friendlyunclej

[friendlyunclej]

A sketch that became not a sketch. This is Promise, my lesbean who is my favorite flavor, disaster. She is a bard and is going to need to leave town in a couple of sessions.

[friendlyunclej]

One of my Blades in the Dark characters, Songbird. He's a Slide who totally didn't get distracted by his Vice and ignore the Score he was on. Also totally didn't return with a new Crew member after that Score.

[friendlyunclej]

In Search of a Free Breath

Prologue

     Whenever I’m asked where I was raised, my answer will forever be Mandalore. That is the planet where I was taught to fight. There lies the villages and clans that forged me into the warrior I am today. After decades of training, I became a Mandalorian in service of Pre Vizsla. I was and still am a proud Foundling, having proved my worth amongst the proper children of Mandalore. It’s the only world I would have once called my home, even if it’s not currently the case.      My current home for a number of months now has been Concord Dawn and whatever ruins had enough structure to not only provide shelter but also cover. My former family and I found ourselves at an impasse that neither were willing to work beyond. I barely managed to make it off planet, but the ship I snuck on to wasn’t heading out of the Mandalore sector as I hoped it would. To make matters worse, the Mandalorians on the planet conducted a routine cargo inspection. Just before I was going to be discovered, the inspectors ran out after hearing some commotion caused by the arrival of a separate ship. Two other Mandalorians walked off, bearing the same symbol I wore on my right shoulder. As my former brothers-in-arms got into an argument with the Mandalorians here on Concord Dawn, I tried to sneak away as stealthily as I possibly could, but they still spotted me. I’ve been steadily ahead of the two hunters who followed me here thanks to a treacherous jetpack chase through the shattered southern end of the planet. I lost my pack after a hard landing but I never liked it anyway. Despite being more comfortable on my feet than in the sky, I swiftly grew in need of proper rest as I was now experiencing the same lifestyle I once forced many others into. Unfortunately, my nights of sleep have been far from tranquil and my inability to recuperate properly may prove to be the death of me.      I’ve been having troubling dreams in recent times, which started even before I became a fugitive. In truth, it’s only a single dream. The same dream which evolves into a nightmare. I believe it may be a memory from a time when I was nearly too young to understand my circumstances yet old enough to be wounded by it.       It starts with me waking up bound by rope in a cave of red rock. After being propped up on display, a number of odd figures cloaked in red loom past me, looking me over to determine my worth. I never realize that there’s others alongside me until I hear one panic and scream as he’s dragged out in front. Without a single sound nor moment of hesitation, the red figures threw him over the edge of a sheer fall about twenty feet ahead. The only thing I hear next is the boy’s cries silenced by the sounds of hungry snarls over tearing flesh. Yet, I don’t react in fear of meeting the same fate. I steel myself, either from a rush of adrenaline or an immobilizing sense of dread. I’m soon taken away when one of the red figures seems to take a liking to me. For a moment, my vision blurs as if moving forward in my memories. I don’t know what has happened or how long it’s been, but I’m now at the bottom of a ravine with no strength left in my body. I’m staring at the rear of two red figures swiftly walking away and one hesitates to look back. Her eyes are soft and remorseful as she looks back at me. Tears are beginning to well in her eyes and her jaw clenches tight as if she’s fighting a dire urge to do something. She snaps out of it when the other figure places a hand on her shoulder. As my vision blurs, the last thing I hear is the roar of a Rancor and its heavy footfalls approaching.

No One Leaves Without a Mark

     I woke up to the sounds of jetpacks and footsteps. I overslept, enjoying the odd comfort of a stone bed after sleeping in mud for a number of nights. I would usually be up at dawn, far ahead of whoever’s been chasing me by now. Instead of moving through a nigh untraceable number of decimated buildings within a nearby shattered city, I’m stuck crouched behind the broken remnants of an old hut within the outskirts of a town as I hear armored boots approach.

     “So why does Vizsla have us out chasing this traitor?” one of them asked, “It’s bad enough that we followed him a number of weeks out from the city, but now we’re on Concord Dawn with no possibility of reinforcements.”

     With no sign of hesitation, the other responded, “I don’t question our leader’s decisions. If he tells us that bringing in this Foundling is important, then I see no reason to believe otherwise.”

     “Come on,” the first insisted, “What the hell could make a Foundling that ran away from a fight so important?”

     “Something that threatens Death Watch,” the second replied with absolute certainty.

     “How can you be so sure?”

     “There’s no bounty on the coward yet. That means that our leader doesn’t want any information to get out unless it’s a last resort.”

     “Please, he’s just covering his own tail. Doesn’t want Duchess Satine to get wise to us, that’s all.”

     “You say that as if you’d rather let the traitor go free to her?”

     “Would that be so bad?”

     The conversation stopped as one of their footsteps did as well. Peaking from behind a crumbling wall, I saw two Mandalorians from Pre Vizsla’s Death Watch, the same former allies from the ship port. One of them wore slightly bluer accents on their armor and was a few inches shorter, nearly as tall as their heavy blaster rifle. The other wore darker colors and sported a number of decorations on their armor as a sign of seniority. The shorter of the two Mandalorians was searching through a set of rubble in a withered structure. The other stood about forty feet back and slowly drew their pistol. As they aimed for the back of their ally’s neck, I instinctually rushed to tackle the one aiming their blaster, not knowing why I would risk my life to save someone hunting me.

     As the blaster shot flew off target, I managed to knock the pistol from their grasp as I took them to the ground. I couldn’t even get a good swing in before I had to dodge a knife swinging towards my throat. I took a step back and they took the opportunity to boost to their feet with a burst from their jet pack. Faster than I could react, they pulled a second blaster from their calf and fired twice at me. I felt my shins get blasted back while my armor managed to take the brunt of the shots. As I landed face first into the stone, I struggled to my knees as they hovered over me, demanding that I stay down. The second ran up behind me with their heavy blaster in their arms, but asked their partner what happened before keeping me at gunpoint.

     “He snuck up behind and stole my blaster,” they lied, hoping to pin the blame on me, “I tackled him to the ground and he missed.”

     Still reluctant to aim their blaster at me, the one behind me replied, “Strange...I’ve never seen anyone sneak up on you.”

     “First time for everything,” they replied, now stepping towards me, “Put your blaster on them. I need to grab my other pistol.”

     Following the order from their superior, the second readjusted to place their blaster pointed at my back. When the other was out of earshot, I said to them, “You don’t really believe what she said, do you?”

     “Quiet, traitor. Save your words for Vizsla.”

     Knowing that we’d be sharing the same fate, I told them as such with, “Your superior just tried to shoot you in the back for displaying a hint of dissension. Do you really think that Vizsla wouldn’t do the same after he executes me?”

     “I never surrendered in one-on-one combat. Cowards get executed, not the curious.”

     Scoffing at the notion, I shot back, “Tell me something, ‘Heavy Blaster’. Would you kill a child if Vizsla told you to?”

     As they hesitated, I continued to push by saying, “Better yet. If you were given a bounty with a Hutt’s signature and Vizsla refused to tell you anything about the target aside from the armor they wore, what would you do when you best them in one-on-one combat and realize that it’s a kid no older than maybe fourteen cycles?”

     “You’re lying. There’s no reason he would-”

     “Ask your superior. She’s the one who handed me the bounty right off of Vizsla’s desk,” I spat, motioning to their superior as she returned to us with both pistols trained on me.

     While they returned to their position, the one carrying the heavy blaster questioned, “What mission was the traitor sent on?”

     “The assassination of someone wearing stolen Mandalorian armor. A Hutt tipped us off about the target causing trouble for them,” the superior revealed.

     “How old was the target?”

     “That doesn’t matter. The target was taken out by another member of Death Watch not long after this one failed. Enough questions. Slap some binds on this traitor so we can head back to Sundari like you wanted.”

     Seeing their tension grow as the superior began to sense something was wrong, I felt the grip of what felt like a weapon in the small bit of rubble next to me. I gripped the handle and swung at the two pistols in front of me. I struck them both out of the Mandalorian’s hands and was about to bring the stone axe into their unprotected side. Just before my weapon made contact, I was thrust off of my feet by an intense blaster shot slamming into my back plate. I felt my armor break apart as it took the full brunt of the attack, but it only knocked the wind out of me as I skidded ten feet across the ground.

     “Good work,” the superior congratulated, approaching me from behind.

     Still trying to catch my breath and remain conscious, I could do nothing as she belittled me while tearing off my beskar armor. She first removed my damaged leg armor, reciting a notion about me not deserving the right to walk. She then moved to my arms as her focus shifted to it being a mistake entrusting me with such an important mission. Eventually, she began spitting at me about not deserving a proper execution after being disgraced as a Mandalorian. Instead, she opted to kill me now and allow my body to be forgotten on Concord Dawn. Still unable to breathe steadily, I was unable to say anything in response as she removed my helmet and asked for a blaster pistol from her subordinate.      They didn’t comply, instead turning their barrel at their superior to further inquire about why I was disgraced. As they traded words, I felt some air finally return to my lungs. My strength slowly returned to me as their conversation grew in ferocity. In a few short moments, the superior’s vitriol led her to pick me up as a shield against their inferior’s heavy blaster. I was only following along well enough to know that my short conversation with the other Mandalorian seemed to have changed their mind. As I saw the heavy blaster’s glow slowly increasing, I managed to slam the back of my head against the bridge of my captor’s nose. It helped put some distance between us, but only enough to not make the shot fatal for me.      As the heavy blaster fired, the one holding me captive managed to pull me back just enough that the blaster tore across the side of my face and head. I made out better than the superior, whose head hit the ground before their body, but I still nearly passed out from the pain of my flesh searing from a blaster graze. I scavenged the body for any sort of first aid and swiftly used what I found to cleanse the wound. While wrapping my head in a bandage, the other Mandalorian picked up my helmet and handed it back to me.

     “My apologies, brother,” they said, helping me to my feet, “If we return together, I’m sure that Vizsla or Kryze will-”

     “They won’t,” I interrupted as I hastily placed my helmet back atop my head, “Vizsla would probably kill both of us. Duchess Kryze would try the peaceful route and simply put us in jail until an investigation of the claims was conducted. By the time the investigation ends, we’d both be killed by the other members of Death Watch under Vizsla’s orders.”

     “Then, what do we do?” they inquired, a hint of worry in their voice.

     Confused for a moment, I questioned, “Are you a rookie?”

     Seemingly a bit offended, they muttered back, “In a sense.”

     Sighing, I told them, “Well, I doubt that you wish to come with me. I also doubt that you want to leave Mandalore after joining Death Watch. The only option I can see working is that we make it look like I escaped you after killing your superior.”

     “Easy enough story to fake,” they agreed.

     “You’re right about that,” I told them, looking over the small battlefield, “You can take the pieces of my armor that have been ruined from the fight. Same with the two destroyed pistols. You’ll have to bring the body back, but you look like you can handle a good lift. The only thing left is-”

     Offering their pistol to me, the Mandalorian finished my sentence by saying, “To give a reason as to how you escaped. Make sure to shoot me in the leg and arm, just not in the soft areas.”

     I agreed as I took a number of steps back from them. While taking careful aim, I asked, “Would this be a strange time to ask who you are?”

     Taking off their helmet, they revealed themselves to be a Pantoran woman as her long white hair wildly fell in front of her face, only broken up by her vibrant blue skin and sharp gold eyes showing from underneath. I shot her before she could tell me their name.

     As I helped her back to her feet, I returned her pistol as she introduced herself as, “My name is Bonn Trawr.”

     “Huh,” I said as I donned what good armor I had left, “I’m surprised that Death Watch still has Foundlings amongst them.”

     Scoffing a bit, she replied, “We’ll see if they continue to after I return with a dead Mandalorian native and no fugitive. I may be moved to protective detail for the Duchess instead of bounty hunting after this.”

     As I finish properly attaching my chest plate, she gave a coy smile to me as she said, “If that happens, then they probably won’t sent me back out after you. That’s a pity. I rather enjoyed shooting you.”

     Chuckling a bit, I stretched my back in pain and shook her hand as I replied, “In that case, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Bonn. I’m Theo. A piece of me does hope that this’ll be the last time we see each other.”

     Nodding in agreement, we left on our separate ways. I continued to walk through the outskirts of the decimated city as it was the quickest path back to the cargo ships’ docking station. Bonn wrapped the body of their superior to her with what restraints they had brought to capture me before jetpacking away. I tried my best to forget her face as I picked up my pace to cover some better ground before finding shelter for one last night.

Epilogue

     The cargo ships and their docking stations are better guarded now after Bonn left with her superior’s corpse. Keeping to the story that I escaped, I assumed that she told them to be on the lookout for me. This would normally be an impossible task to smuggle on to a ship at this spaceport for a fugitive Mandalorian, unless you know who to bribe. Thankfully, I found a smuggler willing to take me off planet for a price.      It took me a few ships, but I met a human from Dantooine willing to strike a deal. He was an older man of light skin, a bald head, and a long goatee tied at the end by a strip of leather with a gold piece tied to its end. He had a sneering smile on his face when I asked him about transport off of Concord Dawn.

     “Transport off planet, huh,” he asked, looking me up and down, “Why can’t you get that from one of your Mandalorian buddies?”

     Not trusting his intentions, I replied, “Let’s just say that we don’t see eye-to-eye, anymore.”

     “I can understand that,” he returned, pulling a toothpick from his shirt pocket, “But you don’t look like you can pay for my services.”

     Placing the toothpick into his mouth, he took a better look at me as he continued to say, “You’ve got no weapons. You’re missing half of your armor. I understand that you bounty hunters get paid pretty well, but if there was ever a ‘poor Mandalorian’, I’d imagine they’d look a lot like you. Do you even have any credits on you?”

     Not responding, I looked around as I heard the murmuring of a nearby patrol approaching. The man turned his back and began to walk on to his ship until I stopped him.

     “I’m leaving in t-minus two minutes. Those footsteps sound like you got less than one. Either pay for the ride or find a different heavy freighter to bother,” he told me, stopping to look back.

     Putting a foot on to his ship, I answered, “How far will a sleeve of pure beskar get me?”

     Smiling wide, the man motioned for me to enter his ship as he replied, “As far as you want for something that rare.”

     As I stepped on to his ship, he pulled me aside to the bay doors of his heavy freighter but waited to pull the door up as he said, “However, I need a guarantee that your armor is the genuine article. I’ve had plenty of other conmen claim to have beskar when all it turned out to be was some painted durasteel.”

     Desperate to not be caught, I told him, “This armor was handed down from me by my teacher. I remember watching it be forged for him, piece by piece over the years as we earned every bit of beskar for it. The back piece is gone after I took a pointblank heavy rifle shot to it and I’m still standing. It’s beskar.”

     Sliding off my right sleeve of armor, I slammed the pieces on top of a crate next to him as his freighter’s cargo bay doors closed behind me. I took one last look at the symbol on the right spaulder of my armor before walking deeper into the ship.

     As I reached the door leading out of the cargo bay, the man shouted, “Whoa, hold on there. You’re cargo. Cargo doesn’t leave the cargo hold.”

     Stepping back, I looked about the crates and asked, “Then which one am I staying in?”

     The smuggler walked over to a massive crate nearly twenty feet tall and fifty feet long. He pushed a side of the panel in to reveal a small button panel. After inputting a sequence, the entire side of the box opened to reveal a number of other people lying in cots with food and drinks next to them. Plenty eyed me angrily, as if having seen me before.

     Not turning my head, I asked, “Who are they?”

     Laughing, the smuggler replied, “Your fellow fugitives. All heading to Nar Shaddaa.”

     “Nar Shaddaa?” I asked, taken off guard, “A lot of criminals there with bad history involving bounty hunters like-”

     “Like Mandalorians, yes,” he finished, leaning closer to me, “Hence why it should be a relatively safe place for a fugitive Mandalorian. With so many criminals holding old grudges, even those trained as well as your own wouldn’t dare to show up alone.”

     Slowly taking a step in to the crate, I felt a wave of discomfort and spite from my fellow temporary roommates as the smuggler tapped on his panel a bit more.

     With a snicker, he shouted, “Don’t worry. I have a ‘No Trouble’ policy for my clients, so as long as you don’t cause problems neither will they.”

     Not answering as I turned back to him, I watched his smile grew wider as he jokingly stated, “Look on the bright side, Mandalorian. Maybe you’ll find a new career on Nar Shaddaa. Hell, if you’re really lucky, you may even find someone willing to burn all their bridges to be your partner. Ha!”

     His laugh continued as the cargo crate panel slid shut between us. I could still hear it, even through the walls of this giant crate. As I made my way to the very back, plenty of the other occupants either shot me a violent glare or shied away from making eye contact. I found a reasonable cot lying next to a Kubaz and took a seat. After a few moments and a glance at me, the Kubaz got up from his cot and dragged it a few more feet away from me as I lied down to rest.

     The last thing I heard before nodding off to sleep was the smuggler over a small speaker in the corner of this hidden room announcing, “That was the last stop until Nar Shaddaa. Putting us into hyperdrive as soon as we’re clear. Should be touching down on Smuggler’s Moon in t-minus twenty minutes.”

     Nar Shadaa, the Smuggler’s Moon orbiting the home planet of the Hutts. At the very least, I’m certain I can find someone to shake some answers out of. Well, at least after getting some jobs done to replace my gear.

#short story #Star Wars RPG #backstory #Theo Pieka #disgraced #mandalorian #smuggler #foundling

[friendlyunclej]

The Ramblings of an Old Man

Prologue

     “For the record, we’re not speaking about my wife,” I told the cop as he took a cigarette from his jacket.

     “You don’t need to speak about your wife,” he told me, taking a sip of liquor from his flask.

     “No, I said ‘we’ ain’t speaking about my wife,” I reaffirmed, taking off my hat and placing it on the table between us, “I can speak about her all I want. You don’t get to. Understand?”

     Staring at me with a cocked eye and a cigarette in his hand, he responded, “What happens if ‘I’ speak about ‘your wife’, old coot?”

     Watching a slimy smirk crawl across his face, I cracked my knuckles by balling my hands into fists as I replied, “We see if the other coppers are fast enough to save you from either a broken arm or a concussion. I can guarantee that they won’t be fast enough to save you from a cracked jaw.”

     His stature immediately stiffened up after an hour of sitting in my bakery with a confident and lax swagger. The cop’s pasty face went almost as pale as the whites of his eyes. His light blue pupils immediately panicked and flicked to the right, outside the window over my left shoulder. A bit of perspiration formed at his hairline as he tried to regain his nonchalant lean. It didn’t work.

     “Whoa, ‘other coppers’? You think I’m a copper, Donny?” the bastard said, picking up a fork from the table.

     Before he could grab a bite from the puff pastry I placed on the table for him, I slowly dragged it away to my side of the table as I told him, “Strike Number One: ‘Donny’ is what my friends call me and what my wife used to call me.”

     Seeing my brow furrow as I sit back against the booth seat, he tried to say, “Don, I’m s-”

     “You ain’t sorry. Not yet.”

     “Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over,” he continued, offering me a cigarette, “Have a smoke. Calm your nerves. I’m only here to-”

     “Strike Number Two,” I interrupted, softly plucking the pack of cigarettes from his hands and dumping them into his cup of water, “Giving me orders in my own place of business. Y’all flatfoots really can’t help yourselves from giving people orders, can you?”

     Sighing in frustration, the cop had to hold himself back from making the situation worse as he told me, “Alright, Don. May I ask you a question?”

     “That’s better.”

     “What makes you think I’m a cop?”

     “Well, you’re the most normal-looking fella ever bothered to come into my bakery. I don’t mean ‘normal’ as in ‘normal normal’, but ‘normal’ as in ‘not wanting eyes’. I know that we’re in Colorado, but the beautiful thing about the people here is that, although they’re normal, they all have something a little intriguing about them. Nothing about you intrigues me.”

     “So because I’m an inconspicuous fella, that means that I’m a cop?”

     “No, it just means that there’s no reason for me to pay you any mind. At the moment, there still ain’t no reason. What makes you a cop was me seeing you talking to the two men with shades in that spruced up jalopy across the street over my left shoulder. What makes you a cop was me seeing you take an envelope from them and pocket it in that jacket of yours. What makes you a cop is the fact that you think making me keep my lights on for you after closing is a normal thing.”

     The sweat was growing on his forehead at this point. He pulled a lighter from his jacket and lit his cigarette. I let him get one good drag from it before I stood up and walked towards the front of the shop.

     As I stepped away from the table, the cop asked, “Hey, where you going? You agreed to have a conversation with me.”

     When I finished walking, I grabbed the sign hanging on the front door and flipped it over to him, pointing to it as I said, “Strike Number Three. You’re out.”

     Without even a glance to the sign, he retorted, “C’mon! What kind of establishment doesn’t allow smoking indoors?”

     “How about a bakery owned by a baker that doesn’t want his doughnuts, muffins, cakes, cookies and brownies to leave the taste of nicotine lingering in his customers’ mouths?”

     “That’s bullshit and you know it!”

     “You want to know what’s real bullshit? An asshole who not only reads and acknowledges the signs at a business, but then ignores it and expects the business to still cater to them. Either walk out or get dragged out, your choice.”

     I swung the doors open, letting the frigid winter air into the bakery. The cop got up, walked to the door with the cigarette still in his mouth then muttered a few words at me under his breath.

     He wasn’t talking for at least a good month after that.

Asking Me About My Wife

     I started opening the small ventilation windows as the unconscious copper was carried away by one of the two from the car. After I cracked his jaw, I was in the mood to continue but it didn’t feel right considering that the bastard was out cold by a single swing from a man my age. One of the two cops from the car was helping me from the other end of the store.

     As he grabbed my second step ladder and creaked open a window, he said, “Sorry about Kent, Donny. He’s a new kid. This was us throwing him in the deep end to see how he swims.”

     Moving my step ladder over to the next window, I replied, “You should have checked to see if he respected his elders before sending him in here, Willy. I don’t like roughing up blue boys when it’s not my job to.”

     Climbing up the step ladder to his fifth window, Willy stated, “You know? You  didn’t have to crack his jaw if you didn’t want to.”

     Reaching for my third window, I sighed, “He told me that my wife must be a real peach to be married to me. My pride told me to sock him one. It’s his fault his jaw is brittle as newspaper.”

     Pausing upon hearing that, Willy took a bit to think of a response before asking, “Still hurt about Hildegard, ja?”

     “Yeah, I’m still hurt about Hildy. Always gonna be,” I retorted, folding up my step ladder.

     “Es tut mir Leid,” he replied in his natural tongue as he collapsed his ladder and handed it to me.

     “Don’t worry about it,” I exclaimed, as I walked towards the kitchen, “You want some strudel while we talk? Baked it just before closing, so it should still be pretty fresh.”

     “As long as it’s not a hassle.”

     “Never a hassle for family.”

     Taking a seat at the table closest to the kitchen, Willy thanked me in his native language as I placed the apple strudel in front of him along with a cup of coffee. I had a warm cup of cider and let him take a few bites from his strudel before asking him why he and his partner were sitting outside of my shop the whole day. He told me that it was because they were forced to reopen Hildy’s case. I was the last suspect, so he tried to save me from my second round of questioning for as long as possible. Willy’s partner wanted to question me immediately, hoping that I would give him a reason to slap the cuffs on me again. He confirmed my beliefs when he rushed in to my bakery after a few minutes, practically shouting as much.

     “Oh, you did it now, Alonzo,” Willy’s partner spat, closing the front door behind him as he entered.

     “How’s the new guy doing? His jaw swollen yet or did the snow help stop it?” I asked, not looking towards him.

     “I should slap you with a damn assault and battery charge, wiseguy,” he continued as he pulled up a seat next to Willy.

     “I don’t think that’d stick. I’m nearly sixty years old. That was an uppity whipper snapper who got dropped by a single punch from an old timer. You coppers don’t want that in the papers. Besides, that was in self-defense. Ain’t that right, Willy?” I asked, taking a sip of cider.

     Enjoying a third mouthful of strudel, Willy replied, “That’s what I saw.”

     “William, if you keep protecting this old geezer, he’s going to get you stripped of your badge one day,” he said, making the same speech he always did, “Don, I thought your fighting days were over, anyway. How are you dropping blokes like that if you’re done with all that?”

     “Who said I was done with all that? All I said when we last spoke was that I was getting too old for that shit,” I retorted, knowing that it would send him into a tizzy.

     Before he could continue making empty threats at me, Willy pulled him aside to calm him down before he got too hotheaded. As always, I excused myself back to the kitchen while asking if he still had a sweet tooth for doughnuts. He didn’t answer as I went to the back and grabbed a few, letting them argue while I got a moment of peace to gather my thoughts.      Willy and I go back a ways. He’s my wife’s younger brother and I actually met him before I met his sister. I think I was in my forties, or just about to be, and I was working at a bar between fights when Willy and Hildy walked in. Honestly, they were well dressed and they entered with their arms linked close together so I immediately thought they were an item. I think I remember the term “posh” being thrown around plenty as they walked through the bar, asking for help. Hell, if they came in to any other bar in New York City, they would have been treated like the king and queen of Germany just for how they dressed. Instead, they were met by every cold shoulder and silent stare possible as they were the only two white people in an all-black bar. All they were trying to do was find directions to an apartment in our side of town. It didn’t help that Willy barely spoke English and Hildy didn’t understand any. I watched them get turned away by every person in the bar before Willy left Hildy by the front door with their luggage bags. While I couldn’t take my eyes off of Hildy, Willy and I locked eyes by accident so he saw that as an invitation to conversation. He walked straight up to me at the bar as I was wiping down a few glasses and started trying to speak to me in German. I tried to tell him as politely as possible that I couldn’t understand him, but was distracted as a crowd of men started surrounding Hildy. While Willy was trying to ask for help in broken English as he pointed at an address written on the picture of a broken door, I saw the boys trying to get a bit handsy with her so I hopped the table and walked over to break it up. When I managed to get the guys to back off, I got wrapped up for the next four hours with Willy and Hildy after they believed that me escorting them out of the bar was me volunteering to be their tour guide. It was a painful ordeal of awkward miscommunication and Hildy’s constant curiosity making us stop at every store and landmark we passed. Eventually, I got them to their apartment and we said our goodbyes. Willy introduced himself as “Wilhelm Schulz” and he introduced Hildy as “Hildegard”. I told him to be careful with how curious his “wife” is or else she’ll find herself in the wrong crowd. He burst into laughter, much to Hildy’s confusion until he told her what I said in German then she joined in the giggling. As I turned to walk away, Hildy took my hand and pulled me in for a peck on the cheek as her way of thanking me. Flabbergasted by his older sister’s actions, Willy immediately rushed her inside, saying “danke but goodbye” repeatedly as I stood there stunned. That was the first time I ever met Wilhelm and Hildegard Schulz. Nearly twenty years later, Willy is a big-time detective who works with other officers from across the world and I’m wearing Hildy’s wedding band right on top of my dog tags.       Returning to the table with a few chocolate donuts and a calmer head, I placed the plate on the table as I returned to my seat across from Willy and his partner, Paul McCallum. I’ve only known Paul since my days after the war when I was running with a gang to help make ends meet. He was a detective who moved from England to New York City post his service to his country. He helped Willy actually get noticed and promoted within the police force, so he’s a good man. However, he’s still your typical hard-ass copper with a big gun, a big mouth, and a big chip on his shoulder. He’s the only cop to ever get me in a court room and he would have had me tossed in the slammer if a few other policemen didn’t owe me a favor. I respect that he got that close and I really shouldn’t push his buttons so much, but it’s just too funny to me when I hear threats coming from an accent straight out of Her Majesty’s chambers. Our conversation really didn’t start back up until he ate about two and a half doughnuts off the plate.

     “So,” I began, still slowly drinking my cider, “One of y’all going to tell me the reason the coppers need more info about Hildy or we just wasting time?”

     Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief from his jacket, Paul started by saying, “William didn’t want to involve you again. Claimed grief and mental instability due to loss had warped your mind.”

     “Is that so?” I questioned, flicking my eyes over to Willy. He gave an awkward shrug in response before continuing to enjoy his strudel.

     Pulling out a pad and pen, Paul continued, “Very much so but I don’t believe that and our higher ups don’t care, so we’re here to ask you those same questions we asked before and a few more. That fine with you, Alonzo?”

     “No.”

     “Too bad. We need answers and you’re the best source to tap on the matter of Hildegard Schulz, her unnatural death, and the missing suspects. I’m ready for the answers. You ready for the questions, sir?”

     “No.”

     “Alright, let’s get started.”

     Holding my face over my cup, I closed my eyes to let the soft warmth of the cider comfort me for a few moments as Paul flipped to a clean page before asking his first question.

     “What happened five months ago on the night of the 22nd of July, 1923?”

     “The same thing I told you last time. My wife and I went to sleep after listening to the radio for a few hours together. We fell asleep on the couch together. I woke up to the sound of the door getting smashed open. I immediately grabbed my couch bat, which is a bat I keep exclusively next to the couch because I occasionally have difficulty getting up from the couch without assistance, and went for the masked men who broke in. There were three men of similar size and build, dressed in identical clothing of black jeans, black shirts, black jackets, brown gloves, blue masks, and brown boots. The one who broke in had a crowbar in hand. The man behind him shot me in the shoulder with a revolver. The third man went straight for Hildy. She shot him in the neck with a pistol she had hidden on herself. The other two men rushed and overpowered her, dragging her away. The last thing I saw before passing out from my gunshot wound was her staring at me with eyes of sorrow and regret as she slipped her wedding band off.”

     “Have you ever seen men like these before?”

     “No, I’ve never seen amateurs.”

     “How do you know they were amateurs?”

     “They had three people and they all agreed to come in from the same fatal funnel. Any people with experience kidnapping others know that, if you’re working with a team, you spread out to better cover multiple exits.”

     “Speaking from experience?”

     I took a sip of cider as Willy nudged Paul with his elbow.

     Clearing his throat, Paul continued, “I digress. You said that her pistol was hidden. Did you not know she had it until she pulled it?”

     “Correct.”

     “Do you not have firearms in the house?”

     “I do, just not in the living room.”

     “Was this your first time seeing this specific firearm?”

     “Yes.”

     “So you don’t know where she got it from?”

     “Oh, no, I do. She prayed for Baby Jesus to deliver it in a baby crib outside our window one night and it showed up, being carried in the talons of a fucking stork. What the hell kind of a question is that? I just said that that’s my first time seeing that gun.”

     “No need to get aggravated. I’m just covering my bases. How about this: Can you think of anyone she could have got the gun from?”

     “Many folks, yeah.”

     “Can you name them?”

     “Colt. Walther. Springfield. Winchester. Browning. Webley.”

     Giving a disgruntled sigh, Paul crossed out a line of notes once he realized my sarcasm then changed the question to, “Had she been in contact with anyone before the night of the home invasion?”

     Remembering her trading words in her native tongue with someone on the phone multiple times throughout the entire week prior to the break-in, I calmed myself and put on my best poker face as I continued the conversation.

     “No, not that I know of.”

     “Are you certain?”

     “Yeah.”

     “We have a number of phone conversations during that same week before the invasion. All of them were outgoing from your house. You don’t remember her having any phone conversations during the week?”

     “Can’t remember what I never noticed, Paul.”

     “Hmmm, I suppose we’ll just chalk that one up to old age, then. How much do you remember from your time in the war?”

     “Enough.”

     “Do you remember how you and Hildegard reunited during the war?”

     “In a prisoner camp. What about it?”

     “In a German prisoner camp, to be precise. Did she ever tell you how she got put in there?”

     “For being an unmarried woman with a loud mouth during wartime? No, she never told me.”

     “You got any idea why she was in there?”

     “Obviously, I don’t.”

     “Can you muster a guess?”

     “No, I can’t. What does this have to do with her murder?”

     Willy interjected for once, leaning forward as he said, “There’s a possibility of Hildegard being imprisoned for espionage. If so, that could have also led to her murder.”

     “Really? A spy? My wife?” I scoffed, trying not to laugh at the notion of the most honest woman I’ve ever met in my life lying for a living, “What’s next? Y’all going to tell me that her name was actually Mata Hari?”

     “The man she killed in your home was a German nationalist. Pissed soldier-turned-mercenary kind of bloke. Took us a few months to find out who he was,” Paul continued, keeping me off balance. 

     Feeling betrayed, I turned to Willy and demanded, “How long were you going to wait to tell me?”

     Leaning away from me, Willy didn’t respond as Paul continued, “Alonzo, we need to know what happened to the other two arseholes who dragged away your wife.”

     Still locking my eyes to Willy, I told him, “How in the hell would I know? The last time I saw them, they was wearing masks.”

     “That’s a lie and we all know it.”

     “You got any proof to make me a liar?”

     “Where were you between the 22nd and the 27th of October?”

     “Visiting family in California.”

     “You don’t have family in California, mate. Your last living relative died in 1903.”

     “There’s more to family than just blood, ‘Bonnie Boy’.”

     “Can anyone account for your whereabouts from the 2nd to the 16th of November?”

     “No.”

     “Why not?”

     “Because I’m a widow still mourning the loss of his wife! I was a shut-in if I wasn’t setting up this bakery.”

     “Which is strange, innit? I’ve never heard of a widow deciding to become a baker less than half a year after his spouse dies. Most don’t have that kind of money nor drive in them to pursue a new profession.”

     “My wife preferred me to be busy rather than in a stupor. I had savings from my boxing career. There’s your drive and money. What the hell are you trying to get at, boy?”

     “You disappeared from home for extended periods of time on two separate occasions with no one able to confirm your whereabouts or actions except you. Seems a little too convenient to me.”

     “That just seems to be the story of our relationship, don’t it?”

     “Yeah, it does and that’s the problem, you old geezer! I’m missing two other suspects that can’t be identified in any way. However, the only two people the dead culprit was in close and consistent contact with here in the United States are now missing. Would you like to reckon a guess for when they were reported missing?”

     “No, but I’m betting you’re about to tell me, Your Majesty.”

     “Some time between the 22nd and 27th of October, an immigrant and housewife by the name of Madeline Weber was out doing errands and never returned home. At some point between the 2nd and the 16th of November, another immigrant named Josef Konig, a wealthy carpenter and philanthropist, vanished from his home and left the backdoor to his house open when he did.”

     “And you’re saying all of this to say what, you fool-ass whipper snapper?”

     “Those two had a few things in common with the dead culprit we pulled from the floor of your house. All three of them immigrated here from Germany back in 1920. Took the same ship. Was assigned the same room. Given special liberties and privacies in the ship. When they got off, they never met again until July of this year. They all came to the same diner here in Colorado, stayed in the same room at a rundown motel for a few weeks, paid exceptionally well for privacy, then Josef and Madeline left their separate ways as their third wheel was being studied by the coroner.”

     “You still ain’t told me what the hell you’re saying all this for.”

     “Three German immigrants who were oddly close but only for select reasons and times are now either dead or missing after your German wife died following a home invasion and kidnapping that involved three culprits, one of which was identified as a German immigrant. That’s a lot of coincidences and I don’t believe in coincidences, Alonzo.”

     “You better start, then.”

     “Tell me what you did to Josef Konig and Madeline Weber.”

     “I didn’t do a damn thing to them. This is my first time hearing their names, Paulie.”

     “Don’t ‘Paulie’ me, Alonzo. Don’t you do that to me. It’s obvious that you didn’t know who your wife was and that’s bothering you. You know that I know-”

     “I know that you know you got a bunch of hunches about me putting a few people in the dirt and my wife being killed for being a German spy! But just like back in New York, you ain’t got no evidence to prove a goddamn thing!”

     Paul snapped his pencil and Willy immediately put his hand on his shoulder to try to signal to him to stay calm. I continued shouting at him as he tried to.

     “We’re in Colorado, Paulie! We’re landlocked. If I did make a few bodies, it should be easy for you to find them but who knows? Maybe the bodies are buried under six feet of dirt and three feet of snow. Maybe the bodies got fed to some hungry wolves up in them mountains nearby. Maybe the bodies ain’t even in the state no more, chopped up and driven away to the four corners of the world. Hell, maybe they’re alive and hiding like rats but, just like you, I don’t know! I don’t know what happened to those people and I hope you find them, Paul. I really do, but all I’m going to admit to is having a shattered heart and a broken mind. A shattered heart from having the love of my life stolen from me and a broken mind from finding her body tied to a tree, riddled with bullets like some goddamn ragdoll used for target practice! As for those folk who took her from me, all I know is that they wouldn’t have got nowhere near Hildy if I was just ten years younger!”

     Shooting to my feet as anger broiled through me, I tossed the key to the shop at Willy’s chest and told him to lock up when they were finished. I stormed outside and into my vehicle behind the shop as Paul tried to chase after, shouting threats at me. I wasn’t hearing it at all. All I could hear now was the roar of an old boxing crowd cheering me on to start swinging at the fences and I was trying my damnedest to not give the people what they want. I drove off, returned home, locked every door and window then laid in bed with a bottle of whiskey on my nightstand. I stared at the ceiling until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.

Epilogue

     The next morning was the most painful time I had waking up since the internment camp. I struggled to look to my right as my neck was stiffened by my age and Jack Frost’s winter snap. As with every morning since she died, I was hoping to see her smiling back at me. But like every morning since she died, the only thing I saw was an untouched pillow. I forced myself up to a seated position on my bed, groaning at my body loosening up. Every knuckle and joint cracked or popped into place as I lit a small lantern. As with every morning since Hildy’s passing, I shakily poured myself a shot of bourbon and downed it with one swift motion before making my way downstairs to prepare breakfast.      The house continued to creak and settle as I made my way about my morning. To state the obvious, it’s been lonely since Hildy left. Each squeal from the wood panels and floorboards sounded like a footstep of hers. I had to fight myself so as not to look in the direction of them, constantly killing the hope in the back of my mind that she’ll just miraculously show up bathed in sunlight like an angel from a fever dream. I put a frozen box meal in the oven to slow cook for two hours, as I always do. She used to hate it when that’s all I wanted to eat, telling me that I should want “more flavor for my stomach”. I used to laugh whenever she said that. While the food warmed up, I made my way to the basement with about three bottles of water and my wrapping cloths. As with every morning, I wrapped my hands and began working over my punching bag. Occasionally, I would look over to Hildy’s stool next to the steps leading back upstairs. Most mornings, I swear that I’d see Hildy sitting there, drinking a soda as she watched me work. I heard her give me a “Remember your footwork!” this morning, instead. It nearly knocked the wind out of me upon hearing it. Realizing that it was just another creak of the house playing tricks on me, I continued my workout until I heard a knock at my door.      Grabbing my water bottles and a small dish towel to wipe the sweat off, I slowly approached the door. Since the home invasion, I’ve kept a sawed-off on a night stand next to the front entrance. I kept my finger on its triggers as I swung the door open.

     “Morning, Donny,” Willy greeted, unfazed by the shotgun pointed at his stomach.

     Taking a moment to check around outside, I saw Paul in the car behind him with the engine still running as I asked, “Paulie ain’t feeling very sociable this morning?”

     Looking back for a moment, Willy made eye contact with his partner before saying, “Nein. He’s going over notes again. I told him that I would only be a minute.”

     He handed me my key to the bakery back as I placed my shotgun down. Before he could turn to leave, I asked, “Willy, what’s the name of the third kidnapper? The one Hildy shot?”

     Giving a deep and uncomfortable sigh, he responded, “Donny, why do you want to know? He’s dead. Knowing his name isn’t going to help you.”

     “Yes,” I told him, rubbing the key between my fingers, “It will, Wilhelm. It’ll help.”

     Hearing me use his proper name, Willy responded, “Hugo. His name was Hugo.”

     “No last name, huh?”

     “He had seven different last names, Don. Only ‘Hugo’ was consistent.”

     Sighing in relief after finally having a name for the third culprit, I asked, “You were never gonna tell me, huh, Willy? If I didn’t ask, I mean.”

     His expression changed from relief to a solemn concern as he answered, “No, I wouldn’t have. I didn’t want to make things worse for you, so I didn’t want to bring you back in to the investigation in any way, if I could help it. You need time to mourn, Donny.”

     Nodding in silence at his honesty, I told him to stay at the door for a moment as I rushed back to the kitchen. I opened the icebox and carefully pulled out a dish of Bavarian cream. I handed it to Willy and his eyes immediately began to water.

     “She never gave me the family recipe,” I told him, handing him a piece of paper I found with it written on, “I pulled it out of her private lockbox a week after she passed. Took me a good month of trial and error to get it tasting close to hers.”

     Wiping away tears, Willy replied, “I...uh...I never thought I would have it again. She used to make this for me when we were kids. Danke, Donny. Thank you a lot.”

     I told him, “You’re still my little brother. Always will be,” as I pulled him in for a hug. His grip tightened as he shook a little bit. I walked with him back to Paul’s car. We apologized to each other and I told them not to be strangers as they left to continue investigating Hildy’s murder. I turned to return to my home but stopped for a moment when I noticed something odd.      I’m a very private man with practically no one to send letters to and no reason to have anyone to send a letter to my house. Hildy was the same way, which helped us stick to ourselves just like we liked it. Nothing came into the mail for either of us unless it was some census letter or jury duty or the newspaper. However, I noticed that the door to the mailbox was slightly ajar. Sure, maybe the winds from the winter storm shook it around a bit. Or some neighborhood strays knocked the post and jostled it loose. You could call me paranoid if you want but it felt like someone moved it. When I checked inside, there was nothing but a web and a frozen spider inside, yet I swear that it got messed with. I slammed it shut and checked over both shoulders a few times as I headed back inside.      After locking the door, I finished what was left of my workout in the basement before the timer dinged for my breakfast. I pulled out my box meal, set it on the counter to cool, then walked back upstairs to freshen up. I showered with hot water, feeling my chest tighten as I reminisced about Hildy again. Fixing myself in some casual clothes, I lit a few lanterns and candles downstairs as I prepared to enjoy my meal. I brought the box meal over to the couch on a wooden stand, flipped the radio on to our favorite jazz station, then continued the same daily routine I’ve had since my wife’s death whenever I wasn’t at the bakery.      Pulling the table cloth off of my living room table, I stared down at a collection of photos and documents I retrieved from Hildegard’s lockbox after her passing. There was a number of photos showing her in an officer’s uniform, flanked by three others. The three people were all of similar height, size and build. Each photo was of different moments during the war, from training to combat to laboratories and even the internment camp. All of them had the same four people in them: Hildy and her three comrades. Their faces were scratched out, all except Hildy’s, but she wrote their names on each of them.

     “Well, well, well,” I said out loud, drowned out by the jazz on the radio, “It seems that ‘Madeline’, ‘Josef’, and ‘Hugo’ were all pretty close to you at a certain point. Weren’t they, Hildy?”

     Shuffling through some of the documents, I could barely make heads or tails out of them as they were all typed in German. I kept a separate notepad on a nearby end table with what German words I knew, trying to make sense with what little I had. An old friend of mine from the service helped confirm that the stamps and symbols were not only authentic, but were only used for official military orders. I’d been sifting through all of this since a week after she passed and, all the while, I’ve only felt like a dog chasing his own tail. Feeling the heat of frustration coming up again, I stood up, took a bite of my breakfast, and paced a little bit.      It was a difficult pill to swallow, and I’m still trying to stomach it, but Paul was right. I didn’t know my wife, not like I thought I did. I was too blinded by love to wonder why she always stared out the window during the holidays. I was too awestruck to question why she flinched each time we drove over a pothole. I wanted to believe in her being the perfect woman so badly that I never bothered to probe her about the night terrors she experienced. All I ever did was hold her when she needed it, hugged her tighter when she wanted it, and gave her space when she didn’t want to talk about it. I should have done more for her while she was alive, but I can still help her rest in peace even if she hates to see me like this.

     “Donny,” I heard her whisper, “You already got the ones who got me. Move on, meine Barchen. Please.”

     Answering aloud, I told her, “I will, meine Liebe. I promise I will. There’s just something missing here. Once I find it, I promise. I’ll move on.”

     For the final time, I felt her warm embrace as the sunlight washed over me from the nearby windows. I’m going to keep that promise. I know that I will keep that promise, but something else is here now and it’s something I haven’t felt since the war. That old drive and fire inside me was burning as I was finally given a purpose again. It’s a problem, I’ll admit it. It’s an addiction that I’ll never kick but the rush of having a clear purpose and goal has always kept me pushing forward. I love my wife, I do, and she’s right. I should move on. The people that killed her are dead and I’m too old to be flying to Germany to hunt down the person who put out the hit on my wife. I know that but this flame burning in my furnace. It’s too good to let go right now and I ain’t ready to let it go yet but I promised you, Hildy, and I’m gonna keep that promise. I will move on. Just as soon as I get a new reason to.

#Don Odell Alonzo #Call of Cthulhu RPG #short story #player character #backstory #1920s

[friendlyunclej]

The Man Without Memory

Prologue

     My journey is finished. The Tiefling who stole my mother from me now has my axe buried so deep in his chest that it split his spine in half. The decrepit light that rested behind his eyes has passed now, unable to burn any other kingdom to the ground with its horrid flame. My family, both the city I ran away from and the people I befriended along the way, should be able to sleep better now.      I’ve wasted twenty years of my life in worship to vengeance. Of those twenty years, thirteen of them were spent as a slave to my pride, self-exiled from the city I was meant to inherit. As a vagabond, I wandered with a death wish to kill the man and his associates who sent my city into a death spiral. Because of my ignorance, I held any Tiefling and Drow accountable, making more enemies than friends. If it wasn’t for the three I had spent the last half of my life with, the same three I’m sacrificing myself for now, I would have been dead long before I even got close enough to the one I swore my life away to hunt down.      As much as I would love to stay, I’m confident that they’ll be better off without me. I may miss Jester and his jokes that never landed. I may long to hear stories from Nowhere again one day. I may even wish to learn another dwarven saying from Kidrak, the cleric too affable to ever lie. I will reminisce about the moments around a campfire I took for granted. I will miss the feeling of safety I was lulled to sleep by as I rested with family after so many years of sleeping alone.      However, I need to be certain that they won’t be pursued by the same man I’m sharing my burial with. That’s why I caused the cave-in that’s burying he and I together. After the laborious fight my group and I had with him, we were all spent of any means to escape the abandoned mine he set his trap in, including himself. With help from my mother and her dulcimer, I was able to teleport them to safety. It cost me the last connection I had to the woman I owe my life to, but she understands.      As soon as we were alone, I made sure to destroy what feeble supports were left. He begged me to stop, even going so far as to drive his own broken horn in to my knee. I repaid him with an axe to the heart. As he continued despite the fatal wound, I dragged him into my arms and held him tight at the center of the mine, gifting him the last embrace he’d ever know. He continued stabbing me, eventually wearing down my grasp so he could make an attempt for the exit. Stumbling to the ground, I managed to muster enough strength to tackle his legs. Trying to claw away from me, his futile attempts were cut off by a piece of the mine crushing his arm. Before a scream could leave his mouth, another boulder turned his head into a red smear against the floor. Seeing the man I spent my life hunting finally dead, I rolled over to stare up at the ceiling as it broke down around me.       To be honest, I was expecting a wave of calm to whisk me away, almost like a sense of accomplishment. I always imagined that, at the end, I would have no doubts about dedicating my life to such a violent end. Unfortunately, all I have now is the desire to continue. The want to find some way to escape and make my way back to my new family so as to help them fulfill their purpose was the only thing I felt in the end. As my heartbeat slows due to the blood seeping from my wounds, I watch as a piece of the ceiling comes careening towards me. I take a shallow breath, the deepest I can manage, and close my eyes as the boulder comes closer. I’m content knowing that the others will carry on.      I died.      They lived.      That’s fair enough for me.

Not my Home

     I awaken to the rush of wind from seemingly every direction. Realizing that I’m careening through the sky, I try to right myself by focusing on the ground. As I’m spinning without control, I’m barely able to hold my eyes in one spot long enough to see what looks to be perhaps a war happening below me, fought by various insects from the size of them. When I tumble back over to see the ground, I realize that what seems to be bugs are growing at a rapid pace as it finally dons on me that I’m rapidly approaching an abrupt end. It’s no wonder why I didn’t notice that the fighting was also in the air until I was caught by a flying Aarakocra.      “Caught” is a bit of an understatement. I was more rammed as I fell between it and whatever it was attempting to battle. As I desperately clung to the back of this humanoid eagle warrior, the Aarakocra struggled to stay in the air while stabbing at me with a javelin. Still trying to gain my bearings, I tried to speak with the Aarakocra I was currently riding but he seemed more concerned in trying to stab me. As one of his javelin thrusts approach my neck, I hold it to the side before trying to speak to him again. Unfortunately, three daggers slammed into his chest before he can respond. As I began my swift descent again, the enemy who killed him flew close enough that I was able to grab on to their wyvern’s wing.      Pulling the wyvern towards me, I mustered enough strength to not immediately fly off as I hung by the side of a saddle I vaguely recalled.

     “Gith?” I said out loud as I glanced up to meet the gaze of a Githyanki warrior.

     She threw a dagger at me as I attempted to pull myself up, grazing my neck. With my mind clearing a bit as I feel my skin tear too close to my carotid, I caught her second dagger with my right hand as I held on to the rope of her steed’s saddle with my left. She attempted a barrel roll to swing me off, even dodging between other flying wyverns, griffins, hippogriffs, devils, and other warriors alike and unalike. As she levels her steed to fly upright, the Gith warrior stands atop her wyvern to face me. I keep her dagger in my fist as I watch her pull a shortsword from her hip.

     Still trying to find someone to communicate with, I ask in Common, “You wouldn’t be willing to talk first, would you?” 

     As she lowered herself into a more comfortable stance, I followed suit as I answered my own question with, “I suppose not.”

     We stared each other down for a few moments as we extended our weapons between us. Patiently waiting for her to make the first attack, I noticed that one of the Erinyes devils managed to sever a Deva angel’s wing, sending them spiraling towards us. As she saw me distracted, the Githyanki immediately jabbed at me with their blade. I managed to deflect the thrust far enough to nick my eyebrow instead of losing my eye. With her steed pulling to the left, her footing faltered, allowing me to restrain her arm under mine.

     Placing the blade of her own dagger under her chin, I carefully push her face up to look at mine as I asked her in her own language, “Could I ask you a few questions before we continue?”

     Headbutting me, I release her as she took a step back to regain proper footing before she said to me, “I don’t conspire with Kalldoran warriors. Apologies.”

     Slashing at me in a flurry, I parried as much as I could again, even trading positions with her before asking, “What’s a ‘Kalldoran’? I’m a human!”

     Trading attacks, I managed to kick her back after stabbing her forearm, leaving her to furiously spit, “I won’t fall for feigned ignorance. You’re an enemy to the continent that summoned me and, to earn my return home, your head will roll!”

     She slowly pulled the dagger from her forearm and reaffirmed her stance with two weapons now instead of one. Feeling more comfortable without weapons in my hands, I cracked my knuckles as we tested our patience against one another again. She gave an odd whistle before lunging for me. Unbeknownst to me, that was a signal she gave to her wyvern. As soon as she lunged, I noticed her foot instinctively entangle itself within the leather bindings of her saddle just as her shortsword skewers my shoulder. Grinding my teeth, I pulled her arm in closer to keep myself from falling again, driving the shortsword deeper in the process. I caught her dagger hand as she attempted to stab me, but she gave a different signal to her steed that sent the wyvern into a barrel roll. Spinning again, I feel my rage nearly set in but I fend it off as the dragon-like steed of this Githyanki warrior gets dizzy from their own rolls.      Returning upright and slowly hovering now, the rider is distracted by her concern for her steed, which allowed me to trip her while her guard was down. Caught unaware, she lost her dagger as she tried to find a piece of the saddle to grip on to. Not wishing to kill the only person I know I can communicate with, I twisted my foot within the ropes of the saddle to the same manner as she did as I grabbed her hand.

     Still trying to fight even as she hung from certain doom, I ignored her constant punching at my hand as I asked, “If I pull you up, will you stop trying to kill me?”

     Shouting as she continued to now bite my knuckles, the Gith warrior responded, “I already told you that I won’t be fooled by-”

     “My ignorance isn’t a ruse! I don’t know what the fuck is going on!”

     Looking into my eyes, she finally had the epiphany that I truly had no idea what war I had fallen into. Seeing that she finally understood, I pulled her up with my bloodied and beaten hand. Her confused gaze matches my frustrated one as I hold my shoulder in pain. She tore out her shortsword as she continued to look at me in bewilderment.

     I slowed my breathing and focused my ki to heal myself as she asked, “If that’s so, then I’ll take you to the ground. That should be safer than the sky for someone like you.”

     As she stepped behind me, I tried to respond but was cut off by the sound of a fireball spell slamming just under the wyvern’s belly. Taking the brunt of the attack, the Githyanki’s steed was knocked unconscious after shaking violently enough to throw their rider away. With my foot still twisted in the saddle, I stayed with the wyvern as it began to fall, watching the warrior I fought plummeting towards the earth below. The bags attached to the wyvern tore open due to the rushing winds, dispersing their contents throughout the sky. Eyeing a familiar red potion, I caught it as we fell, uncorked it with my mouth, and shoved the vial into the beast’s mouth. Tearing my arm out of their maw in a slobbered mess, the wyvern immediately awakened and noticed that I wasn’t the one who raised them. After it noticed their rider falling below us, I barely managed to hold on to its reins as the steed divebombed towards their rider.      We caught up to her just in time to save her from slamming into the surface. Unfortunately, the wyvern couldn’t pull up fast enough to avoid crashing into the battle below. Although I managed to catch the Githyanki warrior, it was a short-lived success as the wyvern slammed through a Howdah Ogre, a Treant the Ogre was fighting, two Hags who were killing a Centaur, and a Half-Dragon.      Standing up after the crash landing, I took in the grim sight of what seemed to be a war involving soldiers from seemingly every plane of existence connected to this realm. On the ground, all I could see were legions of soldiers of all races, creatures, constructs, steeds, beasts, fiends, elementals, celestials, and even primordials in every direction, tearing one another to pieces. My heart raced as I could hear and feel nothing but warcries and swan songs.      I was knocked from my trance when I felt a bolt pierce my thigh. Seeing a soldier trying to swiftly reload a crossbow, I tore their projectile from my leg and threw it back at them. Still trying to stay as non-lethal as possible until I knew who was truly an enemy, the bolt hit the knight’s shoulder as I felt a boot slam my lower back, sending me face first into the ground. Grabbing the Githyanki’s shortsword, I turned around in time to block a wild swing from what looked to be a bloodied Hobgoblin. Trying to communicate in Common, it was clear that the fog of war had deafened his ears as he continued trying to cleave me in half.      With my patience depleted for holding back any longer, I allowed my rage to take over as I return to my feet while grappling the Hobgoblin. Snapping his wrist to disarm him, I shifted him to be my shield as a second crossbow bolt was released. With the bolt lodging itself into his throat, I ignored the dying hobgoblin’s final breaths as I threw him towards the knight who fired at me again. Falling backwards to dodge the incoming body, the other warrior dropped their crossbow and left it on the ground as they ran away towards a separate group of knights battling an opposing group.      I left the knight to return to their allies as I took a deep breath to calm myself from my rage. Turning around to check on the wyvern and the Githyanki, I took a single step back and stopped as I saw that she was already back on her feet. Battered and broken from the fall, she raised the Hobgoblin’s battleaxe with only her left arm as I noticed that her right arm was dislocated from it’s shoulder socket. Throwing her shortsword to her feet, I calmly approached with my hands raised.

     Speaking to her in Gith again, I told her, “I’d rather not fight.”

     Dropping the battleaxe to pick up and point her cutlass at me, she replied, “For a pacifist, you seem rather comfortable surrounded by war.”

     “I’m no pacifist. I just don’t fight unless I have a stake in the battle.”

     “Everyone of this realm has a stake in this war!”

     “Then I guess that makes me not of this-”

     My words trail off as I notice her slowly drop her blade as her eyes flicker away from me and up towards the sky over my shoulder. Cautiously turning, I saw the visage of an elegant woman dressed in rays of sunlight descending from a sky of two suns. Glancing around the rest of the battlefield as this goddess the size of a continent speaks to them in a dialect I still can’t understand, it became clear to me just how important she must be to have caused all of the ongoing carnage to halt in her reverence. 

     Feeling no such connection, I spoke aloud, “I’m certainly not of this realm.”

     With this lady descending from the sky, it seemed as though she was speaking to everyone on the battlefield. I watched everyone stare up at her and hang on every sound she made. I didn’t understand anything she was saying, speaking in some other language. Despite my ignorance, the reaction from the soldiers on the ground told me everything I needed to know. I watched them all slowly relinquish every hold they had on each other and lower every weapon they had drawn. Seeing the Githyanki warrior also stare at her with veneration, I took the opportunity to slowly grab the battleaxe she dropped and strap it to my back. Looking about the battlefield, I paid the floating woman no mind as I scavenged a few daggers and pouches off a number of corpses. I didn’t care to return my gaze to her until I saw shadows stretch across the ground.      Looking to the sky, I noticed what seemed to be rays of absent light pierce the floating woman from both sides. They seemed to hang in her, holding her aloft as her body turned still. When the black pillars dissipated, the woman’s light was extinguished as her body fell to the earth below. Noone spoke or screamed. There were no sounds of battles or cries for mercy. Everyone seemed more shook now than before, but it looked as if they exchanged their awe for disbelief.      Once her body impacted, a massive wall of wind and debris raced pass everyone, knocking most off their feet. Before the near twenty foot wall of air could push past me, the sky had darkened with gray clouds so thick that there wasn’t an inch of sunlight shining upon us. It had turned so dark, in fact, that I would have been convinced that it was the middle of the night if the two suns weren’t still above. Disturbingly so, the two suns had stopped shining. Not from an eclipse as I had thought originally, but out of sorrow.      Not too long after noticing the two suns had lost their warmth, I heard a crash of thunder and the earth falter at my feet. Looking to the east, I saw a nearly blinding light turn what seemed to be the top of a mountain into a flattened mesa. A second crash of blinding light then slammed to the west and I noticed an identical sight, but, instead of a flattened top, I saw the whole peak crumble in on itself after a perfect hole appeared through the side of the mountain.      When I returned my eyes to where the woman had fallen, I witnessed the shape of a man, absorbing and absent light as if he were the antithesis of the woman, drop to its knees and hold her lifeless corpse. In a single moment, I noticed the only sign of humanity come from the dark man as I felt his featureless form look to me. For only a fraction of time, I felt a kinship in loss with that man as I managed to share a gaze with what looked to the shape of an eye. In that miniscule space, I witnessed what seemed to be the last feint glimmer of affection burn away from the soul of a person trying to remember any reason for mercy. I understood that he would bring more pain to match his loss.       Looking about the people around me, I had noticed that the disbelief in their eyes had now been replaced by sheer terror, enough so to place them all in a near catatonic state. The entire battlefield didn’t dare to make a sound, as if a spell had been cast across the world. What broke the silence was a scream so savage, so pain-ridden, so rotten, and so sorrowful that it broke the world. It was the only sound to come from the dark man as he held the dead woman in his lap. The only way that I can describe it is as if the world itself had lost their beloved.      For that loss, I watched a strike of darkened lightning slam the center of the battlefield where the two of them were. The sky flashed a sinister vermillion as the ground then began to scar beneath our feet. As the open and colorful prairie slowly bled into a scorched grey, the earth itself shook excessively, as if it was trying to destroy itself. Many were knocked to their feet in a panic and even those in the sky were effected by the tremors. By the time it ended, everyone was hugging the ground, unable to move, stand, or even fly. The dark man and dead woman had vanished. The entire battlefield seemed to be cleansed of their desire for war, gradually helping each other to their feet. I immediately returned to scavenging from the dead.      Desperately looking around for any semblance of familiarity, I hadn’t noticed that a dwarven man was shouting at me. I didn’t turn around until I heard the voice of the Githyanki speaking to him behind me. While pocketing a waterskin taken from the corpse of an Orc, I noticed that the Dwarf was constantly trying to communicate with me as the Githyanki spoke for me.

     Seeing her getting nowhere, I asked her in Gith, “If the Dwarf wishes to speak to me, tell him that I know Common, Primordial, and Infernal. Otherwise, he may have to wait for me to get a handle on the ki of this realm before we can understand each other.”

     “He is speaking Common,” she shouted in return, “But, obviously, you don’t.”

     Shrugging along as I continue looking over corpses for useful items, I replied, “Well, maybe we don’t speak the same Common then.”

     When I bent down next to a dead Elf, the Dwarf pushed me back as he shouted, “Do you not have respect for the dead, asshole?”

     Suddenly being able to understand him, I responded, “Oh, I’m sorry, but weren’t you just trying to kill any number of these corpses? So, I suppose that stealing their life is fine but not a pouch they’ll never use again?”

     Seeing his hand ball into a fist, I casually leaned away from his fist towards his gouged left eye, causing him to fall to the ground as I told him, “It’s rather easy to dodge someone with a clear blindside.”

     He grew more furious as he picked himself up from the ground. I tore the pouch off the hip of a dead Elf and tied it around my waist as he spat, “The All-Mother has perished and you decide to steal from her children!” before tackling me to the ground.

     Rolling off the ground after slipping under his left side, I returned to my feet as I told him, “I don’t know who the All-Mother is and I doubt that she could have such a diverse group of children. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I-”

     Before I could finish, the Dwarf tackled me again and began to swear at me in Dwarven. He picked me off my feet and drove me into a rock as I heard a sickening crack. Feeling a pain in my back leak out of my side, I stunned the Dwarf with a punch to his solar plexus then swiftly tripped him to the ground and pinned him by his neck with my knee.

     Holding him down, I told him, “I’d rather not fight a half-blind man, Dwarf!”

     Shouting at me from below, the Dwarf scoffed, “Oh, I understand. I wouldn’t want to be bested by a blind man, neither!” just as he threw me to the side.

     As I tried to stand, I felt something knock the wind from my body as the pain in my back shot to my side. Dropping to a knee, I spat out blood as I looked under my right arm and saw what looked to be a tree branch protruding from my side.

     Staring at it, I wondered where it had come from. I knew that when the Githyanki and I crash-landed that we hadn’t gone through any trees. There was a Treant, but the Ogre cushioned us from any possible branches it could have had. We halted to a stop in an open patch of prairie, too. The only thing I remember slamming against was the stone. Struggling to reach it as I tried to discern where it could have come from, I hadn’t realized that the Dwarf had walked around behind me.

     “Well,” the Dwarf started, speaking from behind me as he stared at the protrusion, “I don’t have to be a cleric to know that that needs to come out.”

     “Yeah,” I responded, still unable to grab it, “But I can’t get my hand on it. Any chance that you could get that out without killing me?”

     Flicking the end, the Dwarf sneered, “Depends on if you can give me your word to stop defiling the dead once I get this out of you.”

     As I grunted at the branch shaking inside me, I replied, “Yeah, yes. You have my word. Now, get it out if you’d please.”

     “Wow, that was almost pleasant,” he said, gripping the end of the branch with his right hand while putting his left hand on my side, “There may be hope for you yet, stranger.”

     With no warning, the Dwarf tore it out in a single pull. I fell to both knees as I shouted in pain. Gasping rapidly, I shut my eyes to focus on the ki around me. As the Dwarven man asked me if he should get a cleric, I took a slow deep breath as I used my ki to heal the wound shut.

     “No, I’m fine,” I replied as I returned to my feet.

     “Huh, I always forget that certain monks actually learn that,” he returned, just as he offered what he pulled from my body to me.

     “That’s a Tiefling horn,” I said aloud, grabbing it and wiping my blood from it, “How did that stab me?”

     “Not sure, stranger, but it’d be best if you keep that. A war trophy can be useful, especially a horn.”

     “Yeah, especially a broken horn.”

     “You jest but I know many warriors who would love to have such a memento,” the Dwarf continued before glancing around the battlefield, “Well, I may know a bit less now, I suppose.”

     Placing the horn into my new pouch, I confided, “And I don’t know a single person here aside from a one-eyed Dwarf and a one-armed Githyanki. Hell, I can’t even say that. I don’t know either of your names.”

     Extending his right hand to me, he introduced himself with, “Baldur. Soon-to-be Venerated of Nadari and proud son of Cudgel Keep. Pleasure to hurt you.”

     Gripping his bloody hand with my own, I responded, “Carrigan Gleeson. Pleasure to meet you and I mean no offense but who in the Nine Hells is Nadari?”

     “By the gods,” he gasped, releasing my hand, “First the All-Mother and now Nadari. Do you truly know nothing?”

     Being distracted by the sounds of a furious Githyanki woman kicking a corpse, I sighed, “It certainly feels like it.”

     Walking over to her, Baldur followed after noticing the Githyanki as well. I listened to her cuss and spit at the corpse in Gith for a few moments alongside Baldur.

     “Do you understand anything she’s saying, Carrigan?” he asked me.

     “She’s yelling about the corpse owing her for fighting in the war on its side’s behalf,” I told him, listening to her continue, “Apparently, the corpse she’s beating promised to return her to Limbo once the war was done.”

     “Ah,” he exclaimed, rubbing his beard with intrigue, “And how do you know Gith?”

     “I spent some time in Limbo,” I retorted, “The Gith captured me, so I learned their tongue and asked for training.”

     “Are similar reasons how you know Dwarven?”

     “I don’t know Dwarven.”

     “Then how are you understanding me?”

     “Monks and Ki form connections...I’m starting to get a feel for this world.”

     Staring at me with a dumbfounded look, I simply stated, “I’ll explain later,” as I approached the Githyanki warrior.

     As soon as I was within arm’s reach, her attention turned to me as she punched me across the jaw. Still standing, I grabbed her arm and dropped my body weight on it to bring her face first into the ground.

     As she continued shouting in Gith, I asked as calmly as I could, “If I release your arm, are you going to punch me again?”

     Shouting in anger, she replied, “You’re the one who just marooned me on this plane, you son of a bitch!”

     Before I could reply, I felt her body shift as her leg wrapped around my neck. As she began trying to choke me with her knee, I coughed out, “How did you come to that conclusion?”

     Holding me in a leg scissor, she turned me slightly to my side to show me a crushed Half-Dragon as she said, “That’s the one who summoned me!”

     “Oh,” I replied, just before struggling for air again.

     Feeling my windpipe slowly beginning to crush, I called out to Baldur a few times, only to hear him chuckling in the background. As I felt my strength begin to falter, I gave her an ultimatum which I’m thankful she accepted.

     Still trying to breathe, I asked, “What if...I...helped you?”

     Feeling her release me from her choke hold, I scramble to a seated position as she questioned, “Why would you do that?”

     “Well, I’m kind of in the same boat as you,” I returned between long gasps of air.

     “There’s no boats around us. We’re sat on the ground,” she said, absent sarcasm.

     “No, it’s a saying,” I explained as I returned to my feet, “It means that we share likewise goals or situations.”

     “Why not just say that? Why bring up a boat?”

     “No, I just...Look, I clearly am lost.”

     Chiming in, Baldur added, “That’s clearer than a mountain spring. You’re a human who knows nothing of the All-Mother, Nadari, and can’t understand Common. ‘Empty-headed’ would be more accurate in my opinion.”

     Not turning to him, I shot back, “Yes, thank you for your input, Baldur. Now, excuse me as I speak to someone I don’t need to kneel down to look in the eyes of,” before focusing on my conversation with the Gith warrior.

     “The point I’m trying to make is that we’re both lost. You’re looking for a way home and I’m looking for whatever my home is.”

     “Okay...so you’re making me work for you?”

     “No, I’m offering that we work together to find someone who can send us back to our homes.”

     “But you’re not a Gith. You’re a human.”

     “I know. I don’t mean that we get sent to the same home. I’m saying we find someone or something that can send you back to your home and then send me to my home. Does that sound like a deal?”

     Extending my hand to her to help her to her feet, she gets up by herself before she told me, “If we make this deal, that means that we would travel together?”

     Nodding along, I said, “Yes, travel together. Eat together. Train together. Fight together. Rest together.”

     “You mean sleep together.”

     “Uh...no...not sleep together. Just rest.”

     “Do you not sleep when you rest?”

     “Well, yes.”

     “So we would sleep together.”

     Hearing Baldur chuckle behind me, I sighed, “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

     I held my hand out for her to shake in agreement for longer than I expected to as she stared at me with everchanging facial expressions. Just as I was certain that she would reject the offer, I felt her hand clasp mine as she agreed to work together. 

     “Since we’ll be travelling together, what’s your name? I’m Carrigan Gleeson.”

     Returning her right hand to holding her still dislocated left arm, she replied, “Pila is my name.”

     I blinked upon hearing her name and saw a beautiful female Tiefling standing in her place. She had skin as white as alabaster. Her eyes were the color of rose quartz. The hair atop her head was wild but short, easily guided alongside her ridged horns. The sounds of both Pila and Baldur calling for me pulled me out of my trance, causing the Tiefling visage to fall away into dust.

     “Uh...I’m sorry...I thought I saw...I don’t really know what I saw,” I explained as my mind cleared of any thought trying to make sense of it.

     Baldur and Pila shrugged it off as they began their own discussion. I began to spiral, trying to make sense of things again. I desperately clawed into my brain for any information on what I just saw or where I’m from. As I tried to dig deeper and deeper, all I could find was nothing. It felt as if my own mind had betrayed me, erasing memories just enough to prevent me from knowing the most important details. I knew that I was from another place, but couldn’t find the name. I knew that I travelled with others but couldn’t remember their faces. I knew that I had a family but I couldn’t recall a single memory of them. Hell, I couldn’t even explain my training aside from knowing that I’ve experienced combat during my own adventures. I would have spiraled into madness if it weren’t for Baldur and Pila jerking me out of my whirlpool of doubt.      Baldur had helped properly set Pila’s shoulder back into her socket. He wished to travel with us until he returned home to Cudgel Keep. We agreed as we needed a proper guide to help us traverse the world. Pila admitted that it would be an aggravating process now that she had to kill her red dragon steed. She explained that the dragon was too damaged to move and that people wouldn’t have been calm around it, anyway. I figured that it made sense and paid it no more mind as she and I tried to figure out what direction to begin travelling. Baldur stopped us, saying that we needed to assist with the dead first. Seeing as he was the guide, we agreed to help.      Despite the many other surviving participants of the war, it still took us a number of weeks to dispose of the bodies properly and respectfully. The only ones we either buried or burned there were the ones with apparently no specific home in the world, such as demons, devils, djinns, fey and so on. During that time, Pila and I asked what magic users we could find about helping us return to our homes. From wizards returning genies to warlocks returning devils and demons, none of them seemed able or willing to help us. We even asked the many clerics and bards who were scribing each casualty if they could assist. They were obviously preoccupied, which I understood and had to explain to a perturbed Pila. Once all of the bodies were dealt with, the two sides of the war separated amicably, agreeing to work towards peace as they all left in opposite directions. Pila and I followed Baldur as he left with the crowd moving towards the west.      I wish that I could say that those months we travelled past swiftly. However, to say that we “travelled” the entire time would be a lie. Baldur had informed Pila and I that it would be roughly a year of travel across the massive single continent of the world. Intrigued to experience a continent the size of half a world, I was looking forward to the long journey despite my concerns. I knew nothing of this world although I felt more home to it with each passing moment. I had to learn Common as if I was a newborn. As I was taught this world’s Common language, I forgot any other version I may have known previously. Baldur proved to be a far more patient man than I had originally believed. He also had a vast array of knowledge in regards to the history of the world, especially the lead up to this war. He regaled Pila and I with tales from his portion of Yi’Mav called “Kalldor”. He described the forests we would past through as mist laden verdant blankets. He painted the two mountain ranges that divided Kalldor in half as the beautiful walls which housed a valley filled with more curiosities than a library and teeming with the hardest working folk in the world. He nearly sang as he told us about the sheer of unending snow and frost which spanned the massive mountain ranges of the northern half of the continent. It was clear that he was more than ecstatic to return home after such a long war. That made it even more heartbreaking as we arrived to a massive sea where he and the mass of people we were with swore there should still be land. Originally, Baldur said that the journey to his home, the Dwarven city of Cudgel Keep, should have taken us nearly a year. It was apparent that it would be far longer than that.      The spellcasters and magicians amongst us wasted no time making contact with the rest of Kalldor and even the other mass of people heading towards the opposite portion of Yi’Mav called “Serhya”. Apparently, the continent had been split on that side as well. The only options we had left were to either stay on this continent, wait for boats and ships, or attempt to build our own rafts. I was surprised that the hordes of people on both ends of the continent agreed to attempt a combination of the three. The population swiftly tore what resources we could from this side of the continent to erect a “shanty city” of sorts. The condition and safety of the structures were shoddy at best but it was the best we could do when attempting to house nearly another continent’s worth of people on a cliff’s edge. What made matters worse was that we had been trying to outrun what seemed to be a dark scar stretching towards us from the center of the continent.      The dark scar had turned all vegetation and flora necrotic. The trees and creeks had even turned to shriveled husks floating in bubbling tar. Whatever wood was still strong enough to provide shelter had already been used after the first month of building.      For the next seven months, the various races whom I recalled would usually be at each other’s throats now lived in relative harmony, sharing food and even teachings. We waited patiently for the ships to arrive. During that time, Baldur decided to educate Pila and I on the more mundane nuances of the world. It was more of an education for me and being closer to a reminder for Pila.      Baicia has two suns yet a single moon, causing both summers and winters to be elongated periods of harsh temperatures. Of the thirteen months, summer lasted for five while winter stayed for four. Spring and fall spent an equivalent time with us, each being two months. Each month is comprised of four weeks, which each hold eight days. The months were named after the deities and the continent. The days, however, seem to have no history behind their naming. Baldur didn’t know where their names sprang from while the other historians in the temporary city varied in stories and theories. The most popular theory was that the days were simply named out of spite when a council of historians couldn’t agree on the correct history.      As much fun as learning the mundane facts of a world were, I found the training to be far more fruitful. As a devotee to a goddess of combat, Baldur held a vast array of disciplines he was proficient in. While Pila and I would constantly spar to standstills, I could never best Baldur, even when he would have Pila assist me. I retained more from the training than I did the history. Unfortunately, that only did so much to fill the time.      When we weren’t sparring, I meditated. It was a poor attempt at discovering whatever it was I was swiftly forgetting. Some days, the afterimages of people I held some connection to were clear as day, but then the names escaped me. Most days, the names were the only clear things in my mind yet I had no idea who they were. To make matters worse, the nightmares I had were audible, proven by Baldur and Pila asking me about the names I screamed once I woke up. I always told them that I didn’t know, because I truly didn’t. Even when Baldur found apothecaries and clerics to attempt healing me or clearing any possible block to my memory, I still knew nothing. It nearly drove me insane but it was replaced with hope when we finally saw a fleet of ships approach from the horizon. Thankfully, there were enough ships and enough room for everyone who wanted to leave to go at once. Oddly enough, there were a number of spellcasters who chose to stay behind. Nobody found it suspicious or cared enough at the time to question why a group of clerics, paladins, sorcerers, and warlocks chose to stay in the land where a goddess was killed. Unfortunately, I would experience first-hand what became of them and their practices far later in life, but that’s a story for a later time.      On the ship, Baldur and Pila then decided to confront me about the shapes and names I continued to have night terrors of. Without anywhere to go on a month long journey confined to a ship, there was no chance for me to continue avoiding them and their concerns. The ships we were on were massive cargo ships used to carry as many as possible. It took a fleet of nearly twenty ships to ferry the population back to the now separate continent of Kalldor. I assume that the same number was needed to carry those home to the new continent of Serhya back to their sands and marshes. There weren’t rooms so there was no privacy nor any places to run to when Baldur and Pila sandwiched me between them to hold me in place for questioning.

     Baldur started by saying, “Well, well, well...seems like you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place with nowhere to go, Carrigan. You feeling up for talking now?”

     Pila, still not understanding analogies, continued, “Yeah, you’re going to talk or else the hard place is going to get real rocky for you.”

     “That doesn’t make sense, Pila,” I replied as she tried to reach for a rock that fell off a nearby Stone Giant, “In this analogy, you’re either the rock or the hard place. You can’t-”

     She cut me off with a loud, “Quiet, prisoner!” as a loose stone from the Giant gently rolled down and tapped my head, “There’s more punishment where that came from if you don’t tell us what we want to know. Isn’t that right, Baldur?”

     My Dwarven friend exclaimed, “Right!” as he snapped his fingers and a small cone of light shone from his palm and into my eyes before he continued with, “Now, tell us about your nightmares!”

     “Are you doing a voice?” I asked, dumbfounded by why he was trying to make his voice deeper and with more gravel.

     “What? No, it just sounds different because I’m whispering,” Baldur claimed, clearly trying to change his voice to be more intimidating.

     “You’ve whispered to us before and that never happened, Baldur,” Pila agreed, now staring at him alongside me.

     Returning to his normal voice, Baldur yelled, “This interrogation is for him, not me! C’mon, Pila, keep your eyes on the prize!”

     Before Pila could ask what prize he was speaking of, a group of voices from all separate directions screamed back at us, bombarding us with similar sentiments of “We’re trying to sleep!”, “I can’t focus on my trance!”, “Turn off the light!”, and “Take it upstairs!”. The three of us said our apologies as we made our way to the top deck together.

     As soon as we were on the deck of the ship, they immediately flanked me again, practically holding me near the center of the ship as Baldur asked, “So, what about those nightmares, eh?”

     “Yeah, the nightmares and the names,” Pila supported, poking my chest with a finger, “What do they mean?”

     “If you guys find out, tell me, because I don’t know,” I answered earnestly, looking back at them with annoyed looks, “Are we done here?”

     “Not by a long shot, kid,” Baldur stated, placing his palm of light back in my eyes, “You’re going to talk or else the hard place is going to get rocky.”

     “Yeah,” Pila added, brandishing the rock she had stolen from the sleeping Stone Giant.

     Annoyed beyond my patience, I shot back, “Do you really think that I can talk about something that’s more like a haunting than a memory, Baldur? Do you two honestly believe that I would know who the fuck those names belong to or what the shapes in my dreams are supposed to be?”

     Seeing my frustration, Baldur dropped his spotlight as he said, “Alright, calm down. We just-”

     “I don’t care if you wanted to help. Did you two honestly believe that trying to push me on issues of memory would bear any fruit that wasn’t sour and spoiled already?” I continued to say.

     “I don’t know about producing fruit, but we wanted to help you remember something and thought that force could help shake it out,” Pila replied, matching my frustration with an endearing amount of concern.

     Taking a deep sigh, my frustration didn’t subside as I continued, “My memory and lack thereof is my issue to solve. Pila, you wish to return home to Limbo, right?”

     “Of course, but-”

     “Then focus on that. Whatever nightmares I have, it’s safe to assume that none connect me to your home in Limbo. Unless you know a Kidrak? No? How about a jester? Didn’t think so. Try a ‘nowhere’? Nothing there too, huh? My memory won’t help you return home any faster than it would help me find out what mine is.”

     Turning uncomfortable, Pila averted her eyes from mine.

     “Baldur, if you wish to help someone with nightmares, look to the front of this ship. Go ahead. Look!”

     Pointing to his left, Baldur finally noticed a tortured soul that I spotted back at the shanty town on the old continent. She was an Elf of icy skin and an unending stare that seemed to stretch beyond the entire world. I first took note of her when she nearly tore someone’s hand off for reaching towards the urn she had wrapped in her arms at all time. I paid closer attention to her when I overheard her age from eavesdropping on conversations.

     “If you wish to save someone from their nightmares, start with a child who shouldn’t have been in any war, much less one that slaughtered a goddess. Start with trying to save a single child from a life of personal torment and constant pain because she had to do what any number of your countrymen should have been able and willing to do. Once you’re finished with healing her mind from the sin you and yours were supposed to eat so that she wouldn’t have to, then I’ll allow you to assist me with fixing mine.”

     After my vitriol had finished, I waited for a response but soon realized that my anger had gotten the better of me again. Pila is now the most uncomfortable that I’ve ever seen her as she’s rubbing an old amulet with a Gith script engraved on it. Baldur hasn’t taken his eye off of the Elf since I pointed her out to him. I soon realized my mistake and attempted to apologize. It was stopped by Baldur’s fist breaking my jaw with a punch so hard that I flew fifteen feet and slammed into the railing at the edge of the ship.      As Baldur raced towards me, I expected to have to dodge a boot to the bridge of my nose. Instead, he bent over the railing of the ship to vomit over the side. While still finding my bearings after having my jaw dislocated, I watched Pila slowly walk over. She stopped on my left side and stared out over the horizon. Baldur slid down on my right side once he was done emptying his stomach, drinking from his waterskin as he sat next to me.

     “I’m-”

     “I lost 1,273,589 of my kin during the war for Yi’Mav, Carrigan,” Baldur grieved, turning his good eye towards the ocean, “788,294 brothers. 483,107 sisters. 2,188 nieces and nephews. I didn’t have the stomach to find the difference in number of boys and girls. I can barely look at any child now and not see a mountain of them begging for me to bring them home. I can’t face another child until I finish bringing my lost kin home. I just can’t.”

     Baldur shed the only tear I have ever seen him allow himself to have in that moment. It came from his wounded eye and was the golden color of a molten forge. He didn’t notice it as he wiped it away. I never brought it up.

     “My apol-”

     “Accepted,” he interrupted, not wishing to speak anymore.

     Turning to Pila, I see her still staring out over the horizon towards the moon as she took a deep sigh.

     “Pila, I-”

     “We Gith never count our dead. Limbo was once filled with too many bodies too swiftly to give us the chance to count them, so we decided to never try to. Some of us speak with Vlaakith, but I see no reason to listen to a crazed queen who’s mind has rotted away to paranoia. When I’ve asked Githzerai, some of them swear that Zerthimon will return but I’m not one to wait on ghosts to give me orders. The dragon I rode would have killed me for food or been told to do so by its queen as soon as we realized we were stuck here. The plane of Limbo is my home, but it’s stagnant to me. It’s dull. The city I saw as home was becoming more like a prison by the time I was dragged into this war and now, I don’t know if I wish to return. If I don’t know if I want to go home, then how do I know where to go? If I don’t know where to go, how do I know what to do?”

     Pila joined us on the floor of the deck as she slid down to a seated position next to me. In the most vulnerable I had ever seen her, she gently laid her head on my shoulder as she asked, “Is there any chance that I can convince you to provide me with a purpose, Carrigan?”

     Feeling the only friends I have in the world at their lowest points, I fought myself before responding, “I believe that Kidrak is the Dwarf. I remember him being disturbingly cheery, almost to the point of naivety. Nowhere is the name of someone, or at least I’m confident that it’s the name of a person and not a location. The only others I recall is a Tiefling and a Drow. My gut tells me that Nowhere is the Tiefling. That leaves the Drow to be the one named Jester. I’m certain it’s a name because I’ve never met a Drow who was a jester by trade.”

     Seeing them be pulled from their sorrows for a moment, I continued with, “My nightmares are often battles. Fighting alongside them. Losing them. Losing myself. Losing others. Slaughtering others. A past life, more than likely, but it still feels as fresh as this one. We can search for ‘Kidrak the Dwarf’, ‘Nowhere the Tiefling’, and ‘Jester the Drow’ after we give Baldur’s kin the rest they deserve.”

     Pila was already getting comfortable enough to fall asleep by the time I finished my statement. Baldur looked to me and smiled while mouthing a word of thanks. As he smiled, I saw a Dwarf of kind eyes and a soft smile with a messy mohawk and clean armor looking back at me. As Baldur leaned back against a crate to rest for the night, the warm Dwarven man turned to ash and blew away as he reverted back to the scarred yet sociable warrior I’ve now befriended. I slowly drifted off to sleep and enjoyed the first restful night I’ve had since dropping into this realm.      We arrived at the city of Tyriok, a bastion for knowledge, logic, and invention built in worship to Tiegan, the god of the same ideals. As soon as the fleet of ships landed at the city’s massive port, the dead were ushered off quicker than the living. We had been at sea for months, but the druids, clerics, and warlocks were able to preserve the bodies without exhausting themselves. The wizards in service to Tiegan immediately took explicit notes on everything that occurred that day. The clerics and bards of the city picked up the ever extending “Red Ledger”, where the details of the deceased were meticulously recorded.       Taking a step on to the cobblestone streets after walking across the wooden pier, the air within the city even felt as if moved by logic. It was cold and still, as if calculating what possibilities may come with new arrivals on its shore. A soft fog surrounded the city, hiding its true intent and the cunning of its citizens. The streets had light posts on each corner with unlit lanterns hanging on them. I think that I would have enjoyed the city and the knowledge it could have provided if we had the time to do so at a laxed pace. Baldur had a commitment to his own city, however, so we spared no time on luxury.      Pila and I followed Baldur to the castle on a high hill overlooking the city. That’s where the royal family lived with no fear of attack it seemed as there were guard towers but no gate nor wall around them to prevent citizens from approaching. As a matter of fact, we noticed that many citizens were on the massive field of grass leading to the front doors of the castle, reuniting with family returning to war. It was hard for Baldur to walk by those who were only able to reunite with the corpse of their kin. It was harder still to walk past the ones who only received a piece of their family member. He put it aside as he focused on trying to prepare himself with bringing the same closure to his people.      Once within the castle, Pila and I had no time to awe at the size of it as Baldur made a beeline to King Dartagn and Queen Pathalia of Tyriok. The conversation was short as Baldur simply asked for their assistance in bringing his deceased to Cudgel Keep. They understood and offered the creation of a teleportation circle to ease the process. Baldur teared up at the swift cooperation, but stated that he would have to make contact with his city and the other leaders to ensure that it was feasible. We spent the night in Tyriok while Baldur worked with the king and queen to magically contact Cudgel Keep. Pila and I returned to the docks to help where we could. The next morning, we obtained a wagon and sturdy horses with enough rations to get us to the Elven city of Draturi with little problem. We headed out immediately, leaving Cudgel Keep’s dead on a ship that was kept in port until Baldur could teleport them. It wasn’t easy for him to leave them for the months it would take us to travel to his city, but he knew that trying to transport so many via cart would be impossible.        The five months of travel to the High Elven city of Draturi passed swiftly. We spent a night in the tree-hidden town of C’Moira, finding its people warm and comforting after a month of sleeping under the stars. The Halfling founders sent us on our way with a few more bags of rations after hearing our purpose. If I had known that they wouldn’t be alive the next time I returned to C’Moira, I would have troubled them more about learning their story before we left.      The next stretch of travel took us past a small Wood Elf and Orc town. It seemed that the two races were attempting to live together, being founded by an Elf man and an Orc man who had fought together during the war. They were allowed back a number of years ago due to substantial injuries, both physical and mental. They did not take the knowledge of the All-Mother’s death well. When I returned to this place decades later, it was a mere trading post with no signs of its founders’ optimistic plans having taken fruition.      Draturi is a pristine and gorgeous city built as a mountain bridge that linked two mountain ranges. It was erected in honor and worship to the Sun Keeper and the Moon Weaver, the deities with domains over truths and falsehoods. The High Elven leaders of the city weren’t very welcoming to a scarred Dwarf, a combative Githyanki, and a dark-skinned Human with a bad attitude. They would have kept us from purchasing provisions for our journey to Cudgel Keep if it weren’t for a kind and honorable Human family who helped us. I asked them why they hadn’t left the city if the leaders are constantly distrustful of anyone that didn’t share their lineage. They told us that they believed that they could change the city given enough time. Pila found their optimism perplexing. Baldur took a shine to them as they would joke about how they could be related with their last name being so close to his only name. I still haven’t returned to the city to see if their hope paid off for them.       Before we left, the Baldor Family let us know that they retrieved extra coats, thicker blankets, and more rations than we should need to get to Cudgel Keep. When asked why, they told us that the weather has been more treacherous than ever since the All-Mother fell, especially so in the Frozen Fringe where we were headed. We thanked them again for their hospitality as Baldur paid them in platinum coins for their kindness. They attempted to return the payment but we couldn’t hear them over the gallop of our horses and the sound of a storm brewing over head.      We soon found out that we were horrifically unprepared for the storm that followed us into the frostbitten northern half of Kalldor, despite the extra provisions. It was the worst storm in the history of the continent. In fact, it was the worst of the entire world as we would later find out that the storm laid across the whole of Baicia. Sand storms raged for an entire year across the Searing Sands of Serhya. Floods were constant and swift throughout the entirety of Serhya’s Atrophied Marshes. The rain and fog never let up across the Verdant Green of Kalldor’s lower half. We were caught in a seemingly never-ending blizzard as we tried to traverse the mountains towards Cudgel Keep. The horses pushed as hard as they could, but the subzero temperature still froze through the extra coats we wrapped them in. We continued to push on foot for as long as we could, tying ropes to one another to stay together. We kept the wagon with us, using the undercarriage as a portable roof to sleep under. Every time we awoke, we had to dig ourselves out. We had not seen either of Baicia’s two suns for weeks. The moon somehow peeked through randomly in the dead of night, but we were too concerned with huddling together for warmth to appreciate it. Soon enough, our rations ran out, leaving us starving with no way to hunt. Without fuel to keep our bodies going, we found it even more difficult to keep warm when huddled together at night. Burning ourselves out, Pila fell unconscious first, unable to continue against the cold. I tried to call out to Baldur but I was too weak to muster the strength to, falling in the snow directly next to her. I could feel nothing while lying in the snow, having turned numb from frostbite. The last thing I saw before passing out was two silhouettes walk towards Pila and I, one of Dwarven height and one of larger stature.      I woke up lying on my back, staring at the ceiling of a cave with the flickering of light dancing across it. I tried to move but felt that I was bound, wrapped tightly in many layers of furs and coats. I called out to Baldur as I heard his familiar snoring nearby, past the crackle of a campfire. Baldur didn’t wake, but I was instead answered by an impressively large Elf whose skin and hair seemed to be the color of ice.

     In a gruff but welcoming voice, the man said, “Sorry about the bindings, friend, but that was the best way to save your limbs from the frostbite.”

     Dumbfounded by this giant of an Elf towering over me, I asked, “Uhhh...I mean no offense, but who are you and where is Pila?”

     “My name is Sigfried Winther,” he replied as he softly poured a warm cup of tea into my mouth, “As for Pila, she is still unconscious but should be awake any moment now. Baldur told me about you two after I helped him bring you two back to my cave here.”

     Sipping the tea desperately, I began focusing my Ki to heal faster as I responded, “Thank you for the help, but could you free me from these bonds, please?”

     “No can do,” he responded, placing his teacup down next to me, “I coated these furs in a special salve that helps heal frostbite, so you need to stay and get well. Once you’re healed enough to move on your own, it’s actually rather easy to slide out of.”

     As I healed myself, I wriggled my upper torso free as I said, “I see.”

     Much to the surprise of Sigfried, I slid out and stood up, having mostly healed myself. The tips of my fingers and toes were still black with frost bite, so I rewrapped those appendages in the salve. I noticed that Pila was still unconscious but breathing comfortably. She even swallowed the tea which Sigfried gently poured into her mouth without any issues. I thanked him again before continuing our conversation.

     “So, Sigfried, not to sound ungrateful, but how did you find us?”

     “I didn’t find you two. I found Baldur. His left eye was the only piece of light that pierced the blizzard since it started two months ago. I discovered you three about three weeks into the blizzard.”

     “We’ve been unconscious for a month and a week, then?”

     “You have, yes. Baldur is unaffected by the frost, oddly. I’ve met Dwarves before but even the hardiest stock bend to blizzards. It may have something to do with that glowing eye of his, but he refuses to talk about it.”

     “I see. Thank you for allowing us residence in your home.”

     “This isn’t my home. This is only a temporary room until you three are well enough to travel under your own strength again. I have a far more important focus than helping strangers.”

     “Oh, well, that’s fair enough. We owe you a debt, though. Perhaps you would like assistance in your endeavors?”

     “Sorry to be blunt, but I can’t have you slowing me down by succumbing to frostbite every month or so.”

     “Again, fair. Well, if you don’t mind me asking, what is your focus then?”

     Giving a deep sigh and taking a long drink from his tea, Sigfried stared at me quizzically before asking, “Why are you curious?”

     “Well, first of all, I’ve been frozen for over a month and waking up to the sight of an Elf I’ve never met before is already intriguing. Secondly, my mind is still foreign to this world. I knew nothing of the All-Mother until well after she died. My memories are hazes of people and actions I know are real but I can’t place anywhere. Most importantly, you have the eyes of a desperate man despite your stature and speech. It would be improper if I wouldn’t at least try to help someone who saved my life, especially a haunted one such as yourself.”

     “Are you always this mouthy?”

     “I’m trying not to be.”

     Holding a concerned stare, Sigfried dropped his head before responding, “I’ve been away from my home and my people since before the final conflict of the war. I never even took part in it, actually. I’ve been searching the continent for the man who stole my son from me. It’s nearing a decade of fruitless leads and dashed hopes, but I’m still searching.”

     Folding my arms as I thought back to the Elf on the ship, I took note that Sigfried has similar features and skin as I questioned, “Did your son take part in the war?”

     “Yes. Not by choice, but yes.”

     As I hesitated to respond, he saw a flicker of remorse in my eyes that perked him with hope as he pushed, “You know something, don’t you?”

     “On the ship back to Kalldor, we noticed a child soldier who shared your icy skin and frosted hair.”

     “Where did the child go?”

     “I don’t know. The last I saw of her was in Tyriok.”

     “Well, I shall-” his voice trailed off as his hope dissipated with, “You said ‘her’, not ‘him’, didn’t you?”

     Matching the sad look in his eyes, I responded, “I’m sorry, but yes. The child was a girl.”

     I watched a tear glisten down his cheek as what seemed to be a flicker of hope was snuffed out in a second. His eyes glazed over as he stood up and walked into the blizzard with a despondent gait. As he entered the snow, I watched his silhouette as he dropped to his knees. I heard his sobs grow louder before he gave such a thunderous scream that the cave itself shook. His silhouette morphed into an amalgamation of man and beast that was nearly twice his original size. His shout turned from the yell of a pained man into the fearsome roar of a bear. I sat in awe and horror as it took nearly a minute for his pained cries to subside. He returned to the cave still as an odd amalgam of an Elf and a bear. He stood an additional foot taller with what looked to be another eighty pounds of muscle and fur. His head was that of a staunch polar bear’s and his hands had elongated claws. I noticed the stream of tears matting down the fur on his cheeks as he returned to his seat next to the fire. Staring at the flames, he slowly reverted back to his Snow Elf stature.

     “What the hell are you?” Pila asked, having woke up from the scream of agony that was just let loose.

     Without breaking his gaze from the flames, Sigfried responded, “My bloodline are Ursathropes. Think of a werewolf, but swap a wolf with a bear.”

     “Okay, now, who the hell are you?” she continued, visibly furious from being bound against her will.

     Groggily waking up, Baldur responded, “Pila, remember our lessons regarding manners?”

     With a deep sigh, she added, “My apologies. Please...who the hell are you?”

     Dragging his feet to the wall opposite from her, Sigfried laid on a small mound of pelts and replied, “A failed father. The tea helps speed up the healing process. Help her drink or don’t. I’m done for the night.”

     Watching Sigfried turn his back to the rest of us, Baldur eyed me and shook his head in disapproval as he returned to sleep. I helped pour the tea into Pila’s mouth as I explained to her what I’ve been told. She asked me how I was already fine if I was in as bad of a state as she was. When I reminded her of my ability to heal myself, she immediately asked if I could heal her. She said that I was rude for not being able to. I told her that she was rude for offending the man that saved us. She apologized to him the following morning.      We spent the next week in the cave as Pila recovered. I was normally the one to tend to her most days as Baldur and Sigfried were the only ones who could safely hunt for food. They grew a bit closer, but it was difficult for Baldur to improve his mood after I told him about the Snow Elf. He asked almost every night if I was certain that I hadn’t simply mistook the child as a girl. Every night, I reconfirmed for him that it wasn’t his long lost son. Some nights, that repeated news would simply send him into another lull. Other nights, his anger convinced him that I must have been lying or misremembering. I was saddened that I couldn’t ease his pain, but I believed that giving him false hope would have been worse than letting the truth settle his denial. The constant refusal of the truth came to a head on the final night we spent in the cave.      Pila and I had been collecting the coats from the animals hunted by Baldur and Sigfried. We were able to create enough thick coats from the pelts to better traverse the storm. What rations Baldur and Sigfried managed to save from the wagon would be the only provisions we had to last us until Cudgel Keep. All we had left was worth a week of steady sustenance. Sigfried revealed that we were merely a half of a month away from the city while on foot. It would have been far shorter if the blizzard wasn’t so harsh.

     Pila asked, “So...Sigfried...what are you planning on doing once you’re free of us?”

     Eating a pomegranate, he responded, “Travelling to Tyriok in search of my son.”

     Stung by remorse, I stated, “Sigfried, I already told you-”

     With a loud bite through his fruit, he interrupted, “You were mistaken. The Snow Elf is a boy and you’re misremembering. All three of you are.”

     “Sigfried...this grief over the loss-” I was interrupted by a partially eaten pomegranate slamming into my nose.

     “My apologies,” Sigfried told me, pulling another from his pouch, “My arm spasmed.”

     Pila stifled a laugh as I wiped the juice of the fruit from my eyes.

     Baldur, taking a seat next to Sigfried, then spoke up with, “You know that denial over a loss is, itself, a poison? I’ve seen many great warriors die due to their rejection of the truth warping their minds. It made them see specters on the battlefield of those we already lost, sending them headlong towards their doom.”

     Swiftly punching Baldur across the jaw, Sigfried retorted, “Again, sorry. Arm spasms.”

     Still sat like a stone, Baldur returned the punch just as quickly before saying, “That should help steady them.”

     Sigfried and Baldur continued to trade punches a few times more before finally standing up from their seats. Sigfried stood first with pomegranate juice dripping from his hand, having been crushed in his fist. Baldur then matched him, glaring up at the Snow Elf that stood nearly double his height. Sigfried picked Baldur up by his tunic and slammed his head against the Dwarf’s. He had reeled back so far that the force sent both men stumbling back a step or two. A patch of skin swiftly discolored on both men’s head. As soon as Baldur shook off his daze, he took a few more steps back. Sigfried thought that he was backing down. Pila and I knew that he was simply getting a running start. The resounding crack from Baldur’s leaping headbutt even made Pila wince. The two men stumbled in a daze for a bit longer before falling on their backsides. They tried to trade some final words, but they simultaneously were rendered unconscious as a trickle of blood came from their foreheads.

     “Well, then,” I sighed to Pila, “Do you want to pour the tea into their mouths or rub the healing salve on their foreheads?”

     “I just got feeling back in my hands, Carrigan,” she responded matter-of-factly while showing how unsteady her hands are, “If I try to administer the tea, they may get more through their noses than their mouths.”

     “Fair,” I shrugged as we helped prep the two men for healing. Once we finished, we laid in our sleeping bags, long since dried of any healing salve. Lying side-by-side, I closed my eyes to rest before Pila asked me a question.

     “Are we going to die again to the frost?”

     “We didn’t die, Pila.”

     “It felt like we did. Black consuming our vision. Our bodies stiffening. Only feeling the cold whip around us. Isn’t that what dying is?”

     “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never died.”

     “Would you remember if you did, Carrigan?”

     “No, I supposed I wouldn’t.”

     Turning to look at me, she asked, “Do you think that’s why you can’t remember your previous life?”

     I caught myself before saying anything as it dawned on me the possibility of Pila’s scenario and I turned to meet her eyes as I responded, “I...I don’t know. It may be.”

     With an oddly comforting smile, Pila returned, “Hmm...that’s pretty impressive that you might be a dead man walking and not even know it.”

     Chuckling together, I told Pila to get some rest as I returned to staring at the back of my eyelids. I had a nightmare that night of the cave crumbling in around me. Startled and sweating, I jolted awake to the sight of Pila inquisitively staring at me from a crouched position as I heard Baldur and Sigfried apologizing to each other for the previous night. Without saying a word, I got up, packed up what little I had, and looked across my companions to truly take in what odd company I found myself in.      I, as a simple dark-skinned human with clearer scars than memories, had somehow found myself as part of an adventuring party with a misplaced Githyanki warrior, a blessed Dwarf barbarian, and a grief-stricken Snow Elf hunter. Pila, whose wild mohawk and pale green skin were some of the first features I grew accustomed to, had become a closer friend than I had expected. This is the same warrior who attempted to kill me within the first five minutes of my arrival in this world but who I also found myself in a deal of convenient companionship with less than an hour later. Baldur, whose short messy hair and scarred eye are complimented by his massive beard, was the first one to nearly kill me by helping remove a Tiefling horn from my back. He’s the same man who is blessed by a goddess of combat, providing him not just strength but wisdom. Sigfried, whose nearly pure white hair and icy skin to match his disposition, had swiftly proven to be reliable and trustworthy. Having saved me and my friends, it’s clear that he’s an ally not only worth keeping but deserving of the closure he has so painstakingly been searching for. I soaked in the sight of my companions and felt the distress from my unnervingly realistic nightmare wash away as we journeyed back into the treacherous blizzard.

Epilogue

     I’ve spent over a century searching for ghosts, now. At first, it was bearable. My group of misfit friends were a constant reminder of the hope and warmth the world of Baicia provides. Against all the horrid tides of enemies we faced, Pila, Baldur, Sigfried, and I were always on each others’ sides, prepared to face everything from an undead gnoll to a furious black dragon. Even when we bickered, we never left one another for dead. Even as age tried to slow down Baldur and Sigfried, we never considered each other anything less than equals. The company I kept helped soothe my ailing mind, but I haven’t had them for decades now.      The first to leave was Sigfried. Honestly, it was surprising how long he had stayed with us despite his status within his city. Being as important to his people as he was, I would have expected him to leave us after we returned to Cudgel Keep. We were able to convince him to allow us to help him search for his son. We travelled throughout Kalldor together, but sadly gained no traction in the hunt. I remember Pila suggesting we backtrack through what he had already explored, saying that we’d have a better chance of finding something he could’ve missed. He refused, confident that his searching when he was alone turned over every snowflake in the mountains. When we weren’t searching for his son, he helped us search for someone who could help me solve my memory problems. He always held out hope that his child would find his way back to his people. He felt it confirmed when he received a vision from both the Sun Keeper and the Moon Weaver of a wayward Snow Elf returning home after pulling themselves from hell. I still hold out hope that he found his child soon after we said our goodbyes.      The second to leave was Baldur, despite his painful reluctance. Akin to Sigfried, he was extremely important to the city of Cudgel Keep but he decided to leave with us after speaking with his goddess, Nadari. According to his words, the only words on his journey to becoming her Venerated that she gave him was “Adventure onwards”. He took that as a sign that he should continue on with us after we spent two months helping Cudgel Keep give final rites to their dead. We returned often to Cudgel Keep, even assisting in a war against the Dwarves’ darker halves called the Duergar. We were certain that he would have stayed after that, but he continued to press on with us, convinced that Nadari needed him to experience more than his city could provide. When we returned, the city was already sustaining itself and a group of leaders were appointed. Baldur naturally became the head of the religious sect of the city. I hope his claim of being done with fighting was a lie, though. It would be a shame for a warrior of his caliber to be finished with something he always enjoyed, even if our last quest together had left a sour taste in all of our mouths.      Pila and I stayed together for another few decades until we weren’t able to. It wasn’t from either of our choices, though. We had burgeoned an intimate relationship with one another over the decades we spent together, even resulting in our souls being bonded through a potion commonly reserved for marriage ceremonies. We would have stayed together for as long as it took for my memory to return to me if it weren’t for a horde of Gith hunting us across the world. When we were eventually captured, she agreed to leave so that they would spare my life. It made sense that they wouldn’t have done so otherwise. I had killed seventeen of them while they were in pursuit of us. She promised me that she would return to me in five years’ time. I promised her that I’d cut a bloody swath through Limbo if she didn’t.      For the past few years, I’ve lived at an abandoned city, fighting back hordes of the undead. Half of the city had fallen away into the sea, being split by the separation of the continents at the end of “The Great War” or “The War for the Heart of Yi’Mav” as some were calling it. From the edge of the cliff, the undead of those left on the third continent would climb to the decrepit city. I stayed because this city was where the Gith had taken Pila away. I was determined to stay until five years past, so I damned myself to fight back swarms of reanimated warriors. The last three years have been a lonesome endeavor of returning old soldiers to rest. However, I’ve noticed that the hordes have been splitting away from me recently. It could be my paranoia, but it seems that another living warrior has entered the fray. Willing or not, they’re formidable enough to thrive against the soulless waves being sent our way. I’ve decided to seek them out, hoping to gain help with one last endeavor before Limbo becomes my next destination.

#Carrigan Gleeson #short story #tales of baicia #baldur #sigfried #pila #dwarf #snow elf #gith #part 1

[friendlyunclej]

Baician Memoirs: A Wealth of Curses

Prologue

     Being the only child of a business tycoon, I've always had a path laid before me to follow. From etiquette classes to study halls on conducting business amongst every race on Kalldor, my father has placed me on a path towards his "perfect future" for me. It's a life where I wouldn't want for anything in this world or the next. A destiny where the entire world of Baicia holds its breath at my beck and call. Now that I've come of age, he's been desperately trying to provide me with a suitor that can provide me with it. Every single person he has brought have bored me each date as they speak only of themselves, trying to sell their own worth to me. Some bring gifts, others bring gold, and they all lack the curiosity to get to know me. All they care for is to better their station in life. All I care for are the relics I can find and the only man I trust to help me.      I’ve always been interested in what the lives of those we’ve left behind had been like. When I wasn’t learning what correct dress to wear to appease business partners according to their heritage, I was desperately trying to collect any relic I could get my hands on. My hands grew coarse as I spent my free time excavating. There were many times I would get lost spelunking through the caves of the mountain, discovering ancient tomes, dilapidated bones, and primordial relics. There were even a few times where I lost track of time in my hobby. If my memory is sound, I once became lost in what was an abandoned labyrinth for twenty-two days. During that time, I collected bones, fossils, relics, and even a few ancient weapons. I was so enraptured with the amount of history I was surrounded by that I hadn’t realized I ran out of rations. I was lost for nearly three more days before collapsing with the exit in sight. Waking up staring up at a wooden ceiling, I thought that my father had saved me. Thankfully, Dig found me instead.      Digleby Eversharp has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I met him thanks to our fathers having served together during the Great War. My mother disappeared shortly after my birth and my father would leave me with Uncle Hellock and Aunt Lorrh the days he had business to attend to. Thankfully, that meant growing up alongside Dig. He’s not the stockiest dwarf in the mountain, but I’m grateful for that. He relies more on his wits than any brawn he possesses. Because of that, he’s actually been the one to help me identify the many relics I’ve been finding. We’ve spent nights together, going over what each relic, fossil, or item was. When we couldn’t, we would instead play a fun game where we would craft our own fiction as the artifacts’ history. I would usually craft a story of romance, speaking of the artifacts as a long lost lover’s attempt at reconciliation or a gift that never found its way to the proper recipient. He would always craft these astonishing stories of the many adventurers and criminals that the artifact has transferred between, being stolen and fought over as this omnipotent item from societies long since dead. We’ve been enraptured by each other even before I realized that we could be more than simply friends. However, my father would never allow it. As sharp as Dig is, my father demands that whoever I am betrothed to be wealthier than he is. As Cudgel Keep is a city dedicated to a goddess of combat, there aren’t many wealthy options for those who are more intelligent than strong. The few that exist in this city isn’t the most moral. Although my father and I have had many enraged arguments about what I would want for my future, he’s made it clear that Digleby will only ever be beyond arm’s reach. When I told Dig about how virulent my father is on the topic, he assured me that he wasn’t going to simply take a no. I suggested that we simply run away, but he’s certain that he has a way to convince my father of his worth. As much as I love him, I do wish that he didn’t care for my father’s approval as much as he does.

A Gnome and a Deal

     “Alright, Digleby,” I say to myself, trying to bring whatever courage I have to the forefront of my mind, “All you have to do is go into his office and tell him that you wish to have his daughter’s hand in marriage. A simple conversation, is all it is, my dear me.”

     As I turn towards the door, the smile on my face swiftly washes away as my anxiety makes the dwarven-sized door stretch to the mountain ceiling. My courage swiftly washes away as a sense of dread replaces it.

     “There’s always tomorrow, right?” I say as I try to convince myself to abandon ship.

     Taking a deep breath, I center myself while stating aloud, “It’s only a conversation, Digleby...we can handle a conversation.”

     My hand tremors as I reach for the brass handle to Sir Ironfist’s door. I start to lose my breath as I relinquish control of my heartbeat to my impending panic attack. Every footstep from the nearby alleyway sends shivers down my spine. My fingertips barely find purchase on the door as it swings open, courtesy of Sir Ironfist’s guest.

     “I suppose that I’ll leave you for the gods to deal with, Fallond,” the stocky and scarred Dwarf said as he held the door open, paying me no mind yet.

     “Once your gods come around to me, perhaps they’ll have more sense than one of their so-called ‘Venerated’, Baldor,” Sir Ironfist responded with a tinge of annoyance.

     As Baldor turns around, he stops just before bumping into me as he regards me with a joyous, “Oh, by Nadari’s breastplate, if it isn’t Digleby! I thought we discussed about you needing to be a bit louder in your life at our last consultation, lad!”

     Pulling me in for a boisterous hug, it’s almost difficult to breathe as I respond, “Ah, of course, Sir Baldor. I’ll continue to work at i-”

     He swiftly places me back down before interrupting me to say, “I believe we also spoke about you dropping the ‘sir’ as well, young Dig.”

     Straightening my back and hearing a few vertebrae pop, I respond, “Right, sorry, Baldor, it’s just...there’s a lot we talked about last consultation. A bit difficult to work on all of it at once.”

     Slapping his meaty palm against my shoulder, I nearly stumble as he continues, “Don’t worry, my dear boy! You have all the time in the world ahead of you to work on it. Besides, if it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth your time, now would it?”

     I try to continue the conversation just as Sir Ironfist exclaims, “If our business is done, I would prefer you two take your discussion out of my realm.”

     “We’ll be done in a moment,” Baldor retorts, barely turning to glance at him, “Just rub your sacks of gold in the meantime.”

     Sir Ironfist frustratedly drops the two pouches of gold he’s palming as Baldor gently places a hand on my shoulder before leaning in to whisper, “Are you here for the other thing we discussed?”

     Nervously, I answer, “I am, Baldor, but, perhaps it’d be best if-”

     Shaking his head as he interrupts me, Baldor places both hands on my shoulders as he says, “Listen to me, boy. You’re destined for great things. Wonderful things. A life of adventure, excitement, treasure, and, most assuredly, love.”

     Hearing words of encouragement, I feel my heart calm for a moment as he continues to say, “But, every grand adventure starts with a single step. This is your step, kiddo. Take it and seize what glory awaits you.”

     As soon as he finished his short speech, I felt a surge of courage form within me. It was as if a furnace which was long abandoned had finally been given fresh coals. My anxiety and concern left as all that was left inside of me was steadfast determination. Baldor gave me one last nod, smile, and pat on my shoulder before leaving the room. The aggravated glare of disdain painted across Sir Ironfist’s face swiftly clung to me as soon as the brass and wooden door to his headquarters shut.

     “Eversharp,” Sir Ironfist regarded, voice filled with antipathy.

     “Sir Ironfist,” I respond, holding a calm look against his, “If I could trouble you for a moment of your time-”

     Interrupting me, he places his hands behind his back as he retorts, “Oh, you’ve bothered me for far longer than that, boy.”

     My brow drops to a perturbed scowl for a moment as he continues to glare at me. I take a deep but quick breath to control myself as I take in his attire.

     “Sir, I understand that you are a busy man, but I can assure you that what I have come here to discuss is well worth your time,” I respond.

     “Worth my time? Worth? My? Time?” he mocks, poking my chest with his left hand covered in gold rings and rubies as he enunciates each syllable, “What would you know about my time?”

     Taking a breath, I try to retort but my moment of hesitation simply invites him to continue, saying, “A minute of my time afforded me the gilded mithril armor upon my chest. An hour of my time had me obtain the golden filigree floor you’re feeble body is desecrating right now. A day of my time fetched me three wives and the fate of Netton Harbor to toy around with. A decade of my time gave me half of this city as payment for my service to it during and after the Great War. Would you like to know what all my time in this realm is NOT worth, Diggsy?”

     Having spat on my glasses during his vitriol, I calmly pull a small handkerchief from my vest and begin cleaning them before trying to say, “I would-”

     “It’s NOT WORTH a sad excuse for a Dwarf to demand my time to hear desperate pleas for that which will never happen,” he says to me as he pushes me up against the door before walking back to the center of his golden theater, “My daughter and I have already discussed your desires.”

     “Well, if Nel has spoken to you, then you know that she wants the same as I,” I return, placing my glasses back upon my nose as I while walking towards him, “We would be happy together, away from your businesses, making our own way and treasure about the world of Baicia.”

     “Happy? How would my only daughter be happily married to a man who can’t even earn a single gold piece a day?”

     My heart sank a bit, causing me hesitate as he flicked his satin robe aside.

     “You know why I took you in a decade ago, Eversharp? After your parents succumbed to Abbathor’s Poison.”

     Knowing where the conversation was heading, I felt a hot rage flush over me as he continued, slowly pacing around his golden auditorium.

     “Because of the pity I felt knowing that one of my brothers-in-arms had fathered a child that couldn’t take care of himself after his passing.”

     Trying to keep myself from doing something drastic, I attempt to interrupt just for him to speak over me again. My teeth began to grind as my anger continued to grow.

     “Your father was one of the strongest men I ever knew before his misplaced faith corrupted him. I saw your father fend off entire droves of Duergar from our city walls single-handedly. I watched him, as a humble shop owner, gain the respect of the entire city. He was a dwarf worthy of any realm’s fear and admiration. But you...”

     Turning back around to look me in my face, Sir Ironfist slowly stepped towards me as he continued his insults while brandishing his golden teeth.

     “You’re a dwarf who can’t keep gold in his pocket, much less provide it for his future wife. My daughter deserves someone who can shower her in enough presents to bury her boredom for a life time. All you have ever brought her was old bones and painted stones.”

     “As is her desire, sir,” I speak up, stepping towards him.

     “My child deserves a dwarf who will actually protect her with more than sickly sweet begging. All I’ve ever seen you do is talk your way out of altercations, in fear of the damage that may come to you.”

     “Because my father’s dying wish was for me to rely on my mind rather than my brawn, sir,” I retort as my hand begins to ball into a fist. 

     “All you can afford her is a life of false promises and shortcomings. A false promise of love which will never be fulfilled. A shortcoming in worth and life, just as you fell short attempting to take your own the night your parents perished. No daughter of mine will be left in debt because her supposed husband can’t provide for her. No daughter of mine will be left alone because her supposed beloved can’t live long enough to love her.”

     I have no retort as he continues. My mind goes blank as I simply wait for him to get closer.

     “You’re godless. You’re gutless. You’re penniless. You’re not worth your father’s name. You’re not worth the past decade of time I’ve afforded you. Most importantly, you’re not worthy of my daugh-”

     As he gets within arm’s reach, I finally muster up the courage to interrupt him. However, my frustration closes my mouth as my fist instinctually flies into his jaw. Before my second punch could land, I’m nearly blinded by a flash of white magic as I’m sent flying into the stone steps just below the door. Barely able to feel my back, I desperately pat out the small fires on my chest as there’s now a smoldering boot print on the front of my tunic. Sir Ironfist slams his right foot down onto my chest to pin me to the ground. I feebly struggle as he slams a halberd next to my cheek, splitting the stone floor. 

     Standing over me with the spite of Altcher coursing through his weapon, I say to him between staggered breaths, “You know that Nel loves me.”

     “I know that she’s a delusional young lady who grew too attached to her childhood pet,” he replies, grinding his halberd.

     “Don’t you want,” I struggle, trying to breathe as his boot grows heavier, “Your...daughter...to be...happy?”

     “She’ll learn to be happy when I find her a proper dwarf,” he claims, raising his halberd above his head.

     Just as he swings his halberd towards my eyes, I squeak out, “You’re...a...liar.”

     Coming to a halt just an inch from my face, he asks, “What did you call me?”

     His boot pushes harder against my ribs but I manage to answer, “Liar...sir.”

     Picking me off the ground by my collar, Sir Ironfist slams my back against the door as he asks me what I mean. Knowing that the only chance I have now is to target his pride, I return his vitriol with my own as I catch my breath.

     “With all due respect, you’ve never been able to see past your wealth. Nel has never wanted your business. If I’m being frank about it, she’s never even wanted your name. All you’ve ever done is lie. You lied to her every time you’ve told her that you know what’s best. You lied to me from the moment I entered your home, claiming that I was always welcome but even back then I could almost retch at the stench of dishonesty coming from you. You even lied to yourself when you said that you still worshipped the old Dwarven gods. Your most heinous lie was to your wife, when you promised her on her death bed that you’d put her daughter above everything else.”

     After breaching the subject of Nel’s mother, Sir Ironfist nearly electrocutes me to death before shouting, “You have no RIGHT to speak on such matters, child!”

     With only one last attempt at possibly ever obtaining Nel’s hand in marriage, I wheeze as I tell him, “But the worst lie you ever told yourself...is that you actually convinced yourself that I would never have your daughter.”

     Slamming the shaft of his halberd into my throat and lifting me off the floor by it, I can barely manage to speak as I continue to say, “I’ve had...Nel...since the moment...you left...her...for your shops. She was nev-never as important as...your...pockets.”

     He tells me, “I could crush your windpipe and have you fed to a forge as kindling without anyone raising an eyebrow,” before releasing me to the ground and continuing with, “But, instead, you’ve convinced me to bestow you a worse fate.”

     As I try to gather myself, Sir Ironfist kneels down next to me and wrenches my head to the side as he says to me, “What little work you could obtain in this city will be cut off. Any possible shelter will be extinguished. Whatever form of joy you had will be unavailable. You won’t be allowed to walk this city without its occupants pleading to keep you away.”

     He pulls me up by my head as he continues to say, “You will have NOTHING within this city. No options. No possibilities. No chances. No treasures! You will BE NOTHING to this city! You ARE NOTHING to this city! YOU’RE WORTH NOTHING TO THIS CITY!”

     Coughing up a bit of blood, I give my best smirk as I murmur, “Claims the heretic.”

     I feel him slam my back into the door so hard that it falls off of its hinges while hissing, “YOU’RE! POOR! YOU! ARE! NOTHING! LEAVE!”

     Holding my throat in pain, I stumble over my feet as I swiftly dash away. Cudgel Keep’s residential area is full of slim alleyways and cramped corridors that only a single person can traverse. It’s a perfect place to force out a cry to clear your mind. I make sure to finish doing so before exiting the labyrinth of corridors to the center of the forging district.      The sounds of iron crashing against hot steel has always provided some comfort for me. It’s almost cathartic to hear the smiths of the city all cool their works of art at the same time as a soothing sizzle resonates from every direction. I support myself on the edge of the city’s massive fountain, built into the base of a magnificent statue. It’s the symbol of Cudgel Keep’s goddess, Nadari. As she is Baicia’s deity for combat, smithing, and courage, it’s almost too fitting that it’s flanked on all sides by blacksmiths and forgers. Staring at my own reflection as I wipe the last tear from my eye, I take out the only gold piece I’ve had for the past week and flick it into the water, praying for any amount of courage that could be bestowed upon a wretch like me. My coin is caught just before it hits the water by a black gloved hand. I turn to see that the hand leads to an odd gnome with short, stark white hair that is slicked back from his face and comes to soft points at the back of his head.

     With an oddly calming yet piercing voice, the man says, “I would save your coin, Digleby Eversharp. I can assure you that Nadari doesn’t listen to gold.”

     “How would you know? Are you a cleric?” I ask, confused to see a gnome this far from the verdant forests south of the mountains.

     “Oh, I most certainly am,” he replies, turning to face me before continuing, “Just not for her.”

     Weary from just dealing with one old man who claimed to worship an old god, I question, “Please, don’t tell me you follow the old gods?”

     Almost playfully acting offended, the gnome returns, “As a matter of fact, I do. And, even better, one with actual power in Baicia still. Unlike your adoptive father’s poor excuse for a ‘god’.”

     Chuckling a bit but still concerned, I continue to pry with, “I’m sorry, but have we met before?”

     “Oh, I must have misplaced my manners. My apologies,” he responds, flicking my gold coin back to me, “Zook Nackle, hoping to be at your service.”

     His smile distracts me, causing me to fumble as I grab the coin. There’s a disturbing sincerity behind his smile yet it’s not of joy or pleasure at the possibility of making an acquaintance. It almost feels deviant, somehow. Sir Nackle’s teeth are whiter than his hair. His eyes are dark and just barely large enough to prevent me from calling them beady. He’s wearing a completely black hooded cloak with seemingly no visible texture. Even his voice is a bit off as an odd, almost whisper-like echo follows his words.

     Cautiously, I inquire, “Uh...how do you know of me and my ‘adoptive father’, Sir Nackle?”

     “Wow, it has been a long while since someone has referred to me as ‘sir’,” he replies, “I’d rather you call me Zook, if I may be so bold to ask.”

     Squinting at him in bewilderment, I’m trying to decide whether he seems like a safe man to conversate with or not as he continues to say, “But, to answer your question, my goddess told me about you and your plight. Bestowed upon me the knowledge of your situation and told me to offer you my aid.”

     “So...you worship Aratuna, then? The Ornate Lady?”

     “Oh, dear no. No one so gaudy.”

     “Then, perhaps, the Silver Silhouette? The Moon Weaver?”

     “I’m not much one for helping others keep secrets, Digleby.”

     “Uh...well, then perhaps the Iron Judge of Justice?”

     “Syr? By the Nine Hells, I hope not. Haven’t you heard the rumors that she’s blind? I don’t know about you but following a blind woman has never ended well in my experience.”

     “Then, Zook, I’m rather stumped on who you might be in the service of.”

     “All you need to know is that my goddess is a benevolent, merciful, and loving deity who wishes you to obtain that which you want the most.”

     Nervously folding my arms, I stammer, “What would that be, precisely?”

     Sir Nackle reaches into his robes and presents to me two ancient rings covered in Primordial, Celestial, and a script that I couldn’t discern just before saying, “Whatever you need to get you and Nel Ironfist that happily ever after you deserve.”

     Immediately tempted, I take a deep breath before reaching for the rings and request, “How would I be able to trust you?”

     “You wouldn’t until you found out,” he speaks back, beginning to levitate and spin the two rings around each other, “I have made no deals with anyone before, so a referral is out of the question. There are people I’ve worked with before, but they’re scattered around the world, enjoying their best lives. The only thing you have to vet me is my word, but, Sir Eversharp, do I sound like a charlatan to you?”

     As he completed his sentence, I felt this odd wave of trust and familiarity exuding from him, as if we had known each other my entire life, so I respond, “No, you don’t.”

     The rings vanish into his fist while I’m reaching for them, as he shouts, “Good to hear! So, what do you need to win over your beloved’s heart, huh? A love potion? A chance meeting? A night alone, you sly dog?”

     “Oh, none of those,” I reply with a graceless smile, “We already love each other. Deeply, actually. Have for a long time, my friend.”

     The excitement in his eyes swiftly vanished before continuing with a bothered voice, “Well...what is it you need then?”

      “Her father...I need her father to understand my worth,” I reply, opening my arms as my cautious mind comes at ease. 

     His disgruntled look turns into a perplexed glare as he pinches the bridge of his nose before demanding, “So how would you want to do that?”

     With Sir Ironfist’s last words to me echoing in my brain, I feel a demand for vengeance rise from within as I say, “I would want to take from him everything.”

     Upon hearing that, Sir Nackle’s eyes slowly came up to meet mine as a sickly grin continued to grow on his face as I continued to say, “I want his stores, all across the Frigid Peaks, to be mine. I want his customers to betray him for me. I want him to be worth less than nothing. I want him to be...”

     Stopping before I continued, I felt an unfamiliar tinge of wrath almost push me to say something drastic, but I stop myself just for Sir Nackle to finish it for me.

     “Gone? You want him to be gone, yes?”

     Taken aback by what the implication may mean, I nearly rescind my request before hearing Sir Ironfist’s words clearer than before slam my head again, pushing me to confirm my intentions.

     “Yes, I want him gone, so as to never bother me or his daughter again.”

     Sir Nackle’s face turns almost devilish as he says, “Oh, I can certainly manage that for my dear friend, Digleby Eversharp.”

     Holding me in an awkward hug, I keep my hands to myself as I request, “Um...Sir-”

     “Zook.”

     “Right, my apologies. Zook?”

     “Yes?”

     “What would you want in return?”

     “Oh...I’m so glad you asked,” Zook Nackle says after sighing so deep that I feel his lungs expand as he continues to hold me tight within his arms.

     Releasing me, I fix my shirt, glasses, and hair as he recites what he would want in return. He speaks of a mine nearby that was left abandoned after the Great War. He promises that if I go into the mine, explore it, and make certain that an artifact is still within then he’ll make it so that Nel and I will never have to worry about Sir Ironfist again.

     “That’s all you need to do, my dear friend. Just go in, confirm that the artifact is still there, leave it where it is and then report back to me. Anything else you find in there is yours to keep, if you’re so inclined,” he finishes, leaving a crudely drawn map in with a minor illusion on the ground between us.

     “I won’t be,” I assure him, recording the map to memory, “Nothing in there is worth what you’ll be giving me as payment.”

     Nodding joyously in agreement, Sir Nackle asks, “Any concerns?”

     “Two, if I am to be frank,” I respond, “First, what does the specific artifact look like? If there’s other items in there that are just as aged, it’ll be hard to know I’ve found what you wish me to find.”

     “Right, of course. It’s a simple armored breastplate with an odd leather inner lining,” he describes as he waves the map away with his foot, “Should have rust, covered in scarring and dents. It should be the most mundane looking armor you can imagine, especially compared to Dwarven artistry.”

     Nodding softly, I then lock eyes with him as I ask, “Second, is there anything dangerous in the mine?”

     With a coy smile, Sir Nackle swiftly responds, “No worries, my friend. It’s abandoned.”

     Hesitant to trust him, I feel another rush of faith and confidence in his words as I simply agree to our deal before asking, “How are you going to-”

     “Oh, Sir Digleby Eversharp, you worry too much, my dear friend,” he interrupts, with a wide smile and twinkle in his eye, “You stay focused on the mine. By the time you return, Fallond Ironfist will be an inconsequential footnote in your story that will never be brought up again.”

     Sir Nackle gives me one last pat on the back before turning around and walking off towards Sir Ironfist’s residence. After that final slap of his hand against me, all feelings of worry or possible concern I had after meeting Zook Nackle for the first time had dissipated. It was almost as if that final touch from him lifted the weight of the world from my shoulders, confident and secure in the deal we made together. Without any time to spare, I rush back to my apartment to gather what I can to aid me in the mine.      My apartment is a tiny, single room loft built above a bakery. Although waking up to the scent of freshly baked pastries is a dream, the reality of living in the same room with my ice box, my bed, and only a bath to wash with but no toilet to use makes the rest of my time there a nightmare. However, it’s far more tolerable with someone to share the misery with. Thanks to Nel being the only company who tolerates me, I sometimes forget about how sorry my situation is. Sadly, this isn’t one of those times as I enter my apartment to see Nel waiting in a chair.

     Caught off-guard, I slowly close the door as I ask, “Hey, Nel. How was the pie?”

     Wiping the crumbs from the corner of her lips, she slowly stands up as she says, “The pie was great. Where’ve you been?”

     “Oh, you know me,” I respond, trying to figure out some way to keep her from asking about how my conversation went with her father, “Just walking the city to clear my head.”

     “Is that so?” she asks, raising her eyebrows as she pulls a cigar from the inside of her tunic, “Do you want to guess why I don’t believe that, Dig?”

     With her about to pin me between her and the door, I shimmy to the side and open the one window in my apartment before attempting a lie with, “Uh...you were smithing again and saw me praying at the fountain?”

     Walking back over to me to smoke by the window, she gives a cocky grin as she says, “Wow, two lies. It’s cute that you’re trying, Dig, but you’ve never been a liar. That’s why I love you.”

     She hands me the cigar and I smile from the compliment while taking a few puffs as she continues to say, “What I don’t love is being left in bed, asleep, so that you can talk to my father alone when I told you that I wanted to be there. What I love even less is seeing dried blood in the corner of my boyfriend’s mouth.”

     Not realizing that I still had blood in the corner of my mouth, I hand Nel the cigar as I go to my sink and pour some water on the rag in my pocket. I begin rubbing the corner of my mouth vigorously to scrub off the blood as I hear her put the cigar out and walk up behind me. Ashamedly turning around to face her, I expect a furious glare and a bit of shouting. Instead, she calmly places a hand on my chest and another on my neck as vibrant golden magic softly warms where her hands are touching. I feel the pain in my throat slowly melt away, as if turning into a small pill that I’ve finally managed to swallow. The issues I’ve had with breathing since Sir Ironfist’s boot caved my chest in a number of hours ago simply alleviate as I take in a full breath.

     “Thank you for-” I try to say as she punches my arm, “Ow, I thought we discussed no knuckles. I bruise easily.”

     “I know you bruise easily, Dig! You’re accident prone and have a knack at rubbing people the wrong way,” she returns, now slapping the same spot on my arm with her open palm, “That’s why I wanted to go with you to talk to my father.”

     I start trying to walk around the room to escape some hits as I say, “I thought that it was just going to be a calm conversation, Nel! How would I know that he’d not want to discuss it?”

     Now chasing me around the room, she fires back, “Maybe you’d know after last night! You know? The night I told you about how much he hated the topic when I, as his only daughter, brought it up with him!”

     Holding a seat between her and I in the center of the room, I say back, “To be fair, you told me that during the first part of what became a six-part night. Many men would get a pass for not recalling information.”

     “ ‘Many men’ aren’t able to recall the entire history of five different societies, four different languages, and seventeen legends during a six-part night, Dig,” she shouts back.

     Cockily standing and hoping that flirting would calm her, I arrogantly release the chair as I try, “Perhaps my mind slipped because of how good you were. Ever consider that?”

     Putting her hands on her hip with an unimpressed expression, Nel responds, “Flattery isn’t going to save you, Dig! If that were the case, you would have slept for just as long as I did.”

     “That’s fair,” I manage to express just before she tackles me to the ground.

     We wrestle and roll around for a bit, but it swiftly ends when I tell her that I figured out another way. She let me up to continue talking, but I pause for a moment as something dire dons on me.

     “What’s wrong with you? You’re wearing that face you get when you experience a bad epiphany,” Nel tells me, taking a stroke from the cigar.

     Realizing that I had a magical influence placed on me while making the deal with Zook Nackle, I begin to say, “I met a...uh...gnome when I went to the fountain built in Nadari’s honor. He and I made a deal.”

     “A deal?” she asks, concerned at the sound of hesitance in my voice, “What kind of deal?”

     I’m still struggling to decide if I should tell her about my decision possibly being skewed by a charm as I say, “Tit for tat. He wanted to help me with my troubles in trying to convince your father to allow me your hand in marriage. I offered a trade in favors. That’s it.”

     Over the next twenty minutes or so, I explain to Nel everything I recall about my encounter with the gnome named Zook Nackle. From his odd attire to his disturbingly approachable visage to his side of the bargain, I told her everything I remembered but omitted the magical assistance Zook Nackle could have used on me.

     After hearing me speak about it all through incoherent and worrying amounts of uncertainty, Nel started packing her own spelunking gear as she said, “Well, I’m coming along into the mine, then.”

     “Look, beautiful,” I say, trying to place my hands over hers to get her to stop, “He said that it’s abandoned and all I need to do is confirm that the piece of armor is still down there. It should be a cake walk.”

     “Like speaking with my father was supposed to be?” she shot back, packing her things faster, “Face it. If you don’t trust his word, then I’m coming along to make for damn certain that you’re safe and I have my husband with me. If you do trust this Zook Nackle’s word, which you shouldn’t but if you actually do, then I’m still coming because you owe me for seeing my piece of shit father without me.”

     Unable to keep a smile off my face, I’m reminded that Nel is the only person who can fill me with enough confidence to face a whole pantheon of deities and not bat an eye. I try to thank her for putting up with my difficulties but she simply bats my hand away as she tells me to save my thanks for when we’re married. I nod and finish packing up my own rucksack before leading the way to the edge of Cudgel Keep, where the entrance to the mine is. We grab each other’s hand and hold on tight as we descend into what will be our final spelunking adventure as anything less than spouses. Although the mine swallows any light from around us, it’s the only light at the end of an arduous journey. The only concern now is if Zook Nackle sticks to his word.

Epilogue

     “Well, that was easier than I expected,” I say to myself, calmly making my way to Fallond’s home away from home.

     “The Dwarf isn’t a necessity to my goal,” my goddess’ voice rings, echoing through my mind.

     “I know,” I reply, turning down an alleyway, “But removing one of the last clerics from the old gods eases the process.”

     “He doesn’t serve Abbathor. He serves the Ascended named Altcher,” she informs me, much to my surprise.

     Having been caught off guard, I shrug as I say, “Well, even better then. That confirms that Fallond Ironfist has forsaken the old gods as well. He was the last cleric to clear out. If he’s switched pantheons, then that confirms that no old god has a strong enough hold on this realm to be a trouble for us, then.”

     “That also makes killing him a fruitless endeavor. The Ascended Pantheon of this realm are too weak to oppose me after their recent war,” She explains, pushing me to focus on her release rather than making it easier.

     “I beg to differ. Killing a cleric still weakens their god. I know that we could put this entire realm under your rule any time, but why not teach the ones here a lesson along the way?” I state, wishing to hide my true intent.

     “So you aren’t actually doing this simply to kill Fallond Ironfist? The man who originally incarcerated you before the Great War?”

     “I often forget the extent of the knowledge you wield,” I reply, “My apologies for trying to deceive you.”

     “I’ll forgive you if you send this ‘Fallond Ironfist’  to me malleable,” She scorned, releasing a bit of fire within me.

     Now supported by my goddess, a pleasant smile creeps from ear to ear on my face as I retort, “As you wish, so it shall be.”

     Opening the door to his auditorium, Fallond’s eyes immediately stick to me, interrupting his discussion with seven other business owners. He desperately ushers the other people out of the room as I simply share a warm smile with my old friend. As he locks the door behind the final leaving guest, I see that the color in his face has washed away as he cautiously approaches me.

     “Hello, Fallond. It’s been a long time since last we spoke,” I say, walking over to his throne on the opposite side of the room.

     “Zook, you’re not supposed to be here,” he replies, desperately trying to gather his thoughts.

     “Oh, I know, but I escaped incarceration thanks to the help of my goddess,” I tell him, finding his halberd behind the desk in front of his throne.

     Seeing him starting to sweat, I pick up his weapon and sit in his chair as I jab, “I see you’ve done well for yourself! Living a life of regalia and regrets, no doubt.”

     “What makes you think you have the right to-” he attempts to say as I interrupt him by filling his body with hellfire.

     “I’m sorry. Were you about to give me one of your famous speeches about what I have the right to do in accordance to your wealth? Were you going to tell me about how a lowly gnome has no right to belittle the self-proclaimed ‘Dwarven Dragon’?”

     I stop for a moment to stroll over to him with his halberd in hand, taking my time so as to enjoy the musical tones of his pained gags and retches as necrotic sludge begins to pour from his eyes.

     Kneeling down next to him with his halberd in my hands, I whisper, “There is a certain lady I know who takes offense to such claims, Fallond.”

     Kicking him over to lay on his back, I gently place the end of his halberd into his mouth as I say, “Here, I’ll introduce you.”

     With both hands on his halberd, I surge fire through my palms and turn the weapon into molten iron sliding down his throat. As his grunts are quickly silenced by the liquid metal solidifying in his throat, I stare down at him as a wave of peace washes over me while the last bit of life fades from his eyes. A flash of orange flicks across his pupils and my smile grows wider.

     Standing up and fixing my robes, I say, “Now, I should take care of the legal matters. The boy did say that he wanted every bit of Fallond’s wealth as his.”

     Pulling a long bag from my robes, I begin peeling the clothes and jewelry off of the corpse. After stowing its personal belongings away, I move back over to its desk. I find the multitude of deeds and property papers then proceed to change the ownership over to Digleby Eversharp’s name. For the following few days, I teleport around to every person who had sold the property to the corpse and convince them that Digleby is the one who approached them about it. For those who refused or resisted, a simple modification to their memory solved that issue. I went through all the trouble to make for certain that all was set for Digleby Eversharp’s triumphant return and the fool wound up getting himself and his wife-to-be cursed. They left the mine forgetting who each other were and quickly began to age and wither, both physically and mentally. Seeing our deal as complete, I simply handed him the proverbial keys to his kingdom and left. I even left him the rings as a parting gift, but if he’ll ever get to use them is anyone’s guess. After all, it’s not as if some group of heroes would befriend a crazed Dwarf to try to lift his curse. There hasn’t been a group of wandering heroes walking Baicia since the end of the Great War. Most people are smart enough to know that heroes end up deader than door nails. I mean, honestly, what kind of psychopath would want to try to save a dying world?

#short story #tales of baicia #dwarves #cudgel keep #kalldor #digleby eversharp #nel ironfist #zook nackle

[friendlyunclej]

Cajun Shrimp and Crab Mac and Cheese

#saved for later

[friendlyunclej]

One day...I’ll make this.

Banana Pudding Poke Cake

#saved to bake

[friendlyunclej]

The Failed Hero

Prologue

     If I’m to be honest with myself, I’ve never truly cared much for this village. My family were looking for a new start when they were offered the opportunity to be founders of a new settlement. Whilst I was barely a teen, I was forced to leave Crimmor without any say in the matter. If I remember correctly, it has been nearly four decades since then and I still reminisce about the city. Just last night, I had a dream of Crimmor’s busy streets. I recalled racing my friends to get across major roads during the busiest hours of the day. Dodging and weaving between wooden carts, we would occasionally be reprimanded by the caravan drivers when their horses would get scared as we bolted past them. Sadly, the dream swiftly became a nightmare as I remembered the moment that those caravans stopped seeming so fun to me.      While racing across the street, I failed to hear the drivers shout for a full stop. I thought that I had timed it just right, but I didn’t take into account the other drivers not listening. I’m slammed by one pair of horses, knocking me to the ground beneath one cart that has come to a full stop. I watch as the car that hit me tips over, slamming its content into the group in front of him. Everyone’s panicking and running away as swiftly as possible, even the drivers. I pick myself up and try to see why everyone is leaving their carts, trying not to get trampled in the meantime. Once I get close enough, I realize that the cart had spilled a number of barrels filled with smokepowder and a lantern had lit a fire near it. Realizing that I was close enough to be blown to pieces, I turn as fast as I can and try to run before hearing something shout from underneath the covers of another cart. To this day, I still don’t truly understand what drove me to check it, dancing even closer to death simply because of an odd whimper. I think, perhaps, it sounded similar to a small dog or cat that someone had left behind. Maybe in my young mind, I had convinced myself that it was an adorable ferret’s cry for help and that I could keep it if I had saved it.

     When I tore the tarp away from the cart, I was surprised when I locked eyes with an Orc no older than I, caged like livestock. I recall the gentle stare that she returned my confused look with, pleading for help with a mere glance. I desperately pull at the lock just as the smokepowder ignites. The last thing I see is the Orc girl’s face streaming with tears before I feel a force smash me through her cart.      I’m conscious as I soar through the air, losing any semblance of direction as I spin head over tail. My hearing is gone, turned deaf by the explosion but I can feel my throat going coarse as I scream. I can feel a constant searing sensation on my back with what feels like needles the size of my arm jamming into my sides. When I return to the ground, my clavicle shatters on impact as my right shoulder breaks my fall. I feel myself skid across the road as darkness creeps into the corners of my vision. The last thing I see is the Orc girls’ upper half slam down in front of me, her eyes still locked to mine with no light behind them.      Perhaps, that’s why my family left. Maybe my father and mother had seen enough of Crimmor after that day. Maybe they knew something about that Orc girl that I didn’t. Maybe they just got tired of me asking about it and wanted to get me away from that memory. Regardless, I’ve still never had anything to care about since then.      My parents died not too many years after moving here, leaving me alone. I had fought with myself over moving back, but, by that time, the small village my family helped found was now flourishing. I decided to stay a few more years, but soon found myself helping train a small guard and scouting force. When I had finished that, I found out that I had been appointed as the head general for its forces. Barely being large enough to be considered an army, I didn’t want to agree but I didn’t know what would become of them without direction. Before I knew it, a decade had past and all I could see was a graveyard of dreams as I strolled around the village on my days away from duty. All this settlement has ever been is a village waiting to be pillaged, yet I stayed anyway as if it was a noose around my neck that I had no way to remove.      As the years passed, I became complacent with my life in a weary village, surrounded by people who were comfortable enough to be around. Being on the south side of River Esmel, we were close enough to Small Teeth that we should have been destroyed a long time ago. Thankfully, Purskul was more enticing.      My complacency lead to depression as I continued to contemplate my life. All the different roads I could have gone down. The many different decisions I could have made. Soon enough, I eventually found myself by Lake Esmel, staring at my reflection with the moon over my shoulders. I recall that no one had ever truly recorded the proper depths of the lake. Some had even suggested that it was endless. I would’ve found out for myself that night if I hadn’t heard an odd whimper on my left.      Glancing over, I saw what looked to be a tarp with something below it writhing around. With a fit of deja vu, I dash towards it and toss the tarp aside. There, crying and naked, Ilmater had provided another sign to persevere, even if only for a bit longer.      I named the boy Lubash and raised him as my own. However, I saved him the curse of my last name. After all, too many would be curious if a Half-Orc boy shared the same name as a village of humans and a few halflings.

An Attempt at Heroism

     Lubash proved to be a greater gift than I had realized. The boy was surprisingly kind, even to those in the village that glared at him with concern. He would always help around the village, even offering it to those who would swiftly speak ill of him behind his back. Much to my own surprise, he even seemed to prove himself to have a surprising bit of charisma, turning many people’s eyes and heads for more positive reasons once he grew to puberty. However, I always noticed something weighing heavily on him. From the moment he started interacting with the other kids, it would seem like he had a mask on. As soon as he returned home, I would see the mask melt from his face as his chin, which he always kept high when interacting with others, immediately flew to the floor. He carried this weight with him well into his teenage years. Whenever I would ask him about it, he simply replied that it was nothing to worry about before heading to his room. I let him be, trusting in his ability to figure it out himself.      Although some may have told me that it was a bit late to do so, I started training him in martial combat around the end of his puberty. I needed to be certain of what to train him in, so I kept from teaching him anything for a bit longer than usual to know what would fit him best. When I handed him a rapier, I was surprised to hear him question it.

     “Old Man,” he said with concern in his voice, “Why not train me with a sword like yours?”

     Taking a few steps back, I unsheathe my broadsword as I tell him, “Well, my boy, a sword like mine requires a bit of strength to wield it properly. The wide blade and heavier design may not be suited for you, as you are far more agile than you are strong.”

     He replies with a hint of sadness and doubt, “Oh, I understand.”

     Seeing his eyes linger on the blade I handed him, I slowly walk over and place my hand on his shoulder as I say, “Speak your mind, son. It’s not healthy to think so much that it prevents you from acting.”

     “I just don’t see why I can’t use your blade,” he retorts, something deeper troubling him.

     “Hmm, well, if you’re so keen to use my sword,” I say, walking up and trading blades with him, “Come at me.”

     “What?” he asked, struggling to properly grip my broadsword.

     Skipping a few steps back, I repeat, “I said to come at me. If you can land a blow on me with my own steel, I’ll train you with a broadsword instead.”

     Lubash agreed as he charged towards me. He’s sloppy and reckless still, swinging my sword in a wild overhead arc. I simply take a quick step to his right and he slams my sword into the dirt. He turns back around to swing again, but he nearly trips over himself as he’s unable to pull the blade from the ground. I walk over, playfully slap him behind his knee with the flat body of the rapier, then pull the sword out myself.

     Handing him the rapier, I tell him, “You may have some strength, but your speed and agility is your best quality. With the proper technique, you’ll be able to fight much better with a weapon that can match that speed rather than one which will work against it.”

     Nodding in agreeance, he takes his blade back and I begin training the last soldier I’ll ever know. I’m settling into my sixties now and I can feel the curse of time working against my movements. Soon, he’ll be a worthy successor and he’ll need to know how to fight, even if he makes the wise decision of leaving this town before it consumes him like it has me. He trains hard, trying to perfect every thrust and parry I teach him. Within a year, he’s already beating me in sparring sessions. All I feel is my pride bolster as his skill surpassed my own.      For the few years of peace that come after his training, he begins to show interest in the world outside of his home. With what few coin we do have to spend on luxuries, he spends his own on detailed maps and historical books focused on the rest of Faerun. He shares his aspirations to explore with me and I listen, hoping to preserve that spark in him that I never had. Alas, it would seem that Cyric had a different plan for me.

     The years of peace and complacency made the standing guards lackadaisical. More importantly, it made me lazy. Couple those factors with my body showing its age and keeping my own son from joining the village’s combat forces in fear that he’ll turn out like me, it should have been clear what came next.      I awoke one night to the sound of my son calling for me. When I rushed to the front door, I saw a fellow guard out of breath from running through the streets. I asked him what the matter was just as an arrow slammed into his neck. Calling to my son to fetch our blades, I immediately jerk him back into our home just as an arrow soars pass his head.      Glancing towards where the arrows are flying from, I see a lone armored hobgoblin racing towards me on the back of a worg with an arrow drawn. I use the dead guard’s body as a shield, but I’m unable to pull the sword from his belt before the assailant leaps on me. As we wrestle and thrash about on the ground, he screams and gnarls in my face as I desperately reach for his sword. Just as I’m about to reach out, I feel the hobgoblin pick me up by my collar and throw me against the wall of my home. The wind gets knocked out of me, but I barely manage to stay on my feet just before I’m picked up by my throat. He drags me high enough over his head that I can see the rest of the village beginning to glow orange against the night sky. I gasp for air as I hear the screams of the other villagers, crying for mercy. My arms go limp as the last gasp of air leaves my body.      Suddenly, I drop to the ground and fill my lungs with a startled gasp. Surprised to have gained a second wind, I frantically look around to see Lubash grappling the Hobgoblin. After dropping my broadsword next to me, my son didn’t hesitate to tackle my attacker. I manage to regain my breath just as the Hobgoblin tosses my boy aside. Rushing him myself, he pulls his blade to match mine as we begin to cross swords.      Matching blow for blow, we seem to be evenly matched despite his greater strength. Unfortunately, my son’s scream in pain distracted me. As I turned towards the scream, I saw Lubash fighting the worg with his rapier. He had been pinned down by the creature and was blocking its jaws with his forearm. The hobgoblin took this opportunity to skewer me through the side with his longsword. I gritted my teeth as he laughed in my face. Needing to help my boy, I resolved to headbutt the hobgoblin. Stunning him by the show of brute force, I gained enough space to deal a substantial slash across his body. As he fell to the ground, I immediately rushed to Lubash, driving my sword through the worg’s throat.      After freeing his arm from the dead beast’s jaws, I try to tell him to run from the village and never look back, but I’m caught off guard again. Before I could say anything, I feel the sharp sting of a dagger slam into my back. I spit up blood on my son’s shirt as I feel the blade tear out of me then reenter my clavicle. Suddenly, everything goes black as the last thing I hear is my son call for me.

Epilogue

     The village is burning behind me while I carry my father’s body back to the house. Tears run down my face as I place him in the same chair he always spent his time in. I give him one last hug and call out for him to wake up one final time as if the attempt will have any different outcome from the last five times I tried. As gently as I can, I remove the longsword from his side and the dagger from his clavicle before placing his broadsword in his lap. I tell him to enjoy his rest as I step back outside.      Hearing the Hobgoblin struggle to drag itself along the ground, I walk over and give him a kick. He flips over to his back, staring up at me in a manic combination of fear and frustration. I place my rapier against his throat and watch him feebly try to raise his arms to knock it away, unable to after I cut his ligament. Slowly, I push the tip of my blade into his throat, taking my time to relish the kill. Feeling a headache pierce my skull, I take a sick enjoyment in watching the light leave his eyes. His strained grunts and desperate gurgles fill my ears like a sweet midsummer ballot compared to the other sounds filling the air. Watching him drown in his own blood, I tear my rapier from his throat before taking his daggers as my own. I use what fabric I can find to bandage my wounds as I make my way through the village. What follows is the longest night of my life, filled with ambushes, blood, and fatigue. When the dust settles, we take count of the dead and give them a proper send off. I handle my father’s remains alone.      As I return, the majority of people still alive are already leaving. They tell me that, with the last member of the founding family gone, the village is better left behind. I don’t fight them. A good chunk of me feels like they’re right, but my pride is telling me otherwise. In hindsight, I should’ve listened.      That was almost a lifetime ago now. The village is gone now. The last residents decided to leave for greener pastures not too long after we all realized that it just wasn’t going to work out. Unfortunately, I was too stubborn to realize that I should have let the village die alongside my father. Nearly lost myself before I realized that I was doing the exact thing my father tried so hard to make sure I wouldn’t.      Since then, I’ve been travelling north towards the rest of West Faerun, mainly trying to get to the rest of the Sword Coast. It took longer than expected to get around Cloud Peaks, but I’ve finally made it. Pretty soon, I’ll be in Greenest, a town founded by a Halfling. Hopefully, they won’t mind a Half-Orc in their midst. Even if they do, I’m just passing through, anyhow. I reckon that nothing in the Greenfields will be able to hold my interest.

#short story #d&d #half orc #backstory #forgotten realms #hoard of the dragon queen #rise of tiamat

[friendlyunclej]

A King’s Depravity

Prologue

     My citizen’s have never respected me. I worked as a carpenter, sharing my desire to compete for the crown with those who hired me to fix their homes or refurbish their shops. They all scoffed at the possibility of a “mediocre handyman” being intelligent enough to become king. As I climbed the ranks in the competition, they then accused me of cheating, saying that a man who could “barely replace floorboards” shouldn’t have made it out of the preliminary rounds. When my competition began to drop out of the proceedings, my fellow citizens then accused me of bribery, claiming that a man who they barely paid would have the funds to pay off people. Soon after, some of my toughest competitors would mysteriously disappear after facing me and, just as before, the other citizens accused me of foul play. They weren’t wrong, but I made certain that any proof of such accusations would never be found. When I did become king, I made sure that those who accused me of such devious activities had their suspicions confirmed as I left them in the sewers to rot like the others.      The previous king died the night after I won the crown. I, at least, gave King Sigfried a proper burial. He was, after all, the only person who never questioned my intentions. On the other hand, the queen he left behind would prove herself to be more curious than useful. She joined him in the ground not too long after. Officially, it was due to espionage from visiting officials from another city on the continent. That truth was better for the citizens, anyway.

In Need of Warmth

     As king of the City of Tyriok, I’ve spent the past few decades caring for people who would rather see me dead. I believed that they would finally respect me once I had become their ruler, but it didn’t matter. I expanded the city’s control to half of the Verdant Green, including the nearby town of C’Moira, yet the citizens didn’t understand the importance of expansion. I kept Draturi City and its Elven leaders from encroaching on our beliefs, keeping their control out of our walls. They claimed to offer good tidings, such as silk and gems, for our cooperation. I saw through their deceit, though, and made the correct decision for this city, much to the ire of my constituents. Not a single High Elven heel will ever set foot in my city while I’m still alive, even if my new queen works against me.      I had gone nearly a decade before I had a proper queen by my side after the previous one found her way to an early grave. There was one interim queen after King Sigfried’s queen perished, but she proved herself unfit for the job and soon vacated the crown. For the years that followed, a number of women piqued my interest, but none proved themselves a proper ruler. To obtain the crown in Tyriok, one must compete against others vying for the position in many competitions of intelligence. For years after my coming to power, no one attempted to replace the previous queen, undoubtedly discouraged due to the fear caused by rumors about what happened to the previous ones. Out of desperation, I sought future rulers at the local orphanage. It was their that I met my future queen.       The queen I have now, a woman by the name of Beatrice, is the only thing in this entire city that I’ve been able to stomach. She’s intelligent and easy on the eyes. When I first met her years ago, she was the most cunning in the building.  She was far too young to actually obtain the crown at that point, but she showed enough promise and prose that I knew she must be my queen when she came of age. I opened my library to her, leaving her with proper teachers far superior to the ones in care of the orphanage. As the years continued, her promise grew but so did my hesitation. She had grown wise beyond her years and, I must admit, swiftly surpassed me in intellect. It worried me even further once I considered the company she kept.      There were two boys she always spent her time with, Sebastian and Freud. They weren’t “born” orphans, like Beatrice was. They had the great misfortune of actually having a relatively happy number of years with loving parents before being left as orphans. Their parents were emissaries for Tyriok City, whom I would often send out to parley with C’Moira and other nearby towns. They were loyal citizens when I first came to power. Well, they were loyal to the city more than they were to me. Many times I would send them to C’Moira to demand tax and recompense for being allowed to operate as a separate entity from my city in our territory. Every time, they would return with compromises and counsel meetings to speak in the town’s favor. They were proper emissaries whom I trusted, but their good hearts clouded their judgement. They served the city well so I saved their children from sharing their fate, but I had to prevent them from poisoning the city any further once I found out that they were trying to find favor with Draturi. It broke their hearts to leave their children at the orphanage. I didn’t pay the children of traitors any mind until it was obvious that the older son, Sebastian, was far too familiar with Beatrice.      They grew up together, so I should have known that they would take a shine to each other. However, what’s an orphan to a king? After all, I could have Sebastian and his slow brother, Freud, fed to a Gelatinous Cube at a moment’s notice if I so desired. The only reason why I never did was because I knew that it would dishearten Beatrice. But once Sebastian showed interest in becoming a knight for the city, I made sure to encourage him towards a life self-sacrifice in the hopes of him dying a “hero’s death”. Unfortunately, he proved more competent in battle than I had anticipated as he joined the ranks. He even showed himself to be a man of the people, reminiscent of his parents. If he wasn’t my queen’s best friend, I would have had him sent on a mission to never return years ago. Sadly, I was lovesick when Beatrice became my queen. It had been nearly a decade and a half until she became my better half but she proved far worth the wait.      Even in my ailing years, she more than proved herself capable without me. My age swiftly deteriorated only a few years after she became my queen, but she took care of the entire city as both ruler and expecting mother. Those first few years were nearly a dream for me, but the child’s birth soon proved it to be a nightmare instead.      I should have known that making the man she grew up with, Sebastian, our most trusted bodyguard was too kind. I, King Garland, the ruler of Tyriok who brought the city to its shining stature that it is today, was proven to be nothing more than a cuckold when their daughter was born. I should have known that the man she truly held affection for, the man who truly had her heart long before she stole mine, was working behind my back since the very beginning. From the moment that child was born, I had a constant reminder of how asinine and foolish I truly was. In retaliation, I sought ways to ensure that Sebastian’s life would be a worse Hell than he was already damned for. It took a number of years until I could send him off. However, as much as I wanted to give him a similar fate to his parents, I knew that Queen Beatrice wouldn’t leave the disappearance of her lover alone.       When his contract was up for renewal, I found the strength to attend the signing myself. My queen pleaded for me to return him to her side, and I looked him in the eyes as I stripped him of his status and pension. I knew that his parents were a deep scar in his heart, having been old enough to remember the pain of them leaving unlike his younger brother. So when my whore queen begged me to leave him something to live off of, I chuckled at the only property I offered him. I told her that I would take him there myself the next day.      Allowing him to keep his armor and possessions, I brought Sebastian on to my favorite cart on the way to his new home. He tried to ask me why he had been fired, but we stayed in silence as we made our way to the bar.

     As we approached the lower end of the city, I asked, “Do you remember anything about your parents, Sebastian?”

     Caught off guard, the fool took a deep sigh before replying, “No, I was too young when they left me and my brother at the orphanage. The only parent I know is Miss Frau.”

     “Come now, Sebastian,” I insisted, knowing he was lying, “We both know that you were plenty old enough to remember the sting of them leaving.”

     I hear the wood of his chest carrying his belongings creak as his grip tightens in annoyance before saying, “My king, I can assure you-”

     “You can assure me of what? My new status of ‘Cuckold’,” I say, angrily gripping my walking cane, “I believe your daughter is assurance enough, thank you.”

     I watch as he fills with rage, like a geyser nearly bursting through the earth, before he calms leans forward to say, “My liege, she is your daughter. You must believe me.”

     Laughing aloud, Sebastian slumps back into his seat as I retort, “Really? My daughter? That is what you and my queen would have me believe but we both know the truth. To be frank, the entire city knows the truth. You’re lucky I don’t have her tossed out into the ocean.”

     Upon hearing that, I see the geyser burst from stone as he drops his crate and nearly lunges at me. One of my guards pulls his sword and places it against Sebastian’s throat, forcing him to retake his seat.

     “Thank you, Roland,” I remark with a grin, as Sebastian forces himself to calm down, “Now, we should be at your new home soon.”

     “If you harm Olivia or Bea, I will hang you from the guard towers,” Sebastian spits, trying to intimidate me.

     Wiping a drop of spittle from my eye, I reply, “Don’t worry. They’ll be safe in their homes, just as you will be in yours.”

     The cart comes to a halt as we arrive outside of the only bar in the entire city, the same one his parents ran before they disappeared. I handed him the deed and watched his face go white as he read the names of his deceased parents. I soaked in the sight like warm rays of sunlight after a night of rain.

     “If you’re ever seen on castle grounds again, I’ve given the guards orders to kill you on sight,” I tell him, as I step out of the cart with my cane.

     As Roland tosses his possessions out of the cart, Sebastian just stares daggers at me as he replies, “You know that none of the guards will listen to that.”

     “Oh, I know and I’m betting on it. That means that they’ll capture you, instead,” I spout, a weak smile forming on my face, “Which means further use of the tools under the western guard tower. You remember those, don’t you?”

     Sebastian didn’t respond. He simply placed the deed in his cracked chest of belongings and snatched the keys from my hand. I bid him one last farewell before my cart left to return me to my home. Proud with myself, I feel the last bit of warmth from the sun hit my face just before the clouds steal it from me.

Epilogue

     In the weeks that followed, I did my best to ensure that my rule would continue in my absence. For the initial years of my queen’s daughter’s life, I was constantly there to take care of her. I tried to teach her as much as possible, but it’s difficult to implant anything useful in a toddler’s mind. I left the child to be dealt with for a different time. Aside from that, I left my control of the city to my Tribunal instead, just before I locked myself away. My health had deteriorated so swiftly that I was no longer fit to be seen by the public so I instead set a plan in motion to ensure that however my health would turn, I wouldn’t be leaving so indefinitely.      As I was helped up the many tower steps to my room, I looked to the new hire who was helping me. He was a dragonborn of black scales, no older than the age of twenty-two. He attempted to tell me his name, but I simply shooed him away as I told him to fetch me my council. I had to specify that I meant my Tribunal so that the idiot wouldn’t bring me the queen. After a few moments, Roland, Yaromir, and Valentia arrived in my room.

     “So, do you remember what I need?” I ask, resting on my bed.

     Cutting and eating an apple, Roland replies, “Honestly, all I remember is being told to kill Sebastian if we find him close enough to the castle. Everything else fell on deaf ears.”

     Valentia pulled out a small piece of parchment as she recited, “The heart of a newt, the eyes of a recently deceased child, poison oak leaves, a large cast iron urn, incense infused with nightshade, and poison derived from the blood of an Elf. Anything else, Garland?”

     Smiling as I turn to Valentia, I say, “Well, at least one of you have proven that Doppelgangers are worth keeping around.”

     Returning my smile with a wink, Valentia is nudged by Yaromir before he says, “Flirting aside, we need to better know who we’re contacting in Draturi. A name would better help us know who is the actual target.”

     “My contact in the city is not a target. They are a contact. Repeat it back to me,” I demand as I turn to stare at them.

     Giving a disgruntled sigh, Yaromir corrects himself by saying, “Your ‘contact’ in Draturi would be easier to locate if we had a name to go with the portrait you provided us.”

     “The portrait is enough, I assure you.”

     “Really? Because they all look the same to me,” Roland mocks, his body transforming into the person from the portrait I provided them, “I mean, honestly, can you at least tell us if it’s a man or a woman?”

     Valentia snorts, “He’s clearly a man. Look at the jawline.”

     “No, she’s a woman,” Yaromir bickers, motioning with his fingers, “Can you not see the more feminine cheekbones?”

     As they continue to bicker amongst each other, I angrily close my eyes before shouting, “It doesn’t fucking matter what gender my contact is. What matters is what I need them for. You do remember what I need them for, correct?”

     “Yeah, we do,” they reply in unison.

     “And you understand that if you don’t find them soon enough, I won’t be able to pay you what I promised you, correct?”

     “Yeah, we understand,” they echo again.

     “Good, now, before you all leave, show me the disguises you’ve chosen so that I make sure nothing is too jarring.”

     As I say so, the three of them transform before me. There clothes skin and hair all writhing into themselves. Their flesh turning a soft blue and their eyes becoming a pale yellow with no pupils before morphing into proper disguises. Valentia chose a more buxom female form with sharper features and long, dagger-like ear. Yaromir transformed into a shorter male Elven form with a stronger jaw than he usually preferred. Roland, much to my surprise, presented a more Wood Elven form with a gentle smile. I nodded in approval of their disguises as they returned to their normal visage.

     “Good,” I sigh, “Very good. Now, as for the last bit of business before you leave, I simply need you to tell some guards to bring my old personal throne into the room.”

     With a dumbfounded glare, Roland says, “ ‘Throne’ as in your toilet or...”

     Valentia rolls her eyes as she says, “No, you fool. His actual throne.”

     They continued to trade insults until I grew too tired to listen, shouting, “Yes, my actual throne! The stone one that I’ve always sat in. Take your bickering out of my tower and get it all done posthaste!”

     Stopping their childish bickering for a moment, they all salute and bow to me before leaving my room. As they do, I struggle to my feet and shuffle over to a window. I pry it open as I stare out over my city from the top of a 300 foot tall tower. The rain is heavily falling, washing the streets. Unfortunately, there’s not enough rain to wash the stench of betrayal that covers my home. I look out to the fields and see Queen Beatrice sneaking out with her daughter in tow. They’re dressed in clothes reminiscent of the orphanage. I slam the window shut as I return to my room.

     “All I’ve ever been surround by is snakes,” I say to myself, “From the ones I’ve put in the ground to the ones still in the sky, all they’ve ever proven to be are conniving traitors. All they’ve ever done is use me like a rag then tossed me aside like a pitiful copper piece. Soon, however. Soon, they’ll be begging me for mercy again. They’ll all fear me again. As they all should. As everyone should.”

     I stare at my hand and feel a familiar warmth coalesce around my hand. I hold my eyes closed and breathe hot air into my hand. As I open them, I see a ghastly blue flame escape my mouth and form in my hand. I let the embers turn red and dance in my fingers before clutching my fist to extinguish it. I toss the window open with a new vigor as I stare out over the city bathed in flame and devils. I smile as the hallucination shows my whore queen and her affair hanging on pikes, burning on pyres as the rest of the citizens are running for their lives.

     A soft voice whispers, “And you will find yourself as the ruler of a new kingdom as long as your end of the bargain is kept.”

     Twisting around as fast as I can, I nearly twist my ankle only to find no one behind me. I feel a spark of fire in my heart fill me with determination, just before I fall unconscious to the floor.

#d&d #short story #king garland #villain #tales of baicia

[friendlyunclej]

For Anyone Who’s Curious

I’ll be posting more short stories involving characters from my D&D campaign I’ve been DM’ing again soon.

Unfortunately, there was a falling out with the original group, which prevented me from DM’ing for over a year due to fear of failing another group of friends again. However, thanks to being the Storyteller for a Vampire: The Masquerade campaign based in 1960s Denver, Colorado, I gained enough confidence to return to the original D&D campaign.

I’ve restarted the original campaign with a smaller group (going from trying to manage 7+ players to now playing with a player group of 5) and it’s going well so far. As such, I’ve gone through my Tumblr to search through the short stories I had written for the original attempt and have added a “noncanon” tag to the ones that are no longer applicable to the world. Those without the tag, I’m keeping or trying to figure out somehow to revamp/rework/rewrite to still work since I’m still a bit attached to many of the characters from the previous go at the campaign. If anyone sees this, I appreciate you for still being around. Cheers to more stories to come!

#d&d #campaign #restart

[friendlyunclej]

Bloody Nights Ahead

Prologue

     My father’s on another one of his tirades while swinging around a bottle of his own liquor. I’ve just walked in to the house, bruised and beaten, carrying my barely conscious brother who’s in worse shape than me. My mother is probably drugged out of her mind in the bathroom, trying to phase out what’s going on. My father is screaming about my brother and I leaving blood on the floor. He doesn’t care about why my brother’s covered in so much blood that it’s hard to recognize him, like every other night. He doesn’t care that my mother is one wrong pinch away from not waking up again, like every other weekend. He doesn’t care that I can barely see out of my right eye, like every night I leave the house. He cares about the fact that I can’t put sheets or towels down on the floor to keep the blood from soaking into the carpet and he’s concerned about it enough to scream my ears off instead of doing it himself. I try my best to let his string of insults and meaningless screaming flow in one ear and out the other as I bring my brother to his room and drop him on to his bed to rest.      With my father still blowing his gasket, I calmly close the door to my brother’s room as I make my way to the bathroom. I greet my mother as I gently take the needle from her hand, remove the belt around her arm, and slowly guide her back to her bedroom to tuck her in for the night. She makes me the same promise she always has about cleaning herself up as I turn the lights off and gently leave the door a few inches open.      My father is now in my younger brother’s room, screaming at him about why he refuses to confess who beat him into hammered shit. As with every other time, the less my brother answers, the more likely my father is to give him a few more lumps. I walk to the kitchen and grab the first aid kit from under the sink before returning to my brother’s room as he begins to talk back. My father is beginning to get rough with him, pushing his head around as he repeats the same question over and over.

     “Who did you piss off, Shag?” my father shouts, shoving his face towards the ground.

     “I asked you not to call me that,” my little brother says as he picks his head back up while continuing to avoid eye contact.

     Taking a long drink of liquor, my father slaps him to the ground before demanding again, “Who did you piss off, Shag?”

     Putting the first aid kit down, I let my frustration boil over as I yell, “Hey, asshole! Can I patch up my brother now?”

     In a flash of movement. my father grabs me by the neck and pins me against the wall about ten feet behind us in the hallway. I’m buried about half a foot into the drywall and it’s a miracle that I still have the strength to struggle. No matter how much I kick, punch, and try to force myself free, he holds me still as if I’m a rat under his boot.

     Taking a deep swig of his bottle, he leans in close and spits, “What did you just call me, Clown?”

     Unable to wipe his spittle from my face, I say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you an asshole,” his grip lightens as I finish, “I meant to say ‘Blood Puppet’.”

     I give him a shitty grin as his grip tightens. I nearly black out before he drops me to the ground. Gasping for air, I can barely make out what he says as he returns to my brother’s room.

     He says, “I’ll deal with you after I finish disciplining your brother.”

     I force myself upright against the wall as I barely manage to cough out, “Were you always this much of a dick or was it the vamp blood that really did it?”

     His footsteps stop just on the inside of the room. I drag myself to my feet as I continue poking, “I just can’t see my mom being into a Grade-A Douchebag without some vamp blood to help sway her decision making, you know?”

     He turns around and slowly walks back out. He stops directly in front of me as I continue saying, “I mean, be honest. Was it the vamp leash around your neck that helped you on your path to become Number 1 Shithead of Ustrus or was it just nature’s true calling for you to grab that title?”

     Still keeping my arrogant smirk as best I could, I know what’s about to happen. My brother can’t take this beating in his current state without ending up on a stretcher or with a white sheet over him. My mother can’t take this beating because she’s too high to even comprehend what’s going on. As for me, I’ve been taking this beating for the past twenty years, so it’s always a good bet that I won’t keel over from it if I haven’t already. Honestly, it would be a mercy to die from this ass-whooping. But, if any instances from the past are a good indication of what’s to follow, I’ll be faking a smile tomorrow as I try not to succumb to my wounds while working for my wages. All I can do is wait for the beating and hope that at least someone drops a tear if I die. My mind is trying to figure out who would care if I passed away one night when my father’s bottle shatters against my head.      Interrupting my train of thought, I fly to the floor and skid into the kitchen about twelve feet down the hall. I barely maintain consciousness as two of my ribs crack from a kick. Next, I feel two fists smash my lower back and I bounce off the ground like a rubber ball. I curl up in pain and look back to see a right hook crack my jaw. As I roll around, I barely manage to dodge his left fist and return with a boot to his mouth. It splits his bottom lip, but it barely fazes him. He’s still human like me, but just a bit improved. As a Ghoul, I don’t know if he can actually get tired. I just know that he gets tired of beating me up after exactly twenty-six minutes. That’s all I need to last for him to let me patch my wounds. At this point in my life, I don’t know if it’d be better to die or not but my body won’t give up on me even when I do.      Once he tuckers himself out and returns to his chair to sleep, I drag myself back to my brother’s room and begin trying to stitch him up with the first aid kit. With how beaten I am, it practically takes me all night to take care of him, leaving maybe an hour or two for myself. The only thing I manage to stitch up properly before passing out is the laceration across my left temple from when the bottle smashed against my head.      Laying asleep, the same apparition comes to visit me as every other night. Its form changes each time it appears aside from two factors. The voice stays the same, guttural and filled with gravel. The dark eyes are the same, lifeless and devoid of color. Tonight, it’s a withered man dressed in a sharp black suit with a monocle and a top hat, wielding some sort of weapon as a walking cane. I don’t know who it is, but it always says the same thing: “And here the story begins of Carnegie Gunvald, the worthless man who’s worth more dead than alive!”      I can’t say that I disagree with him.

A Death Worth Living

     “Heyo, Carnie!” my best friend shouts, racing to me from the front door of her apartment complex, “You coming with me to the Fights tonight or making me go alone?”

     Limping down the steps toward our train, I tell her, “Ylva, if I still have the strength to, I’ll tag along for a few drinks.”

     Noticing that I’m having trouble walking, she asks, “Your old man kicked your ass again, huh? What for this time?”

     Holding my still cracked ribs, I nod as I say, “Little bro had a run in with the gambling bookies at the bar. I had to fight them off him again. I didn’t get there until after he got the shit beat out of him.”

     “So you fought them after your brother was already unconscious?” she questions.

     “I was just trying to pick him up. They started throwing hands,” I lie, trying to make it seem like I never antagonized them.

     “Why do I feel like you egged them on to fight?” she tells me with a know-it-all expression.

     “Look, I went there to pick up my brother-”

     “But you saw them still drinking and laughing at the bar...”

     “And I may have shared a few words-”

     “In order to piss them off so they would put their fists up...”

     “Then I returned home.”

     “Half beaten to shit, knowing that your father was going to beat you down even further. Yeah, I know how your nights go.”

     Damn, she knows me too well.

     “Damn, you know me too well.”

     Smiling to herself, I smile a little too as we reach the bottom of the stairs to see the train to work racing off without us. We start racing after it like we’re eight years old again. Well, to be accurate, she races after it like we were eight years old again while I hobble twenty feet behind her like I was eighty years old. In a matter of seconds, I fall to my knees with one hand on my ribs and the other barely holding me up from slamming my face into the concrete. She almost catches up to the train before jogging back to pick me up.

     We watch the train disappear into the distance as she says, “Maybe we skip work today, huh? I know some tricks that can help you heal faster.”

     “Do those tricks also come with today’s full paycheck? I don’t work today, I don’t put in my full hours. Not putting in my full hours means not enough money for the house,” I tell her as she helps me on to my feet, “I can’t afford that. Can you...you know...give me a lift?”

     “I thought you said it’s degrading when I do that?” she responds folding her arms with a smirk.

     “It’s more degrading to not have a home,” I respond quickly, motioning for her to turn around, “Just, come on, I know you werewolves are strong and fast. It’ll be like when we were kids except...vice versa, you know.”

     She turns around and stands up straight, waiting for me to hop on. I painfully work my way up on to her shoulders and I cling to her back like a damn koala bear. She laughs a little as I wrap my arms around her.

     “What’s so funny, Ylva?” I say, straddling her back.

     “Nothing,” she responds between stifling giggles, “I just expected you to be heavier with how much wider you are. You feel like a parrot on my should right now.”

     I mockingly laugh back to her before saying, “Can we just get on with this, please? We’re going to be late.”

     With a final giggle, she starts running off with me wrapped around her back. Oddly enough, she’s actually running faster with me on her shoulders. We’re even keeping up with some of the vehicles on the streets. She races through half the city, bounding over fences like it’s track and field. It’s more impressive once you realize the size differences between us.      Both her and I are the same height, maybe less than a centimeter in difference. It’s the weight that’s odd between us. I’m built like a brick wall with shoulders almost as wide as a door frame. She used to call me the “Checkpoint Attendant” back when I played football in school. It’s because I’m wide enough to be a barricade and I never let anyone past me. I used to call her “Night Wolf”. The first reason is obvious: She’s a werewolf. Well, Garou, I should say, since most of her kind don’t like being called a werewolf. The second reason being that she never seemed to sleep. When she wasn’t doing hurdles during the day, she was partying her ass off at night, usually with me in tow. She’s always been athletic, so she’s always been about half my width. Despite spending more time outside than inside, her skin is so pale that most people expect her to be a shut-in. Maybe that’s why everyone is surprised to find out that I’m the one who’s usually locked up at home all the time, despite my darker complexion. Honestly, though, if it wasn’t for her, I’d probably never get out the house and away from my family. Without that group of assholes holding me back, I might have-

     “Hey, are you narrating your life again, Carnie? You’ve been pretty silent.”

     In all of the two decades we’ve been friends, I still don’t know how she does that.

     “How do you do that? Know when I’m narrating to myself?”

     “Well, first, you always go dead silent. Second, you always get this real constipated stare going for some reason,” she says, scrunching her face into a pained expression.

     “I don’t do that,” I tell her while making the same face.

     She lets out a soft giggle as she dashes past a blaring car horn. I let out a deep sigh. She never would have said yes. Even if she had, I probably would have broke it off before she got her hopes up. She deserves better than me, anyway. After all, I’m a twenty-five year old who still gets his ass handed to him by his father for trying to take care of his gambling drunkard of a little brother and keeping his junkie mother from nicking the wrong vein. I ain’t worth a damn.

     “Heyo, Mother Gaia to Carnegie! You still with me?” Ylva shouts, snapping me out of my phase.

     “Huh, what’s up? Are we here?” I ask her, still crawling out of my self pity.

     “Yeah, now hop off before someone sees you koala-ing me,” she says as I painfully drop down from her back.

     “I’ll pick you up in my car so we can go to Noz’s Bar after work, okay? My family should have it fixed by then,” she remarks, hoping that I’ll give the same answer as I always do.

     “I think I’ll just head home. Gotta give these bones time to mend,” I tell her, limping towards my driving hammer and picking up a number of heavy stakes.

     “No, no, no,” she says, folding her arms and stepping alongside me, “You’re going to the bar with me. We’re medicating your pain with liquor, then we’re going to the Fights so I can kick some shit out of some assholes.”

     I click my tongue and shake my head as I turn around and begin walking towards the unfinished train tracks. I start walking away from her before she slowly strolls past me and steps in my path. I look up to her eyes and see her usually smiling face replaced with a look of frustration and concern.

     “I will carry you out of here if you don’t agree,” she says, moving her hands to her hips.

     I smile a little and try to tell her to make me just as the pain in my ribs sends a shock through my body, prompting me to ask, “How long is that ritual to help me heal faster?”

     “Why do you ask?”

     “I really need a fight tonight and I can’t fight in this condition.”

     With a mischievous smile, she says, “We’re leaving a half hour early, then.”

     Before I can respond, she dashes off. I make my way down to the end of the unfinished railroad line and begin adjusting stakes to the track. I get through most of the day unhindered. It’s ridiculously slow and excruciatingly painful, but I get enough of the railroad put in that I don’t slow anything down. I get close to the end of the work day when my wounds from the previous night take over and I can barely pick up my hammer. I continue trying to work anyway, knowing that I still need a good few rails hammered in before leaving to get my full paycheck. I try to take a quick breather but get interrupted by some Half-Blood overseers kicking me back on to my feet. If that wasn’t worse enough, it’s now getting to be only a skeleton crew and only a few remain, mostly being the more talkative sort. As per usual, the assholes I work with begin talking shit about me hanging around a Garou so much.

     “So, tell us something, Clown Boy. We already know that she wears the pants between y’all two. What I want to know is if she digs up bones for you, too?” Eron asks, a dipshit smile smeared across his face.

     “Nah, nah. I bet you that the only bone she plays with is his,” Tony responds as he gives a nasally chortle.

     “His bone? Big bastard doesn’t have a single bone in his body. If he did, he’d actually talk back,” Eron says again, trying to egg me on. 

     “C’mon, real talk, though, my man,” Tony picks up, “Since she’s a wolf, we know she likes it doggystyle. What’s it like taking it from behind for her, though, ‘cause you sure as hell ain’t giving it to her, right?

     Tired of hearing their remarks, I fire back, “Honestly, you’re the only one here who would know what that felt like, Anthony. After all, most of your week is spent dick riding Erondale here.”

     “Oh snap, the man bares his teeth, finally,” Tony responds, “Eron, what you think about that?”

     Just as I try to swing my driving hammer, Eron places his hammer on top to block mine before saying, “I think that he’s been spying on us.”

     We share a laugh together as Eron slams my stake in for me. Tony walks down to the next one I placed and drives that one in for me as well.

     I wince in pain as I tell them, “C’mon, that’s not necessary. I can handle my work, guys.”

     “Hold your hammer above your head, then,” Tony says, testing my words.

     I try my best to lift my hammer above my head but it just clatters to the ground as my wounds from last night sends another wave of pain through my body.

     “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Head out early with your girl, man,” Tony continues to insist, taking the stakes from my hand.

     Reaching for my hammer, Eron tells me, “Ylva told us about all the shit you go through. Take the night and heal up. Can’t have one of the best human fighters in the city dying on us.”

     I hold my ribs together as I turn around and begin to walk back to the front entrance. At the very least, Eron deserves a shovel across the jaw for calling me ‘Clown Boy’, but I let it slide considering the condition I’m in. Yeah, they’re still assholes, but at least they’re decent assholes tonight.

     Before I get too far away, Eron shouts to me, “Hey, if you come to the Fights tonight, we can see about making you into a real beast.”

     Not understanding what he means and not caring enough to ask, I just lazily wave back to him as I continue limping to the start of today’s track. Once I get there, Ylva’s already waiting for me with a backpack on her shoulder.

     “Wow, look at that,” she says, checking the position of the sun, “You didn’t come half an hour early. You came a whole hour early. Guess that means that Eron and Tony listened to me.”

     Taking a deep sigh, I tell her, “Yeah, they may make me join their cult later, though. They talked about giving me a way to become ‘a real beast’, whatever the hell that means.”

     “Might be worth listening to,” she says as she loops her arm around mine, “Anything’s better than a human around here, right?”

     “Yeah, anything,” I say with a glum look on my face.

     She squeezes my arm as she tells me, “Anything but that, dickhead.”

     Closing my eyes for a quick moment, I simply respond, “Yeah, right,” as I pull myself into her vehicle.

     She flips into her convertible like a gymnast and I put up the number ten with my hands like a scorecard. She kicks her vehicle into gear and starts bolting through the city towards the nearest thicket of trees. After speeding through our steam powered metropolis, I follow her to a clearing deep inside of the forest where the nearest trees form a circle around us. She digs just long enough to make a shallow hole about my size and she tells me to lay in it.

     “Hmmm...this isn’t how I expected to go out, honestly,” I joke with her as I lay down in the soft earth, “I was betting my old man executes me or, you know, a vampire comes looking for a new blood bag.”

     “Oh, please, you’re not dying here. It’s part of the rite,” she says as she begins shoving dirt back on top of me, “Now, lie still until I dig you out of here.”

     I do as she says and she proceeds to place a number of totems and artifacts around me. She howls as the dusk sky turns to night. She begins to hum loudly, as if speaking in some odd language. She steps on to the dirt over my body. I expect to be screaming in pain, but it’s almost as if she’s floating over me. I barely feel her weight through the dirt and what little weight I do feel is comfortable, if not euphoric. The only truly painful thing about this endeavor is getting aroused by her performing these "rites” naked. She says that it helps her better connect to Gaia. The first time I was with her during one of these was just after sophomore year. She was practicing what she called a “Rite of Cleansing” on me. I don’t know if it cleansed anything. We just went out for burgers and shakes afterward. I was walking pretty awkward on the way back to the city.      Unlike back then, I actually feel something this time. It’s painful at first as I feel my ribs pop back into place. The stitches in my head break and slip out. I even feel some disks in my back slide into proper alignment. Once it’s done, I feel better than I have in months.

     I dig myself out of my small grave as Ylva gets redressed and I tell her, “So, that’s what the Garou do, huh? Healing rituals under the moon and stuff like that?”

     “Yeah, something like that,” she responds, getting her overcoat and gloves on, “Let’s get moving, Carnie. We’ve got some drinks to kill and some blood to spill.”

     As I hand her back all of her ritual pieces, I ask, “Can...uh...you change people? Like vampires do.”

     For the first time in all the time I’ve known her, she freezes in her tracks. She takes a long deep pause and a very long breath. She throws all of her trinkets into her bag before answering me.

     “Uh...no...not that I know of,” she says, hesitant to answer.

     Suspecting her to not be telling me everything, I continue to ask, “You’d tell me if there was one, right?”

     Directly after asking, she walks off toward the car as she replies, “Carnegie, it isn’t that fun being one of us. Believe me, you don’t want to be like this.”

     “Well, I don’t know,” I say, brushing dirt off the back of my head, “You seem pretty great compared to the other douchebags in the city.”

     Nervously squeezing her fingers, she tells me, “Having to constantly fight back an inner Rage isn’t ‘pretty great’ to me, but thanks, I guess.”

     She always says “I guess” when she’s bothered.

     “You know that you always say ‘I guess’ when you’re bothered, right?”

     “Then let’s change the subject.”

     “Yeah, let’s change the subject.”

     We awkwardly walk back to her car in silence, neither of us being able to think of much else to talk about on the way. Usually, we share silences pretty happily. It’s rare for us to be stunted in silence together. We hop into her car and she starts driving to the scrap yard where Noz’s Bar is located. It’s a rundown bar in comparison to the types of places that are more commonly run by vampires.      All of the places run by Kindred in the city are usually much more high end. Beautiful brass and gold plating everywhere with architecture that could hold the world on its infrastructure. Noz’s Bar is almost the complete opposite. It’s covered in rust and built out of makeshift, ill-fitting scraps of metal. The outer shell is only a cover up for probably the single place in the whole city that actually makes me feel comfortable. It could be the endless amount of drinks or the consensual spilling of blood, but something about it makes me feel at peace. Kind of wish that that a bloodsucker didn’t run the place, though. They’re okay enough bosses until they need a fresh snack, but no one likes being looked down upon no matter the situation. If it wasn’t for them ruling the world, I would have told them to shove a stake where the sun doesn’t shine years ago.

     “So,” Ylva shoots, interrupting my inner monologue, “Is that oh-so-scary ghost still haunting your dreams?”

     With a raised eyebrow, I say, “Yeah...came to me looking like a man in a suit this time. What of it?”

     “I could always ask Gaia for you,” she says, taking her eyes off the road to look at me, “She tends to know a lot.”

     I just shrug it off and go back to watching the city fly by us. It’s only a few moments before she asks another question.

     Taking a deep gulp and readjusting in her seat, she inquires about the ghost’s statements, “Does he still tell you what he always has?”

     Glancing back to her and noticing that she’s nervously pinching her fingers again, I decide not to lie and say, “Yeah...same thing he’s been telling me since he showed up.”

     Beginning to wallow in self pity, she slams me out of it by saying, “It’s bullshit, you know that right? You’re worth more living. You always have, Carnie.”

     Tired of having her save me from my constant self-worth issues, I change the subject, “So, do you know who you’re fighting tonight?”

     Clicking her tongue, she smiles as she says, “A Garou from my own tribe named ‘Scars’. He and I got into a tiff about what Gaia’s true desire for us are. We’re settling it the good old fashioned way.”

     “How good is he in a fight?” I ask.

     Licking her teeth with a bloodthirsty grimace, she responds, “Oh, he’s one of the best in the tribe. Going to be fun trading claws with him.”

     We laugh for a little bit together as I say, “Got any idea who else is going to be fighting? I feel like getting my knuckles roughed up.”

     “They always have someone there worth fighting,” she says, eyeing me up and down, “We’ll be able to find someone willing to fight you. Want me to head back to your house so you can don your usual colors?”

     Taking a moment to consider if it would be worth pissing off my old man, I smile as I tell her, “Why not? Worse thing that happens is my father tosses a bottle at me.”

     “Fat chance,” Ylva says with a smile as she turns the car towards my house.

     It doesn’t take very long for her to drive us to my place. There’s no enforced speed limits and, if there were, she wouldn’t care about them, anyway. Once at my house, I walk in, expecting to find my father screaming at something again. As it turns out, he’s not home so we walk in without being disturbed. Passing by my brother’s and mother’s rooms, I notice that the former is gone and the latter is already sleeping. Ylva waits outside my room while I quickly change clothes into my usual fighting colors and walk out.

     On our way back to the car, Ylva remarks, “You know that if you don’t want to be called ‘Clown Boy’, it probably doesn’t help when you wear bright purple to beat people’s heads in, right?”

     Closing the door behind us, I remark, “Eh, I kind of like the irony. After all, what stings the pride more than getting your ass handed to you by a ‘clown’?”

     Hopping into her car, she agrees while speeding through the streets towards the scrap yard. We trade smiles before she lets loose a few howls at the moon. The other Garou in the city respond with the night finally upon us and we find our way to Noz’s Bar. The outside of the building still has people rushing to make their way into the place, nearly getting tetanus scraping past the walls. Although the exterior is nothing get excited over, the inside is a work of genius. The bar is a fifteen foot tall wall that spans the entire hundred foot width of the building. It’s got eight people behind it at all times, and not only does it separate us from what all the rumors claim to be an orgy room behind it, but it even holds the second floor up. Above us, Noz looks down at the revelry, only really coming down to enjoy front row seats to the Fights. The twenty to thirty servers working the floor are all dressed up in burlesque or lingerie, both the men and the women. It serves humans, Garou, Vamps, even animals from time to time. All of the staff are either Half-Bloods or Ghouls, according to the owner. The owner himself is a Nosferatu, whom some say could be one of the oldest around with secrets from when the city was first being constructed. He usually has some of the best women upstairs with him, too. Surprising, considering that he’s pretty damn painful to look at.      Ylva and I step into the establishment and immediately beeline for the bar. We order our usual, which is about ten shots of liquor. We divide them up equally, clinking glasses together before knocking the first one back like it’s medicine. She howls in celebration and the entire place howls alongside her. Seems like a good number of her tribe came in from the outskirts of the city to watch her whoop this dude’s ass.      She and I down our second drinks just as the music starts playing and Ylva is feeling it. The whole floor is jumping and dancing around as tunes start filling the entire room courtesy of two enormous gramophone organs. They’re two massive organs, modified to play music from working gramophones connected to each separate key. The two organs have foot pedals that can record the last nine key strokes and then play them on repeat, allowing the organists to either join the dancers, pick up another instrument, or mix even more sounds in. Right now, the current beat is a hard-hitting and chaotic mixture of low brass notes, high tempo flutes, and insane drums. The sparse vocals thrown in match each tempo slam and tickles every body of the room into action.      Ylva is getting wilder and wilder, dancing around and whipping her hair around like a weapon. I’m leaning against the bar, just enjoying the sounds of the bar and tapping my left foot to the music as I watch her begin to skip out to the dance floor. She holds my gaze with hers and glides away as she motions for me to follow with her fingers. I stay back and laugh as I watch her dance her ass off. She sticks her tongue out at me and begins to sway her hips back and forth, jokingly licking her lips to try to drag me out on to the floor with her. Before long, I cave into the temptation, walking out to her with a shot in each of my hands. Thanks to my size, people naturally dance around me instead of into me. We down our third round and I’m too loose not to join in with her. I’m lanky and awkward. She’s fiery and precise. I get lost in futile dreams again, lying to myself just long enough to lose track of her.      It takes me a few moments but I find her talking to probably the ugliest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen. The giant engraved belt buckle indicates that he’s the owner of this establishment, the one and only Noz. The rumors weren’t kidding about Nosferatu getting the ass end of the Vampire deal. Noz is wider than me, skinnier than Ylva, and almost a half foot taller than both of us. His skin is emaciated and covered in gangrenous veins that stretch throughout his whole body. The veins look to be filled with some dull green fluid. His teeth looks like someone tried to curb stomp the back of his head with them placed on the curb but didn’t have the strength to get the job done. His eyes are a bright red, deep inlaid within a head that’s completely devoid of hair. He’s wearing a sharp black suit with grungy aviator goggles around his neck and a crumpled top hat that’s slightly off-kilter. He seems to be using a makeshift sickle as a cane to help his limp.      The man standing next to Ylva is also talking to Noz and he seems to be a slightly older man who I’d guess would be in his forties or fifties. He looks to be wearing piecemeal battle armor, cobbled together by layers of fabric and furs. He’s got war scars on his arms, neck, and the right side of his face. One of the scars is a deep cut through his right eye, which looks like he should be blind in because of. As the conversation continues, they both seem to get pretty wound up, eventually leaving the discussion while disappointingly tossing their arms into the sky. The old man, who I’m assuming is Scars, walks back to a large group that’s dressed similarly while Ylva walks back to me. She grabs my hand and pulls me back to our drinks at the bar.

     “What’s wrong?” I ask as she furiously downs her next shot.

     I down my own shot as she answers, “I’m not fighting tonight.”

     She slams back another shot and I follow suit as I say, “I’m pretty sure that we can convince the bloodsucker to reschedule the fight between you and Scars for tomorrow. He’s missing out on not letting you two duke it out.”

     Visibly upset, she orders a bottle while replying, “Scars is still fighting tonight. I’m the one being benched, Carnie!”

     “Who the hell is he fighting then?”

     “I don’t know! That Leech won’t tell me!”

     “Fuck him, then! Let’s get the hell out of here! You don’t fight, I don’t fight.”

     I pick up the bottle, toss down our payment with a tip, and pull her towards the front entrance of the bar. I notice that Noz and Scars are having another conversation, which the bloodsucker seems pretty damn smiley about. Taking a swig from the bottle, I tell Ylva to wait a moment as I march my way towards them.

     “Hey, Leper!” I scream, turning the whole bar silent.

     The music screeches to a halt. The dancing drops to a stand still. The servers stop in their tracks. The bartenders all place their cups down. All eyes are on me and the head vampire, who I just insulted.

     Not giving a damn, I continue saying, “You have any idea what you just missed out on? Having two of the best Garou in a whole tribe fight each other? You have any idea how glorious that would have been?”

     Chuckling a bit before approaching, Noz speaks with a deep baritone voice filled with enough gravel to pave a sidewalk, affirming, “Oh, I know exactly what I did, young man. I prevented two of perhaps the best fighters to have ever walked under my roof from tearing each other to shreds. They would have ruined each other so bad that they wouldn’t be able to fight for another month or two. However, do you know what YOU did?”

     “I believe I just called out a Nosferatu in his own bar. What of it?”

     “You see, this is why you humans are at the bottom of the food chain nowadays. No respect unless it’s beaten into you. If I wanted, I could have every person in here tear pieces of flesh from you until you weren’t anything but a smear.”

     He raises his left hand and every Half-Blood and Ghoul in the room drops what’s in their hand. Every vampire bares their fangs at me while every Ghoul loads or draws a weapon. He drops his left hand and they all calm down, returning to their pacifistic jobs. I don’t bat an eye.

     “Yet,” he begins, returning his attention to our conversation, “You don’t seem to care. Is that it? You don’t care about your life, kiddo?”

     With liquid courage fueling me, I exclaim, “The only thing I don’t care about is a limp-wristed, good-for-nothing, tongue-biting, plague-faced Leech and his army of dolls. Ylva and I came here to fight. Her whole tribe came out here to see that fight. I came out here to spill blood and I’m starting to want yours. You give her Scars and I’ll take on any one of your damned Blood Puppets or Vampire-Lites. Any creature, dead or alive, I’ll fight right here, right now!”

     With a menacing smile, he repeats, “ So ‘you came here to spill blood and you’re starting to want mine’? You really have a death wish, don’t you, kiddo?”

     He swings two fingers of his left hand at me and two Ghouls dive from the bar, racing towards me. I slam my fist into one of their jaws, laying them out. The other one tackles me to the ground, trying to choke me. I break her thumb back and drag her up to her feet. I grab a nearby wine bottle and crack her skull open as I smash it over her head. 

     I toss her to her boss’ feet as I scream, “We keeping the fights dirty or going into the cage? Your call, Old Man!”

     The entire room cheers and shouts in a triumphant hurrah. The music starts back up with guitarists playing their tools of trade, modified to be attached to steam whistles. The music playing crashes into everyone’s chest like war drums on the horizon. My heart starts slamming against my rib cage harder than I ever thought possible. I can feel my blood pounding my head like sledgehammers against concrete. I’m getting worked up to a point of no return. There’s more adrenaline in my veins than blood at this point. I’m higher than I’ve ever been and I don’t want to come down.

     Ylva is cheering me on as I stare down Noz before I ask, “So, who the hell am I fighting?”

     “There’s a fire in you that I like, boy,” he says with a gnarled smile, “I think I have the perfect battle for you.”

     Waiting to hear his announcement, Ylva and I toss the bottle to her tribe as she squeezes me so tight that it feels like my back is about to snap in half. I lift her up to squeeze back and she kicks her feet in the air, laughing with glee. Still foolhardy in believing this is going to have a fairy tale ending, I relish holding her in my arms. I daydream back to a summer in the forest we spent together after our last year of high school. For a moment, I earnestly believe that those days could some how return...

     Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen again.

     As the center of the floor is cleared, Noz walks up to the center of the ring. The cage slowly lowers as people begin to quiet down to a hushed murmur in anticipation of his announcement.

     “Ladies and Gentlemen! Creatures and Cretins! You know that the Fights always start with high stakes and tonight is no different! However, we do have something special this evening! A Human believes himself tougher than the usual stock of cattle and I do believe that he may just be! He’s willing to step in the ring with anyone and anything! He has told me that he has come here to spill blood and that he is starting to want some of mine! Now, wouldn’t that be something to see!”

     The entire building shakes with the amount of roars, howls, and cheers that erupt from the crowd at the aspect of Noz joining the fray.

     “Alas! Vampire versus Human is too boring of a fight!

     The entire building begins to shake with the amount of boos erupting from the crowd after hearing that.

     “Don’t worry! We have something which should be just as entertaining! We have a man who has experience in aces! From what I’ve heard about him, he’s fought more than the majority of my best fighters! He’s buried more people than he can count and has trophies to prove every single one! The first man in the Fights tonight is the Ahroun Garou himself, Scars!”

     The Bar shakes as the applause returns to approval. Ylva is cracking her knuckles, stretching her arms, limbering up her back, and popping her neck as she prepares to be the other first person up. She even ties her hair back, pulling her silver and raven locks into a single well-bound tail. I should be happy, but the only thing filling my mind is an all too familiar voice.

     “She’s going to be disappointed,” the ghost whispers in my ear, turning every other sound mute, “But, you...Congratulations, old friend of mine. You’re getting your wish.”

     As I glance up, I see Ylva with a distraught look on her face. I glance around Noz’s Bar and see the room divided. Half are excited and cheering. The other half are booing and staring daggers at me. I finally snap back into it as I hear the rest of Noz’s announcement.

     “Now, I know what you’re thinking! This isn’t going to be entertaining at all! A Mutt versus a Blood Bag? But, I got a way to make it hold your attention! This fight is No Quarter Given!”

     The entire room turns to intrigue and I start to shout in excitement alongside everyone else. Ylva tries to pull me away, a dire look in her eyes. I walk towards the cage, a smile across my face.

     “Carnie, you can’t do this. He’ll kill you,” she tells me, trying to talk me down, “Just throw the fight, alright. Go down after the first punch, take your lumps, and I’ll jump in if it gets to be too much, okay?”

     I glare at her with an offended visage plastered across my face, saying, “ ‘Take your lumps’? Did you really just tell me to do that, Ylva?”

     Realizing how bad that was, she tries to backpedal. She stammers and fumbles her words, trying to say and promise anything to get me to walk away from the fight. I don’t listen to any of it. My mind is stuck on one thing and one thing only: A damn bloody fight.      As I walk into the cage, I don’t listen to a word Noz says while the metal bars lower around Scars and I. I’ve locked my eyes on to my opponent, studying his movement and the trophies sewn into his body. I look for possible past injuries to exploit or weaknesses to break open again. I find none. My smile grows wider. Noz makes one last announcement before I can have my fun.

     “For the first time ever! We have a Fight Absent Rules! A Fight With No Limits! A Fight Between A True Wolf and a Human With True Fire In Him! On the left, Scars! The Ahroun Garou Who’s Been Fighting Since Before He Left The Womb! On the right, Carnegie! The Worthless Man Who’s Worth More Dead Than Alive!”

     Upon those words, Scars and I go to war. He tries to take it easy at first, so I spill first blood. Directly after, he starts slamming me around like a ragdoll. I feel my shoulder dislocate so I pick him up and slam him to the ground with it to realign my bones. The fight gets bloodier and bloodier as we go back and forth. He pops a claw for a wild swipe at me and I narrowly dodge it, preventing him from taking my head off. I pick him up and send him head first into the bars. I hear a satisfying crunch just before he to lets his beast out. He transforms into a large wreathe of muscle, fur, and fangs. He howls to the moon and his whole tribe joins in. All but Ylva. She’s still trying to yell at me to just lie down and take the beating. Each time she says that, all I want to do is kick his ass even harder. The fight doesn’t last much longer after this, though. I get torn to shreds, clawed all over with my guts miraculously not spilling out of me. As I’m breathing my last, another werewolf hops into the cage to shield me. At least the final show I get to watch is Ylva whooping some ass.      The next thing I see before nearly blacking out is Ylva returning to her human form as she kneels down next to me. She cradles my head as I glance past her to notice Scars’s dead body. He’s reduced to a puddle of red ground beef topped with a sprinkling of auburn and grey fur. Ylva’s bloodied and scratched up, but still looks good. I try to have one last daydream as the lights dim but my mind doesn’t seem to want to give me any peace.      I see Noz talking with two people. Their silhouettes look familiar, but my vision is going hazy. They walk closer alongside the head vampire. They talk to Ylva, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. I can’t hear a damn thing anymore. They have to drag her away from me. I try to crawl to her. A long dark boot steps in front of me. A clawed hand wraps around my throat and lifts me into the air. I can’t feel anything below my waist. There’s a numbness clawing its way up my spine. Within a moment or two, I start losing feeling in my shoulder blades and my arms fall limp. My vision is fading more, going in and out of focus. I can barely make out that it’s Noz holding me up by my neck. He tilts my head to the side. My vision fades out then back in again. I lock eyes on Ylva being held back by the two familiar silhouettes. One last daydream finally manages to seep into my mind as the ghost appears again, rushing past the three of them to get to me. Just as the ghost makes contact, I feel what I can only imagine are fangs slamming into my throat. There’s an tinge of pain then immediate ecstasy. My vision clears in these final moments and I see Ylva in all her glory. I bask in it before I finally realize who the familiar shapes are. It’s Eron and Tony, those fucking assholes.      Noz sucks the last bit of blood out of me and pulls away. He drops me to the floor like a sack of potatoes before slitting his own wrist with a fingernail and dripping the blood into my mouth . The last thing I see before my lights go out is Ylva, clutching something to her chest while tears stream down her cheeks.      For what feels like a moment, it’s darkness. A cold empty void absent life. No dreams nor nightmares. No warmth nor cold. Only memories as a fleeting comfort. The next second, I’m blinded by the light flipping back on. I’m convulsing and writhing in pain as I feel my body burn from the inside out.      I spend the next three weeks either comatose or awake long enough to feel my body destroy itself. All of the sinew in my form tears itself to shreds then rebuilds into twisted strands of muscle and skin. Each day is worse than the last. Every waking moment is welcomed and left by a guttural scream as I try to fight back the pain. During the first week spent in my fever dream, I can barely make out anything.      I know that I’m still in Noz’s Bar. I think he dragged me up into his office when I went into my first coma. During the moments I’m awake, I find myself surrounded by glass and reflections. The wounds I received from my fight are stitch themselves back together, leaving behind deep scars. There are four small blots of red, two on each side of my neck. From those blots, I see odd waves beginning to form. I hear someone yelling outside but I can’t make out who or about what. As I try to reach the window that overlooks the bar, I take one step and feel my neck seize up on me. The odd waves seem to be moving now, pulsing rapidly. With each pulse, a tidal wave of pain slams my body and all I can do is shout in horror as I feel a wildfire course through my body. Before falling unconscious again, I manage to force my eyes open as I lie on the floor with my forehead against the glass panes of the window. My vision is shot already from what feels like tears flowing out of my eyes. All I can see is a pale flash of movement being stopped by five brown blobs before my head slams against the wooden floor as the pain becomes too much to bear. This is repeated for the entire week. The grooves of fire-like waves spread from my neck and across the right side of my head. It stops a knuckle away from the corner of my lip but continues to stretch past my temple and along the back of my head. I see that the tears which were ruining my vision were blood instead of water once I’m able to see my reflection. The second week gives my whole body a dip in lava compared to the first week’s endeavors.      In the beginning, Noz is the first thing I find after waking up to the first round of wildfire in my veins. He walks away as Eron and Tony pick me up by my arms and set me on my feet in front of his desk. He says something to me, but the hammering in my skull keeps me from hearing anything. I’m in and out of consciousness constantly until I feel Eron stick a knife into my left leg. Something in me jolts up and I grab his throat. My legs strengthen and flex, forcing the knife out as I pick Eron up into the air. I throw him five feet high into the ceiling and see a chunk of concrete fall. When he lands, I pin him to the ground with his own knife. It’s as if my body is on auto-pilot, grabbing Tony by the ankle and tossing him out the window ten feet behind us. He flies to the opposite end of the bar, destroying one of the gramophone organs that softened his landing. I return to Eron, still struggling to pull the knife out of his shoulder, and bear my teeth as something compels me to bite into his neck. Before I can, a stiff pull at my collar sends the back of my head into Noz’s desk, knocking me unconscious. When I wake up, I’m bound to a bed in a straitjacket and belts as Eron and Tony are playing cards. I snap my restraints, drop to my feet, and tear my jacket to shreds as I ask them a few questions.

     “What the fuck is happening to me?” I shout, feeling pulses of burning waves continue to surge throughout my body.

     Eron, jumping up and hiding behind Tony, replies, “Yo, man, we told you we could make you into a real beast, didn’t we?”

     I snarl and take a step forward while they skip backwards as Tony tells me, “Look, man. We didn’t expect it to be this painful for you. We were honestly making bets on if you’d die like the rest.”

     “The rest?” I scream, losing control of my voice as I lurch towards them.

     Noz responds, invisible to the eye but his voice filling the room, “Many Nosferatu die during the Embrace. You’re a hopeful candidate for me, boy. From what E and T told me about you, you can take punishment. I’m hoping that’s true.”

     Before I could look around for him, I feel a guttural shriek leave my body as the pulses of wildfire burns through my veins again and floor me. The next time I wake up, I hear every voice in the bar pound into my ears and shake my entire body to its core. All of my senses are bombarded by every cheer, wail, fight, crashing glass, and heavy steam whistle. I can make out one voice in the crowd, and it’s asking about me. Pushing through the pain, I shakily stand on my own two feet and try to hobble my way out of the room, only to find a chain around my neck holding me to Noz’s desk. I cry out as loud as I can, but my throat is already gone and my voice along with it. Nobody in the crowd hears me over the revelry as another tide of agony lulls me to sleep.      The third week is the worst as the monster that plagues my dreams returns. Eron and Tony wake me up with a bucket of water. It’s night time and I’ve been writhing around in so much pain while I slept through the day that the wooden floor is missing a few boards. I jolt up like a wild animal and reach for the two of them before the chain link leash holds me in place. They stumble back, terrified of me.

     “Calm down, childe,” Noz says, throwing a rat to my feet.

     Out of sheer instinct, I drop to the floor and sink my teeth into it. I feel a rush of blood spill out of the creature before being sucked into me, turning it into an empty blood bag. My nerves calm and my mind clears a bit, but I’m hit by an influx of pain as I try to return to my feet.

     “That tasted like shit,” I tell him, grinding my teeth so hard that I feel them shift a bit.

     Laughing aloud, Noz replies, “Oh, I know. But it’s kind of a rite of passage to taste one of those as a Nosferatu. I believe Eron and Tony would call it hazing.”

     Through another cascade of aches and feverish burning, I push myself to my feet and lock eyes with my reflection. My clothes seem to have been clawed away, which I’m betting was more Scars doing than mine. My entire body is covered in a low pulsing orange glow and I can still watch as some of the wiry waves continue to grow and stretch across my body. My eyes have changed from a dull greyish-green to an ocean of red. My head, which was full of messy strands of curled black hair, is now bald aside from a small uneven strip stretching from the center peak to only a few inches back up my scalp. My fingernails are nearly sharp enough to be claws. Despite having not consumed anything in weeks, I’m not tired, thirsty, or, even more surprisingly, dead from starvation. Instead, I’m just really damn...

     “Hungry,” an uncomfortably familiar voice growls in the back of my head.

     I turn around and see the black specter that has always haunted my dreams grinning. I take a few steps toward him and see that he’s changed. His red eyes are the same as mine. The dark smoke that usually envelopes him washes away to show a savage mirror image of myself. He’s lacking all form of color, as if I’m looking at him in monochrome. The specter’s skin is paler than the moon. He lacks hair of any form and isn’t glowing like my still searing body. This creature is eerily calm, disturbingly collected, and unnervingly focused. His very presence feels like violence and voracity personified.

     “You’re not supposed to be real,” I tell him in disbelief, “I’m awake. You’re only supposed to be in my dreams.”

     “No, not your dreams,” he responds, stepping towards me, “Your conscience. Now, we don’t have one, though. We don’t need it. Now, I’m as real as you and, most importantly, we’re going to be doing this together.”

     He walks into me and I expect to feel him bounce off my chest or knock me on my ass, but all I feel is a rush of agony as the searing fever inside of me grows. Instead of flooring me, I embrace it and let the specter exhale as he whispers, “Just don’t forget to feed us and, I’ll give you this hint now, rats aren’t going to cut it.”

     Giving one last grunt, I lock eyes with Noz, who’s staring at me with intrigue. He watches me pull through one of the last excruciating pulses of the Embrace before asking, “So, you met the Beast, my boy?”

     “Get this chain off of me,” I respond, growing tired of the metal chafing my neck.

     Chuckling again, he simply tells me, “Get it off yourself. It’s only steel.”

     I start pulling at it for a few moments and Eron cracks, “Come on, Noz. He’s not going to be able to. He’s a failure like the others. Give T or I a shot.”

     Pissed at his words, I continue to jerk more and more violently as Tony pops in, remarking, “If he ain’t broke it by now, he’s not going to, Noz. If you want a stronger childe, you got Eron and I begging for this.”

     Enraged further, I give one last vehement jerk on the chain before I feel the leg of Noz’s desk shift and almost break out a floorboard. Instead of the wood flying across the room, the chain link snaps about five inches from the leg of the desk. I grab on to my metal leash with both hands and growl like a madman as I tear it in two. Eron and Tony try to run for the door, but I dash twenty-five feet in less than a second and stare them down with the chain still in my hand. They begin begging for their lives, thinking that I’m going to suck the life out of them. I snap out of my rage as it finally dons on me what’s actually happened.

     “Did you actually make me into one of you?” I ask Noz, locking eyes with him while I coil the chain in my left hand.

     “Of course,” he tells me with a cocky smirk on his face, “Do you see any other Nosferatu in the room?”

     I should be mad. I should race across this room and get myself killed trying to tear his damn head off for turning me into this monster. However, I’m more curious than upset.

     Returning my glare to Eron and Tony, I ask Noz, “Did you turn them, too?”

     “No, my dear boy,” he says, standing up from his seat and appearing behind them, “These are my two Ghouls. Have been for a while now. More loyal than hounds, these two.”

     “They certainly bark like some,” I say, turning towards the door.

     “Alright, hold on, now, Clown Boy,” Tony says, stepping up to me, “We vouched for you for this shot. You don’t get to-”

     My foot cuts him short as it crashes into his abdomen, sending him flying into Noz’s arms. Noz’s heels grind against the floorboards as he catches Tony’s unconscious body. Eron pulls out a wooden stake and nearly slams it into my chest. What would have been a guaranteed stab before, my newly improved reactions help twist me out of the way and snap his arm. He screams in pain while I calmly bend down on my knees and slide the stake out the front door. I lean against the wall as I watch Noz set the still unconscious Tony down on the floor before slowly helping Eron walk away. They exchange a few words before Noz uses a nail of his to slice his wrist open, proceeding to drip his blood into their mouths.

     After Eron stops himself from insulting me again, Noz walks up to me and places a hand on my shoulder as he says, “My boy, you have much to learn. First of which will be the few things that can hurt us, like stakes,” before jamming a wooden stake of his own into my chest.

     I feel the stake smash through my ribs and pierce my heart. My entire body locks up as a painful jolt of electricity shocks my entire system worse than the past two weeks. Paralysis seizes me but I’m still conscious, seeing Eron and Tony stand up. Eron’s arm uncomfortably snaps back into place with the bones sliding back under his skin, which then reforms and stitches together in a matter of moments. Tony stands up and struggles to walk forward as I hear the bones in his chest crumple, crack, and push his deformed midsection back into place. As they stand behind their master, Noz tears the stake from my chest and I shout in pain as it feels like barbed wire being dragged out of my chest.

     Barely managing to stay on my feet, the Beast inside tells me to tear off his head, but I fight it off to ask, “Is that the only fucking lesson, you old dirty bastard, or should I expect more of that tonight?”

     “First, I’m your ‘Sire’ if you ever find yourself needing to refer to me professionally,” he retorts with a wink, “Second, we have so much more to get to, my dear childe.”

     He goes on to tell me that he’ll be revealing everything I need to know about being a Nosferatu after each pulse from my final throws of the Embrace. For the rest of this night, he explains to me the major dangers for our “kine”, as he calls us. The common ones are what everyone knows, like sunlight and fire. Decapitation seems self-explanatory to me but he still explains it regardless. Extreme cold is a problem for vampires and is the only surprise for me. He proceeds to tell me about our sleeping habits and the “Final Death”. It barely holds my attention as the only thing I can think of now is finding someone to fight with or feed on.

     As Noz drones on and on about the intricacies of “torpor” or whatever he calls it, the Beast begins to nudge, “Are we really just going to sit here waiting for that hole in our chest to reform or are we going to feed on something to speed it up?”

     Dipping my chin lower and placing my hand over my mouth, I whisper back to it, “What do you expect me to do? Jump on Noz and sink my teeth in? Believe me, it’s crossed my mind.”

     Answering back, his voice is angrier as he nearly shouts in my ear, “Then why haven’t you yet? You can take him. You know you can. You can take on anyone now.”

     “Shut up.”

     “What? Don’t like hearing the truth?”

     “Just shut up, I’ll find something soon.”

     “Like what? A godforsaken rat again? You try to feed me that, I’ll personally take control and find the closest heartbeat walking on two legs.”

     “I said to shut up, dickhead.”

     “Asshat.”

     “Piece of shit.”

     “CLOWN BOY!”

     “FUCK YOU!”

     Snapping out of my brief conversation with the Beast, I look around to see Eron and Tony cowering behind Noz. I look down at his desk and realize that I just splintered the top of it after slamming my fist. Noz stares at my bleeding hand and waits for me to lift it out of the wooden splinters.

     As I do, Noz asks, “Are you two done with your conversation?”

     I simply nod as I readjust in my seat. He continues on for hours, just before dawn breaks. Before falling asleep, I open the door to retrieve the wooden stake I slid out earlier only to find it missing. I feel as if someone is staring at me, but I can’t seem to notice anyone around. I don’t tell Noz, Eron, or Tony about it before nodding off as dawn arrives. Violently reawakening the next night, I feel migraines pounding away in my head as if someone is driving a railroad stake through my ears.

     “Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey...won’t cut it. Let’s get to hunting,” the Beast says, rousing me awake.

     Forcing words through my seizing body, I reply aloud, “This shit better not be a regular thing. I really cannot see myself waking up to your dumbass voice every night.”

     Replying offended, the Beast says, “My ‘dumbass voice’ is the same as your voice, dumbass.”

     “Don’t call me a dumbass. Come up with your own insults,” I retort just as loud as before.

     “Can’t do that when we’re the same person, dumbass.”

     “We’re not the same person.”

     “You want to bet?”

     “I’d rather fight.”

     “And a fight you shall receive soon, my boy,” Noz shouts, standing over me, “But, first, I need to teach you about the Beast you’re talking to and the blood you’ll need to control it.”

     Giving a deep sigh, I take a seat in front of his desk as he begins to drawl about my “new” friend and how my bloodlust is only going to get stronger if I don’t sate it. Starting with the actual act of feeding, Noz tells me that a bite from a Kindred’s fangs actually fill the victim with pleasure. He follows it immediately by warning me about the Beast taking over if I go without drinking for too long. The rest I don’t really give a damn about, so I tune it out. He speaks about not needing to kill when you feast, how some feasting may be consensual, blah, blah, blah. I’m pretty sure that Noz could have just talked me to death before turning me. 

     “You know? I never really enjoyed you narrating your shitty life back when I was just a hellish nightmare and I still don’t now,” the Beast tells me.

     “Be quiet,” I whisper when Noz has his back to me, “You don’t get to talk about me narrating my shitty life.”

     “Who does?” he retorts, “Your sexy little-”

     “Werewolf!” Noz yells, having moved on to different types of blood without me realizing.

     “What?” I stammer, nearly jumping from my seat as the Beast chuckles behind my ears, “What did you say?”

     Turning around to face me, he explains, “I said ‘Now on to the Werewolf!’ You’ve been paying attention, yes?”

     He points to the usually bare wall behind his desk, revealing bullet points of each type of blood written on the wall. In a bit of irony which I’m almost certain was lost on him, Noz wrote it on his wall with blood. Eron and Tony’s, to be exact.

     Skimming through it, I simply tell him, “Uh, yeah, yeah. Animals are crap. Blood bags are bullshit. Grab a human if I can. Rats taste like shit and always will. What-the-fuck-ever, O.D.B. What about Werewolves?”

     Giving me an inquisitive look, he asks, “What’s an ‘O.D.B’?”

     Desiring more to move on with the Werewolf topic rather than explain his nickname, I sigh before saying, “Could we just continue with the Werewolf topic? Please, sire.”

     “Well, when my childe asks so politely, how can I not?” he continues while wearing a grin that I want to claw off, “The blood of a Werewolf, or a Lupine if you like that word better, is extremely potent for us Kindred. Ironic considering the fact that our blood is life-threatening to them. Picture the most potent adrenaline in the world. That’s what their blood is. It’s ridiculously delicious, double as filling as a normal human. However, the side effects can prove to be...catastrophic.”

     Intrigued by every word, I ask, “How so?”

     He answers, “Well, not only do you become obnoxiously paranoid and short-tempered, one of those two you already possess...”

     I growl a bit in response.

     “The vitae it becomes beckons the Beast due to its much more savage nature, lubricating the slope which leads into a frenzy. So, just to recap, Werewolf blood is a hell of an adrenaline shot but it could lead to more carnage than intended. You understand?”

     The Beast impishly whispers, “Oh, we understand. So, when are we finding our favorite little ‘Night Wolf’?”

     Ignoring him, I tell Noz, “Got it.”

     Patting me on the shoulder, he says, “Good, my boy. You are learning. We’ll go through what else you can do with blood tomorrow night.”

     The rest of the week passes quickly, now with Ylva back in my thoughts. As each day passes, I feel my hunger increase and thoughts of blood seeping down my throat almost becomes unbearable. I try my best to think about my time as a child, trying to find something happy to take my mind off of it. The only enjoyable memories I have as a child are of me and Ylva together. Even those are becoming sour as the Beast now speaks up whenever she pops into my head, saying things like-

     “So, when are we going for a nighttime nature hike, Clown Boy?”

     Right on queue.

     “When you understand not to call me ‘Clown Boy’, you goddamn leech,” I respond under my breath so that Noz doesn’t think I’m referring to him.

     “Then, how about I call you ‘Checkpoint Attendant’? Does that get you in the mood?”

     Continuing to try my best to ignore him through these final days of the Embrace, all of my thoughts return to Ylva. I don’t know if it’s because of me or the Beast, either. Unfortunately, I’m also confused on whether it’s me or the Beast who wants to stick my fangs in her. According to what Noz tells us, a Kindred’s bite is actually euphoric. I wonder if-

     “Of course, she’s going to like getting bit. She’s a damn werewolf.”

     God, I need to find a way to shut him up.

     “Fat chance getting me to shut up on an empty stomach.”

     Burying my face in both hands, I do my best to quiet my mind only to continue having him poke and prod me tirelessly. Each night brings a worse pulse of heat than the one before, indicating the Embrace ending soon. Noz finishes teaching me the rest of the intricacies to being a Kindred and a Nosferatu. My head continues to pulse with the dire necessity to feed. When the last night of the Embrace comes, Noz presents one final lesson.

     “Last but not least, I think it’s best if you experience the true effects of a proper torpor,” he tells me while I check a mirror to see all of the waves across my body losing their fiery glow, making the changes permanent.

     Hoping for one of the things I’ve been craving since I’ve changed, I ask him, “Does that mean that I’m finally getting to enter the cage again?”

     Snapping both of his fingers, he tells me, “Not exactly.”

     I turn around to see the entirety of his workforce now standing between him and I in his office. The count is exactly forty-two to one, all Ghouls including Eron and Tony. None have weapons with them, which is rather disappointing. However, pretty good odds are that I’m not walking out of this room. I’m more than okay with that as I stare them down.

     “So, my childe,” Noz speaks up again after allowing me to take in my situation, “I know you can take some punishment, so that’s why I brought in all of my employees to get this done as quick as possible. On top of all this, I do have an order for you, my boy. No. Fighting. Back.”

     I don’t respond to that request. Noz waits for an answer until his patience runs out a few moments later. He bows his head in dismay before taking a step back and clapping his heads. All forty-two employees rush me like they’re in heat. The Beast and I growl at them, reveling in the bloodbath that ensues.      Torpor isn’t as relaxing as how Noz described it to be. All there is is a blank slate of nothing all around me. I caused plenty of damage but I know that I “died”. It’s not the Final Death, or at least I hope not. No dreams come to me while I recuperate. The one thing that wakes me up is the Beast snarling in my ears louder than a handful of steam whistles.      My eyes shoot open and I feel weight all around me. I hear gravel shift, late night whistles blow, and voices disappearing around me. Machines are still whirring above, vibrating the ground around me. Forcing my hands open from the rigor mortis, I shoot my arm up, expecting to be buried deep. The majority of my arm feels the nightly rain splatter across it, leaving just under my elbow still below ground. I take my shallow grave as an insult with a fistful of gravel in my hand. Hearing light footsteps approach me, I sit straight up and the gravel washes away as I grab the throat of whoever walked within reach.      It’s a child, a young boy covered in oil and dirt. With my hunger stronger than ever before, I can practically see his heart rate spike, pumping blood to every major vein and artery in his body. He’s young, maybe ten or eleven. He shouldn’t be working yet, but our overlords never cared about age when a job needed to get done. Looking around, the surrounding area feels familiar, yet I don’t have much of a mind to find out. The Beast is clawing at my eyes with its demand to feed.

     Glancing at the terrified boy’s neck, I feel him shaking in my grasp as the Beast shouts, “I need blood. We need blood! The boy is weak and defenseless. Drain him already!”

     It’s hard to resist as I instinctively bare my teeth, but I glance up to his face and my grip loosens. He’s got a dark black ring around his right eye accompanied by slight swelling around his left. The hooded jacket he’s wearing is torn and tattered, allowing me to see the wrappings around his right arm beneath the sleeve. I hear metal supports and straps clang against each other as he tries to kick loose, revealing that he has a metal brace around one of his legs. Placing him down gently on the ground, I manage to fight back the Beast and regain control.

     Before the kid gets back to his feet, I ask, “Who did that to you?”

     Rubbing his neck as he lies on the ground, he responds, “What do you care? You nearly took my head off.”

     As the Beast tries to rouse me into feeding again, I squeeze my eyelids shut to resist as I tell the boy, “Sorry about that. It’s just that I used to know some kids who got beat before I-uh.” 

     Seeing him still terrified as he returns to his feet, I simply take a deep sigh as I continue to say, “I’ll just leave.”

     Turning around, the Beast continues to shout and curse at me. It wants me to drink the kid like a juice box, but I can’t bring myself to. I consider other places to go until I realize that I can’t remember where I am in the city.

     “You’re lost, aren’t you?” the kid asks, sneaking up to my side, “Thanks for not drinking me.”

     Momentarily caught off by not noticing him approach, I tell him, “Don’t mention it. Besides, I want a fight if I’m going to have a meal. Was hoping that you knew someone. That’s all.”

     The boy releases a depressed sigh as he says, “Well, I do. He’s my new foster dad, and he’s an asshole.”

     My eyes were scanning the nearby streets before they shot back to the kid after hearing him speak of his father, prompting me to ask, “How long have you been with him?”

     “Only a month,” he says, bending over and holding his right leg, “Only a month and I’ve been beat more than the three years I’ve been an orphan. I thought I had it good, at first. Got a mother and an older brother out of it as well, but they’re practically useless. I was hoping that the orphanage would have sent people to check in by now and take me away, but they won’t. It’s as if they just forgot about me.”

     As he says that, my eyes widen with intrigue as the Beast quiets just long enough for me to realize where we are. I turn around and see the unfinished railroad back where I dug myself up, spikes and tracks lying alongside my grave intended to have been on top of me the next day. The oil and blisters on his hands remind me of when I was working the line a month ago. The truth hits me like a stomp to the gut or a knife in the ribs.

     “Your old man is a Ghoul. Your older brother is a deadbeat who gets beat to shit and returns home too drunk to hold a conversation. Your mother spends hours in the bathroom, alone and in silence due to a needle in her arm,” I growl through clenched and bleeding teeth, “Is any of that accurate?”

     Stunned for a moment, the kid stutters as he says, “Who are you, mister?”

     “Take your time getting home,” I tell him as I dash off towards my old house.

     I’m infuriated and I can feel that familiar burn in my chest grow again. I was gone for weeks and it just donned on me that none of my own family cared to search during the three weeks I was stuck in the Embrace. They found a replacement, another kid to use as a punching bag, instead of trying to find some way to lay me to rest. My Beast is laughing joyously as all I feel inside is the desire to shred someone into minced meat.

     In what feels like less than ten minutes, I’m outside of my old home. Keeping to the shadows, I stalk my old family. My former mother is in the bathroom, tying the belt around her arm with new bruises around her neck.

     The Beast snarls, “She was weak when you were alive and she’s just as weak now.”

     Silently agreeing, I make my way over to my former brother’s small window and notice that he’s grabbing his dice, his set of cards, and a few extra bottles before walking out. He’s healing well, but he’s missing a few front teeth.

     The Beast gives a snicker as he says, “He’s always been dead meat. Surprised he wasn’t next to us in the ground. Just a lost cause for us to drain later.”

     Flinching at the thought but not arguing, I sneak in through the front door as he leaves the house. After taking a number of minutes to stare at the back of my father’s head, I slowly make my way through my old home. The hole in the hallway wall he slammed me into is still there, a pile of drywall and splintered wood boards still making it awkward to step around. Gradually making my way to my old room, I see that everything which was mine is already gone, everything from the carpet to the paint on the walls. The walls and carpet already shows some wear and tear, revealing to me that they didn’t wait long before calling me dead and gone. I notice drops of dried blood next to the kid’s bed. I kneel down and use a fingernail to etch a message into his wooden bed frame then I stand as still as possible in the corner of the room between those blood spots and the door.

     “There’s going to be four bodies after we’re done,” the Beast tells me, “Which are we killing?”

     “Only one,” I snarl back, “And it’s one we’ve always wanted.”

     The Beast chortles in anticipation and we wait nearly two hours for the kid to get home. The moment he walks in, it starts to sound like a record repeating itself.

     “What the hell took you so long to get here, ‘Earwig’?” my father says, boisterous and enraged.

     Placing what sounds like three bags of food on the table, the kid replies, “I missed the last train because the food order took longer than usual. Had to walk home in the rain.”

     Pulling out a delivery box from a sack and opening it, my father frustratingly shuts it as he shouts, “All of this shit’s drenched in rain water! I can’t eat this!”

     “Sorry, sir,” the boy replies with a timid voice, “But, I couldn’t get a ride home and the rain only got worse. I did my best t-”

     A plate shatters against a wall as my father asserts, “Your ‘best’ needs to get better! Slow walking is no excuse for ruining food! Now, clean that up, ‘Earwig.’ ”

     Putting a surprised yet pleasant smile on my face, the kid surprises me by shooting back, “My name is Ludwig and you can clean it yourself!”

     He’s breathing heavy and his heart starts slamming against his chest. The kid tries to apologize, but it’s too late. I can feel my father’s blood running hot from the other side of the house.

     “We should attack now,” the Beast suggests, eager to feed.

     “Not yet,” I reply, waiting for him to get closer to Ludwig’s room.

     The next thing I hear is a grunt from the kid and him flying into the closed bathroom door on this side of the house. The door breaks inward slightly, allowing the scent of my mother’s horrid sweat to fill the house. Through the disgusting refuse wafting around the house, I catch a whiff of blood as the back of Ludwig’s head is cut open. He falls on to his side and touches the back of his head, smearing his blonde hair orange with blood as he looks up in horror. The smell of fresh vitae fills my nostrils and the Beast nearly grabs the steering wheel. I manage to barely regain control so as not to leap on Ludwig.      Our father relies on his old tricks, so he’s slowly walking down the hall as he shouts about how it’s Ludwig’s fault that he’s getting hurt. The kid quickly crawls into his room and tries to shut the door behind him. Father picks up the pace just enough to interpose his hand between the door and the wall. Ludwig continues trying to shut it but is simply tossed across the floor as the door flies open. He nearly touches my feet before he slides to a halt. He tries desperately to crawl under his bed as our father locks the door after stepping in. He drags Ludwig out by his ankles, pulls him to his feet, then knocks him back down to the floor on the right side of the bed, directly next to the dried blood from the previous times. Ludwig gets hit by a few more swings, interrupting his attempts to apologize. Our father is shouting louder and louder about him not allowing his son to disrespect him like that. He’s so loud that our neighbors on both sides of the house can hear. As always, they don’t do anything.      Letting up just enough to allow Ludwig to glance to his bed frame, I see the expression in his eyes change. My fangs ache and my hands clench into fists as I wait to hear-

     “CARNEGIE!” Ludwig shouts before our father can land another punch.

     Pausing in surprise, our father tries to ask why he said that name but I interrupt him with a kick to his lower spine. A sickening pop comes from his back as he flies face first into the wall three feet in front of him, leaving a large imprint as he falls backwards. Ludwig rolls to the side before getting crushed by him then crawls behind me. Clutching his back in pain, my father tries to roll over just as I slam my right foot into the center of his chest. He coughs up blood after an excruciating crunch of bone escapes from under my foot. A splash of blood hits my face and I lick it off my lips. 

     The Beast pulls my attention aside, calling out, “Stop playing with your food and consume this mealworm!”

     I shout aloud, “NO! I want him to fight,” answering the Beast as I allow my father to return to his feet.

     He gets up in a flash and leaps off of the wall with a kick. I grab his leg with both hands before sinking my teeth into his calf. I take a chunk of flesh out of it as I swing him back down to the ground. He manages to limp back up on to his feet and I let him throw a flurry of punches at me. Before the Embrace, his strikes were too fast for me to even register before getting hit. Now, it’s as if he’s a ninety year old man in a wheelchair. He swings with his right fist and I claw it, painting some of the nearby wall red. He tries his left fist, so I repeat the lesson and splatter the bed with his blood. Desperation mounting in his eyes, he feebly kicks at me and I stomp in his support leg’s knee, laughing a bit as he crumples to the ground. He tries begging for his life. I grab him by the collar and set him on his knees.

     Tears in his eyes, he asks me, “Why are you doing this to me? I did everything I was told!”

     With a malicious grin and my blood thirst piquing, I grab his neck as I reply, “Because I want to!”

     Futile in his requests for mercy, I slam him into the ceiling by the throat and watch his eyes turn bloodshot from the strangulation. My grin grows wider as I tease the Beast.

     “Hurry up and sink your fangs in before I do it myself!” it shouts at me.

     Shoving my other hand into the top of his rib cage, I tell the Beast, “No...he’s not going to enjoy this.”

     Refusing to give the lowlife the euphoria which comes with a Kindred’s bite, I rend his head from his body. In one fluid motion, I pull his neck and head from his shoulders with my right hand as my left hand tears his body away. The blood flows like a river from his neck and I sink my teeth into it to suck it dry before all of it soaks the carpet. After finishing the decapitated head, I toss it to the side as I lift up his body and slam my fangs into the stump of the neck, still drinking greedily. Once it’s empty, I let it slump to the ground as the warm blood calms my mind and quiets the Beast. For the first time since my death, the Beast goes completely silent after a satisfied murmur.

     Hearing feet shuffle behind me, I twist around to lock eyes with Ludwig after forgetting that he was still in the room and I tell him, “Sorry, that you had to see that.”

     His hands are shaking but his breathing is steady as he says, “I’ve seen worse and he deserved it. Are you going to do that to the others?”

     I expect the Beast to pull me towards sinking my fangs into them, but I’m relieved by the absent silence and respond, “No, that son of a bitch was enough. I’m going to go make sure that the others straighten up their acts before the night’s up, make sure they do right by you. I’ll drag this body out of the room and-”

     I’m interrupted by banging on the front door. It’s a stronger arm than my former brother’s and the night is too young for him to be back already. The door unlocks and two sets of feet enter. I can smell the liquor on their breath as they shout for my father to join them. I don’t recognize their voices as I step closer to the door. The body is still fresh and the room is still rife with the scent of blood. The two men make their way to Ludwig’s door then proceed to slam their fists into it. I let out a low growl, just loud enough for them to hear. They stop for a second then whisper back and forth before one runs outside while the other continues to try to break down the door.

     Stopping me from opening the door, Ludwig pulls me to the desk next to his bed as he tells me, “There’s a small hole behind my desk. I use it to sneak out at night when I’m tired of being here.”

     Huh...I should have thought of that.

     “Ludwig, you don’t have to help me,” I tell him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “But thanks for doing so.”

     He gives me a worried smile before hugging my legs as he asks, “Is your name actually ‘Carnegie?’ ”

     Stunned by the show of affection for a bloodsucker who just killed his foster father, I just stare at him, not being able to think of a response.

     “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” he says, releasing me as he turns back towards the door.

     I pull the desk aside and tear the metal panel away. The hole is only large enough for him. He seems like a smart boy, so I’m pretty sure the shock from what I did just made the size slip his mind.

     “Stay safe, Ludwig,” I tell him, “I’m going to return tomorrow night to make sure that your mother and Everett learned their lesson. Just warning you now that there’s going to be a lot more blood and carnage to come. I’d rather you not see it.”

     “For a monster, you’re pretty soft, Carnegie,” the kid says with a dickhead smile.

     I smirk back at him as I widen the hole by shoving my shoulder through it. I step out into the rain which is now falling harder. Footsteps begin to approach just as the door to Ludwig’s room flies open. Before the man running around the house can spot me, I step backwards into an alley and wait to see what they do. Ludwig loses track of me as I become invisible to the naked eye. The man in his room demands answers on what happened to his “boss”, pointing to the bloodstain that was once my father. Ludwig tells him that a crazy Half-Blood fought him, shouting about how he failed the Royal Family one too many times. The man eats it up with a distressed expression, but I can hardly believe it.      That sack of crop feeder was actually a Ghoul of the Royal Family, the incestuous bastards who’ve ruled the entire city since it’s creation a millennia ago. They’re also the strongest vampires in the land and, if I’m to believe what Ludwig told my father’s friend, I just slaughtered one of their personal toys. Generations of inbreeding has turned their minds to mush, leaving this city in a dumpster fire about to be run by two of the most batshit crazy vampires who are betrothed to each other. The Prince and Princess of Ustrus, soon to be King and Queen, are the most psychotic, deranged, and irrational leeches in the world. It’s not going to be long before they start splaying entrails across every street in the city on a wild goose chase. Releasing a deep sigh, I make my way to my brother’s favorite stomping grounds as the Beast returns after using one of my vampiric abilities.

     Giving a guttural laugh, the Beast says, “So, are we hoping to eat the Prince or Princess then?”

     “Neither,” I tell him, wading through a massive crowd in search of Everett, “Once we get our old family straightened out, we’re leaving the city.”

     “Fat chance with that look in your eyes,” the Beast remarks, “With everything that Noz has told you about the displeasure around the Royal Family, you’re not going to miss out on what’s next. You know why?”

     I don’t answer while I continue scouring the gambling halls for my brother.

     “It’s because a war’s on the horizon and you taste it,” he tells me, revealing the truth that I didn’t want to face, “It’s on your lips. You can lick the air and grow hungrier by how soaked it is in anticipation of the blood that’s going to fill it. You want a piece of that. Hell, you want the entire fucking thing and you’re not going to leave until you get it.”

     I wish that I could argue and prove him wrong somehow. Unfortunately, it’s impossible for me to think of a rebuttal. The Beast leaves me to my search and, soon enough, a smash of glass echoes across the tables, leading me to my former brother. On the way, I realize that I won’t be able to stay invisible long with so many people around me since a strong nudge is enough to reveal me. As the other gambling night owls get up to investigate the fight, I take my time to find some better attire than the bloodstained and dirt soiled scraps of fabric wrapped around me. An unconscious, rotund drunkard loses his dark grey shirt just before one of the wait staff finds their red vest missing from the locker they left it in. She won’t miss the vest, as it’s filled with holes and loose strands but she will be rather upset at the loss of the pocket watch she left in it. Unfortunately, I’m unable to find a replacement for my dark brown trousers, tattered and riddled with a Garou’s claw marks, but I do manage to find some hefty coal miner’s boots. I don my new attire and drop my unseen passage as I make my way towards the back of the establishment.      The crowd of people are packed outside the backdoor of the building, standing in the area where all of the wasted booze and trash gets thrown out. The rain is washing away the usually horrid smell, allowing them the opportunity to get a decent show. The performance tonight is the same every weekend, starting just after midnight. Everett, my former brother, got caught counting cards in a desperate attempt to win enough money from the gambling halls so as to pay off the debt he owes to the owner of these very same gambling halls. Before he was tossed outside, he had a bottle smashed over his head, evident by the stream of crimson rolling down from his hair. Currently, he’s withstanding the second act, getting pummeled by the owner’s enforcer. The enforcer is built like a brick shit house but hits like a sledgehammer. Despite not needing them, he uses a pair of brass knuckles to really drive the punishment home. Everett receives a dislocated jaw, cracked nose, two broken ribs, an eye swollen shut, and a split open upper lip before the owner starts the third act, which is berating him in front of the other gamblers so as to make him an example. It’s a broken record at this point, considering how many times he’s had to give this speech over my former brother’s barely conscious body. The only surprising thing I hear is that Everett has actually paid off his debt tonight, but doing it by gambling at the same establishment he accrued it at rubbed the owner the wrong way. The games at the gambling halls aren’t regulated or controlled by the owner of the building. He just takes a share of any and all profits made on his establishment, so Everett still managed to pay off his debt by gambling here. He’s just getting the shit kicked out of him because he was able to find a loop hole and exploit it.      After giving him his proper talking to, the owner and enforcer leave Everett to bleed in the rubbish where he belongs as they usher the people back into the building. Everett is barely able to open an eye as I stalk the owner back to his office. His enforcer cracks a joke about how easy brass knuckles make a fight. The owner laughs as he counts the dirty money Everett dropped at his feet before getting thrashed. They’re regular humans so they don’t notice me sneak into their office until I’ve locked the door. His office is far enough in the back that nobody hears their screams. It takes me less than a minute to deal with them. The owner tries to warn his enforcer about me as I twist the man’s head around. The owner takes out a machete to fight me, but he’s terrified and slips on a bottle as he tries to charge me. As he stumbles but manages to stay on his feet, I grab his wrist and break it, picking up the machete for myself. He tries to yell at me about money hidden under his desk as he puts his back against a wall and tries to slide along it to the door. I cleave him in two, from his left shoulder through the middle of his right thigh, before he can reach the doorknob. I grab the enforcer in one hand and the upper half of the owner in the other after strapping the machete to my waist with some loose rope. I also pocket the two brass knuckles as I carry their bodies off with another eleven feet of rope. I leave them in Everett’s room, hanging by their necks with their eyes towards his door. The top half of the owner is still dripping as he softly swings left and right. The enforcer’s face is towards the door while his body is facing the opposite wall.      My former mother is trying to sleep off her latest hit, so she doesn’t notice anything. The men have left already and Ludwig isn’t in his room. I worry a little about where he might have gone as I go back out into the rain to find the drug dealers. They’re easy to locate due to the number of junkies twitching outside their front door.      Her suppliers live in the neighborhoods closer to the edge of the forests. They turn out to be two meek Thin-Bloods, so they’re dealt with almost as easily the other two I killed less than an hour before. The cook I leave alive, making it clear that he’s not allowed to deal to any mother’s living in a certain sector of the town. He refuses at first, so I tear the head off of his friend. Both pieces of him wither to a rotting corpse in a matter of seconds as the Final Death arrives. The cook complies to my demands. I carry his friend’s two pieces back to my former home and sneak them into my mother’s bed. I place the withered head on her bedside table and the body lying at the foot of her bed. I find and crush all of her needles then place their pieces around the body. Ludwig helps me find her stash of drugs, having returned from bringing Everett back home. I leave the house with what feels like almost a cinder block worth of drugs to dispose of it and Ludwig follows me out.

     As we walk towards the forest, I ask him, “None of that stuff I just put in there freaks you out?”

     With a glum expression, he says, “I’ve seen badder things done in the orphanages when the fancy vampires come looking for food. Some more bloody bodies won’t change how bad my nightmares are.” 

     “Still,” I continue to press, “That was your foster father I tore in two and I’m terrorizing both your foster mother and foster brother, too. None of that rubs you the wrong way?”

     “I’ve had a pretty big number of foster homes,” he tells me while sneezing from the rain, “He was the worst father I’ve ever had and the mom doesn’t care enough to even look at me. My foster brother is okay when he’s not drunk. He’s been drunk almost every day since I got to the home. You’re the only person so far who actually calls me by my name. Wish you were my brother.”

     The conversation stops after I hear those words. It hurts knowing that someone actually wants to be my family. It pains me even more that he’s the kind of kid I wish Everett was growing up. We walk in silence for a while until a shape steps out in front of us and growls. It’s on all fours and stares at us from about thirty feet away. Ludwig takes a step closer to me, but I tell him that it’s okay. The eyes are the color of blue ice and the hair is a familiar mix of silver and black. He calms down after I tell him that she’s a friend.

     “I was just on my way to find you,” I shout to her, taking a few steps closer, “Sorry that I didn’t come earlier. There’s not much time left in the night but we could go for a drink at Noz’s, if you’d like. I kind of got some pull around there now.”

     I give a half-assed chuckle, hoping that she’ll chuckle back. She doesn’t as she steps closer to us. It’s not until she’s within ten feet that I can hear her wining in sadness. Not wanting to provoke her in any way, I stay still as she approaches, waiting for her to make a move. I blink once and she’s standing in front of me, rain hitting her naked body. I lower my right hand to cover Ludwig’s eyes.

     Sniffing around me a little bit, she almost can’t believe her eyes as she stares at me, saying, “Really? That’s all you have to say? You’re sorry that you didn’t come earlier? That’s all I get?”

     “Uhhhh,” I say as I try to think of something before she slaps me across the face. Her hand slams against my cheek before I can come up with anything.

     “A whole month,” she tells me, fury painting her face, “You were gone for a whole month before I heard any news about you.”

     I stare her in the eyes, admiring the icy blue once more. It feels like an eternity since I was this close to her. It puts my mind at ease that she’s still okay. It doesn’t help that she’s fighting back tears.

     “Look, I wanted to see you sooner but I couldn’t,” I tell her, trying to put my hands on her shoulders.

     She tenses up as they reach her, prompting her to shoot back, “You ‘couldn’t?’ Really? What the hell was keeping you?”

     She waits for a response and my mind races trying to think of one, bouncing from lie to partial truth to laying out the entire story about my Embrace and everything in between. I begin to reply, “I’ll tell you everything if-”

     She smacks my arms down off of her shoulder then tries to swing back around to give me a punch across the jaw. I shock her when I catch her fist with a single hand and hold it still as I finish saying, “I’ll tell you everything if we share a drink at Noz’s bar before dawn comes.”

     Looking at her fist, her eyes flash from anger to surprise to worry as I let it go. She looks me up and down in an awful look of pain before glancing down to Ludwig, who’s trying to peak through my fingers.

     “Is it just going to be you and me or is your new brother coming, too?” she asks with a frustrated sigh.

     “It’s just going to be me and you,” I tell her, putting my hand on Ludwig’s shoulder, “Just...put some clothes on before his nose starts bleeding, will ya?”

     Rolling her eyes, she walks back into the rain to retrieve her clothes while I pull Ludwig off to the side.

     “Ludwig, I need you to go home.”

     “What did she mean by calling me ‘your new brother’?”

     “Nothing, kid. Just head back, alright?”

     “I want to talk to her some more, though.”

     “I’ll try to convince her to later, but I need you to go home, now. Understand?”

     “But-”

     “Ludwig, you saw what I can do. She can do just as much and she’s very angry with me because of what I’ve done. I don’t want you around if she and I start fighting, alright? You need to go home. Do you understand?”

     “Fine,” he reluctantly says, rolling his head back in annoyance.

     As he walks away, I shout to him, “We’ll talk more tomorrow night, alright?”

     He flips me off as he walks away. When I turn around, Ylva is standing closer than before, wearing a tattered military jacket over an ill-fitting corset wrapped around a collared shirt that looks like it’s been mauled. The shirt is stained with blood and looks like she shoddily stitched it together, making it roughly the right size for her. It’s odd as I know that there are plenty of seamstresses in her tribe who would be able to stitch it properly. Her worn grey pants are caked in mud and frayed at the end. Her boots are heavy soled, tied up in buckles and strips of fabric. She always wears earthy colors and this is no different. The only odd new addition is the torn shirt, which seems to have be a dark tone of purple. Another new addition is a shoulder harness accompanied by a brass cover and a sheathed sword.

     She says, “You’re buying the first round,” before walking off towards the scrap yard.

     I tell her, “I owe you that much.”

     She snaps, “You owe me a hell of a lot more than that, Carnie!”

     I follow with a dumb smile on my face. I missed hearing her call me that. We don’t really talk on the way to Noz’s. The walk to the bar mainly consisted of Ylva staring at me while I would try to glance back at her. She would always awkwardly avert her eyes. She used to never turn away when I looked at her.      We step into Noz’s Bar only a few hours from dawn, so it’s pretty scarce. The majority of the staff are collecting bottles, cups, glasses, even the occasional scrap of clothing. A few are scrubbing the blood out of the cracks in the concrete floor. We sit down at the bar and I put my hand up as I call out for one of the bartenders by name. The one that walks down is a cool and collected Ghoul with a constantly emotionless face by the name of Bartholomew.

     “Hey, Carnegie,” the soulless ginger says, placing down a glass cup he’s cleaning, “What’s your choice of poison tonight?”

     “Ten shots of whiskey, if you don’t mind,” I tell him, glancing to Ylva.

     She seems tense as she adjusts the sword on her back and says, “Doubles, if you don’t mind.”

     “Uhhhh,” Bartholomew stops, recognizing her, “You’re not allowed in here, anymore. You know that.”

     “Wait, what do you mean?” I ask, holding my hand out for Ylva to stay.

     “Didn’t Noz tell you?” he responds with an odd look on his face.

     “I may have made some threats. It’s nothing. Let’s just head out,” Ylva says, trying to stand up from the bar.

     “Let’s just...wait. Who did you insult? Who did she insult?” I question, flipping between both of them.

     They answer simultaneously with a resounding, “Noz,” and the only reason why I’m surprised is that no one told me before.

     “How long has it been?” I continue to prod.

     Both still answering simultaneously, they say, “A month.”

     “Why didn’t anyone here tell me?” I ask Bartholomew specifically.

     He doesn’t answer so I say it louder for the whole bar to hear. All of the workers stop working to lock eyes on me. Standing up from my seat, I slowly spin on my heel and notice that every person looks to the ground as my eyes meet theirs.

     Sitting back down at the bar, I stare at Bartholomew and he continues cleaning a glass as I say, “Well, if none of you are going to tell me, where’s that disgusting son of a bitch at so I can ask him myself?”

     “He won’t like that you called him that,” Bartholomew says, picking up another cup to clean.

     “Was that my question, Bartholomew?” I tell him, staring him down as he looks away with a miffed sigh, “Look at me.”

     Defiantly doing so, I place my hands on the bar as I say as calmly as I can with the Beast clawing at me to kill every single person here, “If Noz is here, I’d like to speak with him. Is he on the premises?”

     “No, Carnegie,” he responds with a tired exhale, “He’s gone to talk to the Royal Family. He won’t return until tomorrow night.”

     “Well, in that case,” I begin to say while grabbing two bottles of whiskey from behind the bar, “Ylva and I are going to be enjoying some drinks while I relieve you all for the night.”

     Upon hearing that, the majority of the bar drops what they’re doing and leaves. The only ones left aside from Ylva and I are Eron, Tony, and Bartholomew. Eron and Tony rush downstairs from Noz’s office with stupefied looks plastered across their faces, ignoring Ylva as they run up so close to me that I can feel their breath.

     “Why the hell are they leaving?” Eron shouts, throwing his hands in the air.

     “Noz only lets them out after they’re done cleaning and this is nowhere near finished. What the hell, Clown Boy?” Tony screams, fired up next to Eron.

     Hearing a nickname everyone knows not to call me, I grab Tony and Eron by the throat. I lift them off of the ground and wait for their faces to turn blue before I ask my first question.

     “What did you just call me?” I snarl, pulling them closer to my face.

      Tony coughs out, “Look, I was pissed, man. I’m sorry.”

     “Yeah, we made a mistake, bud,” Eron hacks up, struggling to breathe, “C’mon, Carnie. We-”

     My grip tightens as I tell them not to call me that either. They gasp for air after I drop them to the floor. Letting them scurry away, I yell after them to come back with Noz before returning to my seat. After watching them run off into the rain, I turn around to see Ylva smiling a bit while Bartholomew is setting up glasses.

     “Aren’t you going to leave?” I ask him, uncorking a bottle.

     “Got no other place to go. I sleep in the back ever since Noz got this death trap,” he says as he pours three glasses and distributes them between us.

     “What’s this?” Ylva asks, swirling the mystery liquor in her cup.

     “It’s the most expensive import in the bar, usually only drank by Noz himself,” he replies, holding his cup out to clink glasses.

     Ylva and I knock our glasses into his as I ask, “What are we toasting to?”

     “Unemployment,” he responds, finishing the drink in a satisfied gulp, “After tonight, I’m surely getting fired by the regnant for this shit.”

     “Nah, nobody’s getting fired. Don’t worry about it,” I tell him, placing my cup down, “I can talk to him. He’s got a soft spot for me as his childe.”

     Chuckling a bit to himself before turning around to kick open the door behind the bar, Bartholomew tells me, “Yeah, sure. Keep thinking that, boyo. I’m going to have one last peaceful rest before I lose my job, my home, and my blood supply. Don’t leave claw marks on the bar, you two. Or do...I don’t really care at this point.”

     I turn my eyes to Ylva and she playfully flicks her eyebrows up a few times before we burst out laughing. She and I finish our special drinks before we start pouring each other shots. It tastes like a special mead, filled with a number of spices neither of us are familiar with. It’s sweet against the tongue, flows down smooth then bites back right at the end. I can see why Noz usually keeps it for himself.

     Turning to Ylva, I say, “I...uhhh...I missed your laugh.”

     Smiling for a moment then turning back to anger, she tells me, “If you missed it, you would have found me a lot sooner.”

     Stinging my smile away, I tell her, “Look, I’m sorry. You should have been the first person I found.”

     “Yeah, I really should have been,” she tells me, slamming a shot down in front of me, “You’re old family didn’t even want your body. Did you know that?”

     I slam the shot back with her and let her continue uninterrupted as I pour the next round.

     “They got your body a week ago. I asked if I could see it and your dickhead of a father told me that I wasn’t allowed to because I’m not family. It was bullshit, so I threatened his life. He promised to show me the next night. I came over and got jumped by him and two other Blood Puppet bastards. He made Ludwig drag me out. Surprised that he could, honestly. Kid’s nice, too. He was the one who actually told me what they did with you.”

     “What’d they do? I know for a fact that they didn’t give me a funeral,” I remark as we finish our second round of shots.

     Pouring our third pair of shots, she continues, “You’re right. The heartless assholes didn’t. They just shoved you in a hole somewhere in the train yards. I spent most of my nights looking for you, but couldn’t find anything. I held a funeral for you alone.”

     Picking up our shots, I notice her shaking a little bit as I tell her, “Thanks for that. I appreciate it.”

     She slams her shot down to the bar with a resounding, “Fuck you, Carnie!”

     I gently place mine back down while she continued to shout, “You haven’t explained anything, yet. Don’t you think that I deserve that? Don’t you think that I deserve to know what the hell happened to my best friend?”

     “Of course, you do,” I tell her, picking her drink back up before it spills more, “Just calm d-”

     “How do I calm down after my best friend since the age of four miraculously returns to life? How do I calm down after searching for him for three weeks, believing him dead for an extra one, and then following his scent around the city? How do I calm down after watching a man, who I’ve seen take beating after beating for his family, tear his own father in two?”

     “Wait, you saw that?”

     “Yeah, I also saw you break through a giant concrete wall to get out. Before you ask, I’ll let you know that I also saw how you got rid of your mother’s drug habit tonight.”

     “Just hold on, let me just say that-”

     “On top of all of that, I can only imagine what you did to Turkovsky and his lap dog, Gio, but I have a pretty good idea considering that you left with their weapons on you and two sacks tied with rope. I can even still smell their blood on you.”

     “Listen, they deserved it and y-”

     “Carnie, that’s not what bothers me. People die, that’s fine and all. They were all piece of shit lowlifes who were going to die horrible deaths with or without you speeding up the process.”

     “Then just calm down and tell me what you want me to explain!” I shout, annoyed by the number of questions and interruptions.

     Taking a deep breath and wiping a tear away, she asks, “How am I supposed to calm down when you don’t have a heartbeat, Carnie?”

     Placing our shots down gently, I breathe in all the pain I didn’t know was possible for me to feel as I say, “Can we just take another shot before I tell you everything?”

     She nods and finishes wiping away a few final tears before I tell her all that has happened to me since my last night with her. I let her know about the Embrace and how painful it was. She listens to me as I talk about how Noz kept me chained and tied down for the majority of it, not allowing me to leave the office. I only inform her about Noz teaching me about being a Kindred, not the specifics. I even tell her about what I did earlier tonight, proudly giving her the details about tonight’s affairs.

     Finishing our sixth shot by the time I’m done telling her everything, she says, “I knew it! I fucking knew that you were still here. I could feel it. I swear.”

     “Yeah, you were right,” I tell her, placing down an empty shot glass, “Sorry that it cost you getting banned from here, though. Going to miss you once we get the Fights back up in full swing.”

     Laughing a bit as I pour some more drinks, she tells me, “Oh, believe me. Once the Fights are back up and running, I’m participating if that Leper wants me to or not. No offense.”

     “None taken,” I say as I lift my shot and hand her one, “You really think that I’ve gone so soft that a simple Bloodsucker Slur is going to hurt my feelings?”

     “Well, I just thought that,” she pauses, pointing to my face, “You know...with your new look that you wouldn’t want me to say certain things.”

     With a smug smile on, I tease, “What? Is something wrong with my makeup? Did my mascara start running from the tears I was shedding earlier when you were on your tirade about how I fucked up?”

     Laughing again, she tells me, “Shut the fuck up! I wasn’t crying.”

     Wanting to keep the good times rolling, I say, “Oh, right. It was the rain. It got caught in your hair and just dripped into the corners of your eyes. Yeah, yeah, I’d buy that.”

     Struggling to drink our seventh shots through bursts of giggles, we enjoy a minuscule moment of peace. It allows an old daydream to creep into my head again. Damn, I miss these daydreams.

     “You’re making me sick,” I hear snarled from the back of my mind, “Are you two going to run off into the sunset next, huh? Her carrying your burnt ashes away?”

     Closing my eyes in pain, I whisper as low as possible, “Can’t you just let me have one nice thought?”

     “One nice thought before you break her heart again? Fat chance, big guy,” the Beast sneers, leaving back into the corners of my mind with a sickening chuckle.

     When I open my eyes, Ylva is staring at me with a quizzical look as she says, “Good to see that you still narrate your own life. At least a few things stay the same.”

     Forgetting to tell her about the Beast and not wanting to bring it up now, I simply agree, “Yeah, it’s still about the same.”

     Not fully believing me, she gives me a worrisome, “Yeah, still the same, I guess.”

     Fearing what question she’ll ask next, I glance outside to see the stars still in the night sky. For the first time, I’m wishing that the dawn could come quicker.

     Still keeping a doubtful look in her eyes, she asks, “So, is there any way for us to turn you back?”

     “No,” I say sternly, beginning to pour our eighth shots, “Why would I?”

     “Do I really have to answer that?” she responds, not understanding the kind of blessing this is.

     “What? You can’t tell me that you actually enjoy being one of them,” she says, laughing it off.

     Once she looks back to me, her laughing stops, seeing my face with a resolute expression on it.

     “Carnegie, come on. You can’t-”

     “I can’t what? Can’t enjoy no longer having to deal with some piece of shit beating me half to death every other night?”

     “No, it’s just that-”

     “Just that I was meant to continue trying to take care of a deadbeat mother and a worthless younger brother, yeah? A worthless younger brother who was one step away from turning into just another lowlife scumbag? A deadbeat mother who was more concerned about keeping a needle in her arm than her own children safe?”

     “Carnegie, you aren’t a-”

     “A monster? Is that it?”

     She goes silent.

     “Ylva, I’ve never thought that I’d enjoy being this, but this is the greatest I’ve ever felt. If there’s a problem, I can fix it. I can make it vanish like I did tonight. My brother needed to get scared straight and, the moment he finds those hanging bodies in his room, he will be. My mother needed to quit cold turkey, so I took out all the options she has. Ludwig is a good kid, you’re right about that, and he deserves a damn better family than the one I had so I helped nudge them that way.”

     The Beast gives a roar of approval to coax me to continue.

     Leaning in closer, I tell her with confidence, “For the first time in my entire life, that worthless Blood Puppet who terrorized me and my family is never coming back to haunt anyone.”

     “You think that makes you better than them, Carnie?” she shoots back as she pulls her head away from mine.

     “No, I’m not better than them,” I say, staring deep into her eyes with a wide smile, “I’m a hell of a lot worse.”

     Wiping tears again, she picks up the rest of her bottle and drinks directly from it before saying, “Yeah, it does, I guess.”

     She stands up with the liquor in hand and begins walking away, dawn finally beginning to break as she says, “Look, I’ve got to go and take care of things with the tribe. I’ll be back tomorrow night and we can talk more, I guess.”

     “Ylva,” I call out, stopping her before she leaves, “I really did miss you the most. I’m sorry that I’m not what you wanted me to be.”

     She takes a moment to respond. When she does, it’s like a stake gets shoved into my heart.

     “I’m just glad you’re alive. That’s all, I guess.”

     Turning around in my chair, I watch her leave with dawn arriving over her shoulder. Sluggishly dragging myself upstairs and into Noz’s office, I lie down under a heavy tarp in a corner as two things dawn on me. First, I’m still missing a wooden stake. Second, I always wore purple whenever Ylva and I went to the Fights.      Weeks go by as I try to settle my thoughts. I’m going through the motions now as I continue my new nightly routines. My former mother has been better, actually providing Ludwig and Everett with care for once. Everett still gambles, but he’s cautious with his money now. Just as I hoped, it seems that waking up to two corpses hanging in his room terrified him enough to keep him from going into severe debt again. They’re both improving together, giving me hope that they won’t relapse.      Ludwig and I still talk during the nights. Directly after work, he spends his nights strolling the streets alone. Despite obviously being alone, he always speaks aloud, assuming that I’m always around to hear it. I usually speak back before joining him on his walk for a bit during the nights where his assumptions are correct. He’s a smart kid, albeit a bit too trusting of the night. He has told me that he loved the city’s night life too much not to walk around it, despite having been run off by a few “crap” people from time to time.      Ylva and I spend most nights together. It’s not too different from before my Embrace. We still can’t keep each other from laughing. We still practice fighting together, which is one of the better parts since she doesn’t have to hold back as much as before. Eron and Tony still give us shit when we show up at Noz’s Bar together to drink. Once the Fights started back up after two weeks or so, we’d still fight just as hard as before. I would normally find myself on the sideline, though, since not many vampires were welcome in Noz’s Bar. He told me that it was because he had a bad reputation with the soon-to-be rulers, but I could tell that he was lying and still is. Regardless, Ylva and I were the same, more or less. The only topics we had to tiptoe around were what happened to Scars and why I enjoyed being a Kindred. She’s the head fighter of her tribe now, which comes with more responsibility than she wanted. It seems that I’m being groomed to take over for Noz once he “makes a decision”, which comes with more trouble than she wants to be worrying about. I tell her not to, but, if I’m being honest, she’s the only one between us who cares enough to worry. I’m unnervingly ecstatic about possibly taking over Noz’s turf, even if he’s becoming more and more of an obstacle with each night that passes.      Noz and I have hit a rough patch, even though that’s not accurate to say. It’s more like we’ve got stuck in a mud patch with all four tires sunk a foot deep into the ground and the smoking engine just turned from white puffs to pure black with bursts of orange flames. The best way to explain our current relationship would probably be to start at the night after allowing all of his workers to leave without finishing cleaning up the place.

     Having slept in his office, I woke up to the end of a conversation between Eron, Tony, and my sire as Noz says, “I don’t care what he threatened you two with! You know that the workers aren’t meant to leave until this place is spotless!”

     Eron tries to cover their asses with, “With all due respect, he’s your childe and a full fledged Kindred. What are we supposed to do to stop him?”

     Raising his voice, Noz affirms, “Perhaps use the stakes I bestowed both of you!”

     Tony, always knowing how to make things worse, interrupts, “For the record, Eron never found his after teaching Carnegie about stakes, sir.”

     With a domineering glare and display of teeth, Noz yells, “You mean to tell me that you can’t replace a piece of sharpened wood by yourself?” as he backhands Tony, sending him soaring across the bar and past the observatory window.

     I hear Eron choking as Noz continues to tell him, “Now, you and Tony will be joining the other workers in making this establishment immaculate! If you do not keep these workers in line, I will pull your head from your body! Do you understand?”

     Before allowing him to answer, Noz throws Eron directly away from the office, slamming into the pipes that help echo music throughout the bar. Seeing them bent out of shape, Noz shouts to the rest of his terrified workforce, “If that’s not fixed by tomorrow night, half of you won’t live to see what I’ll do to the rest!” before slamming the door to his office shut.

     “Wow,” I say, walking out from under my tarp, “Way to promote a positive work environment there, Noz.”

     “That’s ‘sire’ to you, boy!” he roars, still baring his teeth.

     Not backing down but not wanting to escalate, I simply say, “My apologies, sire,” as the Beast tells me cut his head off.

     Knowing what my voice sounds like when I’m being an asshole, he simply replies, “Oh, shut your damn mouth. If you had enough respect to call me that upon request, you would have had enough respect so as to not tell my workers to leave my bar in shambles.”

     Shrugging as I sat on the corner of his desk, I say to him, “They’re all pretty hardworking people. They deserved a little break.”

     “Really? That’s the reason you want to give me?” he tests again, knowing that I’m lying, “Eron and Tony may be worthless but at least they had enough loyalty to tell me the truth about your little Lupine guest.”

     I grit my teeth as I fight off the urge to gut him like a pig. I manage to force out, “Then, I guess I’ll just cut to the chase then. Why’d you ban her from the bar?”

     “Oh, don’t play coy, little one,” Noz says, stepping towards me, “It was obvious that you two were too close from your previous life. If I hadn’t of done that, she would have found you before you were finished. Besides, she’s an insolent and disrespectful little mutt, anyway.”

     Digging my claws into my own hand to keep me from fighting, I respond, “Oh, so it was some kind of sick mercy?”

     “Not mercy,” he says, “Convenience. With how wild those dogs can be, she could have derailed your progress and took your attention off of the lessons I needed to teach you. It’s simple: Taking away distractions means improving focus. I don’t expect you to understand.”

     “Oh, I understand,” I tell him as I walk by, moving past him towards the window, “If that’s the case, then when will she be allowed back? After all, my Embrace is finished, so there’s no longer the threat of her ‘derailing my progress’, right?”

     Feigning approval, his expression immediately flips from a disgruntled grimace to a false grin of delight as he pats me on the shoulder and says, “You know what, my childe? I’ll lift the ban next time I get to speak with her in my bar. How does that sound?”

     Waving to Ylva as she walks into the building, I say, “That sounds fantastic since she’s back already.”

     She returns my wave with a smile as she readjusts the sword on her back. I hold open the door as I say, “Shall we?” to Noz. Visibly forcing himself to play nice, he walks alongside me to Ylva, who has already started helping some of the workers after eyeing fresh welts and contusions on all of them. I take her place in helping clean up the barroom, starting by checking on Eron and Tony while she and Noz go to the bar to hash things out. Their conversation gets loud a number of times, drawing everyone’s attention before my sire shouts at them all to return to work. They part ways, barely more amicable than when they started, but Noz tells me that she’s allowed to return under supervision which I will have to provide. He makes it clear that it’s nonnegotiable before moving back up the stairs to his office.       As I return to helping clean the Bar, Ylva hands her sword off to Bartholomew for safekeeping before returning to assist as well. It doesn’t take us much longer to clean, perhaps another hour or less. As soon as we do finish, the workers all take a moment’s rest in the bar to thank Ylva and I for helping. We try to tell them that it’s no problem, but it only prompts them to reveal to us that no one had ever helped before. We ask about Eron and Tony helping to which they all laugh. I notice them already making their way back up the stairs to join Noz at his observatory window. Glancing around the workers to see how badly they were reprimanded, I begin to notice just how many more scars each of them actually have. Looking up to the office, I see Eron and Tony talking to a disinterested Noz. He locks eyes with me, an agitated look painted on his face. Always one to poke the bear, I tell Bartholomew that everyone here deserves a drink loud enough to piss off the man staring down at me. He turns and walks away from the window as his workers all pull up to the bar with smiles on their faces. Not all of them join and the ones that do only stay for a single drink before leaving, but they enjoyed themselves for once despite their bruises and welts still being raw.      The only ones left are Ylva, Bartholomew, and myself. Ylva and I are joking with Bartholomew, trying our best to get him to show any other emotion than the stonewall stare he always has. We joke about life, animals, weather, gangs, districts, weapons, and the list goes on. We only get him to laugh once the jokes turn towards the rulers of Ustrus, even swaying him to crack a few about the soon-to-be King and Queen. We all get a hardy laugh, but he still doesn’t crack a smile despite what sounds like the engine of a steam train sputtering to a halt come from his mouth. Afterwards, he makes his final sweep around the building to check for any unnoticed or forgotten items, leaving Ylva and I alone.      She and I start off calmly speaking about all the things she did during the day. She seems to be pretty complacent with her position in the tribe, now. However, she’s still itching to return to the Fights. I tell her that they’ll be back up in a night or two, along with come changes I want to enact. She doubts that Noz will approve of them. Unfortunately, she’s right. Soon after that topic, the conversation turns serious as we start discussing what Noz did to his workers.

     “So,” Ylva says as we down a shot, “That’s who you look up to, huh?”

     “I never said that I looked up to him,” I tell her, a bit ticked off by the assumption.

     “Well, you’re the one who enjoys being like him.”

     “I enjoy being a Kindred. I enjoy being a Nosferatu. Doesn’t mean that I’d enjoy being my sire.”

     “Really still can’t believe that you actually refer to him as ‘sire.’ ”

     “It’s just a formality. Don’t mistake that for respect. He’s still a Bloodsucking douchebag.”

     “Yet you sleep in his office, trusting him not to cut your head off? Smart move.”

     “You got another place for me to crash with complete protection from the sunlight and any citizen who feels like killing a vamp?”

     She has no reply.

     “That’s what I thought.”

     “Still can’t trust him, Carnie.”

     “I know I can’t, but what other options do I have? Can’t go back to my former home. Sure as hell not burying myself each night just to claw my way back out. I’d ask to stay with you, but-”

     “My tribe still blames you for Scars. They say that you fighting him ‘forced my hand.’ Kind of bullshit, if you ask me. Especially since I wanted the fight in the first place.”

     “That’s true, but you see my point. Don’t have anywhere else but here to rest safely during the day. Hell, it’s so safe that not even other full-fledged Kindred come around.”

     “That is odd, isn’t it? From what it seems, Noz is on good enough terms with his own kind to set up a personal and private meeting with the most powerful inbred bastards in the city. Why haven’t they ever showed up to a fight?”

     “I don’t know, but I prefer it that way. Sure as hell don’t want some power-hungry kids making everyone fight to the death just to get their rocks off.”

     “I second that,” Ylva says, clinking her shot against mine before we drink them.

     We continue to talk for a while about our suspicions around Noz. Bartholomew even joins in, speaking ill about him in a hushed whisper. He tells us about the worst that Noz has done to him, revealing that his wife and daughter were slaughtered in front of him before being turned into Noz’s first Ghoul centuries ago. From there, he continued to speak of similar things done to the other Ghouls and Half-Vampires under Noz’s control. I wish that was the most disturbing thing we heard, but he went on to inform us that Noz’s network of spies reach every inch of the city, regardless of race. Ylva and I try to get him to talk past it, seeing his eyes begin to water. 

     Ylva tells him, “It’d be a hell of a thing if someone else took over Noz’s Bar, then, right?”

     Tossing his cleaning towel on to the bar top, he remarks, “Yeah, if only there was someone the others were fine with being bonded to.”

     He eyes me and I give a dumbfounded stare back as I ask, “You don’t actually think that I could, do you?”

     “Are you fucking serious?” the Beast snarls in confusion.

     “Are you fucking serious?” Ylva announces, placing down her shot in anger.

     “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” Bartholomew whispers before turning to enter his room. As he closes the door behind him, I swear I notice the slightest grin cross his face.

     “He wasn’t talking about me, Ylva,” I claim, seeing her eyes still staring at me in bewilderment, “I’m not the type to be running people.”

     Leaving her shot on the table, she stands up with her sword strapped on and tells me, “You’re still as dense as ever, Carnie,” as she walks out for the night.

     From then on, I’ve been studying Noz’s adventures outside of his bar. They were incredibly rare before my Embrace, according to the workers’ recollections. Since he met with the Giovanni ruling the city, he’s been increasing the number of times he leaves his bar. If that wasn’t concerning enough, he sometimes leaves for an entire night. I follow him every night I can, even missing some Fights because of it. Trailing him around town, it seems that Bartholomew’s word is true. From the city guard to the person who runs the orphanage, he speaks to every person of interest this side of town. He talks shop with the two Blood Puppets my former father ran with. As it turns out, they’re part of the city’s guards and controlled by a clan higher than the Nosferatu since it seems that he sometimes answers to their beck and call. Other nights, he speaks to the drug dealers and cooks. A very familiar cook is coerced to inform him that his only childe killed one of his best traffickers. Curiously, Noz never confronts me about it. He doesn’t even seem to mind the change of management at the gambling halls, seeing as how it aloud him to personally choose the new boss.      In the later parts of the three passing weeks, he begins spending more nights in parts of the city I’m unable to keep track of him through. For those, I begin enlisting Ludwig’s help. He’s had homes all around, which made him better with understanding the rest of the city than I am with the small corner I’ve never left. The kid’s more than happy to help, giving him an opportunity to get out during the night and ask me giddy questions about who I was before becoming a Blood Sucker. I’m always careful to not let slip that he was adopted to replace me as the family crutch. When we’re not talking about that, Ludwig tells me what he knows about the people Noz meets and the buildings he enters. He visits a major guard hideout, a few other clubs, and even a library. He steers away from the cemetery, though. Oddly enough, he looks like he’s trembling in fear as he walks by it. Unfortunately, the next area he decides to visit during the night worries me.      Leaving Ludwig at the safety of his home, I pull Ylva along with me the following night. It pisses her off, but I convince her that she needs to show me the deeper parts of the forests her tribe lives in. She continues to try to argue why until I tell her about Noz meeting his contacts around the city in preparation for something. Once she hears my explanation, she races to the edge of town with me in her vehicle. We begin dashing through the forest trees the moment we get there. We find Noz wandering through the forests and keep a safe distance while we trail behind him. After a few minutes of ambling between the trees, Ylva starts to breathe heavily as we approach an odd clearing filled with artifacts and idols. I keep my focus on Noz and see him meeting with a number of Garou dressed in what looks like meaningful garb. I try to step forward but Ylva holds my arm back with a shaking hand. Looking back, her whole form is shuddering so much that the sword on her back is clinking a bit against her clothing. I grab her by the shoulders and ask her what’s wrong. The only words she says is that he’s not supposed to be here and neither should we. She takes a deep breath as she unsheathes her sword, readying to rush into the meeting to kill him. Knowing that it’s suicide for her, I hold her back, whispering that we can do this after we figure out why Noz is here. She tries to push past me again and I use all my strength to pull her back. We begin to scuffle as her rage boils over. Noticing that the meeting has been put on pause after hearing a commotion, I decide to knock out Ylva and carry her away before we’re seen. She wakes up in her car after I’ve driven us back to the scrapyard. She cusses me out for saving her. I cuss her out for throwing a fit before we could find out why he was meeting with Elders. We continue the shouting match until we’re both calm enough to listen to reason. I tell her to come back tomorrow night so we can follow Noz again. She reluctantly agrees as she stomps her way back to the Bar.      The next night comes and I wake up inside the yard instead of the office, surrounded by scraps of metal stacked around me like a makeshift tent. I force my way out and race towards the Bar, hearing the music and Fights already in full swing. Stepping into the building, it’s practically at max capacity, filled with all of the usual rabble and some unfamiliar faces. I try to wade through the sea of people, glancing into the cage to see two humans fighting. Once at the bar, Bartholomew tells me that Noz wants me up in his office, facing away from me as he grabs some bottles off the shelves. I ask if he’s seen Ylva. He tells me to meet Noz up in his office again, slipping me a dagger as he turns to face me. He’s got a bloodstained wrapping around his head, covering up claw marks. With a look of worry, I glance through the place and see that a good handful of workers are gone from the floor while those that are working have more clothing on than usual. Checking for the brass knuckles and machete I usually keep on me, I realize they’re gone as I rush up the stairs to Noz’s office, hiding the dagger in my sleeve.      I kick the door open to find two stakes racing towards me. Ducking under, I grab the wrists that are holding them and hurl the attackers towards the opposite end of the office. They crash into three others on the opposite end, stalling a handful of other weapons. There’s no time to enjoy it as I feel a frigid hand grab me by the throat and slam me into the ground. I follow the arm to Noz’s sinister face as he lifts me out of the floorboards. Still swinging, I break his nose in a bit before he grabs my fist to hold me steady. I stomp his knee in before he decides to send my skull back into the floor.

     Holding my face against the ground, Noz shouts, “That’s enough!”

     Sending me careening into the window, the glass cracks as I impact. I struggle back to my feet as I tell him, “Bartholomew said you wished to speak with me.”

     As I spit out a clump of blood, Noz chuckles as he remarks, “Always the derisive one, my childe. You certainly have gumption.”

     Wiping my mouth, I exclaim, “I’ll show your old ass some ‘gumption’ once I put a stake through you,” trying to advance on him.

     Stopped by the ten assholes loyal to Noz in the room, they present their blades as he says, “No, you won’t. Not anymore. It’s about time you be taught some proper respect.”

     “Can’t teach what you’ve never had, O.D.B,” I respond, still poking the bear as the Beast claws the walls of my mind to fight.

     “I think you’ll find me quite persuasive,” the Leper announces as he steps to the side, revealing a beaten and bruised Ylva tied back-to-back with Ludwig.

     “Now, here’s what will happen, childe. You will continue...” he begins to say, but my mind fazes his voice out as I assess the situation.

     There’s exactly thirteen other people inside of this office. Two are allies, being Ylva and Ludwig. The kid is too young to put up much of a fight while the other has already been in one. They’re bound together at the wrists and have their ankles hogtied independently. They’re sat on top of the desk at the very center of the room. Ylva is bloodied and bruised, but I’ve seen her fight through worse conditions. She’s still roaring for a good scrap, judging by the fury in her eyes. Ludwig is doing his best to not show that he’s scared shitless, staring at me with panicked desperation. The enemies are a number of unknowns aside from three of them. Those being Eron, Tony, and Noz. Eron is cockily smirking and bouncing from side to side, playfully tossing what looks to be my brass knuckles from one hand to the other. Tony is helping pull the two I tossed earlier to their feet, a worried but determined look in his eyes as he holds my machete firm in his grasp. They’re easy to deal with and are always the first to fold, so they’re nothing to worry about. The seven other workers are all unknown to me. They’re holding weapons with varying degrees of comfort and confidence. The two with stakes are having trouble steadying their hands after I threw them across the room. The three swordsmen are breathing heavily and constantly glancing between me and their regnant in terrified anticipation. The two standing closest to Ylva and Ludwig surprisingly have firearms, which barely worries me as they’re more likely to backfire. They all have varying degrees of apprehension, worriedly glancing between everything that’s going on. Noz, on the other hand, is a whole different monster.      He’s already been cut up and worked over a bit. From the looks of it, he tried to apprehend Ylva personally and wasn’t expecting her to put up such a fight. His cloak isn’t hiding any weapons. I know because he’s been walking constantly since he started his monologue, making it easy for me to see anything hidden beneath his clothing. His older sailor pants are torn to shreds and worn through, unable to conceal anything. His vest and collared shirt surprisingly don’t have his rope noose tie for once, allowing me to see some brass and copper supports around his neck. His long coat is covered in blood and torn up from the ground, shortening it from its previous three foot long tail to it now being roughly above his ankles. He’s now covered in deep contusions, large welts, and staunch dents in his body, all of which barely seem to bother or slow him down. He’s an old cobblestone wall and I’m going to need to break him down brick by brick. I just can’t figure out how, until I remember what he said about-

     “CARNEGIE!” Noz shouts, bringing me back to reality.

     “Are you done now?” I ask, lifting my chin to stare him eye to eye.

     “This is what I’m referring to,” he reaffirms, stepping towards me, “The disrespect. The lack of commitment and attention. The sheer disregard for what you need to do to take over. I’m tired of it, Carnegie. All of it.”

     “Lis-” I try to say before being cut off.

     “No! You listen!” Noz says, grabbing me by the shoulders and walking to the desk, “I’m tired of your disloyalty to me. Many times, all those I work with in the city and answer to have told me to rend your head from your shoulders. To start over with a new childe. Every time, I’ve vouched for you but your incessant affection for these two has proved my choice futile. Not only you, but the three of you have worn me thin.”

     He tosses me to the desk and I hold myself from crashing into it, still considering my options as he continues to berate me.

     “You’re an imbecile! A softhearted little pup, licking at the scraps of your previous life while ignoring the feast that awaits you in your new one. I have my orders, but I’m allowing you a chance to prove to me where your allegiances lie,” he says to me with a softer tone.

     Leaning in closer to my ear but not speaking any quieter, Noz growls, “Drain them dry.”

     Taking a deep breath, I glance between Ylva and Ludwig. Ylva’s eyes are staring down Noz like she wants to beat him to death with his own arms. Ludwig’s panicking more and more as Noz continues, seeing the veins in my neck bulge with anger.

     I try to reply, “I’m not dr-”

     “YES! YOU! WILL!” Noz screams in my ear, shaking the rest of the room to its core.

     The Beast snarls, “I’m tired of his tone.”

     I close my eyes as Noz continues to shout, “You will feed on them! You will drink them dry, draining every morsel of vitae from their souls! You will prove your loyalty to me and the Kindred or you will watch me rip them asunder with a stake through your heart! NOW, FEED!”

     He ends his spew with one final shove towards the desk. I catch myself against it as the Beast scrapes out, “I don’t care what you do with the others in the room. Just give me that ugly Leper as a meal.”

     I nod in agreement, keeping my head down between the shoulders of Ludwig and Ylva. I whisper to them, “Trust me,” before standing up straight.

     Taking a deep sigh, I give them the best puppy dog eyes I can muster as I say, “You heard him. Time to feed.”

     Ludwig starts losing his shit, all composure washing from his form as I bend down to Ylva’s neck. She is as cool as an autumn stream while I sink my fangs into her, feeling my hand pull a dagger from my sleeve to start cutting their binds. I don’t drink enough to kill her, nowhere near it, but she feigns a dead damsel. She remembers my explanation of what certain blood can do for me. However, I soon realize that Noz’s description didn’t give werewolf blood proper justice.      Ylva enjoys it almost as much as I do, feeling her heart rate spike as I drink a bit from her. The blood she gives me fills my veins with enough steam to power the entire city. Every piece of me is pleading for a bloody bout as the Beast starts to slam against the bars of my mind. Barely holding him back, I slip Ludwig the knife as I feel the stake stowed underneath Ylva’s shirt. 

     Feeling my grip on reality fade as the bloodthirst starts to seep in, I lick her neck wounds closed before whispering, “Go.”

     Ylva immediately leaps from the table to tackle two people as she transforms into a towering bipedal wolf, tearing away from the desk. She makes short work of the two she tackled, retrieving her sword from one as she rips the throat out of the other. After hearing a pistol backfire, Ludwig stabs one as he rolls behind the desk before I turn my head towards Noz.      Riding the wave into a full frenzy, my anger snaps the leash off of the Beast as he drives me into a mad skirmish against Noz. I swipe at his neck and manage to nick his carotid, filling the air with blood. I’m filled with so much adrenaline that I barely feel my old machete slam into my thigh. Breaking his arm off with a single swipe, Tony screams in pain while holding his bloody stump. Eron tries to throw a punch with my brass knuckles, but I dodge it while tearing the machete out of my leg. Holding on to it by Tony’s severed arm, I slam the blade into Eron’s side, severing his left arm before the machete gets stuck in his spine. Before I can tear it back out, Noz rushes me at full speed, slamming me into a cinder block wall with his claws buried into my shoulder blades. Snarling in rage, I headbutt him, smashing his nose further into his face. Reeling back from the pain, I pick him up myself and slam him into his desk with a disgusting crack. In a burst of madness, I begin clawing and striking every piece of Noz I can see, eventually breaking him through the middle of the desk. He loses his right eye, a chunk of his right jaw, some pieces of what used to be his stomach, most of his lower intestine, and a knee cap before he manages to throw me over his head. I slam into the wall behind the desk, opposite the already cracked observatory window. There’s a body that I land on which I wouldn’t have noticed if a piercing pain hadn’t caused me to look back.      Looking back at the wound, my right leg has a wooden stake protruding from it, which I apparently have picked up from one of the Ghoul casualties while Noz and I were going at it. I glance further beyond my leg to see that Ludwig is the body that gave me a soft landing. He gives me a look of terror as I realize that me getting tossed into him forced the dagger he was wielding to plunge deep into his gut. Looking around to assess the rest of the damage, the entire office is in ruins, now redecorated with severed limbs and emulsified organs. Ylva has made short work out of a number of the mob while others had succumbed to wounds while caught in the crossfire between Noz and I. She’s now trying to hold Noz still enough to drive her stake through him, but she’s winding down while he’s becoming more and more desperate to survive. Noz can barely stay on his feet with a missing kneecap, yet he’s still strong enough to toss Ylva aside.      Seeing Ludwig’s eyes beginning to close and Ylva reverting back to her human form, the Beast tears the stake from my leg, wrenches the machete from Tony’s severed arm, then launches us with a powerful leap at Noz. Distracted by Ylva’s stake in his side, he’s caught off guard as I drive him through the heart with my stake. The momentum of the leap carries through the stab, sending Noz and I smashing through his window. We careen towards the center of the floor, our eyes locking on the way down. He has a look of terrible pain as my stake cracks through his ribs towards his heart. I can feel my face distort into a twisted smile as the Beast and I know that we’ve already won.      Noz and I slam against the top railing of the cage and crash into the middle, interrupting a bout. The fighters rush out of the cage in a panic, squeezing through the bent bars as I begin to eviscerate Noz. Giving the Beast full control, I force the machete into his midsection and through the stone floor to further pin him to the ground. I wrench the stake from his chest to hear him cry out in pain as I tear his left arm off. Slamming the spike back into his heart, I whack him across the face with his severed arm before stomping through what’s left of his right knee. Without a kneecap to hold it together, his lower leg easily separates from the upper. I bite his right hand off and spit it to the side just before clasping his throat with my left hand and tearing the stake from his chest with my right. Choking him against the ground, he can barely give out a second scream of pain after what he’s endured.

     Having lost enough blood to make him nearly useless and too weak to fight back or try to escape, I ask, “Any last words?”

     “I gave the Royals your name. They’ll-” he races to finish.

     “Too long,” I interrupt him, sinking my fangs into his neck.

     He doesn’t have much blood left after all the punishment the Beast put on him. He’s even told me the dangers of draining a fellow Kindred, but it’s the benefits that I’m interested in. The power I could get from a Kindred as old as him? I’m eager to feel it. I’m restless to see how strong I could become. Above all else, I’m greedier than I am cautious.      I drain what little vitae he has left, feeling a cascade of fire return to my body like a second Embrace. His soul flows into me as I continue drinking his blood, and I begin to seize in pain. I curl over and drop to my knees as the taste of blood entices me more. What little connection I felt to humanity begins to fade as our two souls mutilate each other. As the battle continues, I feel his soul begin to lose and I roar across the entire bar, letting out one last arduous wail to strain against the fever. Allowing the burn to seep out of my body, I watch as Noz succumbs to the Final Death, rapidly decaying into ash across the barroom floor. As I turn around to the bar, they all look on in delight and awe before erupting into applause.

     Enjoying their approval for only a moment, I watch Ylva limp down the stairs with an unconscious Ludwig in her arms, prompting me to shout, “Move!”

     As some of the crowd’s cheers turn into disgruntled murmurs while I push past them, Ylva stops me at the stairs, saying, “He’s lost a lot of blood. We have to get him to the woods. My bag is in my car.”

     She tries to take another step and her knees buckle after the fight we just went through, so I warn, “You can barely stand. You can’t perform a ritual in your condition and Ludwig isn’t going to make it to the woods with a knife in his chest. There’s got to be something else we can do.”

     “Carnie,” Ylva says with a depressed look, “There’s probably only one way to save him.”

     “I’m not turning him into me, Ylva,” I deny as I take him from her arms, “I’m not killing him twice in one night. He may be a tough little bastard, but he wouldn’t survive becoming a Nosferatu. Bartholomew! Help! Please!”

     I carry him to the bar, pushing aside a man in conversation with the head bartender, as Ylva desperately asks, “Bartholomew, you told us that you’ve been here the longest. You’ve got to have some sort of first aid with you, right?”

     Bartholomew places down a drink as he looks Ludwig over before responding, “I’ve got nothing to help that much blood loss. Certainly nothing appropriate for a boy so young. My ‘mate’ right next to you might, though.”

     Glancing towards my shoulder, I see the man I pushed aside a moment ago holding up a drink with a smarmy look on his face. From first glance, he’s a human and I can’t see much else special about him beyond that. His clothes are high class, at least higher class than anyone I’ve met in my side of the city. He drinks from a glass with a pinkie in the air. I hate him already.

    He speaks with a voice that sounds like it made a hundred promises and only kept a handful as he tells me, “If you want my help, it’ll come at a price.”

    “Yeah, no shit. We can talk payment after you save Ludwig,” I snark back, “You want to save his life on the bar or upstairs?”

    Finishing his drink and taking a few seconds to eye me, Ylva, and Ludwig, he admits, “We’ll do it upstairs. More dead up there so it won’t be as awkward. Bartholomew! I’ll need all of your first aid equipment sent up immediately. I thank you in advance for your compliance.”

    Bartholomew glances to me with an eye of disbelief but proceeds to gather the gear from his room. Ylva supports herself against me as we walk back up the stairs to the office. It’s a bloodbath inside. All of the most loyal who joined Noz are laid throughout the room in pieces. The firearms are both destroyed, one having killed its wielder due to a blowback while the other was tossed from its wielder who seems to have had his face clawed off. The two who wielded stakes seem to have been the ones who got the quickest end in the fight. One is buried into the concrete wall, still hanging from where Noz slammed me into him. The other has a small stab wound in his chest with a long stream of crimson out of it. The three swordsmen lay all about the room, torn asunder by what I can only assume was Ylva’s doing. Tony has bled out from his missing arm and Eron has long since passed due to nearly being bisected.

    “Find a relatively clean spot to lay the boy down while I instruct Bartholomew on what to do,” the man exclaims as Bartholomew rushes up the stairs behind us.

    “You said you were going to help,” Ylva remarks.

    “I will,” he says, taking out a flask and sipping from it, “But I can’t operate under the influence of so much alcohol. Bartholomew will be my hands. He’s the calmest person I know.”

    Bartholomew places down a long sheet on the cleanest piece of floor before pulling the man’s jacket off from his shoulders.

    “What the hell are you doing, Bartholomew?” he asks, spinning around as he relinquishes his coat.

    “We need something to support his head. You see anyone else in here with a jacket to roll up, boyo?” he replies, wrapping the coat and lifting Ludwig’s head to place it underneath.

    The man responds, “As a matter of fact, I see many bodies with jackets, so yes.”

    Placing gloves on his hands, Bartholomew says, “Enough talk. I need instruction.”

    Equal parts desperate and hopeful, I leave them to revive him as I help Ylva limp to the broken desk. Setting her down on a relatively sturdy edge, I tear some fabric from what remains of my shirt and begin wrapping it around some of her cuts.

    “Hey, Carnie,” she says, wincing a bit from the pressure I put on her wounds, “Are you okay?”

    Shredding more of my shirt for additional wrappings, I tell her, “Yeah, I’ll heal after a good rest. You’re the one who’s still mortal, remember?”

    “I don’t mean that,” Ylva says, helping me hold a makeshift gauze to her shoulder, “You’re colder than before the fight started. Your skin is paler, as well. What happened once you leapt out of the office?”

    “Go on and tell her, pretty boy,” the Beast teases, chuckling a bit in the back of my head.

    Twitching a bit after hearing his voice clearer and louder than I’ve ever been able to since the Embrace, I tell her, “I killed Noz. Shredded him to bits then drank what blood was left.”

    “Does that come with side effects?” she asks worriedly.

    “Oh, you have no idea,” the Beast whispers.

    “I have no idea,” I lie, hoping that she’ll leave the subject.

    “That’s bullshit,” she whispers, not wanting to pull Bartholomew and his friend from helping Ludwig.

    “D’awww, look at your little Night Wolf,” the Beast taunts with a coy laugh, “Getting all maternal and protective. It’s downright disgusting.”

    Closing my eyes in annoyance, I tell Ylva, “We can figure it out after Ludwig is okay, alright? Besides, you’ve been through enough tonight. You deserve some rest.”

    Finishing up her bandages, I realize that some lacerations on her may need a bit more attention, so I tell her to stay still as I go check to see if they have some leftover sutures. They hand me some that they’re not using on Ludwig. I glance at him and see that he’s breathing again, giving me a faint bit of hope that he’ll make it through.

    Returning to Ylva, I begin stitching up her side while telling her, “The kid’s breathing again, so it seems like we won’t have to kill Bartholomew’s friend for lying to us.”

    “Good,” she says, looking around the room, “There’s been enough war tonight.”

    “Damn,” the Beast shouts, “Pity we couldn’t have at least one more bout.”

    Feeling my mangled body, I respond, “Yeah, I’ve had my fill for the rest of the night.”

    I stand up and turn to Bartholomew and his buddy. Watching them finish up, my eyes flick wildly across the room. I feel something else clawing at me now, something foreign. It’s not the Beast, whose scratches are almost calming to me. It’s someone else, trying to punish me for something obscure. I close my eyes and try to listen for who it is. The voice screaming at me sounds familiar, but I can’t make it out after all that’s happened. Goddamn, it’s so close, but there’s something like static in the way. If it wasn’t for the interference, I would swear that it’s-

    “Oi, Carnegie,” the strange man calls, “Your boy is coming through. Still a bit too weak to walk very far, though. Want to give him a few words before returning him home?”

    Ylva gets up and walks on her own as I rush over to see him. His gut wound is stitched up proper with a large wrapping of gauze around it. Bartholomew pulls the gloves off of his hands as he repacks his gear. His friend takes a few more gulps from his flask as I talk to him.

    “Hey, there, Ludwig,” I tell him, helping him sit up slowly, “Don’t go too fast, alright? You just came back from Hell’s gate. I’d rather you not return so quickly.”

    Taking deep and pained sighs, he responds, “This isn’t my first time getting stabbed.”

    “True, but it’s your first time getting crushed and stabbed,” I say, helping him to his feet.

    “Yeah, well...you’re fat,” he tells me before chuckling a bit, “Dead people shouldn’t be heavy like that.”

    Ylva and I laugh a bit before I say, “Yup, you’re okay. Alright, you little shit, time to get you home.”

    The man finishes gulping a bit more from his flask before stopping me, “Hold on there, Papa Kindred. We still have to discuss payment.”

    Slightly miffed by his interruption, Ylva tells me, “I can take him home. It’s probably best if I sleep this off, too.”

     Nodding in agreement, I watch them leave after gathering her sword and his knife. Ludwig is fast asleep before Ylva even makes it out of the building. She turns a few heads on her way out, half due to the fresh wounds on her naked bloody and the other half due to the sleeping child in her arms. I turn away from the smashed observatory window to see Bartholomew looking around the bar, checking for damage, as his friend leers at the workers.

    “Looking at anything that catches your eye?” I ask him with a dismissive gaze.

    “Quite a bit, actually,” he replies, pushing his lips into a slight pout, “Nothing I would go after, though. Your workforce simply makes me...well...just a bit sad, ‘tis all.”

    “How so?”

    “Well, they’re all Half-Vampires and Ghouls working down there. Half-Vampires who were left like garbage by their parents and Ghouls who are no longer bound to anyone. Seems a bit dismal for their future, doesn’t it?”

    “By the way I see it, they all just got some true freedom back. That’s a win in my book.”

    With an amused smile painted across his face, he remarks, “Oh, how happy I am to hear you say that! This should make the deal to come much easier for you to say yes to, then.”

    Scoffing a bit, I question, “You’d know for certain if you would just tell me what the hell it is you want me to do.”

    “Oooooh, what a rambunctious one you are. Not only in times of war but times of peace. I find myself growing fonder of you by the second, my dear,” he responds sounding more and more cocky by the second.

    “The feeling’s not mutual,” I respond, taking a step forward as I break one of my fingers back into place.

    “Just get to the point,” Bartholomew speaks up before I could get to his friend.

    Giving a long and drawn-out sigh, the man confides, “Fine, fine. My name is Caster and I have a job for you.”

    “What’s the job?” I ask, tired of seeing him in the bar.

    “Well, it’s not exactly a job, per se. It’s more like an assignment. A responsibility. A duty you have to do for not only yourself but those you care about,” he begins to drone, trying to deceive me in his speech.

    “You know? If I ever learned one thing from my asshole father before I killed him, it’s that if someone starts spitting bullshit the first moment that you meet them then chances are good that that’s exactly what they’re full of. Nothing but bullshit,” I exclaim, growing weary of his presence.

    “Carnegie, just give him a few moments,” Bartholomew says, handing me a small bandage, “He usually gets to the important bits once he’s done with his act.”

    Glancing down at my leg after being handed the gauze, I kneel down to wrap the glaring whole in my thigh as I tell Caster, “Well, Caster. Seems Bartholomew trusts you enough to vouch for you, so, go ahead, talk my ear off.”

    “My dear Nosferatu,” he says, feigning a surprised look, “I’m not hear to talk anyone’s ear off. I’m merely describing to you why you won’t say no to the job...once it comes around.”

    “You keep on talking like it may come in the next two hours or the next two months or the next two decades,” I tell him, finishing the tight wrap around my leg, “I don’t like being on layaway with debts, Caster. Either cough up what the job is or count me out.”

    “Oh, there’s no counting you out,” he says as he stows his flask, “You’re already in. I saved your pseudo-son from dying. I didn’t interfere with you exterminating a rather important Kindred. I may even forget the fact that a Lupine, a Garou, a bloody werewolf of all things, assisted you in taking over this bar. Despite all of this kindness, it still comes with a price.”

    Rushing to him in a fierce dash, I grab him by the collar before growling, “You should feel lucky that I’m even letting you walk out of here with that tone.”

    Without flinching or batting an eye, he calmly states, “Now, my dear Carnegie Gunvald. You just killed Noz. I’d rather you not become him. After all, that’s why so many around here like you.”

    Realizing what I’m doing, I gently release his collar as I ask, “So, what do I owe you?”

    With another grin, he responds, “Well, only since you’ve mentioned it, I would love something as payment for my services. By the way I see it, you owe me three things.”

    The Beast mutters, “Is this guy fucking serious?” before he continues.

    “For saving your boy, Ludwig, you’ll have to answer a call to action in the future. It’ll be a small letter enclosed with red wax and a strip of barley,” he starts, pointing his hand to the sky to make a point of it.

    “A little theatrical, don’t you think?” I ask, folding my arms as I return to the shattered window with Bartholomew.

    “Irregardless!” he shouts, continuing on to his next points, “For not interfering in your extermination of Noz, I would request that you inform me of any fights in which you or your Lupine friend, Ylva, are participating in!”

    “How would I do that when I can’t leave during the day?” I remark back, still watching the workers below.

    “I’ll do it,” Bartholomew answers, “Least I can do for you putting Noz out of everyone’s misery.”

    While I sigh as a reluctant confirmation, Caster speaks up before me with a resounding, “Excellent! Always best to make bets on sure things, if you get my drift.”

    “Hold up, if you’re making bets then I want-” I try to say before being interrupted again.

    “To know what my third request is! Of course! You’re the ‘straight to the point’ kind and I like that,” he interposes, causing me to groan in annoyance louder, “Third and final is simple: You will take over Noz’s territory.”

    “What...” the Beast says, dumbfounded.

    “What!” the mystery voice yells through white noise.

    “What?” I ask, uncertain of his intentions.

    “I’m quite certain that I didn’t stutter,” Caster says, taking steps towards the door, “You. Will. Take. Over. Noz’s. Territory. All of it.”

    Pulling my stare from the bar and placing them on to him, I realize that he’s genuine in his demand as I tell him, “I’m not-”

    “ ‘One to be running people.’ Yes, yes, I know. Bartholomew has already told me your reaction, but, here’s the thing, I don’t care,” he responds, stopping by the door and leaning against it.

    I’d be lying if I told him that I hadn’t thought about it, so I tell him, “Nope, not happening. Haven’t even thought about it.”

    Scoffing alongside Caster, Bartholomew says, “Carnegie, first, I regret to inform you that you can’t lie even if your life depended on it. More importantly, you’re the only one those workers might actually follow. According to them, you just killed the worst patriarch they’ve ever had.”

    I glance back to the workers and notice a number of them look back with a smile before hearing Caster take over the speech, “You may not believe yourself anything more than a soldier, but, I can guarantee, that what those workers witnessed just validated you to be their new Papa Vamp. Congratulations on fatherhood.”

    Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I tell them, “You two can’t be serious?”

    “That’s almost as dumb a question as ‘Do you care about them?’,” Caster responds, knowing the answer already, “So, with that out of the way, congratulations on the promotion. I’ll be back tomorrow night to get your final answer. Cheers, Carnegie.”

    With that, he immediately leaves the office and jaunts down the steps. As he does, he shouts to the bar, “Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys and Girls! Miscreants and Vagabonds! Please, lend me your ears!”

    The entire bar comes to a stop and gives him their full attention as he informs them, “Unfortunately, Noz’s Bar has very recently come under new management. As such, all guests are required to leave for the remainder of the night. Don’t fret, my dears! It will be back up and running the following evening! Better than new, I might add! Now, please, to the door.”

    With surprisingly little grievances, the guests follow orders, leaving the bar ahead of him. As the last one out of the bar, Caster turns at the entrance and gives a cocky tip of the hat before walking away.

    Still looking out of the destroyed window, Bartholomew is now sitting with his legs dangling off of the edge as he tells me, “Well, Carnegie. Shall we join the rest?”

    Gazing at all of the workers, I nod, prompting Bartholomew to walk down the stairs first. Taking a deep breath, I turn away from the window and grasp the doorknob as I hear white noise clear from my mind for the new voice to speak.

    Noz growls, “Oh, childe. You’ve really done it now,” sending spears of pain into my ears.

    Wincing from it, I mumble under my breath, “Son of a bitch,” before making my way to the barroom floor.

Epilogue

    The rest of the night is done in perpetual celebration for the workers. Bartholomew is smiling as he pours fountains of drinks for his fellow laborers. They’re all drinking, singing, and dancing, finally having a night of personal debauchery free from Noz’s leash. He keeps clawing into my ears, trying to make me snap. The Beast is enjoying rending him to pieces again, so I don’t mind what feels like needles in my head. The staff go about drunkenly tearing away every sign of Noz. They smash placards and scratch out engravings, all extolling him for one thing or another. The whole building fills with laughs as they break down the large N-O-Z off of the front of the building. It’s pretty damn hilarious hearing Noz in the back of my head, screaming in agony as I watch everything he has built have his name removed from it.     As the night starts to slowly break apart for soft hues of daybreak, Bartholomew begins to ask me a barrage of questions before I head off to sleep during the day.

    He begins with, “First, you want me to make sure that they clean everything up, right?”

    I answer, “Yeah, that would be nice.”

    “Next, keep all of Noz’s shit in the trash, defaced and dismantled, yeah?”

    “That’s for damn sure.”

    “After that, bend the bars back in place for more Fights?”

    “No, we’ll do more Fights starting at the end of the week. We need to keep this place quiet long enough for me to get used to running Noz’s territory.”

    “You mean running YOUR territory.”

    “I suppose that’s correct.”

    “No ‘supposing’ about it. It’s all yours, but I’ll digress. So, no bending bars back but still opening up again the following night?”

    “That’s correct but only for drinks and relaxation. Music included.”

    “Good thing that the musical organs weren’t touched then. Aside from all of that, we can go over the workers’ payment and services once you wake up unless you have your desired changes already written up.”

    “As a matter of fact,” I say, pulling out a small scroll of paper, “Not too much is changing but here’s the gist of it:

    Sex is no longer a mandatory service for anyone. If a worker wants to offer it, that’s their business and my fee will only be half of what Noz charged. Full-fledged Kindred is allowed on the premises, only in the interest of partaking in consensual activities. Fights will now allow full-fledged Kindred to participate. They are only allowed to face other full-fledged Kindred. For participating in a bout, these Kindred are agreeing to consensual feeding from one another after the fight as a display of showmanship. After every bout, any wounds sustained will be tended to under proper supervision. At no time and under no circumstances are fights to draw out to the death, to torpor, and certainly not to the Final Death. Payments for workers’ will increase, splitting what was Noz’s share amongst all of the current staff. I don’t care for money, honestly. The only person below the age of fifteen permitted on the barroom floor is Ludwig Gunvald, who will have an escort of his choosing present at all times. Finally, this building is now under the management and ownership of three people instead of a sole proprietor. Those three being: Carnegie Gunvald; Ylva Melanie; Bartholomew Duygu. 

     Does this seem a bit much to you, Bartholomew, or is it fair?”

    Proceeding to roll my scroll up, I glance to Bartholomew, eyes wide after being caught off guard halfway through cleaning glasses. Still rolling up the parchment, I look around the bar to see all of the workers’ staring at me, frozen in their tracks after listening to all of my changes. Once I’m finished with my list, I hand it to Bartholomew who slowly takes it from my hand. Reading it over for himself, his wide eyes stay in awe as he pockets the paper.

    He finally responds, “So...been thinking about this for a while, huh?”

    Before filling my mouth with a shot of whiskey, I reply, “Yeah, I have.”

    Placing the glass down and trying to focus on the liquid in my mouth, I realize that I have even less desire for this than I had before. As a Kindred, I can’t truly taste anything other than vitae. All food has the flavor of ash and all liquid has the flavor of smoke. I only continue to drink with Ylva because it helps me feel more connected. In a way, it’s as if I’m trying to convince myself that there’s still some humanity left in me. Now, though. I don’t really feel anything when I drink it. Noz did tell me that-

    “Diablerie can steal your humanity away,” he finishes, still stuck in my mind, “You’re lucky that I wasn’t able to take you over entirely. If I had a bit more vitae left in me, you’d be stuck in here while I’d be piloting your shell of a body.”

    Listening to him, I finally realize that I’d have to work my way back up the proverbial ladder of humanity. If not for my own sake, then to put Ylva’s mind at ease. I’ve lied to her enough. It’s about time I start doing something to help. Maybe even get some daydreams to return.

    “No, please, no more daydreams!” Noz shouts again, “It’s pitiful seeing you still imagine another life you’ll never get.”

    Sighing deep, I say out loud, “Beastie Boy!”

    I feel the Beast perk up.

    “Sic him,” I finish, letting their ensuing battle turn into a mind-splitting migraine for a moment before a wave of calm rushes through me.

    Opening my eyes, Bartholomew holds a distressed look as he asks, “You got his soul in you, don’t you?”

    Nodding but not verbally responding, Bartholomew continues, “There’s a long road ahead of you. All the souls Noz ate tore his mind apart. Don’t make the same mistake.”

    “I won’t,” I tell him, sliding my unfinished drink back, “So, any other questions before I curl up under a tarp in a still blood soaked corner of the office?”

    Smiling a bit, he requests, “What should the name be? Can’t be ‘Noz’s Bar’ now that he’s dead.”

    Thinking for a bit, I tell him, “I always dreamed of having a war room.”

    Laughing a bit, Bartholomew agrees, “ ‘War Room’ it is.”

    Standing up from the bar, I give one last glance to the staff before heading upstairs. They all give me approving smiles, nods, and a few even mouths a few words of appreciation before returning to their duties. Calmly closing the door behind me as I enter the office, I call out to Bartholomew from the observatory window to say “And keep this open. I like the view better without the glass,” before finding my tarp. It’s under a few of the eviscerated bodies so I pick it out of the bloody mulch. I give it a few good rings to clean most of the chunks off before curling up under it to sleep through the day.      A nightmare racks my brain, a supposed impossibility for Kindred. It’s of Noz rending me to pieces in the same manner I did to him. He seems to be smiling more and more with each blow he lands against me. Once I blink, Noz is replaced with Ylva, clawing me to pieces as tears stream down her cheeks. She’s in more pain than I am as she continues to claw away pieces of me. I blink a second time and it’s Ludwig now, stabbing me over and over with the dagger I gave him. He looks as focused and furious as I was when I killed his foster father. He’s not enjoying it, though. When I blink again and the person wailing on me returns to Noz, I fight back and begin killing him for a second time. Unlike the first, he’s smiling as I do it. He begins laughing after I’ve reduced him to less than half a man. Worrying about why, I stomp his head into pieces across the floor before looking around, realizing that I killed not only him but Ylva and Ludwig as well. With the Beast in full control, I laugh maniacally, relishing the wanton bloodshed.      I startle awake, swiping at air with my left hand. My right hand soon follows, digging out a chunk of stone from the wall where my fist must have slammed into during my night terror. Realizing that it was simply a dream, I relax with a deep breath before standing up from my tarp. Much to my surprise, the office is clean already. The carcasses and viscera which previously decorated it are now gone, but the damage is still apparent. The crater in the wall is much more prevalent without a body in it. The debris and broken glass from wrecking the office is clear, making the missing window and shattered desk more prevalent. There’s now a short railing akin to a theatre box where the observatory window once was. Stepping towards it, I pause for a moment, glancing down at the desk. It’s still broken in half, the two pieces facing down in a V. The splinters of wood are cleared, showing a fractured separation in the floorboards between the two halves of the desk. Stepping past it, I hear it split more under my weight. The floor doesn’t give, so I pay no mind to it as on my way to the railing.      The building is full of music by now, but it’s quite the opposite of what’s usually played during nights of combat. Following my word, all of the staff has ensured that tonight is one solely for rest and relaxation. The melodies filling the air tonight are soft and slow. The floor is full of people, but not so much as to describe it as a sea. There’s enough people so as not to feel congested yet still remain cautious. The staff around are comfortably mixing business with pleasure, indulging in playful whims suggested by the patrons who are present. In regards to the visitors, the majority are regulars whom I’ve seen spend night after night in this bar before. Curiously, there are a healthy amount of newcomers, many with fangs. I’m glad to see that they’re behaving properly, despite what rumors I heard about Kindred parties when I was alive. 

     Leaning against the new balcony, I call down to Bartholomew, who’s tending bar directly below me, “Surprisingly good turn out for it not being a night of Fights.”

     Glancing around the room before leaning his head back, he responds, “Well, Boss, seems like our new bar rules motivated the workforce to advertise.”

     Smiling as I look about the room, I say, “Well, that sounds like a hell of a step up from before.”

     Turning back to return my smile, he remarks, “It certainly never happened when Noz was working this place. That’s for sure.”

     “Has Caster showed up yet?” I ask, trying to see familiar faces in the mass of people on the barroom floor.

     “Nope, not yet,” he answers as he blows dust out of a wine glass, “Knowing him, he won’t hesitate to find us once he gets here. Until then, how about you join the rabble, boyo?”

     Scoffing at the suggestion, I attempt to return to the broken desk before hearing Ylva shout, “Bartholomew says that we’re supposed to have something to toast to! Hurry up and get down here, Carnie! I’ve never had wine before!”

     Glancing back down, I see Ylva smiling in an elaborate outfit. She’s wearing a red ruffle shirt with a high collar and a short tail that protrudes from the bottom of a corset. The sleeves are torn off, according to the loose bits of strands surrounding her shoulders. She has on long brown gloves, reaching just below her elbows. A dark brown corset covers most of her midriff, black belts and buckles binding it tight against her. Disregarding the cheers and claps after leaving the office, I walk down the stairs and notice that her corset isn’t the only odd attire she came in. Her dark boots now reach up to her thigh, supported by a staunch heel instead of a heavy sole. She wears red pants, leading from the top of her boots to the bottom of a wide belt supporting her sword to her hip. The final surprise addition to her attire this night is her hairstyle. Usually a single long braid of silver and raven, the front of her hair now has two small braided loops dangling past her temples, under her ears, then tying into an immaculate braided bun on the back of her head. I’ve never seen her dressed up so nice.      As I walk through a crowd of happy smiles and loud words of appreciation, neither Noz nor the Beast say anything. Much to my surprise, my mind is uncomfortably silent, allowing me to enjoy my short victory lap in peace.

     As I get to the bar, Ylva places her her head in her hand as she says, “Hi there, Checkpoint Attendant,” with a coy smile.

     I sit down next to her as I say, “Howdy, Night Wolf,” returning her smile with a smirk of my own.

     “Be careful talking like that, Carnie,” she tells me with a sudden giggle, “You might reveal to your workers that you weren’t born here.”

     Looking around, I remark, “I think they’re enjoying themselves too much to give a damn. Besides, they’re not just my workers. They’re ours.”

     Her smile turns toward the crowd of revelry as Bartholomew places out three glasses and begins to fill them with wine. She turns around to pick up her glass and swirl it around a bit, mimicking what she’s seen so many others do.

     As Bartholomew and I raise our glasses, Ylva raises hers as well, asking, “So, a toast to a successful reopening, aye?”

     Awkwardly glancing from her to Bartholomew, I inquire, “You haven’t told her, have you?”

     Giving a wide grin, he responds, “Nope, I figured that you should be the one to.”

     Confused, Ylva asks, “Tell me what?”

     “Well, I said the workers aren’t just mine,” I reply, nodding towards her, “They’re ours.”

     “Yeah,” she says, returning my nod, “They’re yours and Bartholomew’s, right?”

     “And I thought that Carnie here was the dense one,” Bartholomew scoffs, snickering a bit as he sets the wine glass on the bar top.

     Seeing her with an even more dumbfounded look on her face, I confide, “There’s three owners of the bar now. I’m one. Bartholomew’s another. Guess who I named as the third.”

     “Uhhh...” she responds, looking about the staff, “Elisabeth has a good head on her shoulders. Philip and Henry have been here a while. Pauline hated Noz the most. He was always beating on her more than the others.”

     She turns to see Bartholomew and I glaring at each other in disbelief and I ask, “Are you really serious?”

     Still in confusion, she responds, “Tell me when I get close.”

     “Oh, piss off,” Bartholomew says, “Just tell her, Carnie. I’d like to enjoy some wine.”

     Chuckling loudly, I tell Ylva, “You’re the third owner of the War Room.”

     Placing down her glass, she looks around the room. I’m practically smiling from ear to ear, thinking that she’s imagining all the things she could do with the place. Bartholomew looks on in anticipation, noticing her expressions from his line of sight. She turns back with a giddy grin but saddened eyes.

     With her hands shaking and fear in her voice, she asks, “Why me? I have absolutely no idea how to run an establishment. Don’t you remember me getting fired from every job I’ve ever had?”

     “You don’t have to run the establishment,” Bartholomew speaks up, “I’ve been running this place since the beginning. All Noz did was grab profits and use the help as punching bags or blood supply.”

     “Then, what do I do? Run protection and bodyguards for the building?” she continues to question.

     “Yeah, actually,” I tell her, leaning against the bar, “The staff aren’t the best fighters and, now that we’re allowing other Kindred in here, I need a better bruiser than me to make sure that people stay in line. You can teach the workers how to fight, too, just in case.”

     Her smile growing wider and the fear leaving, she asks, “Wait, you’re paying me to kick people’s ass when they get out of line?”

     “It’s more like you’re paying yourself as the owner,” I reply, grabbing the glass of wine, “Also, we’ll be in charge of organizing Fights and, to be entirely transparent, I need someone who can work in the sun. So, what do you say?”

     Tackling me off of the chair, Ylva wraps her arms around my neck and tightens like a vice grip. Desperately trying to return to my feet, she begins thanking me repeatedly as we roll on the ground. More and more of the workers and customers begin staring at us, so I try to whisper some words to get her to come to her senses. In our tossing and turning, her lips accidentally press against mine. We’re transported to when we were curious teens, locking eyes with a shared fever of embarrassment. Snapping back to reality, we spring to our feet and sit back down.

     With the staff still staring at us with giggles and chuckles, Ylva and I shout to them, “Back to work!”

     Nudging the glasses towards us, Bartholomew holds back a laugh as he says, “Alright, you star-crossed lovers. Shall we toast to being the new owners?”

     “We’re not-” I stumble.

     “We aren’t-” Ylva mumbles.

     “Jaysus, just shut the hell up and drink the damn wine,” Bartholomew barks, clinking his glass to ours.

     Bartholomew downs his glass immediately while Ylva and I share an awkward glance. In a flash, we drink ours like it’s water before grabbing the bottle from Bartholomew and pouring more for the three of us. Ylva and I drink until we forget about the embarrassed flush on our faces.

     “So,” Ylva starts directly after we finish our third glasses of wine, “What do the payments look like?”

     Bartholomew is still sipping on his third glass as he tells us, “In a single word: Lucrative. In an average week, the bar clears around ten thousand. Noz would usually take more than half for himself then a quarter of it for taking care of the building. The rest was usually split amongst us on staff. With how I have it planned, we’re keeping the quarter for taking care of the building and only sticking to half for us to split, although Carnie’s portion is being divided up equally among the help. With all of that, it means about twenty-five hundred is going towards keeping the place supplied and well kept while the staff get about thirty-five hundred to split up roughly twenty ways, leaving Ylva and I with about two thousand each. That sound good to you two?”

     I tell him, “Sounds spot on to me. Thank you, Bartholomew.”

     Eyes wide in awe, Ylva says, “Of fucking course that sounds good! Praise to Gaia, I can actually move out of my shite apartment complex. Thanks, Bartholomew.”

     Nodding in agreement, he finishes his glass of wine before saying, “Good, now, I’m going to leave you two alone. Look, I’ve been watching you two for years now, alright. So when I tell you two this, just know that I mean no offense and all, although I’m so happy that I can finally be crass enough to say that you two are fucking disgusting when you guys are together. Honestly, either bang after hours or get drunk enough to have the courage to.”

     Ylva and I both shout, “BARTHOLOMEW!”

     Laughing his ass off, he responds, “What? You think I give a fuck? I’m the owner. Ha!”

     He walks down the bar to start making drinks for the staff, leaving Ylva and I alone. We stumble on our words a bit, avoiding eye contact for the better part of about two minutes before we can actually finish a sentence.

     “I might have created a monster,” I say, walking behind the bar to find some shot glasses and some darker liquor.

     Holding her shot in place while I pour, Ylva jokes, “Yeah, just a little bit. We may have to stake him next.”

     We laugh a bit as we start taking shots. It still bothers me, though. Drinking isn’t the same after killing Noz, so I stop only after a few. Ylva notices.

     “What’s wrong? Liquor not hitting you right?” she asks after finishing her third shot.

     “No, it’s not that. I just haven’t felt the same since last night,” I tell her, watching the liquor spin in the bottle.

     Staring at me with an odd and intense look, she says, “You’re right. You’re not the same. There’s a lot of black lines all around you, now. Your aura is tainted. Explains why there’s even less color in you, too.”

     “I got to fix that,” I reply, pouring her another shot.

     “Do you want to?” she questions, leaving the glass on the table, “After all, you told me that you enjoyed being a Kindred. Are you sure you actually want to fix it?”

     Feeling her doubt like a sword through the gut, I stare her in her eyes as I respond, “Yes, I want to fix this. I may enjoy the power. Hell, I downright love it. I don’t love not being able to enjoy a drink with my best friend or not being able to hold a smile without it being fake.”

     She looks up with a relieved smile before saying, “Alright, good. Then we can figure that out together.”

     I return her smile with one of my own before looking away in shame. Not due to me lying to her, I didn’t this time. I’m ashamed because the daydreams came back. Another bittersweet delusion of her and I running out of the city together, covered in the blood of anyone who tries to stop us. A masochistic fantasy that tortures me to the point of no return. It burns almost as much as-

     “Sunshine?” I hear Caster call.

     Never thought that I’d be happy to hear his voice.

     “Never thought that I’d be happy hear your voice, Caster,” I tell him, snapping out of my daze.

     He leans against the bar, practically rubbing shoulders with Ylva, and says, “Well, Sunshine, happy to oblige, but I must ask,” pausing to turn to Ylva and reach for her hands, “Who is this precious little ruby?”

     Stabbing her fingernails into the top of the bar, Ylva downs her shot before answering, “A woman who’d rather bite her own tongue than buy what you’re selling. I’m taken.”

     She always uses the same lie when she doesn’t want guys hitting on her.

     Narrowly pulling his hand out from being impaled by her claws, Caster remarks, “Oh, so much fire inside of you. You must be Ylva, then. Carnegie’s girlfriend, correct?”

     “Incorrect,” I tell him.

     “Incorrect?” he asks.

     “I’m not his girlfriend,” Ylva tells him.

     “You’re not his girlfriend?” he questions with raised eyebrows.

     “She’s not my girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend,” I reply, filling her shot glass.

     “Oh, you don’t have a girlfriend,” Caster states with a cocky smile and a deeper lean towards me.

     “He doesn’t have a girlfriend because he’s not interested in anyone,” Ylva responds, cocking her head with an annoyed stare at Caster.

     “Well, I have some people I could intro-” Caster tries to say.

     “No, I’m fine.” “No, he’s fine.”

     Both Ylva and I answered in unison, which only makes Caster’s smile grow wider as he relaxes deeper into the bar.

     “Right...” Caster responds, eyeing both of us with a stupid painted grin on his face, “But you are Ylva, yes? The third owner of the bar?”

     Ylva answers, “That is correct. I’m Ylva and I’m the third owner. Do you want to be the first customer I throw out?”

     Putting his hands up with a teasing pout, he mocks, “Whatever shall I do, m’lady?”

     Ylva finishes her shot, stands up, then cracks her knuckles in preparation to toss him to the curb but stops when I tell her, “Unfortunately, we can’t kick him out.”

     “Why not?” she asks, stepping within an inch of him.

     Taking a deep sigh, I tell her, “Because I can’t pay him back if he’s dead.”

     Glancing to me then back to him, she asks me, “What do you owe him?”

     With a shit-eating smirk, Caster leans closer to her face and responds, “In summary, all the land which he now calls his own.”

     Ylva glares to me for confirmation and I give a remorseful nod. She grabs him by the back of the head and sniffs him.

     “Whoa, whoa, okay,” Caster says, suddenly growing uncomfortable, “Careful with the hands, please.”

      She lets go of his head then says to me, “I don’t like how he smells, Carnie. Don’t trust him.”

     Handing her the bottle and her drinking glass, I tell her, “Never have, never will,” as she walks down the bar to have a discussion with Bartholomew.

     Turning back to me after watching her leave, Caster suggests, “I can see why you like her, but would a leash be too much to ask for?”

     Slamming a heavy bottle against the bar, I tell him, “Yes, it would. You disrespect her again and I’ll find out who you won’t cheat on.”

     Stiffening up, Caster readjusts his collar as he stammers, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have anyone.”

     “I’ve seen you lurking around here before with Noz,” I bluff, trying to get him to trip up, “You always flirt around with whoever you want but back down when it starts getting hot. On top of that, you dress too well to not be taken.”

     Clearing his throat, Caster replies, “Perhaps I prefer to look my best. Doesn’t mean I have someone in my life.”

     “Really?” I scoff, “You prefer to look your best in the part of the city surrounded in smog and buried in all the scraps of the higher clans? Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. You got someone who holds you to a certain standard, seemingly one who likes tight collars.”

     I lean in and wait for him to respond. He coughs a bit then asks for a drink.

     “Pass my apologies on to Ylva,” Caster tells me, “Now, a drink please. Something neat.”

     Wow, that bluff actually worked.

     I pour his drink as I tell him, “I’m surprised that bluff actually worked.”

     His eyes flare up in disbelief as I slide his drink towards him. He laughs as he asks, “On to business then, Sunshine. What’s your answer?”

     Taking a moment to consider all of my options, I tell him with certainty, “Yeah...I’ll take the job. Still don’t like not knowing what it is, but I’ll do it.”

     Slapping his hands together with a joyous smile, he exclaims, “Yes, Sunshine! That’s what I like to hear!”

     “Are you really going to call me ‘Sunshine’ from now on?”

     “Perhaps, if you like it.”

     “I’d rather you not.”

     “But I could.��

     “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

     “So, I will.”

     “Really?”

     “Now, on to the gift,” he says, standing up from his seat and picking up a sizable case.

     He places it down on the table as I grab a knife from behind the bar and ask, “So, you’re really turning on me?”

     Glancing around the room and noticing that Bartholomew is cool as he’s ever been while Ylva is slowly palming her sword, Caster puts his hands up and remarks, “See? You’re both so combative and paranoid. It’s really quite adorable.”

     “What the hell is in the box, Caster?” I demand, still believing it’s some sort of weapon.

     “A signing gift, you dolt,” he remarks, taking what looks to be a long trench coat from the box, “All of your clothes are tarnished and in tatters. You need to be at least halfway presentable for this job.”

     “Is this really for the job?” I ask in disbelief.

     Giving a smile that masks any deception, he simply says, “Maaaayyyybeee,” before tossing it to me and closing the box.

     “Thanks, I suppose,” I tell him, curiously looking at the coat and wondering how he got the size correct.

     “I should be making my leave,” he exclaims, exiting the building, “Stay vigilant for the letter.”

     Rapidly leaving, I fold up the coat as Bartholomew and Ylva make their way back over to me.

     Watching Caster dash out of the bar and not even look back, we all glance about with stupefied looks before Bartholomew asks, “So, you ready to learn about the territory you were given and find a way to get your ‘humanity back’? Ylva said that I should help.”

     Taking one last shot of pure smoke, I tell them, “Yeah, let’s get to it.”

     For the rest of the night, Bartholomew guides me around the lower part of Ustrus, showing me all of the major players in the area while Ylva stays to watch over the bar. We first arrive at the train tracks where he introduces me to my old boss. Fortunately, the Embrace transformed my appearance so drastically that she doesn’t recognize me. She never came down to meet the railroad workers either, so my voice was unfamiliar as well. As Noz’s replacement, she’s convinced to share with me all the details that my sire once knew. I wish I was surprised that the railroad tracks were a massive line of unmarked graves for certain “regrettable” victims of other Kindreds’ feeding habits. On the way to our next destination, Bartholomew makes it clear that it’s a necessary discomfort.      Next on the list are the gambling halls. I meet the new replacements for the former bosses. Their office is rather clean, much cleaner than it had been last time I was in it. The underlying business is still dirty, though. The gambling halls is a front to provide Kindred a location that makes seeking out desperate saps to turn into Ghouls nearly effortless. Bartholomew doesn’t need to convince me much to keep this place running. By the way I see it, these lowlifes will be either dead or worse if they don’t make nice with some vamps.      Before turning towards the last stop, Bartholomew hands me a pair of old aviator goggles, one lens having a large spindly crack in it, and a large hood with a low hanging cowl. He tells me to put them on and I do once I realize which part of the lower end we’ve come to. Arriving in an alleyway, we meet up with three men. One is the landlord who had seen me grow up from a baby into the sad excuse for a human being I was before dying. The other two are the cook I left alive and who I’m assuming is the new lead drug trafficker after I killed the previous one. Understandably, Bartholomew does the talking this time around, referring to me as the new “baron” around these parts. I never liked hearing that title. Bartholomew tells me that it helps sell the fact that I’ve taken over. I’m still not comfortable with it.      On the way back to the War Room, I convince Bartholomew to leave me a few moments alone. He agrees to meet me back at the bar as I begin stalking my way back to my old home. Intending to check on Ludwig, I get there just in time to watch him sneak out with the help of a few other kids. All three are wearing rags covered in soot and oil. It takes all of them to help Ludwig limp out of his room, leaving through another hidden exit. After making sure to not be seen by any normal senses, I follow them back to the orphanage where they play games together and hide from the workers patrolling the interior halls. I leave them be and find my way back to my establishment.      Once there, Ylva, Bartholomew and I discuss all of the other pies Noz had his hands in. We all come to a consensus on how they’ll continue to operate as normal. Aside from that, little else is talked about. Bartholomew decides to head in early for once, seeing the War Room being empty aside from the workers. Ylva heads out as well, eager to start packing her belongings now with the money to move out soon to be in her possession. I return upstairs to the office and begin slowly pacing around the room, bothered by a few things.      The first worry I have is the fact that neither the Beast nor Noz clawed my mind tonight. Usually, the Beast always have at least one thing to say the moment I wake up and I wouldn’t be too quiet if I was stuck in another vampire’s body like Noz. Tonight, however, has been peculiarly silent. The next troublesome thought is what the hell the job from Caster is going to be. For a man who loves to talk cocky, it’s off-putting just how tight lipped he’s being about something that’s obviously essential. The third biggest thought in my mind is the problem with the War Room itself. The entire building is nearly double the length of the barroom floor and the office combined, but the walls don’t go any further back. I’ve seen the inside of Bartholomew’s room and it's not as deep as the back wall of the office above it. As I begin checking every nook and cranny of the office, there’s no obscured passageway or hidden lever. With my mind stumped, I take a seat against the still broken desk. I’m then reminded of the fact that there’s an unstable crack in the floorboards by the wood breaking apart, sending me through the hole along with the two halves of the desk.      Falling about twenty feet, I slam off the edge of one of the two halves and bounce on to cold cement. Groaning as I return to me feet, I’m surrounded by darkness and immediately start trying to find a wall. Stumbling over the desk’s two halves, I find some sort of construction with a lever. I grab hold of it and jerk it down, watching sparks of electricity fly around the room. As incandescent bulbs fill the room with light, it becomes apparent what Noz’s greatest stash was. With what I see, everything in me says that I should close up this place after I’ve had my fun, even pulling me to fix the desk as a marker of where the entrance is. After a few hours of exploration, that’s exactly what I do, but, right now, I’m a kid in a candy shop. Seeing all of his secrets laid out in front of me, the only thought that comes across my mind is a genuine one, appealing to every bit of Kindred and Humanity I have left.

     “This is going to be fun,” the Beast, Noz, and myself all remark in unison, beginning my first night of exploration.

#VTM #nosferatu #short story #homebrew #steampunk #Carnegie Gunvald #vampire the masquerade

[friendlyunclej]

Baician Memoirs: Pride of a Family Man

Prologue

     I left my home about a month ago and I use the term “left” loosely. More accurately, I was forced to leave after the Long Ears that rule over Draturi found me exhuming a corpse from the cemetery I looked over. The woman was killed by someone, her body mutilated by something inhuman. At least, that’s what the High Elves who ruled the city told me. I asked them if she had any family in the city, and they responded with an abrupt “No” before leaving in a hurry. After they had left her remains with me, I carried the body to my living quarters to prepare her for her burial.      I carefully removed her clothing, so as not to disrespect the woman more than she had already been. Without her clothes, it was a more horrific sight than what I was originally faced with. Her head was already a gruesome sight. It was torn to shreds, nothing to reveal her identity above the lips. The right side of her head was nowhere to be seen aside from a few strips of dead flesh and viscera. There was barely a piece of her left eye still in the socket, or what one could consider a socket. The left side of her face still had barely enough attached for me to see that what looked to be whipping marks cut deep into her flesh. Her body was covered in deep bruises and dents where her ribs and bones should have prevented. A few ribs were even protruding from the skin after being broken so severely. Knowing the High Elves’ penchant for mistreatment of what they perceive as “lower races”, it didn’t take a High Arcanist to figure out that there was something more behind this story. I placed covers on her body and head, but left her mouth, which was surprisingly untouched, open as I surround the body with burning incense. I utter a few words to commune with the Raven Queen as the body slowly reanimates so I can ask her a few questions.      She was a mistress of one of the Elven leaders. The leader’s husband found out about her, beating her nearly to death in a fit of rage. This was nothing new. Many of the High Council have affairs. Very few kill those they have an affair with, though. After a few more questions, it was revealed that she wasn’t killed by the husband, but by the leader herself and a beast she kept as a pet. She revealed to me that her name was Daraline Yl’Liv. All of the Houses give their slaves their names, so I knew which family to question now. After burying her, I walked to the Yl’Liv House to pay for an audience with the heads of the house. They asked for why I desired their attention. I told them that it was about the woman I buried. They didn’t respond. That night, I tried to exhume the body to hopefully ask more questions. Guards paid off by the Yl’Liv House caught me with tools of their own for exhuming the body. After they shackled me, they burned the body and brought me to the council. They all agreed that I be exiled from the city for desecrating a corpse. None would listen to me as I told them the truth about the Yl’Liv family.      That happened about four weeks ago, closer to five now. I’ve been travelling from village to village since then. I tried to gain work as an undertaker, hoping to continue my career. A few villages almost took me up on the offer until they found out about my situation with the city of Draturi. While searching for an occupation within my career, I always had a small job working as a cook. People would be amazed by the flavors I could come up with, no matter the ingredients. As much as I enjoyed the undertaker business for letting me help the dead find peace, my true passion was always cooking. I probably should have listened to my brother’s advice and just made it my career from the beginning. As the weeks went on, the influence of the High Council began to follow me and, soon enough, no one would even allow me to enter their kitchen. Expecting my experiences to only worsen, I saved enough of the money I had and purchased proper tents and cooking wares before beginning to live in the forests outside the villages despite the worry of nearby Orc attacks. At this point, with how most of my life had gone, I figured that Orcs might actually be friendlier to me than the Elves ever were.      Thanks to my training within Draturi City, it was hard for someone to sneak up on me, much less an Orc. If there was one thing I could count on them for, it was to announce their arrival. An Orc tribe had made camp not too far out from a nearby village. The village was full of other Humans like me, but they shunned me before I could even knock on a door. When I tried to sleep protected from the rain inside of a barn, the farmer kicked me out without a moment to try to explain myself. I tried to procure some supplies and noone would accept my gold while some tossed me in jail, believing the High Council’s word about me defiling corpses after making a dark pact with an evil Elven deity. Due to the frequent unjust jailings and mistreatment I experienced, I decided not to warn the village about the impending Orc raid. I simply made camp a little bit out of the way, allowing the Orcs to pillage while listening to their screams. I’ll admit that being betrayed by my city and its neighboring villages might have made me rather spiteful.      The raid goes on during the late hours of the night and I’m cooking a stew while listening to the townsfolk’s screams. As the stew cooks slowly in a large pot hanging over the fire, the screams from town begin to quiet down a bit as many of townsfolk have been silenced by now. I’m not particularly proud about leaving them to the wolves, but I’m not too concerned with them as a female Orc approached my small campfire.

     As I stir my stew, I look over my left shoulder to her as I say, “A lot of screaming coming from town, yeah?”

     Coming to a halt as she holds her greataxe with a single fist, she asks with a pleasant voice that has a soft amount of gravel, “It doesn’t bother you?”

     I continue stirring so as to keep my nerves in control as I reply, “No, I never liked them much, anyway.” Unable to think of anything else to say, I offer, “Care for a bowl of soup?”

     I listen to her footsteps approach my left side as I wait for her response. I recall that my sword is behind the log I use as a bench, about 10 feet behind me so it’s too far for me to dash to. I’m betting that I’m not stronger than any Orc, especially as I’ve always been more interested in learning strategies instead of hand-to-hand combat. If it was combat based solely on technique, I could probably win but this isn’t a sparring match. I look to her as her feet stop moving and every thought in my mind flies out of my ears as she stuns me.      She grips her axe with both hands as she bends over the pot with her eyes closed and begins to sniff the pot. She has a beautiful wreathe of messy black hair on her head, half of which is draped down the left side of her face and the other half follows the arch of her back. She is the antithesis of every woman that surrounded me as I grew up in Draturi. Her jaw is defined and strong, like the rest of her body. Her skin was a sharp green, almost like underwater moss. She wore the hides of many animals, mainly wolves and bears from what was on her body. The lines on her back form a map from the top of her shoulder blades down to the small of her back. The crackling fire highlighted her body, defining musculature which I had only ever seen on some of the fiercest warriors. Across her body, she had scars all throughout her form, deeper and more numerous than my own. As I soaked in her body, I couldn’t help but smile as my thoughts of attacking while she was distracted left my mind. Her eyes opened and I saw a beautiful purple tint to her dark pupils.

     I watched her eye me up and down for a few moments before saying, “So, are you going to take the bowl or should I wait for you to stop leering at me?”

     She stood up straight and tightened her grip on her axe after that remark. Her arms rippled with muscle and I looked up to meet her fiery gaze with a look of restrained wonder. The scars across her nose and near her chin only added to her beauty as she said, “You know that I’m going to kill you?”

     Walking to the overturned tree with my sword behind it, I take a seat and place the bowl next to me as I reply, “Well, in that case, let me eat a dinner with a beautiful woman before I die.”

     She steps up to the edge of the log and slams the axe into the ground with a resounding thud. She drops her body into the log next to me as she picks up the bowl of soup and replies, “You’ll have to settle for me.”

My Heart

     It was almost a certainty that the tribe leader would allow me stay alive as an enslaved chef. Knowing that it would require me to prove my worth through a trial dinner, I ventured out and requested for some of the best ingredients that I knew was in the village they just pillaged. Cooking for them was made even more enjoyable as the tribe leader made the one who wished to keep me alive assist in gathering and cooking. As much as I tried to strike up conversation, the same female Orc who had tried my stew the night before wasn’t in a very talkative mood. We went about it in silence until dinner time. As I ate with the other slaves, the Orcs almost swallowed their plates as they devoured what was supposed to be a long night’s worth of food in a matter of minutes. They forced me to continue cooking, which I was first happy to do. However, I saw my captor be lead to a tent by the tribe leader. I had only a moment to be disheartened as the other Orcs shouted for more food. After dinner was done, I was made to wait in an animal pen for hours. It was almost the break of dawn until my captor left the Tribe Leader’s tent and found me. I was half asleep as she jerked me onto my feet by my collar and dragged me to her tent.

     I joked, “If you liked me that much, you could have just asked me to fol-” before being cut off by a punch across the jaw.

     As I fell to the ground, I couldn’t respond as she shouted, “You’re my prisoner, now. Where I go, you follow. Do you understand?”

     Rubbing my chin, I try to get another joke out by saying, “Can’t we at least get a drink together before you wrap a leash around my-”

     My words get cut off as she grabs me by the throat and lifts me off my feet with one hand, saying, “Do all humans talk this much?”

     Straining for air, I struggle to reply, “It’s a sign of comfort and caring to have someone try to share a conversation. I take it you’re not the conversation type, m’lady?”

     I feel her grip tighten as she snarls, “Don’t call me ‘lady’, Prisoner.”

     “Understood,” I reply as black begins to creep in from the edge of my vision.

     Her grip disappears from my neck and I drop back down to my feet. I barely manage to stay upright as she snorts, “Hmph, you’re still standing? So there is some strength in you.”

     Coughing a bit, I reply as she moves to a pile of pelts near her makeshift bed, “What do I call you then? Mistress?”

     Some small wolf pelts fly into my face as she replies, “Not that. That sounds strange,” as she lies in her bed.

     Looking around the room, I say, “I’m on the floor, I see.”

     She doesn’t respond, so I take that as a “yes” while I try to find a comfortable piece of the ground to rest on. I’ve had a fair number of captors before her, a Lord Dalton in Draturi and a Captain Brown in the City of Tyriok to name two of them. However, none gave me an odd desire to stay like this one had. Despite what she had showed me so far, something within told me that there was a kind side that could come out if I was persistent enough. Whether it was Dwuyddin guiding my mind or Aratuna guiding my lust, I wanted to get closer to her. If I’m being honest with myself, the real reason I stayed was to try to figure out why she made my chest pound like a drum even when she was threatening my life.      As the months began to pass, I managed to melt away at her defenses. I would try my best to prove myself worth keeping around, first by stitching her wounds. She would pull away like an injured fox when I first tried, but she gave in after a group of bounty hunters attacked the tribe. During the first month, I began to train my body to be as strong as my mind.      As she was the only one with a human prisoner she’d let get within five feet of her, I witnessed the other Orcs begin to turn a different cheek towards her. So as to counter their icy receptions, I would always greet her with a warm smile. Despite her seeing it as an insult in the beginning, she eventually returned my smile with one of her own instead of a fist. As the months passed, I also studied Orcish tactics to better understand how they fought and hunted.      The moment that I knew I had broken through to her came during the winter. It seemed that Orcs would usually pair with each other to stay warmer during the season. Because she had grown closer to me, none offered her a bed to share. I didn’t have a bed to offer, but I convinced her to share pelts under a tree. Luckily, I was even able to learn her name: Filoosh White-Mane. For these final weeks, I listened to specific names of deities, hoping to strengthen my pitch to my captor once the time was right to do so. Also, confident that it would result in me either running for my life alone or with company, I managed to send a messenger pigeon to my brother.      As we shared pelts under the same tree we had always taken shelter beneath, I chose to make an offer to her, certain that she would want it more than I. I began with trying to ask her if she ever considered leaving the tribe. Not responding positively to the thought of leaving, I continued to try to convince her to leave by describing the great differences between her and the rest of the tribe. She was always separated from the tribe, even before I arrived. She had been looking for a reason to leave and I offered her that. She didn’t believe that we were capable of surviving the hunters the tribe would send after us, much less the winter to come. Naturally, it became a fight as we grappled and rolled around on the ground. I was able to overpower her for a moment, helping persuade her a bit more before she finally agreed. We spent that night showing each other the more intimate differences between Humans and Orcs. Unfortunately, we awoke with little time to enjoy ourselves as hunters were on one side while a blizzard was on the other.      In Baicia, the two suns which travel the skies make the summers long and the winters more frigid than expected. This winter would be recorded in history as one of the worst in the past two decades. For the Orc tribe chasing Fi and I, it would be forever remembered as the worst winter of their history.       Before we could finish our night together, a couple of Orcs heard our grunts and gasps then found us together during their investigations. As they tried to dash back to camp to inform the tribe leader of what they had witnessed, Fi rolled off of me to grab her axe as I rushed one down before he could react. She chopped one almost in half from the clavicle to his hip while I managed to disarm the other, stabbing him with his own spear. I wrenched the full length of the weapon through his gut and jerked it through his back just as Fi turned to help. Grabbing our pelts and scavenging what we could from the two bodies, we ran deeper into the forests as a third Orc we hadn’t noticed returned to the tribe. We wouldn’t get a break from dashing through the forests until a number of hours later when the sharp snap of a blizzard hit us.      During the first week of our escape, Fi and I killed four of the five Orcs sent to hunt us. This winter began with a sharp and stinging blizzard, helping us ambush those that followed. As Fi and I slept huddled together for warmth, we argued about how to dispatch them.

     Fi began with, “I’m going to use my axe.”

     “That’s great, Fi, but we’re going to need a bit more strategy to take down five of your tribe,” I insisted, wrapping each other tighter in pelts.

     “Simple...I attack from the front, you attack from somewhere else,” Fi continued, still as straightforward as ever.

     “Well...” I paused, realizing that she was right, “That should actually work great, then.”

     “Good...” she said, laying down in a bundle of pelts, “Now, we can sleep.”

     Chuckling to myself, I joined her and found myself asleep in moments. As per usual, I never stayed asleep for longer than an hour or so. Seeing as how there was nowhere to go, I simply shuffled around slowly, so as not to wake her. Just before dawn broke, I slipped away and left a note written in Orkish for Fi to read when she woke up. I clamored up a tall tree, nearly being thrown off by the blizzard’s harsh winds numerous times, and waited for the hunting party to catch up to us.      As dawn broke, the hunting party began passing underneath me. Hoping that Fi read my message, I calmly waited for the correct moment. Just as the last Orc was passing directly beneath me, the tree adjacent to me fell down on two of them, pinning them to the ground. I immediately fell from my perch, slamming my spear through the shoulder of the Orc I used to soften my landing. With that one dead and pinned to the ground, I took the axe he was wielding and turned around to face one twice my size wielding an axe that was larger than him. Despite my handaxe practically being a splinter in comparison, I clenched my teeth, broke off the handle of the spear for an additional weapon, then dug my feet into the ground as I waited for him to charge.      After chopping away at the large foe’s lower joints and ligaments, I went for one final strike but he caught my axe as it was coming down to him. Without the strength to wrestle the weapon away from him, he tossed me aside like a ragdoll and I slammed into a nearby tree.

     As I picked myself up from the ground, I noticed Fi simply leaning against the tree with a raised eyebrow pointed my away as she asked, “Having trouble?”

     Cracking my back into place, I told her, “Nope...100% under control.”

     Without a sign of sarcasm, she replied, “100% looks painful. Is something being ‘100%’ supposed to be a good thing?”

     Releasing a heavy sigh as I found my handaxe, I saw that the fourth Orc of the party was beheaded behind her and that one of the two pinned under a tree was struggling to reach theirs.

     “Just...give me a moment, Fi. Could you make sure those two under the tree aren’t going anywhere?” I asked, walking towards the large Orc who was still unable to stand.

     Before I made it halfway, a spear flew passed my head and impaled the Orc through his right ear, making him crumple to the ground in death. When I turned back around, I saw Fi simply shrug at me before making her way towards the only two left alive. I joined her just as she kicked a sword away from the one scout that still had fight in her. I checked the other, who was actually impaled to the ground by one of the tree limbs.

     As I gently slapped the barely conscious Orc’s face, I asked Fi, “So, what did you think about the falling tree trick?”

     Slamming her axe into the ground directly next to the still pinned Orc, she responded as she leaned against it, “It was a bit funny to watch. I would have voted for something else, though. Are we executing these two?”

     I gripped my handaxe firm as I responded, “No...not both of them.”

     I raised the axe with both hands over my head and slammed it down on the impaled Orc’s neck just as his eyes opened. I kicked the loose head in front of the last living Orc’s eyeline, surprising Fi with the sudden brutality.

     “Now, here’s what you’re going to do,” I start to say in Orkish, speaking to the still alive and pinned hunter, “You are going to go back to your tribe and tell them that they will continue to lose more of their herd if they don’t leave us be. Do you understand?”

     Spitting at me, the Orc shouted back, “I’m no dog of yours! You don’t give me orders human!”

     “Then what if that order came from one of your own?” Fi interjected, “Leigh, take a knife to this one’s ears. She’ll listen then.”

     I took the knife from Fi’s belt and quickly grabbed the length of the pinned Orc’s ear and swiftly carved it off. She thrashed and screamed, nearly freeing her self from the tree that pinned her. Fi stomped the tree back down on the lower back of the woman before continuing to convince her to follow orders.      As they had a discussion in Orkish, I went about carving the ears off of the rest of the Orcs. I knew that the tribe would keep ears of those they killed. I was collecting them for a different purpose.

     As the tree was lifted off of the last surviving hunter, Fi said, “Now run back to the Tribe. Tell them that Filoosh White-Mane and her prisoner will paint the entire forest with the blood of any who attempt this again.”

     Before she could run off terrified, I tossed a small mane wrapped around the nine Orc ears to the runner as I said, “Bring them that. Hopefully, they won’t kill you on sight if you show them proof of everyone’s failure, not only yours.”

     As she ran off, Fi and I began to hurriedly loot each of the bodies, collecting what other pelts, kindling, sharpening stones, food, and other valuables we could carry. We both knew that they were going to send more, if they didn’t already have others around looking. Knowing that the tribe responds to spectacle more than speeches, I began to hack away at the various limbs of the dead Orcs.

     “Leigh, what are you doing?” Fi asked, “We need to collect and leave. Not kill the already dead.”

     “That’s not what I’m doing, Fi,” I tell her, just as I take another decapitated head and jam it into the stick I broke off of my old spear, “I’m leaving whoever follows a much stronger message than words.”

     Understanding what I intended to do, Fi began to chop thick limbs off of the overturned tree, sharpening them at both ends and sticking them into the ground. I piked each head onto a stand and used some loose ropes from the body’s torn armor to make the stands into mannequins of dismemberment. Unfortunately, or fortunately in this case, this wasn’t my first time leaving bodies in such a manner. It only took less than an hour to set up every mannequin before leaving with Fi. 

     For the rest of the week, we managed to travel relatively undisturbed, constantly moving whenever we heard the slightest voice. We found our way to a creek by the end of the first week, the weather still slowing us down. We used the kindling we scavenged to make a fire. Although it was weak in the frigid blizzard, it still helped keep us warm as we continued to plan our next move.

     “That was impressive, Leigh,” Fi said, eating another stew I was able to cobble together with the little food we managed to collect, “Creating statues out of dead parts. I should remember that one.”

     Not acknowledging it, I simply said, “It’ll take us nearly the whole winter to get to Draturi if this blizzard keeps up while the tribe is still on our tail. If we don’t get some type of luck or blessing soon, we may fall behind schedule.”

     Angry that I didn’t accept her compliment, Fi asked, “Is it normal for humans to ignore those saying nice things about them?”

     Sighing deeply, I simply continued, “If we fall behind schedule, my brother won’t be able to help us cross Draturi safely. Do you know any secrets about these hills that could help us?”

     “Maybe I do,” she said, still finding it rude that I won’t thank her, “Do you not like it when I speak kindly to you?”

     “Fi, we need to focus on the task at ha-” I began to say before looking up to see Fi standing over me with a frustrated look on her face.

     Believing that she was about to punch me for being rude, I stood up as well, taking a deep breath before nodding and motioning for her to give it to me. I closed my eyes as she grabbed my collar and, much to my surprise, wrapped her arms around me. In an awkward feat of strength, she lifted me up off of the ground and swung me around like a small child.

     Confused, I asked, “Fi...what are you doing?”

     She stopped swinging me around but kept me lifted as she said, “Isn’t this what humans do when someone they care about is feeling bad?”

     Touched by the attempted sentiment, I simply said, “Uh...yeah, but this is usually for children. Not lovers.”

     With an understanding “oh”, Fi dropped me back down before saying, “What do lovers do to console each other?”

     Never really having had one before, I reluctantly told her, “If I’m being honest, I don’t know either.”

     After an awkward pause as the two of us sat back down to continue eating our stew, I cleared my throat and said, “So...uh...do you actually know any secrets that could help us get to Draturi faster?”

     Finishing her stew and tossing it aside, Fi answered, “Yes. There are certain paths our gatherers would use to obtain food, drinking water, and even sneak into the tunnels running beneath the Elven city.”

     Hearing this news at the end of a week spent buried by a painful blizzard, I dropped my bowl as I asked, “Fi, why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

     Looking at me confused, she responded, “I was enjoying the slower journey. It’s been many years since a winter was this fierce.”

     Rubbing my face with both hands, I continued to ask, “Would these trails still have food even in weather like this?”

     Laying back with her arms crossed behind her head, she replied, “Of course. The Tribe was always sure to plant and upkeep crops which could thrive in any weather. This blizzard may have torn some from their bushes, but they’re still good to eat. Do you want to use that trail?”

     Burying my face deeper into my hands, I simply nodded as a bit of frustration began to burn up from inside.

     “Alright, we can get there tomorrow. It’s only a few hours from this riverbed,” she responded quickly.

     Dropping my hands from my face, I looked back at her in disbelief as I saw a slight smirk come across her face. Too annoyed or too tired to question her any further, I simply took a deep breath and threw my head back to lie next to her as we drifted off to sleep.      As with every other night, my sleep was constantly interrupted. Unlike every other night, this was due to nightmares. Not of the mannequins I crafted, that doesn’t bother me, it never has before. It’s the dark being that surrounds them that frightens me. My nightmares consist of the same thing: reliving a memory with a ghastly figure pulling me along on strings. It doesn’t bother me that I’ve done all the things I have. It bothers me that I’m not sure if it’s me or this figure. As with every night, I jolt awake just as the specter dashes at me with burning embers for hands. Shaking, I tried to move out of Fi’s arms so as not to disturb her, but I just felt her grip tighter. Turning to look at her, I realized that she was still awake and watching me, even placing some of her own pelts on me to help. Understanding that she won’t be letting me go, I simply resigned back into my spot to try to sleep once again. This time, I didn’t wake until dawn.      Once up, I followed Fi to the secret passage. It was near the bottom of the Grand Crevasse, almost at the very center of the valley. It was an odd long cut into the mountainside. There was a low hanging roof, almost as if an alcove was extended along the entire base of the hill. The passage extended seemingly to the base of Draturi, the bottom of a massive mountain that served as a bridge to the two mountain ranges that make either side of the valley. The most curious thing about this passage is that all of the bushels were full of bounty. Beautiful fruits and delicious vegetables lined both sides of the path, many of which weren’t native to the land and had no reason thriving so well in a winter so harsh.

      After realizing that she had continued travelling as I paused to take in the impossible sight in front of me, I had to rush back to Fi’s side to ask, “How is all of this food surviving so well?”

     Fi replied, “We imprisoned Nature Talkers a few winters back. Forced them to bless this passage to produce food which wouldn’t wither.”

     “Well,” I told her, “That’s amazing.”

     “Once they finished, we made them fertilize the ground,” she responded coldly.

     “Oh,” I said, believing that she meant that they had helped with magic again, “At least they were helpful, I suppose.”

     “They were,” she continued, stopping to take an apple off of a tree, “Both before and after death.”

     As I bit into the apple, I simply exclaimed, “Ye- Ohhhh...they became the- That makes sense,” realizing what she had meant by making them fertilize the ground. I simply took a deeper bite into the apple as it was one of the most delicious pieces of food I’ve had in a while.

     Continuing down the path as we passed fruits back and forth between one another, Fi informed me, “This passage takes us from the sea to the Elf city. With proper rest each night, it would take a group of five to get from one end to the other in less than a full winter. With just the two of us, we should be able to get there a few moons sooner, as long as neither of us get too injured.”

     “Great to hear,” I said, sitting down to rest my feet, “Then you wouldn’t be opposed to spending the rest of the day here.”

     Stopping to glance back at me, she glared as she said, “That’s not smart. The rest of the tribe could already be further along the trail or on our tails. We should keep moving.”

     “Fi, be frank,” I continued, beginning to look about all of the nearby foliage.

     “Who’s ‘frank’ and why do you want me to be him?” she questioned, with a confused tilt to her head.

     Sighing with a smile, I repeated, “Fi, be honest with me. Do you truthfully believe that your tribe is smart enough to leave sentries on this path?”

     Stepping out of the alcove trail to glance around in the blizzard, she returned to say, “Maybe not.”

     “Then let’s take a moment to rest and eat a proper meal. I’m certain I can cook up a ratatouille that can have you smiling from ear to ear.”

     “Smiling that wide sounds painful.”

     “Comfortably smiling from ear to ear.”

     “Fine, we can stay for the day, but we’ll have to leave at night then.”

     “Great, start up a fire while I collect some food.”

     After collecting the proper vegetables for the meal, Fi continued to ask me about the man named “frank” I mentioned earlier as I cook the meal. Once it’s ready, I manage to fully explain the meaning behind the saying just before being able to have a proper meal for the first time in close to two weeks. With our stomachs full, we continued to rest for a bit too long by the fire.      Fi would ask me about life in Draturi for a human. She paid great attention to my interactions with others, trying to learn how to properly carry herself in the city should it be needed. She would make a joke about how the men seemed more “soft handed” than the women. I would laugh as well, saying that it was more than true throughout the majority of the city. We would continue to talk about my brother deep into the night, turning us drowsy. I told her that he was a courageous man with a high station in the city. She didn’t believe me. I didn’t either as we nodded off.      The next morning, we woke up to the sounds of tracking parties finally catching up to us. Without a moments’ notice, Fi and I dashed away down the alcove trail. We were mice again in this chase, and it seemed like we weren’t going to be able to get away without a drastic change. Remembering what we had spoke of the day before, I asked Fi if more bodies were buried throughout the trail, which she confirmed. As we ran throughout the entire day and night, I spent my time looking back to reanimate the dead bodies to slow our pursuers. Unfortunately, the magic casting was too much for me, and I fell unconscious again at nightfall. I woke up buried in snow with my face uncovered to see Fi making a fire.

     “How long was I-” I tried to say.

     Interrupting me, Fi yelled, “Two moons.”

     “Did we escape?” I asked again, weakened by my coma.

     “Yes, thanks to your magic which you didn’t tell me about!”

     “Fi, please, don’t be angry-”

     “Too late! How can you bring the dead back?”

     “I’ve studied books. A lot of things are written away in books.”

     “Oh, so books bring the dead back! That’s great! Does it also kill you for doing so?”

     “Only if you push yourself...or do magic that doesn’t agree with you.”

     “And that’s why you’re nearly dead then? Because of magic you’re not supposed to do!”

     “Well...that and I pushed myself a bit too far,” I answered, weakly laughing.

     “You laugh again and I’ll tear your nose off,” she shouted, her voice faltering.

     “You’re worried. I see that. I’m sorry,” I apologize, feebly.

     “You will not do magic again. Do you understand?” she says, sitting next to me.

     “Fi, if we-” I begin, before hearing her sniffle and sob softly, “Okay, I won’t do magic again. Now, can you help get me out of this ice block?”

     For the rest of the journey, Fi practically carried me, despite my strength coming back to me in a few days. We continued to kill any hunting party that got too close before pushing closer and closer to the Elven city. Once at its base, we were met by the war chief, Krazok. He stood there like a colossus, staring down at both of us as he was 4 feet taller than I and 3 feet taller than Fi. His withered and scarred skin was more gray than green and his massive greataxe was adorned with bones from every Orc who tried to take his place as leader of the tribe.

     “Krazok, move or be moved!” Fi said as we approached with weapons drawn.

     “Moved by whom?” he answered back, “A huntress turned human whore and her little pet?”

     “A pet with enough bite to tear out your throat,” I shouted back, angered by his insult towards Fi.

     Laughing menacingly in disbelief, Krazok responded, “So the squirrel can squeal, but it’s still not enough to move a mountain.”

     “There’s been enough tribe blood spilled,” Fi interjected, “If you walk away, there won’t be any more.”

     “The only blood I’ll be spilling is your pet’s when I split him in two,” he shouts at us, pointing his greataxe at me then turning it to Fi before continuing, “You, I’ll keep alive as my new wife. Just as you were always meant to be.”

     Infuriated by his annoying laughter, I threw my dagger directly into his neck, closing his mouth and throat. He stood stunned for a moment, trying to figure out why he couldn’t speak. I slowly approached him, placing my handaxe back on my belt as I allowed his strength to leave him. His eyes had barely any life left as I grabbed my dagger and tore out the rest of his throat with a single enraged yank. Wiping the blood off of the dagger, I spat on his corpse as I looked up to see Fi staring at me in disbelief.

     “I didn’t like how he was talking about you. That’s all,” I tell her as she slowly walked towards me.

     Once she was practically on top of me, I tried to say that we should be going but she interrupted me with a kiss. I felt her heart flutter as she pulled me in close. As she pulled away, I enjoyed the sight of a truly happy smile from her, the one thing I thought I’d never see. Unfortunately, I couldn’t enjoy it for long as I felt an arrow slam into my chest. Before we could react, I felt a second slam into my left knee. As Fi grabbed me with one hand, a third slammed into my gut, knocking the wind out of me. As blood trickled out my mouth, the last thing I saw was Fi toss me over her shoulder as she used Krazok’s body as a shield to protect us from a reign of spears, javelins, and arrows.      The next thing I woke up to was a massive library about three stories high, a ladder on each one to help reach the third shelf on each level. It was dimly lit with candelabras all around, flickering softly. My brother and her shouting about why she let this happen.

     “What the hell did you do to my brother?” Cal shouted.

     “Saved his life, just like you’re going to do now,” Fi replied back with a surprisingly soft voice.

     Still with a raised voice, Cal screamed, “How the hell do I save his life? A bolt seems to be in his heart while another is practically sticking out of his lower spine!”

     “Look, Leigh used magic a number of moons again. I’m hoping that you could do something similar,” Fi said, still with an oddly calm voice.

     “Leigh? Really? He actually told you his name? What the hell are you to him?” Cal continued to scream.

     “I think he once talked about needing a wife to become a husband,” she responded, glancing back to me.

     “WIFE!” he shouted, nearly bursting my eardrums, “Like hell an Orc is going to be his wife!”

     Before Fi could take his head off, I shouted between difficult breaths, “Calsom! You insulting Fi is making it hard for me not to allow her to beat you into a pulp after you heal me.”

     Fi rushed over after hearing my voice while Cal stood there stunned for a few moments before saying, “So everything she’s told me is the truth? About you being her prisoner and then you convincing her to leave her tribe alongside you under the promise of living the rest of your lives together? That’s all true, Leigh.”

     With a painful smirk, I replied, “Yes, that’s all true. Now, I need you to do for me what we used to do as children together. Just like with the squirrels in the nearby forests.”

     “Squirrels? What squirrels?” Fi asked, holding my hand and glancing to Cal.

     “Brother, doing that on someone your size would take more out of me than I think you realize,” he protested, making excuses not to exert himself, “On top of that, I haven’t done that in almost a decade. I don’t even know if I still can.”

     “First, I know for a fact that you used it recently because I can see that your knuckles still have no scars,” I point out, knowing that he still goes to the occasional ring fight to battle drunk, “Second, doing it on someone my size won’t take the whole power from you. You can take that as consolation, Cal.”

     “Alright, now, hold on a moment,” Cal tried to explain, but was interrupted by me coughing up a large glob of blood and nearly choking on it.

     “If you won’t, then where’s the nearest healer in the city?” Fi asked, steadfast on finding me clinical help. 

     “Woah, you are not leaving this home,” Cal told her, holding his hands out to calm her down, “If you’re found in this city, you and anyone else who helped you, including me and Leigh, will find themselves with their heads on pikes! Just give me a moment.”

     After a few more violent coughs from me while Cal drank nearly half a bottle of Dragon Breath, Cal tore each arrow out of my body violently, each one leaving with a spurt of blood and increasing the weakness in my body. Just as I felt my mind begin to fade, a large orange light flashed over me and brought my eyes open as I breathed a sigh of relief. I sat up and spat out one last handful of blood before glancing up to see Fi strangling Cal.

     “You just killed him! You tore those out without mercy,” Fi shouted, grinding her teeth together.

     “If you would simply look to your right,” he said with bloodshot eyes and a blue face, his hand trembling as points to me standing next to her.

     Immediately dropping him into a crumpled mess on the floor, Fi grabs me and picks me up, nearly breaking a rib as she hugs me so tight. We share a kiss as my brother returns to his feet. He holds his throat and stares at me with a dumbfounded expression as I tell Fi that I need to talk to my little brother alone. She puts up a fit for a little while before agreeing to wait for me in the kitchen. I close the door behind her as she leaves.

     Trying small talk, I start by saying, “So...I see that your library has grown.”

     Pouring two drinks, he calls out, “Shove it up your ass, Leigh.”

     Holding my hand out to take one of the drinks, Cal simply swallows both cups of bourbon before pouring two more as I tell him, “Look, I didn’t intend to make you use that again. Fi and I were supposed to have gotten here scot-free but some issues caught up to us.”

     “Oh yeah, ‘some issues’, sure,” Cal hands me one cup of bourbon and takes a seat on the chesterfield couch I had bled into before continuing with, “Explain to me, dear brother, how does ‘some issues’ equate to a FUCKING ORC WAR CHIEF and his personal hunting party nearly killing you?”

     “Well, you haven’t been through what I’ve been through since the Long Ears a few doors down chose to make everyone I know turn on me,” I said, raising my glass to him before sipping a bit of bourbon, “At least, I still have you on my side.”

     “Of course, you still have me, brother,” he says, staring into his glass, “I knew they wanted to burn you the moment I knew that they found out about your nighttime hobbies. Did you really think that you could strengthen your magic by practicing on dug up bodies?”

     “It was worth a shot,” I said, dropping onto the couch next to him.

     “How far did that shot get you?” he asked, wondering if it helped.

     “Fourteen bodies...” I say, pausing to drink some more bourbon.

     “Really? Fourteen in one day?” he asks, surprised.

     “Fourteen bodies in the same hour before passing out and losing my connection,” I finish just as he begins to drink some of his own cup.

     Coughing after nearly choking on his drink, Cal managed to say between gasps, “What the hell do you mean by lost your connection? You don’t feel it anymore?”

     “That’s correct, brother dearest,” I answer as I clink my glass against his, “Congratulations, it’s all yours now.”

     “Brother, I can’t have that much power. We should find a way to return it. I’m sure that father’s papers must have something about-” Cal attempted to say before I interrupted him.

     “Not necessary, Cal. I don’t want it, anymore,” I tell him, finishing my drink and walking to his bar to pour myself another.

     With his jaw open in awe, he stuttered as he said, “Brother, I- I- I- I can’t just have all this. I don’t know what to do with it. I’ve never had all of the- the- you know, the-”

     Cupping the back of his head and placing his forehead against mine, I tell him, “You’re the safer one between us two, brother. You have the better thoughts. You actually want to help people. Now, you have the power to help anyone that your better judgement deems fit. I trust you, little brother. Now, trust in yourself.”

     With those words of encouragement, his resolve hardened as he stood up and saluted me. I saluted back before we raised our glasses together and finished them before continuing our conversation.

     “So,” I said, as he handed me his cup and laid across the couch, “Cal, I have another favor to ask of you.”

     “I’m getting you and your Orc out of the city as soon as I can, but after having such a large tribe being so close to the summit, the Long Ears are going to be paranoid for a while,” Cal said, with a tinge of disbelief and anger as he said Orc.

     “That wasn’t the favor, as you had already agreed to that thanks to the pigeon message,” I replied.

     “Oh, right, then what is the fav- No...”

     “Brother, Fi and I-”

     “No, you cannot be serious.”

     “We wish to spend the rest of our lives together.”

     “I know you’ve always been an odd one, Leigh, but an Orc?”

     “And it would be fantastic if you could do a little ceremony for us.”

     “You wish to marry an Orc woman? Is that what I’m hearing?”

     “I will marry an Orc woman. That is what you’re hearing.”

     Rubbing his eyes painfully, he stood up to me handing him another cup of bourbon before saying, “If you marry an Orc, you may never return here. You understand that, don’t you?”

     “I do,” I say as I continue to stand over him, “And I accept that, but only if I have Fi with me.”

     Sighing deeply and taking a long drink, Cal asked, “You do remember how every beautiful woman in this city would give you a longing glance as you passed by, correct? You could have any one of them, even most of the married ones, I bet.”

     “And they all may as well be on another plane of existence as long as Fi is around,” I tell him, spinning my glass slowly, “So, will you grant me that last wish, brother?”

     “If you spew such disgusting romantic drivel as that,” he says, holding out his hand, “How can I refuse?”

     I take his hand for a hardy shake and pull him in for a hug as I say, “I hope to repay you one day, brother mine.”

     “Just let me see one of my nieces or nephews, if you have any, huh?” he tells me with a wide smile on my face.

     “Tough luck, with that,” I tell him chuckling a bit.

     “I think you’d be surprised, old man,” he says, sipping from his cup, “Since you’ve been exiled, a Half-Orc moved in. One of the nicest people in the whole city.”

     Laughing a bit, I slap his shoulder before saying, “Perhaps there’s hope for the Long Ears yet.”

     We finish our drinks, then leave to find Fi had made her way to the kitchen, trying to find a snack. I convince her to take a seat next to Cal as I cook up something to eat. Cal tries to strike up conversation after conversation, but Fi’s stone wall personality with new people makes her a bit more difficult to talk to. In all honesty, I’m pretty certain that Fi just doesn’t like him or his house. Chances are good that she thinks it’s too soft. Maybe she’s right.      Fi and I spent the next month of the winter in the city. The massive blizzard only lasted for a few days after we managed to enter. Luckily, we were able to use it to sneak Fi, Cal, and I into Cal’s chapel. There, under Dwuyddin’s guidance, Fi and I were married. She wore her beautiful white wolf pelt along with the rest of her armor after cleaning it all. I wore a suit that Cal allowed me to borrow. It was one of the happiest moments of my life which also lead to one of the happiest nights of my life. We still haven’t apologized to Cal for keeping him up, though. I also still haven’t paid him back for all the things Fi and I broke that night.      For the final days of the blizzard, Fi and I took the opportunity to explore Draturi City while the rest of the Elves were all too scared of the cold to venture outside. It was a fun day and a half of running from place to place, but the choice proved to be rather poor. Apparently, someone in the city had managed to see us through the blizzard and told the city’s guards about a possible Orc. For the last few weeks leading up to our departure, the city’s guards, referred to as the Mithral Ward, went door to door throughout the entire city looking for any signs of a hidden Orc. Luckily, my brother kept the family hideout well maintained. After the Mithral Ward left, Cal tried to rush us out of the sewers. Unfortunately, some guards were posted down there to search through the sewers on the possibility of any Orcs hiding out. We managed to sneak back home without being found. We carefully remained home for a few more weeks until it was safe to travel through the sewers.      As we managed to leave, I informed Cal that I would be taking the old family lake house as the new home. He told me that it’s no longer part of our books so it hasn’t been maintained in a long while. I told him that it would be perfect for Fi and I, anyway. He made up some bills of sale and handed the land over, in case of the off chance that the Long Ears ever wanted to try to claim it again. With a hug and fond farewell, Fi and I left in the final month of winter.      Fi and I took our time making our way across the Grand Crevasse, excited to get to our new home. I regaled her with stories of the land we now had to ourselves. She was excited for the new beasts to hunt on this side of the mountains. She also couldn’t wait to see the sturdy house on the cliff side, only a few minutes away from a beautifully glistening lake. She also appreciated the reactions to an Orc woman alongside a Human man on this side of the Crevasse. She actually felt somewhat accepted, despite many people still staring at her stature as she walked by.      We arrived at our new home just as the beautiful colors of Spring began to sprout. The house needed more work than I had anticipated, but we were both more than ready for the challenge. For the first few days, we spent most of them around the lake, either hunting or relaxing. I taught her how to skip rocks. She taught me how to hunt bare-handed. Every night we spent there for the first month or so, we would spend it outside the back of the house, sitting on the ledge of the cliff about twenty feet away from our home.       It didn’t take us long to start a family. We had a beautiful daughter as our firstborn. We named her Lezre and she took more after me than her mother. She grew up to be more intelligent than I, but had a mind more akin to her uncle. We gave her a brother next, named Fang. He wasn’t able to experience much of his life, unfortunately, as a Winter Wolf killed him after he had managed to stumble away from home. Another son followed, named Scrag. So far, he’s our only child to choose a last name for himself, being Baal in honor of my family’s last named, Baldor. He’s got a strong will, an intelligent mind, and a sharp wit when he needs it. Twelve years later, twins were born, named Gideon and Caddoc. Good boys who were naturally competitive. They honestly reminded me a lot of how Cal and I used to roughhouse.      As with all families, we weren’t perfect, but we stayed together throughout the years. Two years, in particular, were harsh for us, specifically on Lezre and Fi. Lezre was moving to Draturi permanently, hoping to prove to the city the worth of Half-Orcs by accepting a high status job. I made sure to thank my brother for putting in a good word for her. Fi despised the choice, feigning that it was because of her hatred for Draturi. She was truly just worried that Lezre would be mistreated there as a Half-Orc woman. She never admitted such a thing, though. They wouldn’t talk for two years, even when Lezre still came to visit during the winters. I was besides myself on how to get them back together, but Scrag had one last plan to get them talking again before he left to find his own path.

Epilogue

     “What do you mean ‘kill the Winter Wolf’, son? That’s damn near suicide,” my father exclaimed, worried about my plan.

     “From all the stories you, mother, and Zre have told me, the issues all came when the Winter Wolf killed my older brother,” I explained, hoping to convince him to my side.

     “That may be true,” he admitted, handing me a cup of water, “But risking your life to kill it isn’t going to help quell your mother’s wrath.”

     “It will if I bring it back as a feast,” I specified, excited at the brilliance of my plan.

     “Son, that’s still too risky,” my father retorted, “You are leaving on your trip in a few days. We should just have a nice family vacation before you go.”

     “It would be a nicer family vacation if we could find some way to get Zre and Mother talking again,” I replied, desperate to go forth with my plan.

     “Son, it’s not that easy,” my father sighed, resigned to the way things have been for two years.

     “Father, please,” I pleaded, “I need to give this family one last gift before I go. All I need is your blessing.”

     Taking a deep sigh as he stopped flipping meat on a grill, he replied, “You know that your two younger brothers tried a week ago and I had to patch them up. They were lucky to only receive flesh wounds.”

     Without hesitation, I replied, “Both of them together are nowhere near my strength. I can do this, Father. I just want your blessing.”

     Walking over to me, he hugged me tight before whispering, “If you die, I’m going to have to resurrect you just for you mother to kill you again. Keep that in mind on your hunt.”

     Sharing a smile, I picked up my hammer, my handaxe, and a few large tufts of hide as I spent the next night hunting and killing the Winter Wolf that had caused my family so much dismay. I returned after my new wounds had healed a bit better thanks to some of the herbs in our family’s forest. On the last day, I spent it with my two brothers, skipping rocks across the lake while Mother and Zre was shouting on the opposite side. For the feast that night, I presented the Winter Wolf to them. It took some convincing, but it helped mend bridges as I knew it would. I visited and gave a last farewell to all of my siblings the next morning. I went to my mother and father last, having some heartfelt final words with my father after he gave me a letter to read on the boat ride over. Within the month, I made my way swiftly to the city of Tyriok. There, I reminded the dockmaster of our agreement and found my way on to the next ship bound for Zealor, a city of zealous vanity and sultry seduction where the less clothes one wears equates to a higher status. It’s not my kind of place, but I feel as though my comfort zone might be a place away from my comforts.      I step on to the ship and wait an hour, looking around and finding my room. This is one of the larger ships, allowing for private rooms. It was a bit harsher to pay for, but well worth the cost of the journey. It had locks on the outside and inside of the door. The nearest person was twenty feet across the barge. I had a desk with a seat and a small oil lantern for writing. It even had a window, so I could gaze out towards the sea. My only real issue was that the bed was too soft for me. Regardless, I place down my rucksack and empty its contents on to my bed. I take proper count of what I’ve brought with me and luckily have found nothing to be missing. I repack my rucksack, hide it under my bed, and leave with only the letter my father gave me and the small journal I took with me.      Waiting at the very front of the ship, I look out towards the horizon and imagine a city of sand and gold as I open the letter my father gave me. It reads:

It is with heavy yet happy hearts that we write this letter. Your mother and I are overjoyed by all that our eldest children will be achieving and eagerly await to hear what stories you bring back. If you ever find yourself homesick, just know that your brothers are still asking us when you’ll be back, your sister is still proving the worth of Half-Orcs to Elves, your Mother is still trying not to smile, and your Father is still talking too much. And, if you are interested in knowing, your Uncle is still just as eccentric as ever. Be safe, son, but know that some of the best things in life comes from risks. If a risk presents itself worth your mind, chase after it and make it part of your path. You may one day find a risk worth becoming your whole path.

     As I read that part, I shifted a little as the captain called for full sails ahead as we left the port. I felt a small poke hit my thigh, and I glanced down to see the curled horns of a small pink Tiefling jabbed into my leg. She looked up apologizing before steadying herself again and tried to walk along the deck. I gave a slight grunt as I returned to the letter to read:

Keep your heart open to chance. You may find it rewarded one day.                     Go Get Them, Pebble,                                        Your Family

     Finishing the letter, I folded it and rebound it in twine. I looked back to see that the Tiefling had barely moved a few feet away from me, her legs shaking furiously.

     Approaching her, I asked, “Do you need help?”

     In a voice almost as adorable as her size, she replied, “Uhhh...yes. I’m sorry if it’s a bother.”

     “It’s no bother at all,” I say, as I pick her up and walk across the deck, “Where do you want to go?”

     Her face blushing as she smiled, she asked, “Well, my room is below deck but I’m sharing a room with friends so it might be weird if they see you carrying me.”

     “I’ll put you down before we get there, then, if you want me to,” I replied with a stone face as I began to walk below decks.

     Letting out an audible gulp, she says, “We’ll see when we get there. My friends tend to tease a bit.”

     “I can talk to them if you want,” I offered, still making my way to the rooms.

     Awkwardly smiling and adverting her eyes from mine, we have a few moments of silence before she timidly asks, “I don’t think that you gave me your name. What is it?”

     “Scrag Baal,” I reply, before stopping and looking her in the eyes, “What’s yours?”

     She took a deep breath and gazed back into my eyes with a smile as she said, “Malva.”

     “Pleased to meet you, Malva.”

     “Likewise, Scrag Baal.”

     I dropped her off at her room, and I walked in to find a number of other Tieflings talking and swinging in hammocks. Despite her saying that it was her room, there was only two hammocks to sleep in. After hearing that she would be sleeping on the floor, I offered my new friend my bed, as it was uncomfortable for me. After answering twenty questions from her to assure that “I wasn’t some kind of creep” according to her, Malva agreed. She was ecstatic to have a room with a bed covered in red silk and comfortable cotton. The window was great for the breeze, but she couldn’t look out of it for too long without getting dizzy. Naturally, I slept in the chair or on the floor, feeling more like home than silk sheets ever could. Our days were spent talking and laughing. Well, if I’m being accurate, she talked more while I listened. It was pleasant, though, having a companion of sorts even if it was only for a few months on this new journey.      At the end of the passage to Zealor, she was less of the timid woman I first met and now a strong conversationalist. We said our goodbyes upon reaching the shores of city. I told her that I had a job at a restaurant if she ever wanted to find me again. She told me that she had a job at a brothel if I ever wanted a good time. I didn’t believe her and told her, truthfully, that I’m not really one for brothels. After a playful pout, she gave me a hug goodbye before skipping away with her small bag of luggage. I picked up my rucksack and made my way through the city to the restaurant.

     Along the way, I began to write in my book:

Day 1 - Zealor Shores      I made a friend on the voyage over to Zealor City. Her name is Malva and she likes cupcakes...

#d&d #tales of baicia #human #father #part 2 #short story #Scrag Baal #family

[friendlyunclej]

If a badass assassin chick in proper body armor isn’t attractive, then there’s something wrong with you.

Press F to pay respects to Boner Culture 😢

Reblog to laugh at the death of boner culture 👹

#Jade

[friendlyunclej]

In Need of a Home

Prologue

     A war rages over the head of three lost souls who fled the carnage of steel and magic into a sewer system beneath one of the most powerful cities in all of Baicia. These three vagrants were part of a clan close to a hundred and fifty strong when they sieged the city of Tyriok. Scouts of their clan took the identities of normal bystanders and homeless folk, making them suspiciously disappear to replace them. Even from what information they could gather, they were sorely under prepared for the hellfire they brought upon themselves. The three who escaped into the sewer systems were the smart ones, intelligent enough to know that they were facing a losing battle. However, they weren’t fast enough to prevent one of their own from catching an arrow in his hip.

     Limping with the help of his two closest allies, the man said, “The sewers are like a labyrinth. We can find easy shelter in there until we figure out our next steps.”

     The man holding up his left side asked, “By ‘next steps’, I’m assuming you mean ‘regrouping with the rest of the clan to plan a counterattack’?”

     The woman holding up the wounded man’s right side responded, “Don’t be such a fool, darling. What survivors remain from the clan will never be willing to attack Tyriok again. They’ll all go back to the smaller towns and villages to take an easier life.”

     Setting their wounded friend down after almost a hundred yards of distance between them and the entrance to the sewers, he said, “She’s right. The rest of the clan don’t share the same vision as we do. None of them will be willing to fight alongside us again.”

     Keeping an eye on the crack in the stonework they used as an entrance, his male friend said, “In such a case, we can’t risk a direct attack anymore with it only being us three. We’ll need to dismantle them from the inside then we can bring the others-”

     “Screw the others!” the woman shouted, seething in fury, “If they’re too weak to stand with us, they’re too weak to join us in this city.”

     “If that’s so, we’ll need a new family,” the man still staring at their entrance retorted, “Despite how powerful you are in the mystic arts, darling, we’ll need more numbers to ensure our survival. I know I may be strong and our leader may be cunning, but we’ll need more than just the three of us from now on.”

     Their leader, jerking the arrow from his hip, exclaimed, “Then we turn the city into our family. They’re stronger than we could imagine. We become one of them, we gain their knowledge and training.”

     Stepping closer to the crack in stone where they entered, the other man whispered to them, “We’ll need new skins, then. Skins they haven’t seen much of. Skins we could turn into our own.”

     “Preferably, good looking ones for me and the stalker over there,” the woman said, wrapping a torn piece of cloth she scavenged from one of the warriors she killed around her leader’s wound, “Sorry, boss, but you’ll need something a bit more ‘homely’, if you get what I’m talking about.”

     Wincing at the pain as she tightens the wrap around his body, the leader said, “A less attractive skin would be ideal for me. Noone expects the ugly duckling to be the one pulling the strings.”

     Leering through the crack in the wall, the ‘stalker’ responded under his breath, “We’ll get just that chance. They’ve parted into searching parties and I see the perfect three skins. A handsome sword dancer for me. A ravishing spell caster for you, Darling. A rather rotund, gray-haired scroll carrier for you, boss.”

     “Good, get their attention as you’ve done a thousand times before. Approach-” their leader began to say just as the stalker interrupted.

     “ ‘Wounded and scared to lower their swords and pique their interest,’ yeah, yeah. It’ll only take a moment,” he finished, transforming his normally featureless pale blue body into the guise of a wounded soldier he himself killed during the battle.

Old Problems with New Lives

     Weeks after the failed siege of Tyriok, all the surviving doppelgangers fled back to the lives they had stolen for themselves before being talked into trying to take Tyriok. All except for the three who took new skins to live in Tyriok. In the three weeks that past, reparations were quickly made to the crack in the stonework of the sewer system and life for the citizens of Tyriok returned to normal.       The ruler of the city, King Sigfried, was still a sour and surly son of a bitch. He was once a revered leader of the city, loved by every citizen under his rule and described as the most “caring and gentle” king they had for decades. However, the years were not kind as they stole from him the only two things he kept the crown for: his first wife and his only daughter.       His first wife was taken from him when a botched assassination attempt made the poison in his goblet slip between his wife’s lips instead of his own. Many attempts on his life had been made before, and each would-be Kingslayer was dealt with utilizing precision and tact. This was the first assassin that Sigfried himself hunted down without the aid of any guards. It was also the first criminal that was made an example of by being brought to the pristine, cut stone steps of the House on the Hill, or his Castle as some would describe it. The man’s throat was slit by a blade Sigfried himself dulled in front of the entire city whom he made an audience of.      His daughter was stolen from him due to an unfortunate accident involving the massive cliffside the House on the Hill resided on. At least, that’s what Sigfried told the citizens after his beloved daughter committed suicide a few weeks after her mother’s assassin’s execution. After her mother’s death, her father neglected her to hunt down the man. For years, she blamed herself for her mother’s death, having grabbed at her father’s goblet to taste it while he wasn’t looking. Her mother drank it so that she wouldn’t and died because of it. That didn’t truly push her over the edge. What did was seeing her father treat a man so brutally when all her mother did was speak of forgiveness and compassion, even in the worst of times. Believing herself to be the true culprit behind her mother’s demise and seeing her own father become a monster she could barely recognize, she couldn’t stomach what had become of her life anymore. With tears streaming from her eyes, she watched as the sharp rocks at the base of the cliff rushed to meet her, taking the only comfort she had in years from the wind rushing through her hair.      Now, I tell you all this, and currently break my usual narration, so as to help illustrate that there was good in King Sigfried. Good which had all been erased by the time he took his second wife, which was against her will but still rightfully deserved.      Within Tyriok City, those who ruled must first be proven the most intelligent in the city. Kings and queens would go through a competition against any person who would challenge their crown. Starting from the simplest equations that needed to be solved to the demand for the creation of a unique machine to solve a city’s problem, it would be a week long stressing of the mind to prove who had the better intellect. The one to prove that would be a woman named Beatrice, the lover of King Sigfried’s most valued guard and greatest soldier. That fact didn’t hesitate the king from making her the new queen. Even hearing his own trusted guard and friend, Sebastian, practically beg him to not take her for his own, Sigfried made for certain that his old friend’s voice fell on deaf ears, the same old friend who consulted on every wartime strategy to make certain that every man who could comeback alive did.      At his most vulnerable and most unstable, it was no wonder that King Sigfried would be so easily persuaded to take on a new group of overseers after a month or so.

     “So, how do you like your new skin, Boss?” asks his right hand man, sat across from him at a table at the local tavern.

     Sipping a cup of tea as he jotted notes on to a group of nearby scrolls, the leader answered, “Call me ‘Karlffson’ or ‘Karl’ from now on, that’s this skin’s proper name. Although I hadn’t perceived the odd benefits that would come with being so rotund, I will admit that it is rather enjoyable to be able to balance a full plate of food on my stomach while I sit back on a rocking chair to take notes. How about you two?”

     The woman, stretching and guiding her hands seductively down her own body, responded, “I’ve been in love with this skin since I morphed into it. I couldn’t dream of a better one than ‘Hildin’ here. What makes it better is that she had an extensive knowledge of magic and potions so I can actually improve my own skills-”

     Guiding his hand down around her side, the right hand man adds in, “While I improve mine as well, both on and off the battlefield as good old ‘Roland’ here. His reflexes are sharp, his tongue is even sharper, and he knows his way around a blade just as well as he does-”

     “A woman’s body. Yes, I know. You two have kept me up a number of nights already. Despite how thick these stone walls are, you two moaning and groaning still somehow make it to my room,” Karl told them, visibly disturbed by the thought of it.

     “C’mon, Karl,” Roland said, leaning back in contempt, “We’ve been here for almost a month now. How long until we take this place as our own?”

     “Soon,” Karl responds, sipping tea and writing more on his scrolls.

     “How soon?” Hildin asks, jamming a fork into her breakfast sausage, “This place is prone to attacks. There’s already been sightings of orcs nearing the city walls.”

     Taking a bite from his biscuit, Karl tells her, “Which will only aid in our future endeavors. The king will need help soon, desperate for guidance after he reduced his best adviser to a simple bartender. All he needs is the proper push and an impending Orcish siege will be perfect, especially if a few get through the walls.”

     Rubbing his chin and smiling with a new idea, Roland added in, “Which we can ensure if they simply get some help from fate.”

     “See, Roland is getting it,” Karl stated, turning his scrolls over to reveal his etchings, “And, if this isn’t enough, a little plague scare with a few missing citizens helps get the citizens to push him even further.”

     Holding a vial of dark ichor, Hildin provided, “Couple that with a slight sickness we could turn into a bedridden existence, we’ll be running the whole city soon after.”

     “That’s correct,” Karl said, slowly rolling his scrolls up to return them to his satchel, “Now, the Orcs need to attack soon, so helping them will be our immediate concern. Additionally, we’re already in the beginning of fall, which means fogs will begin to become prevalent in the region. We use that to kidnap a few people and spread rumors of a plague.being responsible for not only those disappearances, but the King’s sudden sickness.”

     “What about the unforeseen issues?” Roland adds in, “What if we actually have someone who can suss out a real plague from a false one?”

     “That won’t matter if the entire populace of the city believes it’s a plague,” Karl answered with confidence, “If the entire city believes it’s a plague too terrifying to walk outside uncovered, they won’t even dare to challenge the possibility of the plague being fake until told otherwise.”

     “I can even cast some magic to make some corpses look more decrepit to match a previous plague from the city’s history,” Hildin supports.

     “See,” Karl states, leaning back with a pleasant smile on his face, “All angles are covered. Now, we just wait for the right time.”

     “And hope none of the wild myths about the city’s sewers are true, or else we’ll be facing an army of Beholders pretty soon,” Roland added in, barely holding back a chuckle while the others followed suit.

Epilogue

     The three doppelgangers were able to enjoy their new lives for a while as everything went according to plan for a few months.      Orcs began their siege just a week after receiving some more explosive help, courtesy of some dumbfounded miners. At that same time, King Sigfried started to show sign of illness, which many citizens put to his age. Being only human and almost eighty, every citizen of every race thought he had a foot in the grave. Everyone, including the king himself, panicked when the rumors of an actual plague began to get around the city. Believing that the sickness could actually be a plague, King Sigfried quarantined himself to a tower still in construction, hoping to keep the sickness as far as from his people as possible. In the case he would die, he even had plans for his own “family”.      None would be more pleased about his death than his then-wife, Queen Beatrice, and her still secret lover, Sebastian. However, their young daughter still referred to the king as her “father” and the king still believed her, so he had them sent away at first dawn.      As they were sent away, Sebastian stayed and quelled the more volatile emotions within the city, proving himself to be the rightful leader of the city. At least, he did to the majority of the city. The three advisers who were hand picked by the King, now being called “The Tribunal”, never cared much for Sebastian no matter how loved he was by the city.      It also helped that the King seemed to have barred himself in his own castle and never left, leaving the citizens to believe that either the plague got him or he had turned so malevolent that he had left his own people to face it alone.      With everything going so well for them, the three doppelgangers finally felt at home in a city that would never accept their true faces. They didn’t care, though. They had new lives and everything they could have hoped for soon to be in their grasp. 

     If there was something to break their stride, it would have to be ridiculously cunning...or ridiculously unpredictable.

#d&d #doppelgangers #Tales of Baicia #Tyriok City #Roland #Hildin #Karlffson #King Sigfried #Beatrice #suicide #Sebastian #villain #villains #The Tribunal #noncanon

[friendlyunclej]

That was 100% worth the wait.

I think I just peed my pants.

[friendlyunclej]

This is good.

this meme is still relevant right