3. Ghosts of the Willows

Ghosts of the Willows


  • OOC Note - edited 08/13 to include background

    It all started, as is often the case, with two women. One I regret, and one I don’t. For better or worse, the two shaped who I am this day. Life, as luck would have it, rarely turns out the way we plan. Triumph and tragedy often differ by only where one stands when they happen.

    Some had said I had a gifted youth. I excelled at my training in martial skills, weapon smithing, and alchemy. People expected great things.

    Things change.

    Maybe if I had accepted responsibility for what happened, it would have been different. I have doubts. My mistake. My fault. Someone else paid the price. I dealt with it the wrong way. I turned my anger on the world. Nothing eased my pain. I could say I was easy prey for the wrong crowd, but I went all too willingly. The Mistress was there to collect the pieces.

    The Mistress of Pain, Lady of Darkness, Maiden of Loss, call her what you will. I found my solace in the night. She ruled it. There was only her. A few would become her chosen. Shadows in the Dark, Knights of the Long Knives, the Mistress’s Assassins, each a rival for her attention. Blood flowed like wine. To us it was “being in the trades.” The trades paid well. Success opened many doors, each more wicked then the last. I’ve walked the mushroom lined streets of the underdark. Stood witness to the birth of a Lich. Profited from men being stripped of their freedom and will to survive. The list continues…

    I was good at what I did. Want to send a message? I could be messy. Take the Merchant selling stolen artifacts, who ticked off the wrong people. I caught up with him at a quiet little inn out in the country. After what I did to him, they nailed the door to his room shut. Don’t need attention? The beloved noble died peacefully in his sleep. His nephew, and heir, was rotten to the core. Watch what you drink before bed.

    Then came the day I met her. She was searching for her father. Headstrong, reckless, naïve. An easy mark. I kept tabs on her for a while. She was good with a blade, that was clear early. Made a lot of connections quickly too. I thought she might make a good asset for the group I was running with at the time. I decided I needed to get closer.

    My skills as an alchemist had blossomed at this point, so I put them to work getting her to notice me. She had a need for potions, and I became her supplier. It was child’s play making sure our paths crossed frequently. We adventured together, shared information, laughed and carried on just for the fun of it. I found myself becoming her guardian, and her mine. The day didn’t feel right if she wasn’t in it. I had her right where I wanted her. One simple push and she would have been one of us…
    9
    I couldn’t do it.

    It was at that point I realized I had changed. For the first time in a long time I realized I had something to live for; her love. That’s the point where I stopped being a killer, and became a man with a horrible dark secret. I lived in two worlds, balanced on the sharp edge of a knife. For a while, I could maintain both worlds, but there was no way I could hide it from her forever. The day came where I had to choose.

    The easy route, the safest route, the smart route, led back to the Mistress. I made the costliest mistake of my life. I couldn’t be apart from her. She owned a piece of my very soul, the one piece the darkness hadn’t taken. I turned my back on the Mistress and the groups I had been a part of. I thought I could escape, get away, live the life I had never dared dream of before.

    Nobody walks away.

    For a while I thought I had done it. Hubris? Ego? Pride? Possibly. Hope. My deceptions ate at me. How could she trust me if I was keeping things from her? How could she trust me if she knew. The only chance we had was for me to come clean in the hopes she could forgive me, and we could start life over again. She was devastated. Oh, she had had her suspicions, she wasn’t a fool. Had she ignored her head because of the calling of her heart? She urged me to make amends for my life. Face the consequences of my poor decisions. Show that I was what she believed me to be. She was right. I would turn myself in and walk the gallows if it came to it. For her, I could face death.

    He came the night before I was to go through with it. One of the chosen. I would be silenced for my audacity, and before I could do too much damage to the Mistress‘s plans. He was good. Better than me. Better by far. We were together, her and I, along with some mutual friends who had offered support. Good people all. I marked his entrance the second he came in the door. Knew his purpose, his plan, his technique. He would kill them all to get to me if he had to. I had enough blood on my hands. I bid my companions farewell, they wanted to stay, but I lied and told them I would be all right. She was the last to leave.

    The first strike left me defenseless, after that he took his time and enjoyed it. After a few hours he grew bored and ended it, or would have, if I hadn’t moved just enough to stay his knife from hitting its mark. A hair’s breadth to the right would have ended my story.

    She found me clinging to life the next morning. Took care of me, got me back on my feet. She should have walked away. She stood by my side during my confession, pain burning in her eyes, tears streaming down her face. It was hurt that I had put there. I swore to myself it would never happen again. My sentence was short. I had information some important people wanted badly. Badly enough for me to talk my way to freedom. She was waiting for me. Love is a funny thing. One chance she said. One was all I would get. It would be enough.

    It wasn’t long before our friends started disappearing. Those that had offered help. One after another. I urged her to flee, but she would have none of it. Stand her ground, fight for what she believed in. One of the qualities I loved in her. I’ll never forget chipping her shattered body out of the ice on the cold mountain ridge she used to visit when she was troubled. In that moment I lost everything that was important to me. The fall had ended things quickly at least. I buried her by a wooded grove alongside a horse pasture in her native land. She would have liked that. She had always loved horses. All I have left is a small lock of her hair, my most treasured possession.

    Anyone who thinks it ended there, doesn’t know the Mistress. Had I been a follower of Bane, he would have finished me and moved on, but the Dark Side of the Moon knows no limit on her vindictiveness. She promised me a long life full of torments. At first it was the visions, just enough for me to doubt in the back of my mind that my love was dead. Then came those who claimed they could bring her back to the living. Demons and Doppelgangers pretending to be her. Each with enough knowledge for hope to rear its ugly head again, if only for a short time.

    Still not enough.

    The chosen brought me before the Mistress, in all her terrifying glory. I would spend all eternity feeding her shadows, drained of all but the flicker of life, knowing what I had lost, but not being able to do anything about it. The Mistress reached into my mind and ripped out what I knew, but left the knowledge of what I had been, alchemist, assassin, weapon smith, swordsman, surgeon. The skills just don’t exist anymore. How long was I there, chained to the alter, without the strength to move? Months? Years? An eternity? Did I dream the nightmare or live it?

    Did the Mistress allow Torm’s Champion, a friend I once tried to kill, to rescue me? Or was her attention turned long enough for me to be lucky? I hope to never know.

    My last friend urged me to run, live my life like I was someone else, keep moving in the hopes the Mistress had forgotten me. Drifting from one town to the next, calling no place home. I took work as a courier. Getting things to places no one else could. I still could do that at least.

    The job was simple, take new orders to a mercenary outfit called The Company, that was holed up fending off a siege at a grindhouse known as Ben-Halik Keep. Getting in was tricky. Getting out was impossible. I spent three months stuck at Ben-Halik fighting along side The Company, living off of rats and rainwater, battling on the walls, and in the tunnels and sewers below. We did what we had to in order to survive. They accepted me like one of the brothers, and in turn, I found the way through the enemy’s line that allowed us to abandon Ben-Halik and lick our wounds to fight another day. I joined the company as a scout after that.
    *note, edited 08/13 to include background

    They never asked my name, let alone about my past. My comrades took to calling me Spooky, which although I can’t stand the name, seems to suit me well enough. I became part of The Company’s advance guard. Probing enemies, scrounging supplies, gathering intelligence and preparing the way for the rest of The Company when our contracts expired and we felt the need to move on to redder pastures.

    I’ll be leaving in a few days for some slog-pit called Peltarch. The Captain seems to think The Company can find work there. My job is to pose as a courier, identify the major players, and prepare for our advance team to come in and hammer out a contract with whomever is willing to pay the most coin. Simple enough.

    I just hope this is one of those places the Mistress has forgotten.

    *end edit

    –-----------------------------------------

    …An owl, gliding silent through the night, fire trailing off the back of its wings, talons like razor blades…

    …She sits in the tavern chair, dozing lightly. I watch her breathing, wishing the moment could go on forever…

    …Outside…

    …Heroes of the ages, beaten and defeated. One man with his pet pit fiend towers above them in his demon hide armor. He gloats at his conquest. The city is his, and his victory is complete. Szandor.

    I hate losing. He’ll head back when he’s finished, along the chasm bridge. I’ll be waiting. It all seems so familiar, yet distant.

    I step from the shadows. The dark cleric’s eyes widen making him look like the dead man he is. His pet is out of position, and he’s made the mistake of carrying his massive helm in his sword arm. There’s a gap in his defense, and he’s too slow with the mighty wall that is his shield.

    The twins set about their savage work. The first cleaves down through the joint between the left shoulder pauldron and the breastplate, that the wings on his helm would have guarded. His arm shears away, taking his shield with it, falling slowly to clatter off the edge of the bridge and vanish into the abyss below, where it belongs. The second finds its satisfaction in his stomach, passing out through his spine. Four feet of keened mithral burying itself to the hilt. My triumph, his tragedy.

    I’ve been here a hundred times before. The pit fiend lunges forward driving me back. I rip the blade sideways from his stomach, rending armor and almost cutting him in half as he’s disemboweled. He falls to the ground as I give way before the beast. His sword hand raising the heal potion to his lips as the fire fades from his eyes.

    Not this time.

    This time I snake a blade across the inside of the pit fiend’s thigh, severing the cruisis nerve and sending a jolt up it’s body that freezes it in place for a few precious seconds. I roll through its legs and the hungry twin separates his wrist from his arm before the potion makes it to his lips.

    Only it isn’t him, it’s her.

    What have I done?…

    … A pine box in a hole. Woods I’ve visited often. Horses in a pasture, pale riders astride them, laughing in their victory…

    … I feel the maggots crawling under my skin. Eating at me from the inside. The scream comes from what little remains of my soul…

    I awake to a dead silent room, my hand half way to the grip of my bastard sword. Where am I? Did I make a sound, or was it all in my head? I feel so disoriented.

    “Edgy.” A calm voice breaks the silence, its relaxed tones reminding me of a man smoking a pipe. The voice is far closer than I would like. I take a deep breath and let it out slow, trying to get back the focus that is eluding me.

    “And what has you so twitchy?” the man continues.

    I don’t want this. Not now. I glance down at my things. The leather pouch that usually holds my nightshade catches my attention. I’ll have to get more before I sleep again. I gather up my equipment. The sigh escapes my lips without me knowing it.

    “Being alive.”

    “Living, eh?”

    I turn to face him for the first time. Dark hair, light armor, colored in dark muted tones. I’ve seen him before. His name escapes me, if I ever knew it.

    “Living so terrible you gotta grab a sword every time you wake up?”

    I slide the pouch into the pocket of my robe, nodding in agreement.

    “Sometimes.” I pick up my blade and sling it over my shoulder. I need to change the subject, or there will be more questions. There is something else I’m out of besides nightshade…

    “You know any good places to buy candles?”

    Mercifully, he lets me change the topic. There are times when I am thankful.


  • “Do you need me to fence anything?”

    The dark wizard sits in a chair beside the fireplace in the Coppers. The flames reflect from his eyes matching the blood red of his robes.

    “No, the mine pass must have cost you.”

    Kyan makes me jumpy. I know he’s a murderous bastard, but he’s also one of the most honest people I know. In a lot of ways he reminds me of my old mentor Higgins. Vicious but generous. I sometimes think he enjoys a little company. I work alone a lot. I know the feeling.

    “I need to return to my reading.”

    He gets up and walks away, leaving me in sole possession of a fair amount of gold. It’s enough to cover my expenses with a little profit left over. I’m grateful.

    The bodies form piles at the south gate again. It’s a common enough occurrence. Between waves I watch the good and stalwart defenders stripping valuables off the dead. I don’t engage in it myself. I’m out on point so we can have some warning when the next group approaches. There will be time to divide treasures later.

    The last wave goes down, and a few minutes later the group makes a few excuses to leave and parts ways, taking any and all loot off with them.

    I can’t help but laugh.

    I’ve been a lot of places. In some, the gold flows like cheap wine at a guild hall. Others, like the lands of Narfell, are a hard scrabble existence. No matter where I go, I find the same thing. The wicked account for every coin in an equitable manner, perhaps because they can ill afford to lose alliances over petty squabbles. The virtuous however, will swipe every last coin laying around if they think you aren’t watching. I see it all the time. A few coins skimmed here, a potion stuffed in a pack there, a quality blade that gets “forgotten about.” It adds up.

    The old saying goes there is no honor among thieves, but I tend to believe there are plenty of thieves among honor. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by greed or hypocrisy anymore. It is, after all, that kind of world.


  • OOC: It's been sitting on my computer half done for a year now waiting for me to do it justice. I'd like to thank Vash, who's event this was. His chaotic genius is always well appreciated, as is his advice and concern. The story stays pretty faithful to the event, which was outstanding.

    This one's for you Vash.

    –------------

    When you work in the trades, you learn something pretty quickly. Guards don’t like attracting attention to themselves. The average guard wants to pull his shift, get paid, go to the tavern and blow half his money, then go home to his wife and complain he doesn’t get paid enough. One of two things happen to guards that sound an alarm. If the alarm is false, then the guard gets all the crap details until someone else screws up. If the alarm is true, chances are he takes an arrow to the throat from someone that doesn’t want the alarm sounded. All guards understand this at some level. For a person like me, it’s an advantage.

    There was no lack of guards. My disguise as a priest of Helm got me past the one at the door easy enough. I approached the casket in what I hoped was a reverent manner. I had a dilemma. I needed to get the boots and suit off the corpse in the box, preferably before the real priest made his appearance. The dilemma was the two guards standing next to the coffin. I could hear the heavy boots of another guard pacing back and forth in an adjacent hallway. Four guards. The dead man had family that wasn’t afraid to spend money to give him a good sendoff. Just my kind of luck.

    I nodded to the two guards, my face concealed by the full helm I was wearing. I don’t know much of anything about being a helmite priest, but I hoped wearing one was part of what they did. Seemed like it wasn’t a bad guess.

    “Blessing of Helm upon you my sons.”

    “Father..”

    “I need to give final rites to the deceased, can you give him some privacy?” I gestured for them to head off and leave me alone, but they held firm. Great.

    “Sure Father, but he isn’t here. This is only a representation for the mourners.”

    Even better. Short on time, in a building I didn’t get to scout, chasing after a body of someone I’ve never seen, under the noses of a small army of heavily armed soldiers. Guards aren’t the only ones that complain about not getting paid enough.

    “Of course. Where are the mortal remains now?”

    “In the morgue downstairs.”

    A hall to my left, a door to my right… Which the hell one? I start to the hallway. What were the chances?

    Not good apparently.

    “To the west Father.”

    I wouldn’t put any money on which way was west. It wasn’t something I was considering when I came in. I assumed he wouldn’t have mentioned it if I was headed the right direction, so I changed course in a casual manner.

    The morgue was straight off the bottom of the stairs. The smell was almost overwhelming. It was like walking into a butcher shop gone horribly wrong. Three corpses lay in various states of dis-assembly on the tables. Little pieces of scrap littered the floor. Flies circled, laying eggs, no doubt. An old geaser with no teeth, a hunched back, and scraggly grey hair was up to his shoulder in the abdomen of one of the bodies. Intestines trailed out of the opening and down into a bucket full of squish. He was smacking his gums together like he was eating something tart. I really didn’t want to know…

    “Yappers… Like stuffin a chicken. Yup yup. Good ta see ya again Father, you look ah little thin. Yuse been losin weight?”

    “Uhm… We had a bad stretch of zombie sickness at the temple. We’ve been running around like mad.”

    “What can I do ya fer?”

    “I’m looking for the body of Jaques Belamonte. The family requested some last minute rites, so I need to get them done before the internment.”

    “Well yer a bit late. We all ready interred him in the crypt. Big feller he wud. I can getcha the key if y’d like.”

    He pulled out of the corpse giving me a good look at the badly soiled apron he was wearing. I swear I could see things moving on it. There are no horrors in this life that can not be made worse by the addition of maggots.

    “I gots it over in me room”

    He shuffled his way out into the hall, fishing deeply into his pocket with the hand that had just been previously occupied. It came back out cleaner then it went in.

    “Dag nambit! I thinks I locked my key in the room again.”

    “Wonderful.” Time was getting to be a problem.

    “Well den, I ain’t movin too fast no more. You’ll have at go run and get ah locksmiff.”

    Thanks gramps. Lucky me, I brought one with me. I ushered him back to the chamber of carnage as quickly as I could get him to move.

    “I’ll go get one. Maybe you should check those other bodies to make sure you didn’t leave them in one.” I didn’t hear his reply.

    I broke out my skeleton keys when I got to the door. I shouldn’t have bothered. I’ve seen better locks on an outhouse. Finding the keys wasn’t an issue. I took the one that wasn’t for the pathetic door lock.

    I dangled the key in front of the guard standing in the hallway upstairs and he let me through with barely a second glance. Down the stairs into the crypt. Two more guards standing in the chamber with nothing better to do then wait for some sort of entertainment to arrive. The day kept getting better.

    “Jaques Belamonte?” I inquired more casual then I was feeling.

    “Down the hall Father, last sarcophagus on the left.” It’s good to have helpful guards.

    I started off down the hall, hoping there weren’t any more of them sitting on the coffin waiting to make my day complete. Better I supposed, to get all the complications out of the way early on a job like this.

    “Oh, Father…”

    Oh shyte, now what? I stopped short in my tracks. The guard’s tone was a little too familiar, like he was talking to someone he thought he knew well.

    “…Have you had a chance to think about that thing we discussed?”

    Must be a full moon. I took a deep breath. Focus… Be vague. Very vague.

    “I’m still considering the matter. Come see me tomorrow.”

    The answer seemed to satisfy him, so I continued down the hall to the crypt. The tomb was thoughtfully labeled. One is always happy to catch a small break. The trap was simple, and easy to disarm. The lock was another story. His family was rich enough to afford six guards, I shouldn’t have been surprised they could also afford four tumblers and a reinforced striker plate. If they were poor, I wouldn’t need to be here, right? An hour with a slide hammer and I might have gotten it, but short on time with a need for silence? Not likely. I broke two picks on the first tumbler alone. At least I fished out the pieces. Back to the guards.

    The guards supplied me with a key far too willingly. I’d have to remember to thank them on the way out. The lid was heavy and hinged on the back side. I opened it slowly, fully expecting something to jump out at me. To be honest, I wish he had.

    A nice person would have called Jaques Belamote big boned. Nice people don’t break into coffins trying to make a living. He was corpulent, massive, obese, portly, rotund, plethoric, chubby, blobbish, ponderous, ginormous, huge, blubbery and dare I say it, really fat. Four hundred pounds easy. Worse yet, it looked like the mortician had decided to skip a few steps because the body was starting to bloat and had wedged itself firmly into the sarcophagus. I was convinced then, that the lock was to keep him from blowing the lid off more then it was to keep people out.

    All right, start with easy first. I cut the boot laces and they popped open like cutting the casing on a cooking sausage. A few minutes later, they were hidden neatly in my pack. So far so good. Pants and a shirt to go. The shirt was going to be a problem, so I started on the pants. Three button fly, then a lot of pulling. It would work.

    There was no way to accomplish it without making noise, so I did the next best thing to being silent. I made more noise. I started spouting off what I hopped was religious sounding litanies. You know the crap… Lord accept your servant… protect him from something… cast not your judgment… All that stuff we all hated when our parents dragged us kicking and screaming to the temple as a child.

    The pants peeled off suddenly.

    I wasn’t sure to laugh or be aghast. Apparently going to the afterlife commando was the new in thing. Creepy. I’d make a joke about rigor mortis, but that had passed long ago, however, the bloating had done things even the snake oil potions salesmen would never claim. I suddenly found myself wishing I had gone for the shirt first.

    I tried moving him from the ground first. Nothing. He could have been staked to the coffin and moved easier. Nothing is ever easy. I hiked up the edge of my priest's robes and hopped up into the coffin to get a better angle. I wanted to put my feet in the bottom so I could lift better, but Jaques was filing it too well, so I had to kneel on the edges. I grabbed him behind his head and pulled. He came up about nine inches before his scalp ripped off and his head dropped back with a meaty thunk loud enough to be heard upstairs. Great. Just what I needed.

    I started to sing some hymns I knew to cover the sounds of me working. What they did was cover the sound of the guard approaching.

    “Father, I forgot to warn you about the… trap…”

    The guard stopped dead in his tracks, taking in the scene. I know what it looked like. It’s one thing to get caught on a job like this… but it’s an entirely different thing to be caught straddling a corpse who’s pants are hanging on the edge of the coffin, while you’re basically pulling the face of a dead man up to your crotch. Not the sort of compromising position one wants to be in.

    “WHAT IN THE HELLS ARE YOU DOING?!?”

    Think fast Iathouz… think fast.

    “It’s zombie sickness. I have to get his cloths off him so I can paint protective wards on him.”

    I was rewarded with a skeptical scowl from the guard. He motioned me down. I tugged at Jaques head a few times just to show how well he was stuck, then hopped down to the floor gracefully.

    “I need your help propping him up.” Shut up Iathouz, shut up… “We don’t have much time.” Don’t keep talking… “If he comes back as a zombie then he can’t take his place beside Torm.”

    No… I didn’t… Please don’t catch that…

    “Torm? I thought you were a priest of Helm?”

    Personally, I blame Pherdur for this. With him it’s always Torm this, and Torm that. After a few years it rubs off. I mean really, is there another group that goes on endlessly about their god as much as Torm followers?

    “We’ve been pulling double duty at the temple on account of all the illnesses.”

    Not buying it.

    “Take off your helm.”

    An opening. I feigned indignance. I took a step forward and got in his face. “I will NOT violate my oath to Helm just because you have a sudden bout of paranoia!” Balance… balance. Steady like a rock on one foot while the other…

    “Then I’m going to have to take you…”

    I back kicked the coffin hard. The guard’s eyes went wide. “What was that that?!?”

    “It’s happening!” I panicked. Few diseases are as contagious as panic. The guard took a step back, but I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him closer to the coffin.

    “Hurry! I need your help!”

    “I don’t…”

    “NOW!”

    “What do you need??”

    “Help me lift him, I have to get the shirt off. Try not to get bitten.”

    “Bitten?!?” He stopped short.

    Ok… too much

    I pulled at the corpse. “Help me!”

    The guard join in and together we pulled walrus man up to a sitting position. “Get his shirt off, while I hold him up.” The guard finished the job for me. Like I said, helpful. We eased the corpse back into the coffin. The guard stood next to it while I rummaged my packs. The stylus I had. No ink. Damn.

    I stood up near the coffin, startled and froze. The guard didn’t miss it.

    “What is it father?”

    Dead, don‘t dare move type calm, words from the corner of my mouth. “You didn’t see that?”

    “See what?”

    “His hand moved.”

    The guard’s voice cracked. “Are you sure?”

    I still didn’t twitch a muscle. “Yeah.”

    “What do we do now?”

    “RUN!!”

    I took a step towards the exit, and the guard ran me over in his panic to get away. He could have outrun a crossbow bolt. I got back up and took the shirt and pants off the edge of the coffin and stuffed them in my packs. I drank an invisibility potion and slipped out of the funeral home completely unnoticed. All's well that ends well.

    The Hin was waiting in the back alley.

    “Ya done good again kid.”

    I passed him the suit and boots, and he tossed me three hundred coins. I looked at them and back to the Hin.

    “I spent three hundred doing this job.” The open bar tab that kept mourners out of my hair for an hour hadn’t been cheap.

    “Yeah well, dat ain’t my problem.” He waved the shirt at me. “This will let us do the next job. Gonna be a big score. I’ll have some things for ya then.”

    Sure.

    Don’t be surprised to see a Hin floating down the river some day.


  • OOC: I’ve been neglecting my journal as of late. I had a big story I wanted to put up, but got hung up in the middle of it, and I hate to post things out of order. I’ve satisfied myself with doing some writing work for other people, but as a very dear friend has pointed out, I need to get back to working on some of my own. Bless her, she understands me so well that she’s right about me far more often then she’s wrong. Over the years she’s given me tons of wonderful and insightful advice, even though there have been times I may not have wanted to hear it. As always, she’s been the best of friends.

    Sometimes a few small steps can make it easier to run again…

    Looking back, it’s one of those moments that I keep and cherish forever. A simple boat trip on a warm and breasy evening during that magical twenty minutes or so where the sun fades below the horizon and it’s neither day nor night. She stands close, I can feel her breath on my cheek. A whisper softly in my ear, one that will never escape my memory…

    “You never let me say it first.”

    Does she know? Does she understand? Does she realize just how badly I yearn to hear her say those few words? Are they that important that one has to hear them spoken out loud, even though they will be carried in the heart until the end of eternity?

    Yes, they are.

    True patience is wating for something even though it gnaws at you to do so. I will be patient and give her the chance because I think it’s something we both need.


  • I move softly across the floor, watching him as he stands next to the bed. His back is to the door, but I can see by the slight tension of his hand near the hilt of the blade that he’s just luring me closer. I approve.

    “Is she sleeping?” I ask.

    He turns to me and nods.

    “My turn to watch.” I pull the big blades off my shoulders. The weight of them is reassuring.

    “Things could get out of hand.” He’s made a cold statement of fact. It well could.

    “I’ve been through things like this before.” I set my blades on the table, leaving them loose in their scabbards. It’s an old trick, sling the scabbards and close the distance in the distraction. It works well on crossbowmen. I have been here before, a long time ago. I have the scars to prove it. That was a night that did not go well.

    “You think we can get her out of here if it does?” He’s running contingencies through his head. I like that.

    I hop up on the table, within easy reach of my bastard swords. “Her and Moon are the only family I have. The nine hells would have their hands full with me tonight.”

    We’ve had our differences plenty of times. Been though a lot together as well. She’s been there when it counts. My turn. “Get some rest Aranwe.”

    “…probably for the best.” He leaves on silent footsteps.

    He’ll do what I’ve done for the last four hours… wait downstairs, watching who comes in and goes out. In a few hours, Gnarl will take over for me. Gnarl is a good one to have at your side when the bolts fly. We’ll do all right.


  • There are times that I like her, and times I hate her. She can be bossy, arrogant, self centered, mischievous and at times infuriating. She can also be sweet, lovable, caring and cunningly intelligent. Most people would call her achingly beautiful. Few men are resistant to her charms, but thankfully, I’m one of them, or she would cause me no end of trouble. She isn’t family really, although I consider her to be. Perhaps some day, if I can straighten this mess out, she will be. Until then, she seems to take great joy being a thorn in my side. Today would be no exception.

    Mystic patted the ground next to her, while looking up at me with those big soft eyes she has. She was sitting under a tree in the park, relaxing while the sun crept from the horizon, casting long shadows around the place. A lamp lighter was just starting to make his rounds of the city.

    “Iathouz, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you or Pherdur. Come sit with me.”

    “Hello Mystic.”

    I smile, and then sit down just outside of arm’s reach. She’s been a little closer then I would like the last few times I’ve seen her. I don’t like people getting the wrong impression about our relationship. I consider her a sister, but I doubt many people would see her flirty gestures in that light.

    “I haven’t seen Pherdur in a while either. I need to speak with him. I think I left him somewhat concerned the last time we talked.” I had run into Pherdur that day. He saw that I was upset, but I couldn’t tell him why, just that I had been an idiot. I owed him an explanation.

    She figures me out way too fast. “Closer.” I scoot over next to her. She’s borrowed her sister’s favorite perfume and I catch the faintest whiff of it. It shakes me a little. I find myself wondering if she’s moved in with Moon again. The two shared a room for a long time back when I first met them both. She reaches out and takes my hand.

    “So what is this all about?” She almost seems amused. I have no doubts she knows what I’m going to say.

    “Moon and I had an argument about something.”

    Mystic lets out a giggle that might have been cute in other circumstances. To me it sounds mocking.

    “Don’t you always.”

    I’ll say this, she knows where to hit me. I’d like nothing better then to sit in a park like this with Moon, but we’ve had to avoid such public displays in the past, and there’s been more disagreements between us as of late. We bring back a lot of memories in each other, and more then a few of them are painful. It hasn’t been easy restarting our relationship after all this time.

    “Not like this. It… didn’t end well this time” So many things I tried to say to her, and all of them came out wrong.

    “Oh? Now how’s that?”

    “We broke up over it.”

    Stark laughter from Mystic. “Now Iathouz, broke up? I never pictured you two together. You knew it couldn’t last.”

    “Why is that, Mystic?”

    “You’re an elf and she’s human. When you’re done with her, you’ll discard her and move on to the next one. It isn’t fair to her. She gave up her best years to you, and for what? She isn’t young anymore. You’ll outlive her by centuries. Will you even remember her when its all done.? She‘s my sister, she deserves better.”

    “What is so hard to understand Mystic? Your sister is my world. She is my bond. When she passes from this mortal realm, I will travel with her.”

    “Spare me.”

    I don’t expect a human to understand. When an elf takes a mate, they form a bond. When one passes on, the other follows. There is a steep price to be paid for being in love with a human. I don’t care. Without her, there is nothing anyways. There will never be another. For eight years I held onto the hope that I would find her again, because if she was truly dead, then I would have been as well.

    “Tell me Iathouz, how do you show her you love her?” She pressed with a cutting tone.

    It’s the kind of question that always sets me back. How does one answer in simple terms about something so complicated and all encompassing? Would I step in front of an arrow for her? Without a thought, but that doesn’t define love. I tell her frequently how I feel about her, but words, however true they might be, are still just words. Would I risk my life to be with her? Done, but I risked hers doing it. My fortune, my honor, my life and my soul are hers for the asking, but love isn’t about what you give or what you take. It’s about what you share. We’d been so caught up in our feelings about being back together that we’d forgotten the things we shared that got us to this point. Truth is, I can do a better job, and I know it.

    I’ve been silent far too long and Mystic takes it as a victory.

    “I thought so. What about the rumors I hear about you returning to your dark Mistress?”

    She throws my past back in my face again, as is often the case when we talk about her sister, but that is all that it is, the past. I know my past. This isn’t about my past, its about the future of two people who care deeply for one another, but need to find their way back to each other again. The lecture she’s giving me is almost comic in a way. I know a few things about her past too.

    “…we’ve been over this so many times Iathouz. Even back then. Do you think you were the only one hiding in the shadows?”

    There is only so much I can take. I put up with a lot of grief from Mystic because she’s Moon’s sister. I’m no saint, but neither is she. Mystic was the first to discover the dark secret I was hiding, but it was only because she was pushing the boundries of what was right and what wasn’t herself.

    “Do you think I spent all my time in the Inn brushing my golden locks? I was watching you, even as you were watching her.” she continued.

    “I know better.”

    Playing at being Moon’s weak little sister had always been an act she played for Moon. How many times had she walked the deep mile to the Duergar Enclave that housed the Forge and the slaver pits? It was a dangerous road, and I discretely followed her numerous times on it. Even warned her off of it on occasion. She never understood the danger she was in. The slavers would have been happy to take her, but I had made it clear that she was under the protection of the Free Fires. The dwarves wouldn’t cross us. It wasn’t just me though. There was someone else watching over her.

    “Do you?” She’s baiting me for a trap, and I’m tired of being tested.

    “You think I don’t know about the time you spent with Santrix’s pet mage? Or your probes into the Enclave?”

    Santrix was a former leader of the Forge, until he was ousted by Higgins in what at the time was a shocking coup. Santrix formed the Black Rose after that, and the dark secretive mage that traveled with him was his chief enforcer. Higgins had tasked me with doing threat assements on the entire Black Rose. I never learned the mage’s name, but to this day, he is still the most powerful wizard I have ever encountered. Mystic had spent a lot of time with him early in her carreer. If I pressed her, I’m sure she’d tell me he was just training her, but she’s a blood mage and he was a hermetic. Read between the lines.

    She suddenly went quiet, biting at her lip as if thinking about her response. She’d have to be a lot more careful now. She slid closer and wrapped her arms around my neck, daring me to look into her eyes. I got a far clearer smell of that perfume this time. Mystic is a an enchanting woman. But she is not Moon.

    “I was only observing.”

    I remove her arms gently, as I’ve done every time she plays this little game.

    “What are you trying to accomplish here, Mystic?”

    “I’m trying to set things right for once.” Her voice says she believes it, but I don’t. Not after all these years.

    “Are you?…”

    “I believe I can.” She sounds so smug. Maybe it’s time.

    “… or is it something else? Jealousy?”

    I can hear indignation in her voice. “You think highly of yourself Iathouz.”

    It’s time.

    “Not for me, but of Moon. She attracts a lot of attention, far more then you think she should.”

    The daggers her eyes toss at me speak volumes, even as she goes quiet.

    “… It’s like you’re standing in her shadow. Why not you Mystic? You’re attractive enough. Capable too. Just like she is.”

    “I do not want anything..” Timid at best.

    “You expect me to believe that?” I shoot back.

    She gets up from under the tree. I notice how dark it’s gotten since we started talking.

    “I just want the best for my sister, and you’re not it.”

    She turns and walks off, trying to show righteous indignation. I know her too well. She has needs too. I hope she finds the answer she doesn’t know she’s looking for yet.

    In a way, I just want the best for my sister too.


  • The day started out fine. Moon wanted to go to the kobold cave, which was good, as I had heard there was a copper vein at the bottom. I needed some badly for the forge work I was looking to do. She wanted to stop at the temple first to get some potions, and we raced to get there. Not only is she a long legged beauty, but she’s also a strong runner as well. My back alley short cut was just enough to give me a rare win. Sometimes life is just plain good.

    We arrived at the cave a short time later. Our plan was simple enough. I’d draw the little beasts out, and Moon would send them on their way.

    Things went well to begin with. I lured out a few archers and a couple of their warriors. Moon dispatched them with her usual efficiency. The shadows of the cave served me well. I moved in and out, updating Moon what we were up against, then loosing a few arrows to stir things up. We pushed our way into the depths with methodical slowness.

    The mage was standing at the back a long chamber all by himself. I didn’t much care for the setup. In order to get a shot at it, I would have to go a long way from cover, giving it far too much time to respond. I cut an arrow loose at it and scampered off. I could hear it cursing at me.

    Moon was waiting around the corner. I told her about the mage, and she readied her blade. It did not come to us. I took a deep breath and steadied my breathing. I could feel the power of the ring I wore shifting the colors of my armor to match the damp cave walls. The rest was up to me. The secret to walking without making a sound is to roll your steps from heel through your toes. No drags, no scuffs, no smacking of the flats of your feet. It isn’t fast, but in conditions like this, the results were lethal.

    As I moved forward I could see the shaman’s cursing had drawn a small crowd. Another mage, and one of the drooling fanatics like we had just dispatched. The tip of a crossbow bolt peeked around a distant boulder. I strained my eyes against the dim light of the cavern, looking for signs there were more. Satisfied, I let fly another arrow at the caster I had winged with the last shot. I must have taken too long, because just as I released my bowstring, I heard Moon’s footsteps come up behind me. I hadn’t been able to tell her we had other company.

    We headed back towards our ambush spot at a run. The spell hit me from behind like a blow from a forge hammer. I could feel a rib crack from the shear force of it as it knocked me over. I rolled back to my feet, wincing at the sharp pain in my side. Moon pulled up and guarded as I juggled my bow to take a long draught from one of the wound curing potions I had. I could feel the magic taking effect and mending the damaged rib. I was good to go again.

    I looked up just in time to see the magical energies thrown by the other shaman wash over Moon, locking her body rigidly in place. We were now in serious trouble.

    The drooler was closing in on her, luckily, he wasn’t tall enough to reach her neck, but the long thin blade in his hand is perfect for hitting the joint in her armor and cutting her femoral artery. I quickly drew another arrow and it cut a deep furrow across the side of its head. It yelped and turned its attention to me just like I hoped. It covered the fifteen feet between us at a dead run, but it gave me just enough time to drop my bow and unsling my bastard sword and shield.

    I used the weight of my blade to beat back the kobold’s much lighter one. Parry, riposte, beat, disengage. The hard overhead cut smashed though it’s blade and split its head open, dropping it to the floor. Suddenly a kobold assassin appeared in front of me. The crafty little bastard has come in using the blind spot I have when I’m ducking behind my shield. He was inside my guard all ready, and there wasn’t much I could to with sword or shield to stop him. His thrust caught me under the rib and traveled upward through my leather armor. I spun away from the blow. I could hear the sucking sound as the short sword pulled out before he could sink it to the hilt. My next breath was labored and painful, and it sprayed blood over the inside of my helm. The strike had punched my left lung. I was living on borrowed time, and I knew it.

    I glanced over at Moon, they were leaving her alone for now to concentrate on finishing me off. I could run and make it to safety, but they would turn on Moon and finish her quickly. I had to buy time. I fought with every ounce of skill and determination I had, hoping Moon would recover before I bled out. One on one, the assassin and I were an even match. Hell, I might even have been winning. It seemed like I dueled it for a lifetime.

    Another glance at Moon showed me her arm was starting to move.

    The second assassin stepped from out of the shadows of the rock pile behind me and caught me completely unaware from behind, driving his blade through my kidney and out the front. My blade fell from my hand. I looked down at the point sticking out of me. Watched the blood run off the sword in sticky rivulets. Heard the drops splash into the puddles of crimson water at my feet. Time stood still.

    I watched myself fall to my knees as Moon slammed into the kobold across from me like she was possessed. The woman I loved so dearly had a fighting chance. It was all I wanted. The second kobold wasted no time in finishing me off before Moon could get to me. The darkness took me.

    There are things in the darkness more horrible than death.

    The woman was tall and lean, inhumanly beautiful, with dark hair and darker eyes. She was smiling with a cruel and twisted smile. She is the Mistress of Pain, and the Lady of Loss.

    To say the dark sister of the moon scares me is a grave understatement. I am terrified of her. The last time I had seen her smile like that, she had just sent me to feed her shadows as punishment for turning away from her. Night after night of them tearing out bits of my life leaving me with the scantest sliver so I could recover enough for the next feeding. Eternity is a long time.

    To the best of my understanding, it had been almost a year when Pherdur Kelm had come to my rescue. I have a few debts I will never be able to repay. This is one of them.

    All she did was smile.

    The raw power of the goddess took me back to my body, healed me, set me on my feet, with my sword in my hand. The two kobold assassins were backing Moon to the wall. I could see she was bleeding from a dozen or more cuts as she fought for her life. My sudden reentrance into the fray caught the kobolds by surprise, and together we finished them off.

    Moon suggested a quick exit, and I snatched up my bow before we beat tracks to the way out. Just inside she turned to find me shaking badly. I could see the mixture of relief and confusion in her eyes.

    “Tell me what just happened in there.”

    Anyone who happens to read this needs to understand. I can’t lie to Moon. When we were first together, I was full of deceptions. Things changed after I came clean about my life. Since then, I have kept nothing from her. If she can’t trust me, then our relationship is over.

    I should have lied to her this time.

    “She knows I’m here,” was my dazed reply.

    “Who?!?”

    “The Mistress. That was her that brought me back. She was standing there… smiling.”

    I could see the pain, fear and revulsion enter her eyes. It tore my heart clean out of my chest.

    “No… I can’t. I can’t go through this again!” She turned and bolted like a jackrabbit flushed from a thicket.

    There was a time when Moon could talk to me about these things, but she’s suffered a great deal over the years, and I’ve been slow to notice the change in her. I’ve been so caught up in my happiness at finding her alive that I haven‘t considered a lot of things. I trailed after her.

    I pulled up at the commons as she raced into the Inn. Should I go in a talk to her now, while she’s upset, or wait a few minutes while she composes herself? I didn’t know.

    I looked up to see Val, standing in the commons, chalking, “Is there something wrong?” on her little board.

    “Something bad has happened. Something very bad.”

    She writes back. “Anything I can help with?”

    “Can you kill a god?”

    She flabbergasted me by writing, “Yes, I have.” I admire her confidence as well as her knowledge. It wins her a story about my past association with the Selune’s sister, and how Moon’s love for me helped me to break my ties with her, and what has happened just moments ago.

    Moon walked up behind me unheard just as I got to the part about the dark goddess smiling and bringing me back to life. Moon gags and runs off again. I should chase after her, but I need Val’s advice badly. I know she’s dealt with these kind of things before. I tell Val I can’t put Moon through this again. I care for her too much.

    Val writes to me, “You have two options, get Shar to leave you alone, or leave Moon.”

    I can’t help but think I might have to do one, until I can figure out how to do the other.


  • I stepped out into the cool night air, enjoying the contrast from the hot staleness of the forge I had just spent hours working with. A fog had rolled into port, and I had occasional glimpses of the beam from the lighthouse as it splashed against the buildings on the backside of port. I’ve always liked fog. The solitude comforts me and it’s always been good for moving about unnoticed.

    The door of the building across the street stand ajar. I’ve never seen it open, or anyone come or go through it. I can feel it calling to me. Inviting. Beckoning. Pulling.

    I step through the door into a dimly lit room. The smoke from burning incense fills the chamber, replacing the fog from outside. My head starts to spin a bit, like the world is slowly rotating around me. It makes me blink a few times.

    A woman sits at a simple wooden table draped with exotic silks. A crystal ball rests on the table. She doesn’t look up as I feel compelled to approach.

    “You’re come for your fortune.” She monotones.

    Yes… I guess.” I don’t know why I’m here, but I feel I should be. I sit down opposite her.

    “Place your hands on the crystal ball.”

    I reach out and touch it. The it has a shocking coldness to it’s smooth surface. I gaze into it’s clearness, hoping to catch a glimpse of something myself. I feel silly for my expectations, until it swirls red and black, and then gives way to blue and gold. A streak of red cuts through the blue and gold, then the entire globe turns to inky blackness, before changing to a dull radiant silver as the Seer speaks.

    “You do what you must to survive, though not as extreme as some. You seek danger, and enjoy it, but often fumble fatally.”

    I nod, “The past I know.”

    She gives me a quick glance before staring into the ball again. “There are many offers to come on your path… Your skills will become widely known in some circles.”

    I can’t help but wonder what circles she’s seeing. I’ve been part of “some circles” before.

    “Paths go in all directions,” she continues. “You must choose the right one. Some are more profitable than others. Some less kind.”

    “I see. How will I know the right one?”

    “Sometimes you will not, and then it will be your choice whether you continue down the path or go against your word… When you feel it is not right, that is.”

    A cold chill runs up my spine. I’ve broken my word a lot in my life… except for one pledge. The one I gave to Moon so many years ago. The one where I told her I would not become a servant of the darkness again. It’s a pledge I’ve maintained for years. One I would sooner die horribly then break. I've had a lot of opportunities after she was gone. Even reason to. There have been times I’ve flirted with the line, but I haven’t crossed it. I have no plans to do so now.

    The Seer sits back in her chair, looks at me, then pushes the crystal ball towards me. It’s an odd gesture. “Take this with you.”

    I slip the excessively weighty crystal ball into my pack without another question. I tip the Seer heavily before stepping back out into the fog. As always, I have things to think about.

    I make it about ten steps before something happens.

    “PSSSSST” The hin virtually materializes out of the fog. “Went to go see the ol’ fortune teller, eh?”

    I’ve worked for him before. I reply in a hushed tone. “Yes.. It was very… interesting”

    He switches to a whisper. “Good thing you got it staked out, ‘cause I need someone to nab her crystal ball.”

    I can’t help but laugh. …Although I find myself with renewed respect for the reading.

    The hin raises an eyebrow at my laugh.

    “You up for it?”

    “What’s it paying?”

    “Give ya two hundred’s fifty for it.”

    Curse me, I need gold badly. “Make it three hundred and I’ll make it a fast job.”

    “Hah! We’ll see about that.” He looks me over for a moment, appraising me. “Two Fifty is the deal, ain’t going higher than that for a chunk of glass.”

    So much for that thought. I’ll take what I can get. “Walk with me.”

    I lead the hin back into the alley, and watch his eyes widen as I pull the orb from my pack.

    “That WAS fast!

    “One might even say psychic.” I reply with a hint of sarcasm. He tosses me a pouch of coins.

    “Damn you’re good. Do’in jobs before I even give ‘em to ya. Gonna have more jobs for a guy of your skills… Just you wait.”

    “All right, I’ll be waiting.”

    The hin stomps off into the fog calling out loudly, “See ya at er… bingo.”

    “Always.”

    I go my own direction.


  • A pasture beside a wooded glade. Horses. I lean on the fence watching.

    I can’t be here. Not again.

    A pale rider sits astride a horse as black as night. Flames leap from it’s nose. The hilt of a great sword shows over the rider’s shoulder, and there is something tipped back on the top of his fleshless skull. The rider is looking at me. I can see the flicker of small flames burning in his eye sockets. He jams a boney heel sticking through a rotting boot into the beast’s flank. I see the muscles of the horse ripple with power as it charges me, leaping the fence, and me along with it. As it passes over, I can see the fine scales of it’s skin that from a distance looked like hair. Its hooves are tipped with claws. I feel a few strands of my own hair tumble down my face as it lands behind me. The rider yanks the reins savagely and the horse turns broadside to me with unnatural agility.

    I hear deep dark laughter. I know the voice.

    The skeletal figure before me is unfamiliar. A few bits of dried and molding flesh still cling to him. His cloths are moth eaten and threadbare. He reeks of death and brimstone. I can see the helm pushed back on his skull. I know its name… War Visage. Mithral, worked by a master in blood magic and the forge, fashioned into a demon skull with horns tipped forward like a charging bull. It was the crowning achievement of my old mentor, Higgins, Pale Master turned Lich, Lord of Death and War, Mind of the Free Fires. I didn’t recognize him at first. The old elf is loosing weight.

    He looks around casually before slowly speaking, his deep booming voice drowning out the harsh death rattle of the horse’s breathing. “A nice place to visit.” His head turns towards me, and the flames in his sockets flare as his gaze locks on me. “…but no place to live.”

    I would never have pictured him on a horse when he was alive.

    An amused chuckle. Deep and sinister.

    He looks down at the horse and pats it on the shoulder with the skeletal digits of his left hand. “Spectacular, isn’t it? I found it running around in your head. Been here for some time.” The moldering Lich seems pleased with himself. “I think I shall keep it.” He holds up his left hand on the arm that was not his. The arm he ripped from Sal’s body before making it his own. “However… it needs a more… personal… touch.”

    I’ve seen the death touch before. It is no less shocking now. The horse lets out a sharp piercing squeal as Higgins caresses it. It’s fine scales flake off and fall to the ground. The skin cracks and withers. The muscles unwind from the bones, making little popping sounds as the connecting tissues snap, landing in a bloody pile about its hooves. I watch the organs putrefy and drip off the skeletal remains. Horse and rider have become a matched set.

    “Why are you here?”

    Again, amusement.

    “When I took you as an apprentice, we took a bond of blood. Have you forgotten your lessons?”

    “A few.” Blood was sacred currency to Higgins. One’s own blood contained great power…

    “…And one’s enemy’s even more.” The boney mage finishes out loud. “Someone has been in your head, and that puts them in mine.”

    He reaches over his scapula and draws the great sword. “Now I fix the problem.”

    The blade dances in his dead fingers, reversing the grip. He hands it to me. “What is this, apprentice?”

    I look it over. The hilt is finely crafted, serpents entangle the cross bar, the grip is masterfully woven elven chain, and fire rubies adorn it. The blade however, is little more then squared stock.

    “It’s a metal stick.”

    Perturbed disappointment. His reply is a dry rattle. “Obviously.”

    He’s after a metaphor, but I’m in no mood to humor him. I shrug.

    “It lacks an edge. Like you, when I found you. I shaped you. Forged you into a weapon. Gave you an edge. An edge you have now lost. Walk with me.”

    I hear a crack of bone on bone as he spurs the horse to a slow walk. I don’t budge a step. He pulls up after twenty feet. I watch him as the flames in his skull flicker and go out. He holds out his left arm and I feel mine do the same. He reaches up with our hand and pulls War Visage down over his missing face. I see my hand pass before my eyes mimicking his motion.

    “You still think you dream apprentice? Make no mistake, I am in full possession of your body.” He turns my arm over as if casually inspecting it. “I’ve almost forgotten the feeling of flesh.” His voice sounds like someone locked in a daydream. He closes my hand into a tight fist before continuing with a snarl. “I can force you to do what I want.” He laughs, and releases his grip. My arm becomes my own again. “But this is not our way…”

    His point is made. I catch up to him.

    The pasture and the woods give way suddenly to a damp cave. Goblin bodies litter the floor. Higgins is there in the flesh, a freshly forged War Visage covering his face. He’s passing his great sword to a younger version of myself. It is the day he recruited me into the Free Fires.

    Great, just what I need. A metaphysical morality play. The undead monster next to me chuckles again. He’s in a way to humorous mood today.

    “Lost… alone… outcast.” The lich intones in time with his fleshier self. “Feeling like you have no place where you belong… I know a place you can call home.” At the time, the pitch had been very seductive. I remember it well.

    “You were weak then. Easily manipulated by those of us with strong wills. But you learned.”

    The cave twists in on itself and is replaced by darkness and cool night air. We are atop a tower, home to the creature the natives call the Red Death. Higgins needed the heart and scales of an ancient dragon for his work, so the whole crew was here to hunt down the nastiest of them all. We’re all there. Higgins, Pyra the sorcerer, short little Rok, myself, Hrogath, the dark elf priestess Sharrell, and of course Higgins’ personal enforcer and bodyguard, the massive ogre Brak. Brak is standing over the corpse of the ancient red. With the first swing of his beloved axe Fred, he’s cleaved the dragon in half. Lengthwise. Higgins looks pissed.

    Brak bellows his rage at the sky, as if taunting the gods. “WHO STRONGEST!!!!”

    I hear Pyra from the background. “Brak strongest.” The ogre grins in satisfaction and trots over to Higgins like a dog looking for treats. Higgins is fuming.

    “Tell me…. you haven’t damaged it’s heart.”

    The smile disappears from Brak’s face, and he pokes a finger in Higgins’ chest. “You say plan is conquer tower, kill dragon. Brak follow plan. Conquer tower, kill dragon. Plan not say save heart. Not Brak fault if heart broke. Put in plan next time.”

    Brak might be the hardest person in the world to win an argument with. Higgins doesn’t even try.

    “Rok!”

    “On it boss.” The goblin paddles over to the carcass on flappy feet, happy as can be to go digging through dragon entrails. For my part, I wander around a bit looking for anything of interest.

    Back in those days I didn’t allow anyone to cast spells on me, so I was real sensitive to magic going on around me. When the hair on the back of my neck stands up, I roll for the shadows and make myself scarce. The Balor gates in moments later. Higgins, ever the cool one, stands there next to Brak, his great sword casually resting on his right shoulder. He drums the boney fingers of his undead graft on the blade’s blood gutters. The rest of the crew stands there, waiting for a signal.

    “This is my favorite part,” says the Lich standing next to me, as my other self starts working cautiously up to the back of the demon.

    The Balor towers over everyone except Brak. It carries two flaming falchions, both drawn. Black smoke rolls off the blades. “Long have we waited to seize this tower for the Dark Lord of the Pit,” it bellows. “Now we have come to claim that which is ours.”

    Brak watches as I slip into position. His whisper to Higgins carries across the whole top of the tower. “What white elf think doing?”

    Higgins puts his skeletal hand on Brak’s arm, stopping him from moving. “Wait for it.”

    The Balor goes on about the virtues of its demon lord as I launch myself at its back. The whirlwind of fury is over in seconds, and ends with my bastard swords crossed through it’s chest. I ride the cadaver to the floor.

    The crew breaks into laughter. Except Higgins.

    “All right people! It said WE. Get moving, we’re going to have to fight our way back out!”

    The lich Higgins turns to me. “You were bold. Decisive. That day you felt the pride and the rage of the fires in your blood.” He sounds like a proud dad. Just my luck to know a lich that thinks he’s some sort of father figure. He chuckles dryly as the tower fades into darkness.

    It’s the smell that hits me first. Freshly quarter sawn oak mixed with the sharp salty tang of sea air. I swear, I’ll kill the bastard for bringing me here. I know where he keeps his soul. This is one of my most sacred memories, and I wouldn’t have him defile it with his presence. …but I have no choice in the matter.

    The newly built oak bridge stands astride a small stream that dumps into the ocean. She stands atop of it, frozen in time. It is the day I first met her, only it isn’t me facing her on the bridge, it’s Higgins. He walks around her in a tight circle, brushing her hair back lightly with the cold ivory fingers of his left hand. Even with no flesh on his skull, I can see him leer…

    “Uhmmmm, lovely. I can understand why you betrayed me.” He takes her chin in his hand and turns her head away, then back to him. “I especially like her skeletal structure.” He leans in as if to kiss her and stops. “The bones are willing,” he hisses, “but the flesh is weak…”

    My anger is so great I can’t speak. My blood feels like it is on fire. Consuming me from the inside, hungry to burn its way out and unleash itself on the world.

    A tremor passes through the undead elf, as if he’s experiencing a moment of ecstasy. He growls. “Yes! Feel the rage! Feel the rage and the power to destroy the world and rebuild it in your image! It is your birthright, and has been since the day you joined the Free Fires.” He looks at her for a moment. “You saw what you wanted, and you took it. You defied me to do it. You reached out and grabbed your freedom for yourself and took on all who opposed you. You let nothing stand in your way.” He storms across the bridge to where I’m standing. Staring me face to faceless. I look through the flames in his eye sockets, to the back of his skull. “This, my apprentice, is when I knew you had become one of us.”

    His dry chuckle is hollow and soulless. “..and you did not disappoint, did you?”

    I stand in a circle of flaming wreckage, living fires flicker and dance around me, but I stand unsinged. My left arm is gashed from elbow to wrist. The knife I just cut it open with is still in my right hand. Blood runs down my arm and ignites when it hits the ground. I stand before Ember, the demigoddess of the Forge, who has returned to exact her vengeance upon me. I’m showing her the blood of the Free Fires still burns in my veins. The blood that gives her power. I’ve also just shown her weakness.

    The memories return rapidly. Ember has rebuilt the forge without Higgins and Brak, who carried it in her absence. She has claimed new blood to go with what was left of the old. They hunt me, as I hunt them. There can be no peace.

    Kira is the first to die. I roll her head across the floor. It sounds like an overripe melon when it hits. Celad I leave alive, but only barely. He has nothing to do with it, but his moment of chivalry costs him dearly.

    The fire giants I wipe out utterly. Penalty for their alliance with Ember.

    Gort drags himself across the floor of the forge, his legs useless after I sever the base of his spine. He doesn’t make it to the keg of blasting powder before the flames do.

    Rok… my friend and counterpart. Favorite of Ember. Apprentice of Brak. I haven’t forgotten for a moment what you said you were going to do to the woman I love. After a month of cat and mouse, he makes the error of stepping out into the open. It was his last mistake. His body snaps, but he lives because I want him to. I have the true name of a slaadi lord. He takes the goblin as payment.

    Ember herself is all that remains.

    Higgins laughs in my ear. “I took Ember myself not long after. Without her followers she was weak. I am now lord of the forge, as I should be.” He clamps his left hand on my shoulder in a death grip. “Find the fire within you. It burns for you to use it. There is no escaping what you are.”

    I feel something tugging at my spirit, dragging me back to a temple in Norwick. I hear Higgins voice fading in the distance. “You never stopped being an assassin. You only changed who you were working for…”

    She looks down at me as I open my eyes. I see the relief as it crosses her face. She has been there when I needed her once again. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

    You’re wrong Higgins.

    Maybe.


  • A few more journal excerpts:

    I met a woman named Val. Turns out she a member of the Crafter’s Union and the Bardic College. We’ve had a few pleasant conversations, which is difficult because she bit off her own tongue while being held captive by the Shadovar and cannot speak. She loaned me a very nice suit of armor, as well as giving me a ring that manipulates colors to match the area I’m standing in. Both items have been a godsend. I’ve bumped into her around Peltarch several times now, and she’s healed me when I’ve been injured. I’m starting to think of her as a guardian angel.

    I’ve suggested that she might try forging and enchanting a prosthetic tongue. It would have to be made from silver I would think. My old forge master, Higgins, could have done the work, when he was still alive. I feel a little guilty for raising Val’s hopes. There is a detail I left out, and it is kind of important. The only way I’ve seen that the graft would take properly is if the tongue was made on a blood forge. It is very dark magic.

    I’ve seen Moon several times since our reunion. I haven’t been this happy in a long time. My euphoria is almost becoming a distraction. I need to pay a little more attention to what I’m doing, especially when we adventure together.

    A couple of more jobs. Still nothing about a guild. I’m hoping this doesn’t blow up in my face somewhere down the road.

    Still no more sightings of The Company. The ship is so late now that I fear it has wrecked. Just what I need. Another set of blades at the bottom of the ocean.


  • The brilliant white flash split the blackened sky and lit up the swirling grey clouds high above my head, giving me a brief glance of stable reflected off the pond in front of it. Out of habit I started counting, waiting for the roll of distant thunder to overtake me. The storm was pushing this way hard, but I still had a few minutes before it arrived. I had little doubt that the winds and rain would come with it.

    The weather was perfect for what I was about tonight. The storm would keep people inside, and a driving rain would keep the shutters closed. Timed right, the thunder might even cover a few screams. Wicked things happened on nights like this.

    I let myself in through one of the stable gates, landing softly on my feet as another bolt of lightning rent the sky. Barn doors are so notorious for squeaking, that it’s best to avoid them all together. I checked my scabbards. The right hand draw over my shoulder was loose and ready. I almost checked the other shoulder draw, before remembering I had yet to replace one of my heavy blades. I shook my head. Old habits could be fatal tonight. The long tooth at my waist was equally ready. I hoped I wouldn’t need them, but then again, I don’t put much stock in hope.

    I heard the wind start to howl as the first sheet of rain hits the roof. The storm was close now, and the livestock was starting to get restless. I was thankful, at least there were no dogs. Movement up in the loft caught my eye, as she turned from the window and wandered to her bed. I waited an hour for her to doze off, listening to the sounds of the storm before I headed up.

    I made it to the loft without a hitch. She was taking simple to the extreme this time. A few old blankets stretched out over a bed of clean straw. I paused to see if she would stir. Nothing. The blades came silently free of their sheaths as I moved to the foot of he bed. Lightning flashed again followed shortly by the sharp crack of thunder. She turned slightly in her sleep. I watched for a few moments, remembering all the other times I had watched her sleep. I needed to know. One way or another.

    I said her name aloud for the first time in years. “Moon.”

    The thunderbolt that struck outside the stable dazzled my eyes with white hot blobs that danced in my vision, even as the thunder shook the building to its foundation. A second bolt lit the sky in the distance. I heard a sharp intake of breath just before the rumble rolled through. When my eyes cleared, she was sitting up, her sleeping robe parted down the middle showing a narrow sliver of skin in what I could only describe as a seductive manner.

    “My Night Shade Whisperer. I knew it was you.”

    I am a sentimental fool, and a hopeless romantic, and she knows it, but after eight years of disappointments, I was in no mood for games.

    “Where were we when I first told you I loved you?” My voice was chill, like the swords in my hands.

    Her laugh made my heart beat faster. “Now you’re being silly.”

    My blades snapped up on target, the tip of my bastard sword hovering close to her chest, a hair’s width from her skin. Any closer and I’d be leaving a thin red line up her sternum. I know my vision is far better then hers in the dark. I see her tense slightly. Another flash. I make sure the light plays along the blade before it fades. I am not amused.

    “Answer the question.”

    “Very well. We were in the sewers. You were teaching me how to stalk.”

    Romantic, isn’t it? Also the wrong answer.

    My blades struck the floor with a heavy thunk as I tossed them off to the side. The first time I told her I loved her, we were crossing a marshy flatland the locals called troll county, only she was busy berating me for leading her and Nahaska into an ambush a few days earlier. She never heard what I said… Any sorcerer scrying my question would have come up with the right answer. Only the real Moon would get it wrong in the right way. I sank to my knees on the edge of the bed. She grabbed the neckline of my armor and pulled me to her.

    I had so many questions to ask, so many answers I needed. My mind was reeling. She reached up and put a lone finger across my lips, cutting me off before I got out a word.

    “No more questions tonight.”

    Sometimes, the woman has more sense then I do.

    She pulled me tight into a lovers embrace as the lightning struck again. I tasted her lips for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime. Her hand running across the leather plates of my armor, down my arm… Too late I realized what she was after. In one deft move, she pulled the knife from my wrist sheath and jammed it up against my cheek, the point biting in. I could feel blood start to run down my face in a small trickle.

    Her voice was as cold as mine was earlier. “You don’t need this.” A wicked smile crept across her face. She hooked my arm with her free hand and kicked over, slamming my back into the bed as she came up straddling me, her robe giving up all pretence of cover.

    “Now we do this my way.” With a savage slash she cut the cinch straps on my armor, then she tossed the knife over the side of the loft.

    Romance was not a consideration. Not this night. The storm raged on through the evening, the lightning and thunder finally expending themselves in the early morning hours.

    I awake before she does, the morning sun nothing more then a faint glow on the horizon. My fingers trace down the bare skin of her back, then across the curve of her hip. Our custom has always been that I leave before dawn, and I hate it. I never liked hiding our relationship, but the realities of what we both had been involved with made it dangerous for people, even our friends sometimes, to know about us. For now, until I have a chance to speak to her about it, I will continue to honor what was our arrangement. As much as it pains me to go.


  • The first words out of Pherdur’s lips when I get him alone is, “Does Moon know you’re here?”

    I answer “No.” but it’s a matter of debate for me. She should have opened the note by now, but from everything I’ve observed, she hasn’t. Or she did and doesn’t care. Neither line of thought is much to my liking.

    I need information, so I press him a little. “You think it’s really her?”

    He thinks for a moment. “I’m not sure.” Curse the man for the stoic he is. Suffice it to say, it isn’t the answer I’m looking for. He could have stopped there, but not the Rock of Torm… “She didn’t ask about you.”

    The war between my head and my heart starts again. It’s been eight years. If it is her, she’s moved on with her life. Be happy she’s alive. Be happy for her. Let her go… My heart counters. You love her, and always will. Your happiness counts for something too. Fight for the woman you love. Make your stand. Here. Now.

    I don’t know which wins. At least I can get Pherdur’s advice now.

    “It’s been eight years…”

    “Has it been that long?” he replies.

    I’m just about to launch into my troubles when a gust of wind kicks open the south gate and the goblin assassin tries sneaking past us. Sometimes I wish I had no luck at all.

    The business of the goblin is concluded. A small group stands bickering about open and closed gates. No one even considers that goblins have hands and can open gates just like everyone else. I watch Pherdur for a moment. He’s exhausted from his trip and the long day.

    “I need to get some sleep.” he says. He nods to me. “Good night, Iathouz.”

    “Take care Pherdur.” I watch him walk away.

    It’s been so long since I’ve heard my real name. It seems… spooky.


  • There he stood, a man I once tried to kill; a man who has saved my life more times then I can count. I hadn’t seen him in years, not since the day he told me I should flee the Isle. He still wears the Red and Silver, although it looked a bit tarnished now. Of all the people in the world, there are very few I have more respect for then Pherdur Kelm, Paladin of Torm, Knight of the Order of Valor. He was the only Valor I thought was worth a damn, except maybe Sal.

    When I had decided to straighten my life out, it was Pherdur who I turned myself in to. Moon had been steadfast by my side through the whole thing, but it was Pherdur’s speech to the council at my trial that had kept my neck out of a noose. His word carried the weight of mountains.

    It’s good to see him again. He knows where I’ve been. Knows the things I’ve done. Despite that, he still calls me friend, and in the truest sense of the word. What I need more then anything right now is someone to talk to.


  • The common room of the Inn was barely lit when I entered. The fire had burned itself down to dark and moody coals that cast a faint red glow about the room. I needed sleep. Badly. It had taken me far too long to track down that which I needed to keep the nightmares away. The fire would have to be brought back to life first, as I required hot water for my needs. Just as well, a chill had started creeping into the room, and my thin field blanket wasn’t going to be much good.

    Crossing the floor I realized I wasn’t alone. While I prefer solitude these days, I’ve spent enough time in military camps that having someone else in room wasn’t going to deter me. I figured I could tend to the fire without too much worry of waking them. As I passed by the beds, the woman in it turned over, letting me catch a glimpse of her face.

    It was her.

    I stopped short because there are times I can’t help myself. The war inside of me started almost immediately. My head knows it isn’t her. It can’t be. She’s been gone for over eight years. I’ve been tricked before. She is my obsession, my weakness. My bond. It was only her because I wanted it to be her. My nightmares, it seemed, were spilling into my awakened world.

    It wasn’t her.

    Or so I kept telling myself. My heart said otherwise.

    Hope is often the cruelest of torments. Could it be her? Another woman who looks like her enough that my heart fills in the details? Something more sinister?

    Her eyes fluttered open, glazed with sleep. For the briefest of moments, I thought I saw a glimmer of recognition.

    It felt like a kick in the chest when my heart skipped a beat, just like it always used to whenever she walked into a room. There was no stopping my tears. All the things I wanted to say… All the questions I needed to ask… I needed time to think.

    I managed a weak, “You’re dreaming.”

    Is it her? Or another demon sent to torment me? I keep a knife strapped to my wrist for emergencies. If it’s the demon it can only be, then I’ll never have a better chance. It can’t be her. Can it? My heart wins the battle, but not the war. I need to know.

    I’ve felt a lot of pain in my life, but nothing compares to that moment, when she reached out to touch my face…

    …and I stepped away.

    Forgive me.

    She drifted back to sleep as a whispered, “rest well my love,” caught in my throat across the room.

    How many candles have I burned?


  • Excerpts from a few days of entries…

    It has become my ritual. Every few days I go to the temple, the temple of a god that is not mine. I light a candle for her and offer up a prayer that her spirit might be watched over. I leave a few coins. In some ways it makes me feel better.

    –------

    “Did you get it?” the hin asked. I nodded and tossed him a small runestone. “… and nobody saw or heard you?”

    “No, but it isn’t going to take them long to figure out what happened.”

    The hin laughed as he threw back a pouch full of gold. “We’ll be long gone by then.”

    He turned and walked away. I watched him for a few moments.

    Two jobs in the city, and I haven’t paid any dues on either of them. I’m starting to get concerned. Maybe, just maybe, the hin is a recruiter for the guild. Bears watching.

    She crosses the commons. A glint of red hair. The laugh sounds familiar. I follow because I need to. Why do I torment myself?

    The Ship still isn’t here. Ten days overdue. I miss the twins.

    As I turn to leave the temple, a hand lands on my shoulder lightly. From behind me a few words. “Seek not life among the dead.” I turn. The priest’s eyes go from opaque to clear. Unnerving.

    “Is there something I can help you with my son?” he asks.

    “No,” is all I say before walking away.

    Tall bookshelves dominate the room. Time for some quiet study. I find a few dusty tomes written about a series of public autopsies some scholar was holding to make research money. Dry material, but I need to relearn a few skills. The illustrations are helpful.