ratty shrugged as he hit the guard once more. The guard¡¯s head turned to the right this time, before slowly turning back to stare at Ratty. His eyes reddened now, drool dripping down.

    ¡°I¡¯m g-g-g-g-gonna l-l-l,¡± the guard went to a knee and slowly laid down, tears running down his face as he stared at the ground, confused and in disarray.

    ¡°Damn, I feel bad now... well, time to run again!¡± Ratty once more dashed through the streets.

    A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed his fears¡ªfour guards spilled into the street he had just left. The shouts behind him made it clear: they¡¯d found their fallen ally.

    Ratty turned a corner walking through the sea of commoners, weaving to avoid the polished helmets bobbing through the crowd he now walked in. Hiding between fabrics and even purchasing snacks at stalls to hide within the other people who stopped for bites to eat.

    ¡°Why are there so many food stalls? Great for cover, terrible for my waistline,¡± he muttered, licking grease off his fingers after his fourth meat pasty.

    ¡°Damn, they are starting to cut off side streets.¡±

    Ratty veered down a crooked alley between a fabric shop and a wine merchant. The passage stank of spilled spirits, its cobblestones slick with mysterious fluids he chose not to contemplate. Halfway through, a heavy wooden door with a faded red lantern above it caught his eye¡ªThe Lustful Pillow, one of the city¡¯s more reputable brothels.

    More rattling of chainmail was heard behind him and without hesitation, Ratty threw his shoulder against the door. Inside, a curvy woman with wavy hair looked up from counting coins at a small table, her eyes narrowing at his breathless entrance.

    ¡°Guards,¡± Ratty gasped, already flipping a silver coin her way. ¡°Need a room. Now.¡±

    Without waiting for a response Ratty continued moving. The Madam raised an eyebrow, pocketed the coin with a knowing nod, then returned to her count.

    Ratty ran up two stairs at a time, the sounds of pursuit growing louder outside. The hallway above was lined with doors, muffled sounds emanating from behind several of them. He moved to the only room that was quiet, reaching the third door just as the building¡¯s entrance crashed open below.

    Without knocking, he burst into the room, quickly closing the door behind him. He took a moment to catch his breath, resting his head on the door.

    ¡°Ok now time to¡­¡± he paused as he turned around to find a young man enthusiastically engaged with a blonde woman who was still holding her undergarments in her hand. Ratty¡¯s eyes looked at the two up and down.

    ¡°Best hiding spot ever!¡± he said with a smile at the two confused people.

    ¡°What the¡ª¡± the young man began, pulling a sheet to cover himself while the woman simply stared at the bandit with cold eyes.

    ¡°Guards coming. Silver for you both if you hide me,¡± Ratty interrupted, already scanning the room for options. At the mention of silver, the woman''s face brightened with a smile.

    ¡°Let¡¯s help him. It will make for one hell of a story for your first time. Sex, danger, adventure,¡± she purred masterfully into the young man¡¯s ears.

    Heavy boots pounded up the brothel¡¯s steps as three city guards entered. Their chainmail clinked with each step, the sound amplified in the narrow stairway

    ¡°Remember,¡± one of them growled, ¡°we¡¯re looking for a man with silver teeth. Check everywhere.¡±

    The madam stood at the top of the stairs, one eyebrow raised. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her bountiful breasts.

    ¡°Why is it every time someone runs around this city your lot come here?¡± Her tone held annoyance.

    The guard moved closer. ¡°We go everywhere. Now then silver teeth, carrying a ruby-topped cane. Where is he?¡±

    Silver teeth?¡± She examined her nails. ¡°Sounds like a valuable customer, anyway, people come and go all day, you should know that though since I¡¯ve seen plenty of guards come in, that¡¯s the business. I don¡¯t have time to check everyone¡¯s mouths.¡±

    ¡°We need to search the rooms,¡± the guard insisted.

    The madam sighed dramatically. ¡°If you must. But be quick about it. You¡¯re disturbing paying customers, and I¡¯ll expect compensation for lost business.¡±

    ¡°Split up,¡± the sergeant ordered. ¡°One room each.¡±

    The youngest guard hesitated. ¡°Sir, what if they¡¯re... you know...¡±

    ¡°Just find the damn criminal, boy!¡±

    The first guard approached the nearest door, and pushed it open without waiting for a response. Inside, an elderly man looked up, hands tied behind his back as a woman young enough to be his granddaughter poured candle wax over him with one hand and pleasured him with the other. The two stopped abruptly, and the woman brought up the blanket.

    ¡°City guard,¡± the guard announced, scanning the room quickly. He checked beneath the bed, behind a screen and nodded apologetically before backing out. ¡°Excuse the interruption.¡±

    Further down the hall, the second guard found a room with three people, young men and one older woman lost in lust. He cleared his throat, yet they seemed oblivious to his presence.

    ¡°Don¡¯t mind me,¡± the guard muttered to himself partially annoyed at his lack of presence as he checked the room. He retreated shortly, pulling the door shut with excessive force.

    The third room door was opened with excessive force. The wood banged against the inner wall.

    Inside, the young man lay on the bed as a blonde woman bounced on top of him, her breasts swaying in the air for a moment until she moved to quickly pull the covers to her chin. Both became wide-eyed at the intrusion.

    ¡°What¡¯s the meaning of this?¡± the young man demanded, voice cracking with equal parts outrage and fear.

    ¡°Someone was spotted coming to this brothel,¡± the guard said, eyes narrowing. ¡°A criminal.¡±

    ¡°And so you deemed it appropriate to kick this door open? And enter? Sir, what is your name, I shall have my father, Sir Asterits, make a report about this!¡± the young man spoke, outraged.

    The sergeant shivered at the name and quickly bowed.

    ¡°Forgive me, I didn¡¯t know you were the magistrate¡¯s son I...¡±

    ¡°Get out!¡± the boy yelled.

    The guard quickly left, the door closing behind him.

    The man and woman could hear his voice in the hallway, as he rejoined his men. ¡°Nothing. Keep checking the rooms. I''ll take room six this time, you two get four and five.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s fine now,¡± the woman said.

    ¡°You were right, that was fun. I feel a rush,¡± the young man gave a silly smile.

    ¡°Yup, told you. Also, this was not the worst threesome I have been in. Now if the two of you would, please get off me now so I may escape.¡± Ratty¡¯s voice came from under the man and woman.

    They scrambled off him, the young man nearly falling from the bed in surprise. Ratty emerged from beneath them, fully clothed and flattened against the mattress. He stood and stretched dramatically, joints popping as he twisted from side to side.

    ¡°Gods, I thought I¡¯d never breathe properly again,¡± he groaned, rolling his shoulders. He glanced at the young man. ¡°You need to eat more, lad. Too light.¡± He gave a wink as he turned to the woman with an appreciative grin. ¡°And you, my dear, have weight in all the right places.¡±

    Ratty reached into his belt pouch and tossed a small coin purse to the woman. It jingled heavily as she caught it, her eyes widening at its unexpected weight.

    ¡°For your discretion, now make sure you two have way too much fun.¡±

    Ratty went to the door and cracked it open, glancing to see the hallway clear. He moved quickly down the stairs before the guards came out of the rooms they were inspecting, only to see another guard stationed by the entrance.

    The bandit circled around the room, passing between some of the workers who were waiting for a patron to purchase their time and a room to spend it in. Ratty gave a silver coin to some of the women in exchange for them becoming movable cover. He walked closer to the stationed guard and spun his cane around.

    The guard turned and grinned as he saw a group of women coming towards him.

    ¡°Not now girls, I¡¯m working. Maybe later we can... oof!¡± The guard finished his sentence with an agonizing yelp as Ratty¡¯s golden cane struck him in the groin.

    ¡°Sorry about the balls, but gotta do what I gotta do,¡± Ratty apologized before bashing the side of his helmet twice, dropping the guard to the ground.

    ¡°Get him to the side somewhere it would be a bit harder to spot him,¡± Ratty said as he left the brothel.

    QUILLTOME IV

    END