Vignettes

However, on the North side of the tree there is not celebration of life. There are only few leaves and dead, bare wilted branches. The rich brown bark of the other side is absent and in its place there is only a gray bleak expanse of never-ending dry lifelessness. Here the sun is in perpetual dusk, bathing that side in an almost tranquil lethargy.

Its roots extend and reach out as far as the eye can see. Those roots burst through the ground at several places. That is where new scions of the tree stretch their lively arms to the sun. They are Lorelin's children, men and women who have dedicated their lives in service and homage to Lorelin, the Great Tree. After a life of service the roots of Lorelin reach to the resting place of these individuals and take their being into them. Then, where the roots have worked their way to the surface, they are reborn. They no longer appear quite as they did in life, their faces and features are distinguishable but their skin is of the bark of Lorelin. They speak to him in a manner we cannot comprehend, as their rooted legs have entangled with him and become one with him. They enter a new realm of understanding, for Lorelin's roots reach out and enter every corner of the earth, nourishing themselves on the dead of the world and breathing life into the newborn.

Every year, two elves approach the tree, Torunalsio and Strinnanor. One from the South and the other from the north, two mortal enemies, who share only their love for this great tree. They sit and listen to him and for one day and do not attempt any violence towards each other. Then after Lorelin is done speaking, they travel their opposite directions into the blazing dawn and the fading dusk.

Risenno's family struggled as best it could to make ends meet in the heart of the trading sector of the city. While his family was the envy of the neighborbood because 3 of their sons had been selected for service, that esteem did not buy them bread to eat nor clothes to wear. His parents did their best to keep their hardship from their children but on some level they knew. Risenno had been born a sickly child and had been denied by the priest that attended his birth, speaking the first words all newborns hear, "With the grace of The Lady of The City you shall be protected, loved, and productive." After the Priest left, his mother placed a pendant with the symbol of the Lady around his neck and spoke a prayer that he may grow to be healthy so he could be her instrument in the world. While other children were playing he was forced to stay indoors, confined to his bed since he frequently suffered from sudden attacks that left his chest heaving and him struggling for air. During these episodes, his hand instinctively would clutch the pendant around his neck, gasping a prayer for the Lady's aid to simply give air to his lungs so that he could live to serve her. His mother would sit next to him in his bed whispering her own prayers, singing songs, and telling him stories of great priests and champions who had fought in honor of The Lady.

While confined to his bed, he would stare out his small window and watch his brother Terious play in the street. While watching him, he would simply stare outside, resting his chin on the bottom of the window frame with a blank expressionless face that gave him the nickname ‘Dead Eyes’ to the neighborhood kids. Risenno’s days were filled with daydreams of running outside and playing with his brother. After his mother called his brother in for their lessons and she finished, they would sit and tell terrific stories that always centered on their hero, Minis the local blacksmith. In their stories he wasn’t just a blacksmith, he was knight and at his side was Terious, a Priest of the Black Thorn and together they slew rank after rank of marauding monsters. In reality, while his life was much more mundane, he was still quite an imposing figure. He towered above most men and had to duck to enter their home. His arms were pillars, seemingly chiseled out of some perfect stone. He was the embodiment of everything Risenno wasn’t and was the paragon of what Risenno wished to be when he grew up. What endeared him most to Risenno was his kind heart as Minis every few days would show up at the house and deliver a small trinket to Risenno that he had made in his forge. And with that trinket, he brought a story of the adventure he had to retrieve it from a dragon’s den or a beast’s cave. Risenno cherished each one of these gifts and made his mother keep them in a tight line on a small shelf that he had going along the edge of his room. Right before his brother would leave his room to sleep in the kitchen, Risenno would ask him to bring him one of the toys for him to hold as he drifted off to sleep, imagining himself beating back a monstrous dragon with his robust arms and mighty fists.

To everyone’s surprise, with age Risenno grew stouter and more capable of physical activity and by age ten his mother allowed him to go out and play with his brother, who had just recently returned from having failed the Priesthood’s exams for the first time. What should have been one of the happiest days of Risenno’s young life was one of his darkest. The night before, his mother told him he would be able to leave the next day, he was so excited he couldn’t sleep. As soon as the sun broke through his window, he leapt out of bed, fully clothed and ran to his brother’s cot in the kitchen. Terious was far less eager to wake up, but Risenno was quite insistent. When they got outside, they played games Risenno had watched a thousand times before. Small simple things but to him, he could have been Minis himself, smashing ogre’s bones beneath his rippling muscles. In a few hours the other children came out and while he had watched them for so long and knew them as great friends, they had only known him as ‘Dead Eyes’ and refused to get near him. As he approached one of the children, one of the older ones stepped forward in front of him and shoved him backwards.

“Dead Eyes, we don’t want you here. Just go back in your cave,” the child scornfully spat out at him. Another child chirped in, “Don’t look right at him or he'll turn you into a pale ghost just like him.”

Chant’s of ‘Dead Eyes’, ‘Dead Eyes’ sprang forth from all the children around him and when Risenno broke down in tears, he turned to Terious, who stared back at him for several moments. Risenno felt like a spear had lodged in his chest and began to feel slight of breath. Terious turned to the child and in a flash his fist connected with his nose, his face erupting in blood. The other children ran away and Risenno was left sobbing on the ground. Terious grabbed him by the shirt and lifted his limp body to eye level, “Stop your crying and grow up. Do you think Minis would have just cowered there crying?” Disgusted, his brother dropped him violently to the ground, Risenno’s forehead glancing off one of the cobblestones. The wound that brought his mother screaming towards him when he walked home left a scar and gushed blood but not a single tear.

It was several months before his mother let him out of the house again but she couldn’t deny the fact that with each day he was getting stronger and stronger.

By age twelve his condition had faded into memory and he was almost indistinguishable from the other neighborhood children in terms of stature and endurance. Eventually the children even accepted him as one of their own and Risenno was in his own heaven. His family saw his recovery as their miracle in return for the service of three of their sons that they still spoke a prayer for every week at temple. In reverence of this fortune, every night at the dinner table they spoke a prayer to the The Lady thanking her for his health in front of a blushing Risenno. Due to his miraculous recovery, it was assumed that upon reaching the age of twelve, he would submit himself to the Priesthood. The examinations were brutal and draining but the pain that he endured vanished in the ecstasy of emotions he felt when he ran home with the Priest's ring in his hand. The air flowing through his lungs as he darted around the familiar corners of his home district was a testament of the love and grace of The Lady of the City. His parents swelled with pride and enjoyed what would become their last dinner with him. That night, instead of his father, Risenno spoke the prayer thanking The Lady of the City and swore his love and devotion to her and he did not sleep.

He had been incredibly busy since that night. He had to learn so much and The Lady expected great devotion to his studies. The few idle moments he had were spent dreaming of working his way up the complex hierarchy of the priesthood and perhaps reaching the ranks of the Black Talon, the military branch of the Priesthood. He had romantic notions of perhaps finding his three brothers and joining them in battle, exerting himself in ways that as a child no one thought him capable of; slaying foes, discovering treasure, and saving princesses. He had trained in classes learning how to perform some of the miracles of the Priesthood. His teacher pounded the Priest's Mantra into his students Devotion, Dedication, Diligence, and Determination. These were the things The Lady demanded of her priests and in return she granted them the ability to perform miracles. To demonstrate the power that the Lady granted, he had shone them how to fill a room in darkness in the middle of the day, a gift he said was given to them to help them escape from the harm. He showed them many other such skills and told them stories of the Black Talon, whose abilities struck fear into the hearts of the enemies of the city. The Lady was loving to her followers but was not incapable of wrath against their enemies. He even spoke of the ability to cure wounds and every time during such a lecture, his gaze would turn to Risenno, who had become his main apprentice, and he would remind the class of his miracle. Early on, the teacher had told Risenno that he had been greatly blessed and that he was destined to share that same blessing with others. With such expectations Risenno easily found himself diligently devoting himself to his studies.

By the time he received the letter from his mother, he had almost forgotten about his old life. He had reached the age of 16 and had raised himself to the rank Keeper of the Peace which was far ahead the schedule of his comrades. His time was split between studying and his Priestly duties which mainly consisted of walking his precinct and collecting taxes which while simple, was time consuming. He didn't dislike his work because he knew that everything done in service of the Lady was rewarded and having already been so blessed, he felt the need prove himself worthy. He even took the shifts of other priests who for one reason or another could not make their rounds. All of this work had brought him into quick favor with the priests that knew him and he spent his nights reading more advanced books lent to him by his masters by candlelight in his small room. To have his own room was quite an honor for someone his age and even though its only furnishings were a lumpy bed and a desk with a chair that creaked when he sat down too quickly, he felt as if it were a palatial estate, similar to that of the High Priest.

With all this work, he had entirely forgotten about the letter until late one night several days later when he found it under a book that had been lying on his desk waiting to be read. It was then that by the dripping candle that had almost burned down to wick he read his mother's once familiar writing. The candle fell to the floor and after a short curse he grabbed his coat and rushed out of his room into the dark black night, the candle on the floor whose wax spilled out on the overly-paced floor finally burning itself out.

The letter had been short and clear.

"Risenno,

Come home or your brother will die."

***

The heaviness of his knock on the door surprised him but not as much as the speed with which it was open. At first he thought he had stumbled upon the wrong house, forgetting his way home in the last four years. The candlelight of the resident cast dark shadows across her face. His mother, who once seemed to tower over him seemed shriveled and only reached his shoulder's height. She was disheveled and obviously had slept very little in the last few days. She had grown old; the past four years seemed magnified into decades. However, he recognized the glint in her eyes, which although worn and weary were still the bright sapphires that he used to lose himself in during his childhood attacks. A burning sensation of guilt spread through every fiber of Risenno's body; he remembered what his mother had done for him. For nearly 6 years she had never left his bedside, catering his every need no matter the time nor the request. Yet when he received the letter, he assumed it was some collection of pleasantries and trivialities like the ones she used to send him when he first enrolled in the dormitory until he stopped returning them. He could now see on her face the severity of the issue at hand and kicked himself for having put off reading the letter for so long.

He stood in the door way and only now realized that she had closed the door. Risenno watched as she slowly lowered herself into a rocking chair that rested next to the fireplace. Its light, along with the numerous candles about the room, made everything flicker as if in a ghostly dance. It had been several minutes and nothing had been spoken, Risenno ran through a hundred words in his head of apology, explanation, and also of concern for his brother. In fact, he did not even know which brother was in danger and had no idea of what kind of trouble he was in.

While she spoke, she stared intently into Risenno's eyes, piercing him in a way that made him uncomfortable. "Risenno, my son, it has been years since I have looked upon your face," his mother's voice quivered in a way that he did not remember. Risenno made a move as if to speak but his mother quickly interrupted him, "Don't feel guilty, you have been deeply engaged in the highest of services, the Lady has chosen you to do her will and even one as lowly as I knows that she takes precedence over all else, "her words were practiced, rehearsed until she added, "including your doting mother,"

Risenno did not speak, caught in a spell of silent reverie. She continued, "I would not have called you away from your studies if things weren't as bad as they were." She seemed to be bracing herself against a terrible physical blow like a convicted criminal before his executioner, "It's your brother, Terious," upon the name Risenno could see the ax fall across her face.

Risenno's mind flashed to images of his brother, just two years older than himself. He had always looked up to him and in fact Terious had been the one that protected Risenno from bullies as a child.

"After you left, things got much worse around here. Your father's wage was not enough to support us so Terious had to give up his hopes of joining the Priesthood like you. He started to work as an apprentice to the blacksmith, Minis, you remember him, he was the one who would bring you those toys before your miracle. He was always such a fine man," her tears began to well up. Risenno did remember him; he was an ox of a man with arms like tree trunks, strong enough to tear the head from a boar yet kind enough to try to cheer up a sickly child. "About two years ago, Minis hurt himself in the forge and couldn't work and Terious tried his best to earn enough for the both of him, but he was still just an apprentice. By the time taxes came around, Minis did not have enough money so Terious," she stumbled again, "...Terious was forced to go to the Lower District." Those last words were spoken with a dark foreboding that Risenno fully understood.

"When Terious returned, he had the money and a dark look in his eyes. Something had changed in him; we all saw it but were too afraid to speak of it. Terious began to leave the house late at night and at first he tried to do so quietly and he would be back by dawn, but after several months he would leave for days at a time. It was during one of these," she struggled to find a word, "...trips that Minis was found dead and we received this note, attached to our door by this knife..." She rushed through the last part of her sentence and burst into tears. She gingerly held a piece of parchment paper written with red ink and a knife with the clear insignia of the Assassin's Guild. The note read:

"If you don't want any more of Terious's blood spilt than what's on this paper, then deliver five hundred golden Ladies to the Assassin's Guildhouse."

Risenno's sunk into a pool of horror. His mother strained to continue; "this is why I wrote you, I need you to go to the temple and get the coins or else they will..." she could not continue. Risenno had not spoken a word in his entire visit and could not bring himself to do so now. He was frozen, his eyes wide open and his body chilled to the bone. His mother turned her eyes from him and sat back down in her chair, her eyes fixed on the flame before her.

Without ever speaking a word, Risenno left his mother, returned to his small room, and stared at the tattered wooden ceiling above his bed until dawn.

***

All night his blood had furiously pumped through his body, his face bright red. He had not felt so scared since his childhood attacks. There was no way he could get together that much gold. He knew he couldn’t get the money from the temple and to even ask was out of the question since if anyone found out that his brother had even gone into the lower district he could be in line for dismissal from the priesthood and everything he worked for would be lost. When the sun finally broke across the sky, he rose from his bed and spoke his morning prayers, trying to stay as comfortably within routine as possible. He ate quietly with a book beside him trying not to draw any attention to himself. After that, he tried to lose himself in the familiar walk to his mentor's school. While there, he sat trying to be attentive during his mentor’s lessons but couldn't help from sweating nervously. When he had finished, his mentor asked Risenno to stay. After all the other students had left his mentor spoke again, “Risenno, you look like you haven’t slept. I don’t have to remind you that a ready mind needs a ready body.” The last phrase was spoken in unison with Risenno as the mentor moved to take a seat at his desk.

Risenno’s footsteps were heavy as he walked towards him. Risenno carefully weighed his words before he spoke trying to think of a way of getting out of this room as quickly as possible without raising any suspicions, “I received a letter from home several days ago,” the mentor’s countenance grew concerned.

“I hope that by the grace of Our Lady everyone is healthy and well.”

Risenno did not know how to respond because it was a terrible sin to lie to one’s superiors in the priesthood. He struggled to speak and stammered out, His hand moved to his forehead to wipe the sweat spilling over his brow, “My mother wanted me to visit and without the permission of my dormitory's headmaster I did,” words were an arduous task, “and I just do not wish to receive any disciplinary measure, mentor.”

His master paused for a moment as his kind, but sharp eyes turned on him and his posture changed from one of concern to the familiar stance of lecture, “Risenno, you are to be a beacon example to all around you, such is the role of the Priest, so it is especially important for you more than anyone to follow the rules to the letter. You know this and yet I see that you understand the severity of your actions and seeing as how you have waived your last four leaves and you were so honest and forthcoming, I am willing to simply give you a warning." He paused for a moment and looked deeply into his eyes, "Also keep in mind that while rules are important and necessary to maintain order in this city, sometimes they must be bent for the good of it.”

Risenno left the classroom and could only hope that he had satisfied his mentor. However, he was deeply concerned by his last sentence. Nevertheless, Risenno had a full day of rounds to do to fulfill his duties before he even had a chance to sit and figure out what he was going to do. It wasn’t until dusk that he was able to return to his room, shut the door and think through his course of action. His mind flew in a terrified rampage through his thoughts. He was at a complete loss until he eventually came to the conclusion he feared he would make the moment he saw the insignia of the Assassin's Guild. Wearing his Priest’s robes and ring for protection, he slinked out of his room and made his way towards the lower district. He had never been there but everyone knew where it was and that only trouble lay beyond its borders.

He was not accustomed to seeing buildings in such disrepair as he weaved himself through the streets. He paid little attention to wandering vagrants and peddlers as he went deeper and deeper into the lower district. His mind was awash with fear of being caught either by a member of the priesthood or an assassin, he didn’t know which was worse. He was also startled by a feeling of anger and resentment towards his brother for putting him in this situation. He was putting him and his family in such terrible risk for what? Probably some midnight rendezvous with some shady woman or some scheme to make money at the risk of his family. The winding streets were not hard to navigate even by someone so lost in thought since at every post the various insignia of the guilds were etched and he. After several hours that seemed like only a few moments, he suddenly found himself standing in front of the guildhall of the Assassins, a setting for many horror stories from his childhood. He suddenly felt at a complete loss. He had no idea what he was going to do when he arrived; he had not been able to plan past this point. As he approached the large steel reinforced double doors, he felt watched and became very uneasy, darting his vision towards the shadows all around him. Before he could make a move to the door, it began to slowly slide open.

Risenno made slow, cautious movements into the building. He couldn’t see anything in the dark, poorly lit entryway. It wasn’t until the doors shut behind him and his heart jumped into his throat that any of the torches on the walls of the great hall were lit. They were lit in front of him by shadowy figures that led him deep underground to what was undoubtedly the foulest place he had ever been. Ghostly forms danced and flickered all around him. He could hear screams muffled through the walls. This was a place of nightmares, of darkness, of death. The path of torches led through several corridors until the walls were lined with cells full of men whimpering and crying like children. Risenno could not bring himself to look to the side and kept his gaze strictly ahead of him. His dark march terminated at a cell like the others. When he looked inside he saw a form cower in the corner at his approach like a beaten dog. When his face hit the light from the torch on the wall, the form jumped towards him, his hands clasping the bars. The figure was emaciated and bloodied and he didn’t recognize it until it spoke. The voice that though deeper and terribly desperate was one Risenno could never forget. “Risenno! By the Lady!”

It was his brother, but he was different. He couldn’t quite place it until he caught the glint of light from the torch in his eyes. It was then that he saw his eyes. They were unnatural, their pupils turned into a swirl of darkness as if looking into them was looking directly into a shadowy void from which all manner of nightmares and terror were born. Risenno couldn’t breathe as he quickly turned away. He couldn’t bring himself to look up again, his eyes intently upon the floor below him as he struggled for breath. His chest heaving for air, he collapsed, his hand grasping at his medallion and holding it so tightly he ripped the chain from his neck. In desperation he flailed wildly on the floor until slowly and painfully the air returned to his lungs. He lay on the floor, lips blue and knuckles white for several moments before he was able to stand again.

*****

By the time Risenno had gathered enough courage to open his eyes again, his brother had moved towards the back of his cell, cowering in the corner. Risenno felt lightheaded as he tried to convince himself that this all wasn’t a dream. He couldn’t believe that his brother, who had always been taller and stronger than him was reduced to the form before him. It was several minutes before Risenno noticed that he was bleeding, the pendant he was still tightly holding having torn a gash into his hand. Risenno raised it to the light to see how deep the wound was. Terious slowly stepped forward, careful to keep his face shrouded in the shadows as he spoke timidly, “That’s quite a nasty gash, I hope it doesn’t leave a scar,” he paused briefly, “I didn’t think you would come. I thought you had forgotten about me. We haven’t heard from you in years.”

Risenno felt ashamed and guilty as blood flushed his face red, “I didn’t forget about you, or Mother or any of the others. I just have been busy. The priesthood demands great diligence and devotion from all its members. You must have known that given all the times you took the tests.”

Terious’s held his hands tightly in fists for several moments before he leapt towards the bars separating him from his brother. They rattled violently as sweat beaded down his forehead, his knuckles bursting white. He spoke through clenched teeth, “Don’t talk down to me! You were lucky, you snot nosed bastard.”

Risenno stepped back in disbelief as his brother slowly slunk back into his cell. “I’m sorry” were the only words he could say in his shock.

Terious stepped into the light again, staring with his dark and inhuman eyes at Risenno as his voice slowly faded into a ghostly whisper. “Don’t say sorry to me, little brother. Words are meaningless in a place like this. This is where men are broken and souls are lost.”

“What happened, what did you do Terious?”

“What did I do?! I was left behind. You left us all behind and were too busy to write home. It broke our mother’s heart when you stopped writing back. She didn’t have much else to live for, just a mediocre husband and a more mediocre son.” He paused and looked scornfully at his brother, “Did you know that even when money got tight, she still sent payment for your schooling in the Priesthood. I had to give up my dreams so you could live yours, you ungrateful sack of garbage.”

Risenno tried to speak by Terious cut him off nearly frothing at the mouth, “Don’t interrupt me. I’ve been waiting four long years to say this and I’ll be long dead before I let you interrupt me now.” It was hard to believe, but Risenno seemed to feel far more imprisoned than his brother as he could only just stand there as his brother violently threw his words at him. “I went to work for Minis, remember how strong he was and how we both used to dream of being blacksmiths too? Well, he’s not strong anymore,” a slight deranged smile swept across his face. “When that useless bag of flesh crippled himself I had to do all the work, but I couldn’t. I guess I proved again how much of a failure I am again. Then tax time came and we didn’t have the money. It was then that Minis, lovely Minis, suggested I get the money from the Lower District. I had no other choice, so I went. There I found a way to make money, selling Black Void on the street. What wondrous stuff Void is, for one thing it makes your eyes look like these,” he leaned forward into the light again and Risenno turned quickly away, “Too disturbing for my little brother? Oh well, back to the story. I was on top of the world, making more money that I could ever dreamt of but I made a mistake. I started to take some Void for myself and before I knew it I was back in that forge with that bastard Minis and I had his hammer in my hand. That damned hammer that he made those toys for you with. No one made any of that crap for me. It was always get Risenno’s medicine and watch to make sure Risenno doesn’t get hurt and all that putrid filth.” He paused and leaned against the bars, “ It was so easy, Risenno.” A sick look spread across his face, “So easy. The first hit didn’t make a mess at all, but the others sure did.”

Risenno recoiled in horror. “You’re the one that killed Minis?!”

“Oh yes, and I loved it. It was like my muscles were on fire in ecstasy; each hammer blow was another wave of pleasure. I’m so glad you weren’t there Risenno, it was all mine. The only thing I’ve ever had to myself. But I had used too much of the Black Void and I couldn’t pay my supplier,” He laughed to himself. “You would have loved to meet this man, so powerful, so rich, so proper…” He returned to the back of his cell and a hand motion indicated abrupt closure, “and that’s why I’m here, not because I killed that bastard Minis but because I owed money. It puts things in order doesn’t it?” He paused for several moments and added anxiously, “So did you bring the money?”

Risenno stammered out, “No... I couldn’t get it.”

“You good for nothing cur. After all I’ve done for you, you’re just going to let me die?” His words erupted from this mouth and then his face was full of quiet solemnity as he walked to the back of his cell and sat down in the floor covered in the darkness. He slowly spoke, “I figured you wouldn’t. But, I’m glad I got to tell your sorry excuse for a face off before they killed me. Now leave and get out of my sight. I’d rather die alone than in your pathetic presence.” His caustic words quickly turned to desperation, "You have to get me out of here, Risenno. I don't want to die. It's so cold here. I don't want to die in a place so dark and wet. You're my brother. Please help me." He leaned forward again staring deep into Risenno's eyes with his. The swirling vortex of black sent Risenno into a panic. In a moment his eyes were a flash of rage, "Don't just stand their you worthless sack of flesh, do you think Minis would leave me here?"

Risenno ran out, as fast as he could, losing himself in the unfamiliar streets.

It was in a pub such as this that Mursora met with a man like many she had met before. He made no effort to be covert or surreptitious as he glided towards a seat near the fire. He smiled at her and she smiled back, noticing a peculiar gold chain around his neck made into some peculiar shape. She knew his type, a charlatan priest of a fake god who emptied his collection plate on women such as herself. The gold jewelry clinched it; she was going to make some money tonight.

She sidled up next to him and asked if the seat was taken. Through a broad smile, he said that it was saved for her. The pathetic attempt at a joke made her smile and for a second reconsider fleecing him, but that only lasted a moment. She turned on her sly smile and asked him, "So what brings such a handsome man as you to a place like this?"
"One could ask the same question of such a fair and beautiful woman."

"I may be a lot of things, but nothing in this world is fair."

The strange man, slightly startled, leaned back in his chair and smiled. "So where are you from?"

"Wherever it was, it's gone now. Let's leave it at that. I had always hoped I could return but it was destroyed since our saviors haven't decided to wake up and kill that damn dragon yet."

The man winced at her last word. The conversation stopped for several awkward moments, and then Mursora quickly jumped in, "So what are you in town for?"

"I'm just looking for something."

"Really, you know, despite this exterior, finding things is my main profession." As she spoke these last words, she let hands playfully dance on the table between them.

"I don't think you can help me find what I'm looking for."

"Oh really?" She pouted as she stood up and glided towards him. She stood behind him and let her fingertips dance on the back of his neck. He shivered in excitement. She slowly, but flirtatiously returned to her seat. Noticeably disrupted, he settled uneasily in his seat.

He looked deep into her eyes and his sight strayed a little lower. "Maybe you can help me with something else I've been looking for."

"Now, now, I'm not that kind of girl, but if you asked for my help, you wouldn't be disappointed." At her last word, she let a golden trinket slip from her sleeve. The man gasped and reached for his neck.

"That is a sacred symbol of Bulzekan. How dare you?!"

She simply smiled and shrugged as she handed it to him. "I needed to prove a point."

"Well, it's been proven. You indeed are Mursora the Merchant, are you not?"

She coyly nodded.

"It is said that you can deliver any good. Is that true?"

She sighed, "Yes, yes, get to the point, I'm getting bored."

"Then I will make this short. There is a house in the city of Kimdun which is 3 days ride east of here. There you will find the estate of a Lord Cargus. I need you to deliver to me his pride and joy, his seal."

"What do you need that for?"

"I'm only interested in your service, not your questions. I offer you three hundred pieces of gold. I've been told you always take half first," he took out a fairly large coin purse and slid it across the table. She lifted it and felt its weight. "Very well." With that he got up and left.

* * *

Two days ride out of town, as the sun began to go down, she saw a horrific thunderstorm in the far off sky. She quickly swerved off the side of the road; she had seen that kind of lightning before, the day that her village was destroyed, the day she saw the dragon. The day she hid beneath the corpses of her parents and the Dragon spared her only because it found it amusing to do so. She had vowed that she would make him regret that, but now she was seized with fear. She crawled into a trench just off the main road and waited for the lightning to stop. It didn't.

Then there was an ear-piercing crash and she felt as if she had been slammed by a tidal wave. She reeled backwards and smashed her head on a rock. The pain was sharp and bright, but it subsided. When it did, she unclenched her eyes and saw something that made her stare in disbelief. Suspended in the air in front of her a shard floated in the air. It was colorless and prismatic. Light danced on its surface while it seemed to be trapped inside. Against her better judgment, she reached out to it. She knew that something like this had to belong to the Crucible and messing with their property was never a safe idea. Nonetheless, she touched it and it felt cool in her hand. In an instant she was awash in light and to her horror, the broken shard dug itself into her hand. She frantically shook her hand, trying to dislodge it but it would not stop. As it did, she felt a keen awareness of a man in the distance, far distance, looking at her. He saw her vision fly towards him, through the plains, past the mountains, along the valleys and rivers. He was a tall man who held a pulsating bow in his hand. He wore unusual robes with the symbol of an eye. She saw his lips and he spoke "You are not nearly frightened enough."

In such a condition, the King was thrilled to tears when the news reached him that the Dragon had been slain. Thoughts of reconquest danced in his head. He dreamt of a return to glory and perhaps an expansion even beyond the old borders of his nation for now the world was weak and devastated. He dreamt of being the King of Rexum itself. While beginning to rebuild his empire he had regained some of his most well trained knights from across Wycelin in an attempt to prepare to retake the land he had lost. One of the knights brought him a bauble that had been found in the countryside just outside of Muinark. It was found by a knight whose loyalty could only have been forged by generations of indoctrination. It was delivered, wrapped in several leather satchels. No one had touched it for they feared it to be some magic item from the Crucible, and no one dared to touch their property. Upon pouring the contents of the bag on his massive mahogany table, he saw the shard and felt himself being pulled towards it. He quickly dismissed his guards and sat alone in a dark room only illuminated by this curious object.. Another man would have had sense enough to avoid it, but Duinor XIV was full of an arrogance that can only be acquired through centuries of pampered monarchy, free of any naysayers or opposition. He reached out to it and it weighed heavily in his hand. Its sharp edges dug into his skin, while blood began to glide down from his hand to the table. It was then that his older son stepped out of his hiding place in the alcove leading into the once regal sitting room. Wondering what his father was doing he asked him, but received no answer. Worried, he approached closer and his father, disrupted from his intent task, was startled. The shard flew from his hand and landed at his son's feet. His father, drained, could not speak before his son bent over to pick it up.

The room became encased in light. It was only a few moments later that Duinor saw his son, writhing on the floor in his new form. His son looked in horror at his now disfigured body. Duinor called for the guard and ordered them to kill the monstrous figure that lay before him. As their swords tore into his flesh, he called to his father in pain to stop and pleaded with him that he was his son. In response Duinor coldly stared back at him and told him, "I am Duinor XIV of the Wycelin Kingdom, the greatest kingdom this world has ever known. You are a beast, disfigured and impure. Nothing such as you could have ever come from the royal bloodline. I have only one son."

His son's blood coated the once smooth marble floors and he leapt through a once pristine plate glass window depicting the achievements of his grandfather's grandfather.

Duinor disavowed all knowledge of a second son and made it a capital crime to speak the name "Frakner".

She suddenly felt a keen otherworldly awareness of a forgotten age. The memories were all fragmented, like her memories of her very young childhood. She knew that she belonged here in the sky and while her mind at first refused to believe what was happening, every breath she took of that cool, damp air invigorated her. Her mind swept over the clouds all around her and she could see her small village that she had lost sight of hours ago. She saw Juliotomy, and then her mind flew over the countryside to the coast where the rolling waves lapped against the shore. Her mind flew across all of Rexum, seeing lands and places she had only read about and others she hadn't. She flew over the forests of the elves, the islands of the Minotaurs, and the vast expanse of the eastern desert plains. She refocused her mind on herself and felt that she had no body, just the coalescence of clouds and winds. It was then that she felt a keen awareness of someone in the far south. In a moment, she was there.

Standing on the hill below there stood a man, strong and tall. His hair and robes blew in the wind as she lowered herself to the ground and felt the wind fill in her shape as she stepped upon the ground. After being in the air, the ground's touch seemed toxic to her. The man spoke in a soft voice, with an accent she could not place but sounded familiar. He spoke words that she didn't believe, and she flew quickly away. She flew wildly, with no concern of where she was going. She was lost and confused.

It was then that she saw another woman flying towards her in the skies. She felt an incredible anger towards this intruder. These were her skies and she would not share them. She felt herself losing the clouds near this woman, and with the fury of one who lost a limb she flew towards her. They met in the sky and it was then that she believed what the strange man had said. She felt herself being pulled towards this woman, this woman with long flowing hair. She felt a darkness overwhelm her as she got closer and she slowly disappeared like a handful of sand let loose in the wind.

There were hushed murmurings in the background that quickly died off as the Crystalform Master entered the room and called for order. He noticed a man at the highest level of the bowl-shaped auditorium, a man in strange robes with the symbol of an eye. The Master turned his gaze downwards towards the man below that he had known from a young age, had grown up, practiced, learned, and taught with. When the rumors began, the last person that he imagined was responsible was his near blood brother. He sat on his crystalline throne and felt its shape like only a trained propertist could. Everyone knew that the man sitting in the circle below them was guilty; they had seen it with their own eyes. Only maybe five people on all of Rexum could have done what Nulon did and the others would never think of such blasphemy. They were all thinking of the fate of this man, this traitor below them. It was then that the Master began the formal introduction of the high court. Nulon ignored all of these formalities, he knew the verdict and he made no attempt to hide his guilt. He willingly admitted to his deeds with a caustic, prideful smile.

"Nulon, son of Kolid, you are aware of the precise rules of this Crystal Order. Do you deny that you have broken your sacred oath?" The Crystalform Master felt his heart drop as he spoke the last word.

Still smiling, Nulon responded, "I deny nothing. You are fools and you have misinterpreted a centuries old doctrine that you do not understand. We propertists cannot disagree with my results, even if you have distaste for my methods. I have found that before the Primal Six..."

"Silence!" the booming voice of the Master shook the courtroom. "There was nothing before the Primal Six, and to speak otherwise is blasphemy."

Nulon turned on him, his words sharp and intending to draw blood, "You cannot silence me or my followers, we know the truth. We know what was before the Six!"

"You have committed a heinous deed, Nulon! One that I do not think this world will forgive you for. You have crossed a threshold we were never meant to cross. But I share too much love for you to send you to the judgment of the Six so soon. I hope and pray that before your death you will repent." He took a long pause, bracing himself for words he did not wish to speak. "You and your cult are banished from the Crystal Isle to the frozen North. You will have the Seal branded into your skin so you may never practice Propertism again. If you ever return, you will not find my mercy, you will only find death. Despite your blasphemy, you are not beyond our control."

As the guards approached Nulon he spoke, "Before I go, Crystalform Master my childhood friend, does it all not make sense? Does it not explain the Bloodstone? Have you not lost sleep at night wondering if it might be true? How else do you think I could have done it if Dragon wasn't the true form? If the Six were not simply six shards of him? If he wasn't the First? The Original?"

That night the Crystalform Master did not sleep.

His memories had become fogged over; he could barely remember what his life was like because he found the shard. It wasn't so much that he couldn’t remember but that every time he tried to, memories would wash over him in a jumble that didn't make sense. He could clearly see himself as a knight in training, who stumbled upon the shard on a training ride into the country. Then his mind had the crisp image of him finding it in a cave while he camped to stay out of the rain. It was as if his mind was adrift in a river of images, faces, and voices. Such thoughts unsettled him and everyday that passed had them fade into a further numbness in his mind.

His mind was quickly brought to his task as his hand wrapped around the cold steel of the hilt of his blade. He had heard rumors of incursions by the Muinark armies into the Northern reaches of his kingdom and he intended to meet them before they moved any deeper into his land. His skin tingled in a way it had only done so a few times in the past. This feeling sent a rush of unsettling memories flooding through his mind.

The next morning, he found himself on a plain with the sun glinting off his armor. The metal of his armor shone in the sun with an unnatural brightness. To look directly at him was painful as if looking upon the surface of the sun itself. In the far distance a dark blot stood against the horizon. It was mass of men with peculiar and cumbersome looking swords. At their front strode a man that he knew was another like him, one that the cloaked man had called an ascendant. He had heard of this man, his name was Strinnanor; he had killed two of his greatest generals and friends. Their jawbones hung as perverse trophies from the hilt of his profane blade. His features were grotesque and twisted in the guise of death. The ground beneath his feet withered and died without a death cry. The dark men behind him stopped and fell back while their leader marched forward. They knew to get any closer would mean to forfeit their lives.

The smell of rotting flesh was tangible in the air. After several paces, Strinnanor stopped.

Leonolus removed his blade from its sheath and the entire plain was awash in light. He spoke, "The light of my vengeance shall burn away your body and leave only your dark soul to wander this land." He ran towards his opponent, wings of light spreading like tendrils behind him as he closed fast upon his opponent. Strinnanor shrugged and raised his dark blade to meet him. Leonolus leapt into the air and brought his heavy sword upon him. The blow sent Strinnanor reeling, but he quickly recovered with a strike of his own. They exchanged mighty blows until Strinnanor, deftly deflecting a strike from Leonolus, plunged his sword deep into Leonolus. His blood spilled from his body in a fountain of blinding light. Each drop was a source of brilliant searing light. Strinnanor felt his flesh begin to blister before the light. He went to finish him, but the light was unbearable. He was forced to turn away and leave, but the blood stained his blade and continued to drip long after the hit had been scored.

That night, he saw flickers of light in the sky. He couldn't tell where they came from, no one could and so they all went to bed uneasily. It was a bad omen and a sign that the Dragon may be on the move towards them. Despite his fears, he went to bed early, just as dusk began to fall and he fell asleep quickly, for his body was spent from a long day of work. While he lay in bed, he had a most horrific dream. A dream of blood and death. It was not an uncommon theme for him, but it was far more vivid than he was accustomed to. When he awoke, he felt strange and had to keep his eyes tightly closed because it seemed that someone was shining a very bright light on him. He grumbled, cursing his youngest brother, who was the most likely suspect for such a practical joke. When he turned to get out of bed, he felt uneasy and his feet felt peculiar on the wooden floor of his room. He opened his eyes and for a moment was blinded, but after a moment he could clearly see and in horror he quickly slammed his eyelids tightly shut. Slowly, he reopened them, hoping that his eyes had played a trick on him, but they had not. He screamed in terror as he saw his legs, his hands, his arms, his chest. His skin was not his skin. It was something else, something twisted, malformed. He had patches of scaly skin that almost seemed snakelike and his hands, his hands were no longer hands. They had been twisted into some sort of claws. His screams quickly brought his mother rushing into the room and when she saw him, she spoke holy words and ran for the watchmen. Shortly after, a group of men appeared with swords drawn, the sun glinting off their tips hurting his eyes. He tried to quickly run out but his legs would not follow his commands. They were not the same. His knees bent inward like the hind legs of a goat or a dog. Horrified, he tried to scurry out the door, but upon opening it, the light seemed to sear his eyes. He stumbled around, blinded for several moments. His mother just stood on the threshold holding a holy symbol his sister had sent, praying a rebuking incantation. He spoke and called out to her but his voice was not his. It was dark, menacing, and perverse. Stumbling forward, he was shortly encircled by the on edge watchmen. He tried to run and one of them tried to stop him. He struggled against him and accidentally elbowed him with more force than he thought he was capable of. He was nearly dead. He ran as best he could, but he could not outrun the other watchmen, not with those legs he was unaccustomed to. He had difficulty enough standing. He felt something hard glance off of his back, wheeling around he saw it was an arrow. It did not pierce his skin. He stumbled forward, but they were upon him and he was quickly killed as a murderer.

Later, to the horror of the mother, word came of other cases such as her son's and she found out that beast did not kill her son, it was her son. Those that survived their first encounter were exiled, but with such a reception at every village they were forced to the desert of the far east where they could at least live. There the ones whose mental capacity was not too affected made small villages and tried to live as normal of lives as possible. And that's where Frakner found them struggling and easily recruited to his cause of bloody vengeance.

When the ominous sun broke through the dark shell of night, he stepped out of his tent to find his men in full gear and mounted. His horse was brought to him and he sat upon it. He spoke of a land free of the Dracon, free of death and pain. He painted it in such colors that the men saw it materialize in each of their minds. They understood that their blood would make the vibrant reds of that world, their bones the pure whites, their tears the cool blues. They rallied around their leader and bolstered themselves and him. Then he spoke in words that were meant to be scribed, "Today, our world will weep for us because we are fighting so that there will be people left to mourn our petty deaths. We will not hear the trumpets of glory today, but when we enter the halls of the afterlife. There we shall stand and not meet our loved ones, but instead we shall be embraced by our shining father. There we will watch our loved ones live on where we did not. Many have died before this day without meaning, we are blessed with the ability to give our lives and our deaths a purpose. I have offered before to any man to leave now and keep your life, but know that if we do not divert the Dracon, they will bring your more pain and suffering that any of their spears or their flaming swords. So, I ask you, my soldiers, my friends. Take arms with me and let us die with honor and the knowledge that at least we were able to fight back. We are the arm of vengence of this world. Let us strike for every man murdered in his sleep, every child whose life was cut short, for every woman who was killed in cold blood. But most importantly, let us bring our blades down sure in the knowledge that these are the ones who have killed so many of us. Let the spirits of all of this world infuse themselves in us, so we may fight as ten-fold our number and stave off this dreaded tide."

With those words, he led his army into the dark tide of the Dracon, into an uncertain future, into the empty sea of their own death.

Then, the brightness of the hill opposite lessened ever so slightly as a single man on horseback broke the horizon against the clear blue sky. He was a large man, dark and disturbing. Upon looking at him many were forced to turn away and it was only the close ranks that kept the men from breaking and running away. The figure sat atop a dark horse whose banding allowed no light to escape its surface. The man himself wore a full suit of armor that seemed to be twisted into sharp irregular angles. He held the reins of the horse with a heavy left hand while the other was resting unseen on his other side. None of the man's skin shone and the face of his helmet was that of death with an almost imperceptible smile. His long black hair flowed behind him in the wind. He sat atop his horse and did not move so that the men on the opposite hill could see the full stature of his form. With a slow and deliberate move, he brought up his right arm and his sword came into view. Once again the front line tried to turn, but their backs were tightly held in place by the men behind them. The sword was something unnatural. It dripped blood, but the blood was black and each droplet that fell to the ground transformed the green grass below it into an empty and dead scar on the landscape. That land was twisted and could only be described as horrific. From the handle of the sword hung five jaw-bones of five unfortunate souls.

He motioned with this dark blasphemy to the sky that its size blocked, and the hill went black. Rows of soldiers shrouded in darkness spilled over the hill. Each one horrific and profane, a sick perversion. The men were now terrified and even the close ranks began to falter. It did not matter that they had superior numbers for the gaps in their enemy's ranks were filled with an impenetrable darkness. It was then that the General's horse rode in front of the men and once again he spoke glorious words. The men forgot their fears and lost themselves in the face and form of their leader while the black sea stalked forward. The General burst into light, the tip of his sword first then his entire body and that light cascaded through the ranks of his men. He brought his sword forward and led the charge towards the advancing enemy. The men followed him into that black void and none of them ever saw light again.

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