When Heroes Die

Synergy · Oct 16, 2024

That's a horrifying Aspect that Mabli has. I can't imagine how it must feel to sacrifice a portion of your lifespan just to still be ignored.

Chloe Sullivan · Oct 16, 2024

Sharpedge said:
I bet you can't actually die, except for if a priest or hero blows you.

unless "blow" is a term of art in Practical Guide, i think the word you want is "Strike" not Blow."

You use blow like this in multiple chapters and uhm... in English, when you use blow as a verb with a person as the object... that connotes oral sex, not the magical attack that you seem to be using it to mean.

Sharpedge · Oct 16, 2024

Chloe Sullivan said:
unless "blow" is a term of art in Practical Guide, i think the word you want is "Strike" not Blow."

You use blow like this in multiple chapters and uhm... in English, when you use blow as a verb with a person as the object... that connotes oral sex, not the magical attack that you seem to be using it to mean.

I'm aware, it's done by character. I try to personalize the language of each character in some way or another, that character got the hideous end of the stick.

Kaernetron · Oct 16, 2024

Synergy said:
That's a horrifying Aspect that Mabli has.

At least Above is upfront about additional costs to their chosen's aspects. Below would probably not even hint at it until the chosen drops dead.

I can't imagine how it must feel to sacrifice a portion of your lifespan just to still be ignored.

If it was me? Pissed enough to break up the band myself.

Impirius · Oct 16, 2024

Kaernetron said:
At least Above is upfront about additional costs to their chosen's aspects. Below would probably not even hint at it until the chosen drops dead.

Below has bio immortality in the base contract, there cost would be more like having to do it throw the guts of babies or something like that wich does translate to no cost to most Villaines.

Egleris · Oct 16, 2024

Synergy said:
I can't imagine how it must feel to sacrifice a portion of your lifespan just to still be ignored.

Kaernetron said:
If it was me? Pissed enough to break up the band myself.

She's a Hero though, and a Reluctant one at that, so she'll be used to sacrifice. I imagine that, if she was the type to let the mission fail due to having her efforts disrespected, she'd not have received that kind of power, but something else that better fit her personality.

Chloe Sullivan · Oct 16, 2024

Sharpedge said:
I'm aware, it's done by character. I try to personalize the language of each character in some way or another, that character got the hideous end of the stick.

this isn't characterization, it's wrong english.

Blow in the sense of "strike a blow" is a noun.

blow, used as a verb, does not mean what you use it to mean

Sharpedge · Oct 16, 2024

Chloe Sullivan said:
this isn't characterization, it's wrong english.

Blow in the sense of "strike a blow" is a noun.

blow, used as a verb, does not mean what you use it to mean

No, you're missing what I'm saying.

If a character has a speech impediment, (let's say they skip s'me le'rs), I give them the speech impediment in text. If they use words incorrectly, I do the same. I am fully aware that the word in question is being used incorrectly here, and I know that it has a sexual connotation. It fits what we are canonically told about the character (which is very little, to be fair). The character exists in a single interlude and I could have characterized him any way I liked but... I stuck with the detail I was given.

Some people like to write everything in flawless English and outside of dialogue, I try to do that. However, when it comes to dialogue I try to write what people say how they would say it if they were speaking, rather than a corrected version of it. There are some exceptions to this, but it will hold true in almost every case.

Chloe Sullivan · Oct 16, 2024

Sharpedge said:
No, you're missing what I'm saying.

If a character has a speech impediment, (let's say they skip s'me le'rs), I give them the speech impediment in text. If they use words incorrectly, I do the same. I am fully aware that the word in question is being used incorrectly here, and I know that it has a sexual connotation. It fits what we are canonically told about the character (which is very little, to be fair. The character exists in a single interlude and I could have characterized him any way I liked but... I stuck with the detail I was given).

Some people like to write everything in flawless English and outside of dialogue, I try to do that. However, when it comes to dialogue I try to write what people say how they would say it if they were speaking, rather than a corrected version of it. There are some exceptions to this, but it will hold true in almost every case.

See, this would perhaps come across if Maxime actually made any other errors of this type. he doesn't. He makes this and only this notable, consistent mistake.

So if it's a deliberate thing, I would say it's a deliberate thing that is failing at it's purpose.

This isn't the sort of mistake someone with the fluency Maxime otherwise shows would make. It is not a pun or a freudian slip. Those are natural and things that real people do. This (using a verb which doesn't carry this meaning but whose noun for carries a similar meaning) is not - not for a fluent speaker which Maxime otherwise shows all the signs of being. It feels extremely artificial and does not fit the rest of the character (or for that matter the setting, seeing as how we don't even have any mention of other languages native to the setting to perhaps excuse this as the mistake of a second-language speaker)

famfrit · Oct 16, 2024

Sharpedge said:
"She asked the servant what's the upside to thirty orphans suffocating in a hole," Edric paused.

"What's the punchline?" the Radiant Archer ran his hands along his bow again.

"They aren't starving on the streets," Edric finished.

Welp there goes Cat's plot armour as the funny comedic relief and her backup comedic relief in Abigal tho it seems the fire thing is still there.

Kaernetron said:
At least Above is upfront about additional costs to their chosen's aspects. Below would probably not even hint at it until the chosen drops dead.

That's honestly the other way around Below's thing is that you get what your owed and paid for which they are shockingly upfront about how far that goes and what it costs. Above's thing tho is we know best blindly trust in us so has hidden costs all the way down to people having a limit on how much light they can use cause it hollows them out and there's no real way to gauge how much you can use and how close to it you are beyond experience so naturally people aren't keen on experimenting.

ThatGazzer · Oct 17, 2024

Synergy said:
That's a horrifying Aspect that Mabli has. I can't imagine how it must feel to sacrifice a portion of your lifespan just to still be ignored.

It's got real Cassandra vibes, tbh.
Mabli got a hard deal.

Sharpedge · Oct 18, 2024

"Strategy? What about it? There's no need to worry yourself about strategy if your opponent is as confused as you are."
— Dread Emperor Irritant I, the Oddly Successful

I couldn't tell which was worse, the cold stone slab beneath my ass or the autumn noonday sun's relentless glare. At least I'd decided that the persistent itching under my shirt came at a distant third. My clothes grew tighter with each passing day, and the contents of my wardrobe remained one of the rebellion's lowest priorities. I tugged at the fabric, hating how it clung tighter to my chest. I'd complained about it a few times, but even after another month in Summerholm nothing had come of it.

Abigail fussed with the hem of her yellow dress on the opposite side of the table for a few moments, before her right hand darted forward and placed one of her stones.

"You're going to tear that," I mocked.

Her left leg knocked against one of my own. She pulled it back quickly and almost jumped out of her seat. I smiled a little, then shifted over, keeping them sprawled comfortably. That was the third time I'd managed to elicit that reaction from her so far.

"Better than hearing from another of my uncles about fulfilling my obligations to the family again," she muttered.

Sighing, I reached towards one of the black stones and placed it on the thirteen by thirteen board on the stone table before me. I was half tempted to pick up pieces from the Shatranj box and start placing them on the Baduk board. I'd tried that once, but Mabli had rapped my knuckles and told me that playing this game was about learning to think, and not about seeing who won.

She always had trite commentary like that.

The Reluctant Strategist didn't often have time to teach me anything, then when she did she insisted I learn a whole host of useless skills that I'd likely never need again. Like how to dance, or the different traditions of the Callowan noble houses, or different languages, or wasteland politics, or the knightly codes of chivalry. She'd even had me play cards with soldiers for a while, insisting that it was a good way to learn how to lie. It was a rare day when she'd take me aside and talk to me about strategy, but she left all the useful lessons to everyone else.

Like brawling with the Stalwart Defender, or even horseback riding. It had taken me a while to become used to the feeling of a horse under my hips and I still wasn't comfortable with it, but better that than more time spent learning about courtly intrigue.

Abigail bit her lip. Her hand hovered above the board, darting back and forth like some kind of viper, before she at last settled on her choice. She seized a stone and placed it between a cluster of my pieces.

"You can't do that. It's against the rules," I pointed to my pieces.

The cautious girl shook her head. Her dark hair fell like shadows across her shoulders. She reached forward and pointed to the surrounding pieces.

"See here, here, and here," she spoke timidly while pointing to the pieces in question, "that piece completed the encirclement."

The smile slid from my face, replaced by a stormy scowl. I crossed my arms then looked closer. She was right.

A glance at the board told me she had already won.

Again.

"How'd you pull that off?"

"I listened when Mabli was talking to you about strategy."

Ever the graceful loser, I picked up another ten stones and arranged them all at once on the board. Mabli might give me a glower of disapproval, but she wasn't here to scold me.

"I won," I declared.

My opponent glared at the board.

"Which rule did you win with this time?" she asked.

She'd tried arguing with me about stunts like this the first few times I'd pulled them before giving it up as a lost cause. Smart girl, Abigail.

"It's the Catherine manoeuvre," I replied.

The distant slamming of a door brought an end to our conversation. I stiffened. The harsh clatter of boots on stone followed. Whoever it was that had entered wasn't trusted with Mabli on their own.

"Somebody's here to talk with Mabli," I whispered.

"Can't we just play another round?" she pleaded.

"Course not."

Abigail sighed, before brushing her hair off her sunburned cheeks and rising to her feet. I did the same. Both of us padded silently towards the door.

"You're going to land us in a heap of trouble."

"Nah, I won't. Mabli wants me to do this."

"I don't think you're reading her right."

"How else am I supposed to interpret what she does?"

It had taken me a while to realize that the Reluctant Strategist favoured me when I defied her orders. Well, she rewarded me a few days after I'd disobeyed her, provided that I wasn't caught. When I was caught… she punished me by assigning me duties with Edric.

Realizing that had lit a fire under me, and now I went out of my way to slip around her orders whenever I could. Every opportunity to eavesdrop was a chance to win a prize. She always caught me in my lies, forcing me to choose my words with care. Then she'd start asking questions. It didn't matter how I answered, somehow she'd always know the truth.

"As an excuse to run away from all this."

Both of us quietened down as we reached the closed door of the balcony that led into Mabli's office. I spun the handle and opened the door a crack. The muffled sounds of conversation reached both of our ears.

"— humble servant brings word from the High Lady of Wolof, Tasia Sahelian."

If I recalled Mabli's lessons correctly, then Wolof was one of the High Seats of Praes. The Lords and Ladies who schemed and connived against the Empress for the throne. I glowered. They were supposed to be even worse than the Empress. The only advantage was that they were stuck in Praes unlike the Legions.

I wasn't sure why the man was speaking in the noble dialect. The Reluctant Strategist wasn't a lord or lady, so he was just wasting air.

"What does Wolof want?" Mabli responded in a clipped, neutral tone.

That tone alone painted a picture for me. It was deceptive. The first time I'd heard it, I'd thought that she was in a good mood. Five men were hanged the second time I heard it. I could almost see her standing with her hands behind her back, her face an impassive mask. I'd bet that her eyes were as sharp as a dagger's edge, glaring holes into the person she spoke with.

"This diplomatic convoy consisted of three envoys, but circumstances conspired so that two of its number were waylaid by two Legion patrols near the Blessed Isles. The Legion patrols had yet to capture the envoys by the time of my departure, but there is no telling what has occurred in the intervening days. The tool that was intended to be used for communications between parties remains in the possession of the lost envoys."

"What does Wolof want?" Mabli repeated, louder this time.

"High Lady Tasia Sahelian is aware of the economic burden the rebellion suffers under and proposes that a mutually beneficial agreement can be arranged that would help ameliorate their hardships."

"Why does she want to fund us?"

"The current state of affairs within Praes runs against the interests of Wolof."

That was a circumspect way of saying that the Sahelians were making a bid for the Tower.

"What terms does she offer?"

"This envoy is not authorized to negotiate on the behalf of High Lady Tesia Sahelian," the man replied.

Mabli fell silent.

"I'd need to rescue the rest of the convoy if I wanted to speak to her."

"That is indeed the nature of this quandary."

"And this is only an invitation to speak, nothing more?"

"There would be no consequences — save for a loss of opportunity — should the Reluctant Strategist choose not to entreat with Wolof any further."

There was another pause.

"I won't relieve them," Mabli stated. "I can't be seen openly colluding with Wolof. It would break the rebellion. If somebody else relieved them, then maybe we could talk."

"This humble servant understands."

A few more meaningless pleasantries were exchanged, but thoughts drifted like they used to on the streets when I smelled a loaf of fresh bread. I understood the implied message. Mabli was giving me permission to do this. She wanted me to rescue emissaries from the Legions and guide them back to Summerholm.

A part of me wanted to ignore this opportunity. They were just another enemy faction. One that was even worse than the current Dread Empress. However, I stopped and thought it over further. My first instinct could be wrong. Everything's falling apart, and it's all the Faithful Warrior's fault. That was enough to convince me that Mabli's caution was warranted.

Why should I consider this? Different Praesi factions fighting with each other could only benefit us. It was better for them to bleed each other than for them to bleed us. This was only an invitation to speak with them. We wouldn't be agreeing to anything by accepting it. There was always the chance to stab them the moment demons or devils were brought up.

There was also the hidden monster breathing down all of our necks. It was hard to miss how the size of our portions dwindled after each week that passed, or how less than half of our recruits were properly armoured.

I turned to Abigail.

Her watery blue eyes were so wide that for a moment I thought they were about to fall out.

"It's a terrible idea," she hissed, while we walked back to the table.

"I didn't say anything," I defended.

My heart pounded like my fists once had against a locked butchery door. I almost vibrated in anticipation. This was my chance. I was being trusted with something important. This was my opportunity to do something.

"You didn't need to. You get this crafty look in your eye that promises mischief, then next thing we're caught, and I'm washing boots again," she narrowed her eyes.

Time passed like drops of frozen honey in an hourglass while I waited for "time tutored by the Reluctant Strategist" to end. We were dismissed a few hours later. I darted to my room, opened the rucksack sprawled to one side of my bedding, and quirked my lips triumphantly.

Abigail's shoulder's sagged.

"See," I hissed.

The satchel was packed full of provisions. Not only food, but tools. Provisions that I hadn't filled it with. Two daggers were also set aside and after examining the room further I found an aketon that was about my size. This was as good as an invitation as I would ever receive to stage a rescue mission.

"Why do I have to be friends with the stupid rich girl who wants to be a hero?" she muttered under her breath. I scowled. I wasn't rich! Perhaps she thought that I couldn't hear her, but I'd get her back for saying as much. "Why couldn't it be anyone else? But no, my da says that if I'm her friend, then maybe one day I can help pull up the family. Maybe I should just run away?"

"So you agree then?" my lips twitched.

"I, er, yes, of course," she stammered, before her eyes narrowed. "Wait, what did I just agree to?"

"Good. Come along then," I beamed.

"Cat, what did I just agree to?" she pleaded.

"You're going to help me escape the city."

"It's almost dusk."

"So?"

"Curfew is in a few hours."

"That just means we need to move faster then."

"Are you completely daft?" she challenged.

"What's the worst that could happen? You fall behind and they catch you? Nah, they'll catch me first. I'll even let you have a head start while we run."

"Well, we could get caught, killed, or worse… I mean, that's a joke, right?"

"Why would it be?"

"Do you even know where the Blessed Isles are?"

I pulled up a map from inside the pouch and waved it at her.

"What's that?" she grabbed the map out of my hands and pointed at something.

I paused for a moment and leaned over her shoulder. It was a map of the Fields of Streges. There was a cross marked across a tavern a short distance outside the walls of Summerholm along the road to the Blessed Isles.

"I'll keep my eyes open when I'm there," I shrugged.

Abigail continued to make noise.

I listened with one ear to her complaints as I changed clothes and took stock of what I'd been given. It wasn't long before we made our way down the carpeted stairwell and out the palace door. Nobody spared me a second glance.

We passed through the inner city walls without any complications. Abigail's home was in the outer city, and both of us had been given permission to move between districts. I think the guards at the inner gate raised a ruckus about having to check that after the tenth visit. By now they knew us on sight. We were halfway towards the outer city walls when the first problem reared its ugly head. I knew from previous experiences that those guards both knew my identity and had been told to keep me in.

"I'm not climbing those," I declared.

"That means I can go home now, and we forget about this, right?" my friend stopped moving from foot to foot, and her right hand fell away from her hair.

"No, it means we stop and think."

The two of us came to a stop at an intersection beneath one of the watchtowers. Abigail kept wringing her hands together and twitching from side to side. Climbing the wall wasn't on the table. Until I'd killed my own damned fear, there was no way that I wouldn't be seen.

"What if you set fire to something near the gates to distract the guards?"

I was certain that she knew of a better way out of the city than me. Unfortunately, there's no way she'd volunteer the without a proper incentive. She was far too cautious to help me unless the alternative was worse. So I'd need to persuade her, which… should be possible with the right kind of push.

"No, no, no," her voice rose with every word.

"If we time it when somebody else is passing through, then I just need to dash fast enough."

"This is… this is a bad idea."

"Exactly. That's why it'll work," I grinned.

"There's so many better way's to do this. Think about what will happen if we get caught."

"Like what?"

"Why can't you just ask the guards?"

"Then they'd know that I want out," I explained.

"They'd have been warned to let you through?" she tried.

"Don't be stupid. Sneaking out is a part of this."

"Aren't you nervous?" she hunched in on herself.

"Quivering in my boots."

"Shouldn't we take a moment to stop and plan?" Abigail began to fidget with her hair.

I started to walk towards one of the nearby buildings.

"The Reluctant Strategist is having the sewer wards replaced," she blurted out.

There. I hid my smile as I turned back to her.

"What?"

"Weren't you listening two days ago?" she inquired, "she doesn't trust that the Warlock didn't sabotage them in some way."

It went without saying that parts of the sewers extended beyond the city walls. In normal circumstances the sewers would be sealed off tight, patrolled and warded against incursions, but if the wards were being examined then there might be an opening.

"Where's the nearest sewer maintenance shaft?"

"I'm not a map," she flinched as the words left her mouth.

"Come on," I reached up and awkwardly slung my arm over her shoulder, "surely you have some idea?"

"Can't we just forget about this, she pleaded, then flushed. "We could watch the boys during their morning drills tomorrow instead."

I prodded her again.

"There's one near the stables," the words crawled out of her mouth.

Abigail wilted.

I smiled and walked towards the stables. There were no buildings near the walls — it apparently wasn't secure — but the stables were as close as it got.

A group of voices took up a song in the distance.

"Twenty-three princes sit in a room
In walks a saint and it spells their doom
Twenty-two princes cower in fear
The blade came out, and their end draws near-"

"Where's the entrance?" I asked.

My friend pointed towards an otherwise unnoticeable building set in the shadow of the stables. It was guarded by two soldiers who were both seated on rickety stools. The gate was certainly locked, but I could deal with that. My eyes flicked back to the five soldiers drinking and rolling dice on the floor outside the stables. I'd have guessed they were relieved from duty if not for their uniforms. A single glance at how sloppy they were dressed was enough to tell me they would be in deep water if their superior caught them.

"-Twenty-one princes run for the door
The first head hits the assembly floor
Twenty princes rail against fate
Best nod their heads before it is too late-"

Now, what next? I needed to find a distraction, and whatever the distraction was needed to be believable. I looked at the stable, then at the sewer entrance, then at the stable, then at the sewer entrance again. The pack bit into my shoulders. I grimaced and shifted its weight a little.

"-Nineteen princes don't adapt to the times
At least they'll live on in nursery rhymes
Fifteen princes are put to the sword
Those that remain will reach an accord-"

Abigail sneezed. My eyes fell on her. She shrunk in on herself. Yes, that would work.

"I need you to upset the horses."

"How would I even do that?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, "sneak into their stalls, cut them all loose then throw some stones around?"

"Do you even know how much trouble that will get me into?"

"Come on, Abigail," I frowned, "I'll do it myself and claim you were a part of it if you don't help."

She glared balefully at me.

"I'll put in a good word for you with Mabli if you help?" I tried.

"And I won't have to follow you out of the city?"

"You're welcome to leave me out cold," I agreed.

Abigail firmed her shoulders. I could almost see her mustering her courage.

"Fine, but I want you to promise me something," she declared.

"What's that?" I grinned.

"You're not allowed to save me when I land in trouble."

I didn't like that. Friends shouldn't leave other friends behind.

"But-"

"I'm not about to let my efforts go to waste," she glared at me.

"I don't want to betray you."

She folded her arms and didn't say another word.

She wasn't going to get in trouble, right?

"Okay, I agree."

Abigail gave me a resolute nod, then slunk off.

"-Four princes choose not to attend
The smartest path to avoid their end
One prince sits on more than one throne
And never before has she felt so alone."

The next couple of hundred heartbeats passed at a snail's pace. Abigail passed beneath the shadow of a watchtower, then strolled briskly right beneath the noses of the guards into the stables. They didn't even look up from their game of dice. My shoulders were tense. I rolled my muscles and breathed in. She wouldn't fail. I wasn't nervous. Everything would hold, like bread before it crumbled.

"Wonder what it'll take to convince that lass to leave the Principate and put the heads in our house in order," one of the guards muttered.

"More than we have, Steve," another replied.

"There's a pity. I heard that she's got no tolerance for names that don't play by her rules."

Several small pebbles smack against each of the guard's helmets. They let out an exclamation of surprise, before charging into the stables. A moment later and there was a loud crack. Over a dozen horses bolted out of the stables. A guard took a hoof to the back. I winced, then pushed the feeling aside. The priests could heal him, and he probably deserved it for something. One of the horses charged past the sewer entrance. Most of the guards went charging after them.

Abigail ran in the opposite direction, her yellow dress torn and flapping behind her. She let out a distressed wail, drawing more attention to herself. My eyebrows rose in appreciation. It was an impressive act. One that I couldn't have succeeded at. It was an act, right? It had to be.

A cold shiver crawled up my spine.

Of course she was fine. She had to be fine. I promised that I wouldn't abandon the plan. I shuddered.

Don't think about your friend maybe being hurt Cat, it's time to move now.

The last of the guards ran towards her.

Should I call this off here? I wasn't sure if she would find her way out of trouble on her own. My gut churned. Leaving her felt wrong, but… I'd promised her. I'd said that I'd follow through. Should I go against my word? This all felt like a horrible mistake. My palms were sweaty. I bit my lips.

The Reluctant Strategist also wanted me to do this, although I wasn't certain if it was worth following through. This was a mission to rescue Praesi. Praesi! And these were supposed to be even worse than the ones that I was familiar with. Shouldn't I just abandon the mission and take care of my friend?

No, I'd committed to this. Mabli gave away a month of her life whenever she was asked to. If she was prepared to go so far for the rebellion, then how could I hesitate at something this small?

Hating the turmoil within my chest, I leaned forward and approached the stable at a brisk stroll. The heat of the sun diminished. I passed beneath the lip of its roof. There was one guard remaining. He was busy running up and down within the building. I wasn't sure what he was searching for. I dismissed him from my thoughts. He didn't look my way regardless. I reached the sewer entrance, then glanced towards the stools.

The guard had dropped the key beside his chair before he'd run off. It was a pity that he was unaware of how close it was to slipping out of his reach. A pity for him, that is.

That made everything easier.

The gate rattled as I fought with the keys. It wasn't long before it opened. The noise still worried me. I swore under my breath and chanced a look around. My shoulders sagged. Nobody was looking my way. I started to descend the stairs. The cool, damp air was a relief from the sun. Then the stench assaulted my nostrils, thick, cloying, like rancid meat. The passage opened up onto a wide canal of filth that cut a gap about ten feet across, nestled between two paths on either side of it. I pinched my nose and stuck to the left side, coming to a stop at an intersection.

The surface wall was to my left.

I peered down the passage. The tunnel opened out to a fortified grate that appeared to be sealed by wards. I took the small bridge across to the other side of the intersection and began to move deeper into the passage. I reached the next exit point only a few moments later. This one was sealed as well.

A burning anger coiled tight in my chest.

A sound echoed out in the distance. I froze. Did I just imagine it? No, there it was again. Where could I hide? I glanced around. There was a crack in the wall above me. Loose bricks had fallen onto the path and soil spilled through. The gap wasn't large, but it was large enough for me to fit in. I peered inside. There was a dip and enough space for me to hide away. It should be deep enough for me to remain obscured. Well, so long as nobody stuck their head in to look.

The hollow would have to do.

I gripped the edges, then heaved myself up and hid in a broken alcove. The glimmer of torchlight on the walls came next. Then the sound of their boots. It was a patrol. My mouth clammed shut. I could feel the drip of sweat down the back of my neck as the patrol approached.

"You heard about what's happening in Laure?" the voice of one of the guards echoes across the filth.

"Complete chaos," a woman spat. "People struggling to find food. They say that every other day, there's a new hero or villain showing up and breaking something else."

I could feel each moment that passed as they drew closer.

Should I run? No, that'd give me away for sure. I was tired. They were certain to possess more stamina than me. Better to remain hidden and hope that they don't look in the alcove. I crouched lower, then gagged at the reek. Even this hole in the wall was filthy.

"Marchford is still under the Empire," the man replied.

"It's more orderly there as well. Think it's better under the Praesi boot than these rebel factions?"

Storm clouds gathered above my head, but I remained silent. How dare they! We were doing our best. It wasn't our fault that the Faithful Warrior was making a mess of everything. Summerholm hardly had any of those kinds of problems. They couldn't blame us if the rest of Callow was falling apart.

Both of them continued to approach. They paused outside my hiding place. A torch was raised. I felt the heat of flames close in on me.

Don't say anything, Catherine.

"It was better before. They kept a tighter lid on the chaos. It's too bad we'd be put to the sword if we tried to desert."

"These heroes are worse than the villains they replaced," the woman grumbled. "Have you heard about how many farms have been burned down?"

"It's not all bad. The Reluctant Strategist has been against it."

"But she never actually does anything."

"Tells you how bad these new heroes are. Just think. Heroes used to be people we looked up to. Now, the best we can hope for is one who doesn't send everything to the hells."

The heat of the torch withdrew. Both voices started to fade away. I let out a sigh of relief, then waited another quarter-hour before dragging myself out of the hole. I dusted myself off before proceeding deeper and deeper into the tunnels. From there I alternated between heading further towards the centre of the city and then moving further away.

Each turn felt tighter, each shadow heavier.

Always remaining alert, always keeping an ear open. Searching for guards before rounding a corner. Hiding whenever I saw the flickering of a torch or heard the muted echo of a voice. Diverting their attention when stealth failed. I'd amassed a small collection of rocks in the process. I wasn't sure how long it took before I made any progress. By then, I was so lost that I wasn't sure how to find my way back into the city.

All of that would have been acceptable, except by then my hair was matted against the back of my head, and I was more filth than Catherine. I'm sure there are piles of manure that were less odious than I was.

It took time for me to absorb the shape of where I was. I started to develop a sense of how the sewers were organized. It was like a silent voice at the back of my mind, whispering to me which way I should head. Progress sped up, but my eyes began to droop.

I peered around a corner and somehow missed the dull flicker of torches in my fatigue. Three more steps forward, and I came face to face with a patrol. I stared. They stared back. Then, the moment was broken. The woman in the lead opened her mouth.

"Halt, kid, and come with us!" she shouted.

Would the pebbles I was carrying help me out of this?… No, they wouldn't.

I whirled and dashed. The floor was slick beneath my feet, but the heavy thumping of boots behind me was enough to spur me on.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The boots on the ground resonated with the rhythm of the thunder in my chest. Grimy water splashed all over me. My arms swung from side to side. The guards let out another cry. I turned a passage, only to come face to face with another patrol. I swung around. A hand fell on my arm. I ducked and rolled across one of the bridges. Shit smeared itself across my face. It was hard not to gag. I didn't have time to wipe it off.

I scrambled to my feet, keeping my hands closed firmly around the pebbles in my palms. It was an awkward mess. I let out another heaving gasp as I darted through another grab.

Where to now? No time to think.

I started running along the passage in the direction the first patrol had come from. My heart hammered, heavy and hard in my chest. This time I was on the opposite side of the canal. They shouted. There was a ringing echo as somebody drew their sword. Another group came jogging down a third path.

No, no, no.

One of them slipped and fell into the river of filth. Another pivot. More guards. My eyes darted to the other side of the canal. Could I make the jump? I looked to my left, then my right. The guards were spacing themselves out so that there was no way for me to pass.

"Give up and come with us, kid!" one of them bellowed. "We have you surrounded!"

I'd have to try. It wasn't like I had a good alternative.

"Only by half!" I shouted back.

My gut slammed into the bilge as I threw myself across the gulf. Yes! I landed with a heavy thud on the other side, only to slip and slide. No, no, no, don't fall.

I slammed into the grimy wall on the far end.

Dazed, I shook myself off. No time to recover my senses. I pivoted, then sprinted.

Another patrol.

Couldn't they just leave me alone?

I spun again. There was a hiss as a torch sizzled out in the water somewhere to my right.

My sense of the dark passage ahead had long since shifted. It was no longer a reprieve from the sun, but instead was like the constricting throat of some great beast, gradually swallowing me whole. Another turn. This time it was a dead end. Perhaps Abigail was right. Maybe I was too reckless.

Out.

I needed a way out.

I was hopelessly lost and counting on good fortune to carry me past the guards. That, or I'd come face to face with Mabli again. Being caught for something like this… I couldn't even guess how much trouble I'd be in. So many duties with Edric. So, so many duties.

Panting, I rounded another corner. I came face to face with an open grate leading out into the tent city beyond the Summerholm's walls. My heart leaped like a starved animal lunging for food. Yes! This was my chance to escape.

There was a small group standing a few paces short of the exit. They were busy examining the slimy grate, which had been removed and set on the ground beside them. I guessed they were the group responsible for either sewer maintenance or replacing the wards.

Two of them were already facing my way.

I shoved away my exhaustion and ambled my way towards them. There were who knows how many groups behind me. I didn't have time to consider what I would do. How could I run past them without being captured and make it out of the city walls? I considered the pebbles in my palms, then the people replacing the grate.

Hit them hard enough on the head and it should knock them out, right?

One of them let out a cry and the rest of them turned to face me.

I was tired, and hungry, and frustrated and just wanted out. I drew back my arm, swung and released.

The pebble flew through the air. My stomach dropped as it veered off course and missed the person I was aiming at. I was about to throw a second pebble when it collided with one of the bricks, rebounded, then struck another on the opposing side of the tunnel.

There was an almighty crack, then part of the wall started to collapse.

This was a bit more than you were aiming for, Cat.

I rushed down the passage. Another rock fell. I didn't slow down at all. I doubted I'd have another opportunity like this any time soon, and I could feel the breath of the guards on my tail. One of the workers let out a yelp as it smashed into him and knocked him into the water. I ducked a falling piece of debris.

One of the wizards spat out a rapid chant.

Bang!

A shockwave of air reverberated outwards, sending debris away from where he stood. The gale slammed into the guards and sent them sprawling to the ground. I was thrown closer towards my goal. The remaining pebbles fell out of my palm. The debris struck the loose wall once again. More rubble began to fall.

There was another shout.

One of the men saw me. Their eyes widened. I wove between them, only to be struck by an elbow in the back and sent sprawling to the floor. I rolled. More debris fell. I risked a glance backwards, only to see another rock take the wizard in the head. I scrambled to my feet and darted out of the tunnels.

The cool evening air struck me. I swallowed as I rushed away from the sewer exit at the base of the walls and towards the relative safety of the tents set just over a hundred feet away. The flicker of torchlight called to me. Both the men working at the grate and the guards called out, but none lent them their ears. A few people held up their nose as I disappeared into the crowd.

My shoulders loosened as I finally slowed from a run to a walk.

I was out. I was out. A part of me couldn't believe that I had made it out.

Summerholm loomed behind me.

I glanced once more back at the walls of the city. My grin faded. I hoped that Abigail wasn't in trouble. No, she was definitely in trouble. I hoped that the trouble wasn't too big and that she would forgive me afterwards. I didn't like leaving her like that, even though she'd told me to.

The guards were probably injured, but they deserved what they got for the trouble they gave me.

I raised my hands and grimaced at the filth.

Perhaps… it was time to clean myself. A short detour, before starting out my journey towards the Blessed Isles.

famfrit · Oct 18, 2024

Sharpedge said:
The Reluctant Strategist didn't often have time to teach me anything, then when she did she insisted I learn a whole host of useless skills that I'd likely never need again. Like how to dance, or the different traditions of the Callowan noble houses, or different languages, or wasteland politics, or the knightly codes of chivalry. She'd even had me play cards with soldiers for a while, insisting that it was a good way to learn how to lie. It was a rare day when she'd take me aside and talk to me about strategy, but she left all the useful lessons to everyone else.

Have to avoid those mentor death stories somehow.

Sharpedge said:
turned to Abigail.

Her watery blue eyes were so wide that for a moment I thought they were about to fall out.

Being Abigail is still suffering I see

Sharpedge said:
"What if you set fire to something near the gates to distract the guards?"

and she wonders why people get nervous when she has goblinfire and blame her when there's fires around her.

Kaernetron · Oct 18, 2024

famfrit said:
And she wonders why people get nervous when she has goblinfire and blame her when there's fires around her.

"It's not my fault! The city was already on fire when I got here!" - attributed to Catherine ~~Harry Dresden~~ Foundling

Sharpedge · Oct 21, 2024

"Advice is only as valuable as how much you are prepared to charge for it."
— Dread Emperor Inimical, the Miser

Days passed as I travelled towards the Blessed Isles. The drab landscape wore away at my patience. Just deadened fields stretching as far as the eye could see. No guards patrolled the Imperial Highway. Each step of the journey towards the inn marked on the map dragged on like the time between meals.

The few people that did travel the paved road gave me the side eye for some reason that I hadn't been able to figure out. Fortunately, that was the extent of my troubles. Travellers still journeyed up and down the length of the Imperial Highway, despite the ongoing rebellion against Praes. There were few merchants, and those that I did see were much better guarded than I remember them being when they came into Laure only two years past.

The pace picked up after arriving at the Inn. The proprietor had taken one look at me and pulled me out back. It surprised me when she'd handed me some supplies as well as shown me around to a midnight black pony. I'd called it what it was without any better idea of what to call it. Pony and I had continued on our way after a good rest.

The Fields of Streges were unexpectedly calm for a region consumed by strife. I only saw two roadside robberies and a single burning farmhouse while I was on the road. I was expecting more open conflict, but it seemed more like bandits taking advantage of the situation than outright warfare between the rebellion and the Legions.

The shape of broken, blackened rising turrets was my first warning that I was approaching the Blessed Isles. If I squinted, I could almost imagine the spectral outline of the once mighty fortress shadowed against the horizon. Then came the green flames and the shadow winked out.

The Miezan bridge would come next. It crossed over to the barren rock in the middle of the Wasaliti river. I passed another merchant. They took one look at me and pulled their convoy as far across on the opposite side of the road as they could. Assholes. I'd cross over and give them a taste of my thoughts if I didn't have other things on my mind.

A tall palisade fence had been constructed around the foot of the bridge, with watchtowers behind it. They were manned by men in black armour. The Legions of Terror. I was surprised that the rebellion hadn't tried to push them off the Blessed Isle. Perhaps the cost of making it defensible again wasn't worth it. I'd nag the Reluctant Strategist about the choice to leave it alone after I'd returned.

I dug my knees into the horse's side and slowed.

How was I going to get past the checkpoint? Should I try to swim the river, or crawl beneath the underside? Perhaps if I timed it right, then I could kill them without being caught.

A whisper of Abigail's muttered commentary brought that line of thought to an end.

No, those were both bad ideas. The Legion soldiers didn't appear to be stopping any other travellers. I didn't have anything on me that should interest them. I should be able to pass right by. The difficulty would come once I'd found the envoys. My fingers tightened around the hilt of my dagger and I scowled. Assuming the envoys were even still alive.

A cool autumn breeze blew through my hair and the rushing of water beckoned in the distance as my mount sped up. The late afternoon sun was dipping below the horizon. I came to a stop outside the open palisade gate. One of the Legion soldiers was manning the checkpoint.

He squinted at me for a few moments, before shaking his head and turning away.

"Reason for passing?" the man barked out.

"It's calmer on that side," I replied.

He snorted.

"Kid, you're not my business."

His stance was loose, but his hand never strayed far from his sword.

"So I can pass?"

"You can pass." His armour grated as he shook his head. "My advice? Whatever you're thinking, drop it. It'll end in blood."

"Anything I should watch out for?"

"There is a pair of diabolists holed up inside the cathedral."

"Why is that my problem?" I folded my arms.

"If you don't want trouble, stay out of their way." He turned to the side and spat. "Shouldn't be too hard to avoid. It's where we're camped."

I bit down on my smile. The envoys were still here, and I knew where they were. There would be some difficulty in spiriting them away from the Legions, but… no, I was thinking about this the wrong way. I had other concerns first.

"Will I need to worry about devils while I'm here?"

I wasn't prepared to rescue anyone that was summoning up devils. I'd rather stab them first.

"If you're worried about devils, then you should be staying on that side of the bridge." The Legion soldier pointed behind me, "now get moving, you're holding up everyone else."

He moved aside.

Pony cantered onto the bridge. Legion soldiers marched up and down the Miezan relic and lit torches, spacing them each about fifteen feet apart from each other. I could hear the wind howling through the jagged, rotting teeth that had become the long abandoned walls of the fortress. The malevolent smile of that great, stony beast appeared as if it was about to swallow me whole. It wasn't long until I passed through the twisted remains of the melted gatehouse and arrived at the Blessed Isles.

The place was more vibrant than I expected for a blackened ruin. A merchant troupe was setting up rugged tents around a crackling camp fire in the shadow of one of the broken turrets on my left. The top half had collapsed inwards and was lying against the courtyard floor. The smoky outline of shadowy figures were seared onto the shattered walls. I shivered. I could almost hear their dying screams as they were swallowed by the flames.

Further along on the same side were the smoky remains of what I'd guess was a stable. The next building along was a heavy pile of slag. It was melted down so thoroughly that I couldn't identify what it was supposed to be.

Opposite the merchant troupe was a Legion platoon. I guessed there were around somewhere between thirty and sixty soldiers, all encamped within the ruins of the cathedral. The skeleton of the building was in surprisingly good shape, despite the missing rooftop. Well, the missing anything that I presumed had been made out of any material but stone. That only raised more questions. Where were the envoys? The guard on the bridge had mentioned them being in the cathedral somewhere…

My stomach rumbled.

There wasn't an inn nearby — or any other place to stay — which shouldn't have come as a surprise. I'd had enough of going hungry to not want to do so again. If I wanted to eat tonight, then I'd need to bargain with the merchants.

My lips pressed in a line as I approached the merchant caravan.

"Evening," I called out.

A dark skinned, pot-bellied man dressed in brown overalls looked up from the fire and narrowed his eyes at me.

"You're looking for something, lass?" the man folded his arms.

"How much for a meal?"

The merchant examined me further, then listed a price. It was expensive. I handed over some coins and waited beside the fire for the meal.

"You're young to be travelling on your own," his wife sat on the bit of wall beside me.

I shovelled another spoon of whatever the spicy dish was into my mouth and said nothing in reply. My mouth was awash with flavour between the beef, rice, spices, and other unknown ingredients.

"That beast looks a bit too rich for you," she brushed the creases out of her yellow dress while she talked.

The spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl. I put it to one side.

"What's it to you?" I tapped the edge of my blade as I met her green eyes.

"I'm curious-"

"You want to know if I stole the horse," I drew my dagger, then started to trim my nails.

Her lips pressed into a line.

"Go complain to the Legions if it's a problem."

"They said they're waiting for a sorcerer to relieve them, not to stop little girls who run away from home and steal an arrogant lord's horse," she let out a loud harrumph.

Was that a clue? I didn't know enough about what was happening to understand why a platoon weren't able to kill two Praesi wizards. Wouldn't the wizards have escaped already if they were that dangerous?

"And you're here to sell goods and make money," I grumbled.

She didn't catch my suggestion.

"Just because they're here to prevent rebels from causing problems doesn't mean they should ignore petty thieves."

The blade slipped and nicked my fingers.

"What a pity," I lifted the finger to my lips, licked the cut and smiled at her.

She shuddered, then backed away.

I returned the bowl, then backed away from their camp and searched for a spot of my own. I settled on the broken remains of a turret on the opposite side of the ruins. Now it was time to wait.

Time passed. The moon rose, then clouds swallowed it whole. An eerie stillness fell over the ruins on the Blessed isle. The entire fortress was shrouded in an inky blackness, save for a glow from the cathedral, the dying fire by the merchant troupe and the torches on the bridges to either side.

The sound of footsteps on the bridge trailing away for what must have been the hundredth time was my call to act.

It was time.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and started to scale the inside of the turret's skeletal remains. No wood was left upon its carcass, only the blackened outline of hard, cold stone. I crawled through a crumbled passage as I wormed my way further up the stairwell, then stood and jumped across a narrow gap to the stairs above. Soon, I reached a dead end. The passage extended no further upwards.

I halted.

No, I wasn't prepared to let this stop me. I dug my fingers into the cracks in the wall. The darkness wrapped itself around me like an icy blanket the higher that I scaled. A fine layer of dew had settled over the ruins. I cursed inwardly.

The distant clanking drew nearer.

My fingers were slick with sweat. They trembled, then slipped. I scrambled against the inside of the turret for a few moments while I reclaimed my hold.

A scattering of rocks fell below.

I stilled.

There was no change to the sound of the guards moving below.

My breath came in spurts as I continued to climb.

Don't look down, Cat. Just because it's dark, doesn't mean it stretches on forever.

At last, I stopped and peered down on the corpse of the fortress from the remnants of a floor further up.

Heartbeats passed while I observed the Legion watch rotation.

Two soldiers patrolled the bridge leading across into the Green Stretch. I guessed that another two patrolled the bridge leading back onto the Field of Streges, but I couldn't see them from where I was. I didn't know how many manned the watchtowers on either side. It was too hard for me to make them out from where I was. Four more Legion soldiers patrolled around the outside of the cathedral. Each of them always kept another in their sight.

There was a broken gap in the closest side of the cathedral wall that I could glimpse through from where I sat. I could just make out the shapes of three men clustered around a cook pot. I couldn't see anyone else.

It left me with a conundrum.

How was I going to do this?

There was no getting the wizards away from the Legions without killing them. Was I prepared to kill this many people? My stomach churned. I'd killed a man before, but it had been in the heat of the moment. Now I was planning to do the same, only this time it would be in cold blood. The thought twisted in my gut. No, there was no other way. I'd do it. I'd committed to this. There was no backing out now.

Which brought me back to my question.

How was I going to do this?

Trying to attack them all at once would only lead me to die. As much as I wished I was a hero, I wasn't one just yet. Should I risk it anyhow? That was the kind of thing that a hero would do. No, it wasn't sensible.

Maybe I could use the merchants as a distraction? Cause some noise there and draw the Legion's attention away from the cathedral. On second thought, no. A distraction wasn't on the plate. The Legions were all trained. They were more skilled than regular guards. It would only make them more alert and lower my chances of success. That meant I needed to sneak in without any hint as to my presence at all.

I grabbed at my dagger once more.

I wasn't good at being sneaky.

What options did I have?

My biggest problem was that I didn't know enough. The only way to learn more would be by asking, or by sneaking closer. I examined the cathedral. The gap that I was peering through in the cathedral wall stuck out like a tooth. That gave me a horrible idea.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a rope, tied the one end into a noose, then gave it an experimental tug. The noose remained firm.

One.

Two.

Three.

The noose twirled through the air, only to fall short.

My heart leapt as if trying to flee from my chest like a thief chased by the guards. I tugged the rope back while it was still in the air, then glanced down to the ground. Nobody looked up. My shoulders slumped. A section further along the walls was closer to the cathedral than my turret was, but it was also more exposed. I glanced at the Legions on patrol. Their eyes remained alert and panned from one side of the Blessed Isle to the other. Could I cross the distance without being seen?

I'd have to find out.

I descended the turret. Rubble blocked most of the passage to the walls, but with a tight squeeze I was able to fit through. I skulked behind what little remained of the parapet, doing my best to remain out of sight. It wasn't long before I came to the end of one shattered segment. A broken chasm yawned between me and my next landing.

I spared a glance to all the Legions on patrol. None of them were looking my way. I backed up a few paces, sprinted forward, then jumped. My feet landed on the opposing side, only for the mortar to crumble under my step. I scrambled forward. A rain of loose rubble fell onto the ground below.

The dull thud of boots grew louder.

"What was that?" the words were spoken in heavily accented Taghrebi.

I pulled myself further into the shelter of the shattered wall top, then buried my face in the grey of my shirt and sucked in my breath. Heartbeats passed. I listened to the scrape of steel on stone as the Legion soldier came closer. The shadows almost seemed to swirl around me, enfolding me in their embrace.

"This place is still falling apart."

The man swore.

The sound of boots faded away.

I climbed the shattered remnants of the wall and found a better perch, then examined my target. Would the guards look up? Probably not. I whirled the rope once again. It caught. One quick tug later and I was satisfied. It would hold. I tied the other end to a part of the wall, then took a deep breath.

This won't go wrong. This won't go wrong. This won't go wrong.

Reach forward, tug, release, reach forward, tug, release.

Ignore the long fall under me. Just look to the sky. The clouds are nice. The dark below can't hurt me, it won't hurt me.

Reach forward, tug, release, reach forward, tug, release.

The rope swung from side to side as I crossed the distance. I did my best to ignore the burning in my arms, the swaying of my hair, the shallow pants, the shakes in my legs, or the pull from the ground below.

Reach forward, tug, release, reach forward, tug, release

"How much longer do you think we've got to wait until we'll be sent reinforcements?"

I almost let go of the rope in fright as the voice called out.

I reached around awkwardly and seized the stone finger on the other side with one arm before painting myself onto it. Once I was satisfied that I'd secured myself with one hand, I grabbed it with the other. There was a short mad scramble as I leveraged my weight onto the wall. The edge of the wall felt flimsy beneath my feet, but it was safer than remaining on the rope.

"Another day, maybe two."

The wind picked up. Smoke from the fire below blew itself into my face.

"We should've just dug them out of that basement days ago."

My eyes watered. The smoke was making it hard to breathe.

"You know what they say, Kifo?"

There was a Legion tent a few feet across and however many feet down the floor was. It was on the opposite side of the soldiers. I just needed to skirt my way over there, then I'd no longer need to worry about the acrid air blowing my way from the wind.

"About what, Zulmat?"

I released the exposed rock I was holding onto, hugged the wall below me, and clawed my way forward like a beetle towards the opposite side.

"Diabolists that are backed into a corner."

The sound of the Legion soldier patrolling below my perch to the right slowed, then stopped. I risked a glance over the edge. He had his hand to his brow and his eyes stretched towards the rope.

"Can't say that I do," one of the three on the left coughed.

There wasn't any time to think. I palmed a piece of rubble, squinted at the dying embers of the merchant's fire, and hurled.

Crack!

The stone struck against one of the logs and sent it tumbling against their tents. I held my breath and waited. The Legion soldier's attention snapped towards the merchants. A few moments later and the material caught alight. Then came the cries of alarm. I watched as the soldier on patrol ran towards the disturbance. The three men by the fire paused for a few heartbeats, only to turn back to their conversation.

There wasn't time to be clever about this. I scrambled towards the rope.

"Don't attack them, because that's when the demons come ou-"

I felt the wall lurch beneath me. The section I was walking on crumbled.

Three pairs of eyes pierced me as I fell.

I yelped, tucked myself into a ball and rolled.

A moment later and my pack slammed into the roof of a tent, followed by me only a heartbeat later. The tent buckled, but cushioned my fall.

Stomp, stomp, stomp.

I saw a boot out of the corner of my eye.

A soft ringing sound echoed out.

I saw the glimmer of metal in the torchlight.

Dazed, I struggle to raise my head.

I blink, then find myself face to face with the gleaming edge of a blade.

Gavin Prince · Oct 21, 2024

Great plan there, Cat.

Werrelock · Oct 23, 2024

After years of lurking on this site, it was your magnificant story that prompted me to make an account, just to tell you how much I love it.

When commenting on interlude 6a, people focused on the gnomes and Black's overall plan. I'm surprised that noone mentioned the following :

Sharpedge said:
However, if Scribe found the opportunity to seed new villains into the rebellion, then Black was willing to take the risk. The presence of a villain on the opposing side would muddy the waters of their story, making them far less liable to succeed.

I wonder if that will be Catherine...

Interlude 6a was just brilliant overall. I think you really captured APGTE's essence in it, while weaving your own schemes for the Calamities to lay out. Eudokia's gambit with Assassin was a total surprise, but no less than what a reader would expect from the Scribe. I appreciate the note that she varies the setup to prevent being caught in other stories. Also, forcing the Heroes to develop Aspects that are discordant with their Roles and strengths is diabolically genius.

Thank you so much for writing this. It makes the days you post the best days of my week.

Sharpedge · Oct 23, 2024

A/N: This chapter is moderately dark.

Torture.

"The price of freedom is best paid in somebody else's blood."
— Stygian slave saying.

I'd be happy if the ground opened up and darkness swallowed me whole right about now.

"I warned you it would end in blood," the voice at the other end of the sword grated.

The other two figures had stood up and circled around the other side of the broken tent. Two more swords pressed themselves up against my neck. I tried to think of a way out, but came up with nothing. For some reason, all that was on my mind was how I'd look like a lamb caught in steel jaws from above.

"I-" a metal edge trailed against my throat.

My breath caught in my throat. My muscles locked up. A cold sweat trickled down my spine.

"Save it for the captain," the man oozed malice as he spoke.

For a moment, the gloom seemed to stretch towards the fireplace. I heard a woman shouting orders somewhere nearby. I blinked. The strangeness was gone.

"Now stand," the soldier commanded. "And careful. My blade might slip. You understand?"

I nodded my head with the care of a wolf wriggling its paw in a hunter's trap. My captor gave me a tight-lipped smile in response. I pressed my palms to the ground and crawled to my feet. The aches in my everywhere were shoved aside by the rough poking and prodding my captors tacked on. My heart beat just a little faster with each prick of the blades against my neck.

One of the guards moved in behind me and ripped the dagger out of the sheath on my leg. I opened my mouth to protest, only to receive another jab. It clammed shut once more. Step by step, they poked and prodded me towards the tall woman issuing orders. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms as a simmering heat curled in my chest.

"— and I want you lot to check the watchtowers are secure," the dark skinned captain pivoted, then looked our way. Her armour gleamed in the light. It was polished in a way that none of the others were.

"Captain Nia," one of my tormentors saluted the woman, "Here is the troublemaker."

"I expect you to spin me an absolutely fascinating yarn once I start asking questions," her sky blue eyes met my own.

Three swords remained ringed around my neck. The short haired blonde with captain's stripes stood in an open ring beside a blackened block of stone that stood on its own at the far end of the cathedral. I guessed it was what remained of an altar. It appeared as if she was using it as a table.

The shadows cast by the torchlight seemed to lengthen for a moment, then stretched in the wrong direction. Was I imagining it? The churning in my stomach said no. I blinked again. They snapped back to where they were.

The captain focused on her soldiers once again and continued issuing orders. I didn't pay any attention to what she said. I focused on the shadows, then pushed. For a few heartbeats, I felt nothing. Then, the faintest of responses. They flickered from one side of the light to the other, only to return to where they were before. I glanced around.

"— involved were you bags of coin in this mess?" captain Nia asked.

The pot-bellied merchant and his wife had been herded towards the other side of the block.

"I assure you that any fault in this matter lies squarely with the girl," the man tugged repeatedly at the silk tassels hanging off his rich blue jacket.

Nobody appeared to have noticed. I bit down on my tongue, then winced. Better that then to smile. I reached out to the shadows again, only for them to slip from my grasp. It felt like trying to move an ox using only a yarn of wool. Something about the experience made me feel uneasy. I pushed the feeling aside. I couldn't afford to hesitate if I wanted to live.

"That would be convenient for you, wouldn't it?" Nia tapped one of her feet against the floor. "I think it's safer if I take you prisoner regardless. My superiors would have my hide if I let someone important slip through the cracks." She gave them a hard smile. "Unless you have some way to convince me otherwise?"

I ignored the interrogation in favour of planning my way out of the nest of hornets that I'd landed in. My attention split. Half of it went to fight with the shadows, the other half went to finding ways to stall. I wasn't sure if I could lie my way out of it, but I'd try it before I tried anything else. Each attempt to tug at the shadows proved only a little less frustrating than the one before. Captain Nia ordered the merchants to be taken prisoner, then focused on me.

"Now," she smiled. It wasn't reassuring. "You're going to sell me a story. I'd recommend that you make it convincing."

"Didn't mean to interrupt the show," One of the blades against my neck pressed harder. I winced, but quickly gritted my teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction. "Could you just carry on with the act as if I wasn't here?"

"Show?" there was a harsh clang as she clapped. "This should be good."

"Isn't this a theatre troupe?"

I reached out to the shadows cast by the furthest torch in the broken cathedral and tugged. It was better to experiment where it was harder to spot. The response was faint — sluggish — but there was a response. They felt cold, slippery, almost alive. My fingers twitched as I started to figure out what I could do.

"A… theatre troupe?" she blinked.

"I sneaked in to watch the re-enactment of the Many Deaths of Traitorous," I lied. "You were just about to stage the scene where-"

The shadows barely responded. They were sluggish and uncooperative.

"Where we descend into the caverns to slaughter the Order of the Unholy Obsidian," she rubbed her forehead and sighed. "The Grandmaster feigns death, only-

"— to reveal that he was Dread Emperor Traitorous all along," I finished.

"That is indeed how it goes," she mused.

I tried to push them closer, push them into the flame. It was easier at first, then became more challenging once I passed a point about half the distance between where the shadows would usually lie and their source.

"That's right," I gave her a wide-eyed stare. "So, can I watch?"

"I'd love to know how a girl with Deoraithe blood like you even learned that story," she muttered. "It was a nice try, kid, now try another one. Let's start with your name."

"Taylor," I lied.

That hero might as well be useful for something.

"Right, Taylor…" she tasted the name. "Since you're feeling so creative, let's give this another go. Explain this," she tapped the dagger beside her on the altar.

"It's for gutting fish."

"Fish," her eyebrows rose. "And the armour?"

"They have large teeth."

Her lips twitched.

"The Wasaliti River is of course a well known place to fish," the words were drier than the hottest of summers in Laure.

The blackness had pooled around the base of the torch and formed a concentrated blob. I prodded them on one side, only for them to push back on the other. Frustrated, I started to squeeze lightly against them from all sides at once.

"That was the plan?"

"There are faster ways to catch fish," Nia folded her arms.

"Like what?"

"We could always test that armours resilience," she grinned at me, "after all, I'm certain that you'd make for good bait."

"There isn't much meat on my bones."

"Right. I've heard enough of this," her voice became hard. "Tell me a story that doesn't end with a blade through-"

I gave the shadows one last shove. The umbral working slammed into the pole. There was a thunderous crack as the torch exploded into a rain of splinters. I winced as another blade pricked at my throat. The murk spilled over the leftmost corner of the cathedral.

Silence fell.

Every Legion soldier in attendance turned their attention towards the disturbance.

Nia's gaze returned to me.

"What was that?" I asked.

She pursed her lips.

"You should look at it before somebody else falls in," I tried.

She tapped her fingers against her side. A soldier approached from our right and asked for orders. She addressed them for a heartbeat, before returning the full weight of her gaze to me more.

"You know," she began, dragging out every word. "As entertaining as the tale you've woven so far is, I've only got so much time. Start speaking, kid," her voice took on a hard tone. "Better make whatever tale you tell me this time a good one."

"It's smarter to just kill her, Captain. She could be a hero," my leftmost captor suggested.

"She's not a hero," Nia dismissed.

"But the torch-"

"Events like that occasionally occur in the wasteland when it's cold," the captain's armour rustled as she pointed towards the splinters.

"It's not cold, Captain," Zulmat tried once more.

"I'm not hearing any more about this," she stated. "The girl is a spy, not a hero. We'd be dead otherwise."

I bit my tongue a second time in an effort to hide my fear. What could I do to get out of this? I tried to pull on all the darkness at once, only for them to flee from my grasp. I almost growled. No, better to wait. There was a narrow hope I'd be kept with the other prisoners. It would be easier to escape without blades at my throat.

"We're not equipped for an interrogation," the man muttered.

"There's a chance of promotion for me depending on what the kid knows," her attention left Zulmat and returned to me. "Now talk. Whatever tale you weave this time better be convincing."

"I thought they were all good," I grumbled, only to receive another jab from a blade.

Right, pointy swords ringing my neck. Don't forget that, Cat.

"I'm the Black Knight's Squire," I lied. "He sent me here to fetch something."

"I'm sure you could tell me exactly what that something is."

"I don't know," I lied. "I was only told that they had it."

"A likely story," she snorted. "Although… that lie might have even got past me if you had opened with it."

"He wanted me to probe your fortifications."

"Did he?" there was something hidden in her voice that I couldn't quite piece together. She folded her arms once again. "Tell me," she whispered, "what conclusion have you come to?"

"Are you sure you're even proper Legion soldiers?" I asked. "You should have caught me long before I got this far. And really, not one of you are standing in form-"

"I've had enough lip and not enough actionable information for one night," Nia interrupted, then turned towards my captors. "Give her a reason to be less mouthy."

My breath caught in my throat. Captain Nia thought I was a spy. She wanted to keep me alive for answers. Maybe trying to escape wasn't so stupid.

They pulled back their arms.

Run!

I pivoted and dashed between two of the guards… perhaps I could-

Crack!

Pain. A gauntleted fist took me on the jaw. I tried to rise to my feet.

You can get out of this, Cat. You have to.

Crack!

I whimpered. Another fist, this time to the side of my ribs. This time I didn't even reach my knees before I was sent cracking to the ground. I started to hum an unknown tune at the back of my head. Anything to keep away the throbbing in my sides.

Crack!

My eyes stung. I… wasn't going to get away. I curled up into a ball on the ground. Fury burned deep within my chest. I hated this. I wasn't going to let them-

A boot slammed against my arms.

Crack!

I lost count of the strikes. It wasn't so bad at first. No worse than anything I'd endured before. What hurt far more was the humiliation. I should have been faster. I should have been more aware. All that time spent stealing from merchants only to suffer through this. Then those thoughts died as the strikes all blurred together. The world became a wash of colours as every part of me lit up in agony.

It dragged on.

And on.

And on.

Too long. Was the torture ever going to end?

Make it stop.

Make it stop.

Please?

I started to pull back into myself. My mind faded. A salty, metallic taste pooled at the base of my mouth. Everything became muted. A seed of spite planted itself within my heart. Why was everything spinning? Were those clouds? Why were there so many people around me? Why did the Captain have four arms? There was a ringing noise in my ears. I almost seemed to float.

No.

I was floating.

Captain Nia was dangling me off the ground by my ponytail. The air was rank with the scent of blood and bile. She seized my jaw tight with the other hand, then leaned in close and pressed her face against my ear.

"I should have had a promotion months ago. Instead, I'm stuck here waiting out some two bit good for nothing Sahelian sorcerers!" She paused. "Goblins are the true virtuosos when it comes to torture," her words were whispered like sugar, but there was nothing sweet about them. "They can compose a symphony from your screams. I suggest you start singing before our mission here ends. I'll turn you over to them if you don't."

I spat flecks of gore in her face. It was easier than trying to talk.

She slapped me across the face, stepped away, then dropped me on the ground. Was my arm supposed to look like that? I didn't think it was.

"Give her some time to think with the other three prisoners," she commanded, "but pay more attention to her." She patted me on the cheeks. "Wouldn't want dear Taylor here to get any ideas about escaping, would we?"

Zulmat grabbed me by the shoulders and guided me away. A lance of pain arced through my legs with every step I took. Between a line of tents, through an open archway and down a set of stairs.

"Used to hate beating kids like you," he grunted. Then I got over it. Should've listened, kid," the man muttered. "Shouldn't have tried anything."

The staircase opened out into a wide room with a narrow corridor on the other end. The corridor was barricaded by a combination of rocks and a palisade fence. Two men manned the barricade. I was guided to a room on the left shared by the merchants. Both of them glared at me as I was led inside.

There was another guard. Zulmat talked to him for a few heartbeats, adjusting his battered gauntlets every other moment while he talked. Told him not to take his eyes off me. Then, he approached. Zulmat spent a few moments pulling off my armour before I was sent sprawling against the floor in my dull cotton shirt and trousers. I didn't look at my arms or legs. I didn't want to see the bruises on them.

The woman pulled her yellow dress back into the corner and sniffed.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

The sounds of footsteps faded away.

Get your head together, Cat.

I opened my eyes. I spat onto the floor. It wasn't enough to clear the salty tang of blood staining my mouth.

I'm fine. I'm fine. There's nothing wrong. I can do this. I can get out of this.

My arms trembled. Shallow breaths escaped my lips.

Don't give up. It's bad, but the streets were worse. I can get out of this. Right?

I blinked.

I held up one arm before me and saw two.

This… wasn't good.

I looked around.

There was either one or two brown eyed guards seated on a chair beside the doorway and only a single light beside them.

I considered them for a few moments and decided that there was only one.

What now?

A part of me argued that I should just stay here. It argued that it was better than to risk being hurt again. I stomped down on it. I wasn't prepared to give up. Not now. Not ever. I'd rather do anything than give up.

This would be so much easier if I was ten years older and twice as tall.

I reached towards the dimming light behind the guard. The darkness billowed as I called. The feeling was still tenuous, but this time there was a difference. It was almost like an eager beast. I had no clue what I was doing. I had no clue what I could do with them.

What I did know was that I only had one chance to escape. There was no chance that they wouldn't kill me if I was caught. So I focused my attention on the guard's neck. Focused, then squeezed.

The shadows answered.

The guard's eyes widened for a few moments — it looked as if he was about to rise — I focused on his legs next. Then, his arms. It was working. My plan was working! I smiled, then winced as my shirt brushed against my bruises.

An uneasy feeling settled within my gut as the man writhed against his tenebrous bonds. The flame flickered. The shadows stretched. I brushed the feeling aside. It didn't matter if this was right or wrong. Now wasn't the time to hesitate. I needed to survive.

I heard a gasp from behind me.

The merchant's wife was staring at me with wide eyes. An umbral gag shoved itself into both of their mouths. My head throbbed. Effort. Using the shadows this way drained me like nothing else. I didn't have it in me to do much more. I couldn't afford to restrain them.

"Stay here and keep quiet," I grinned their way even though it hurt.

A distant part of me noted that I'd never seen someone with dark skin pale before.

There was a first time for everything.

I released the gag, then turned back to the guard. My shoulders relaxed when neither of them said a word. A couple of hundred more heartbeats passed before the guard slumped. Dead. He was dead. I waited a little longer before releasing him, then sighed in relief.

I hobbled to my feet.

One step forward.

Rats gnawed my sides.

I let out a gasp, then clutched at my chest. None of this was a good idea, but I was already in too deep to do anything but try to swim out. That, or drown. I didn't fancy the idea of drowning.

Another step. Then another. I collapsed against the wall. Where was the corpse? It was on the other side of the room. My everything protested as I collapsed to the floor, then crawled to the other side. I struggled with the guard's weapon for a moment before realizing that I was too hurt to fight with a blade.

What next? Out. I needed to escape. Could I stand? I didn't want to stand.

No Cat, don't think that way.

I fought with the stool for a few moments, before leaning against the wall.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Release.

I limped my way out of the temporary prison and stuck my head around the corner. Both the guards at the palisade were alert, but not looking my way. I pulled at the shadows once again.

They answered even faster this time.

Agony danced down my sides. I needed a distraction from my wreck of a body. Would a song work? I knew a few, but none seemed appropriate. Battlefield songs didn't fit this kind of execution, but the only other music I knew was church hymns and nursery rhymes.

Both men struggled against their inky prisons. Fought, but made no headway.

I took another step forward. My head spun.

"One… Two…" I began to hum in an effort to keep away the pain. "I'll find you."

My opponents' eyes fell upon me, then widened.

"Three… Four…" I continued. "Blood on the floor."

Their faces began to purple.

"Five… Six…" I winced, "Your head on the bricks."

I hobbled my way towards the staircase as they collapsed on the ground.

"Seven… Eight…" I whispered. "It's much too late."

I didn't know how much time I had before somebody came to investigate. I kept humming as I climbed. A dozen steps up and I slipped. I cursed the stairs as I forced myself back to my feet.

"— think we'll see anything else this evening?" a woman asked from above.

"Hope not," somebody replied. "Quiet nights are the best."

My eyes peeked over the top of the staircase. I called upon the beast once more. The shadows answered. They coiled tight around both of the guard's necks. There was a snap. I blinked through the fog around my thoughts. Both of them crumpled to the ground.

Dead.

Two more steps, then I slammed into the ground. The cut of a knife jolted through me again. I felt metal squeeze around my neck.

"What did you do to them," a voice hissed into my ears.

Another fist crunched against my chest.

I tried to escape the hold. Jab to ribs, pivot, pull. My fingers struck against steel. The grip on my neck tightened.

"There'll be none of that," the man growled.

I heard his fist pull back again.

Short, quick breaths fled from my lips. What now? How do I get out of this? I reached for the shadows blindly. Reached, pulled, pushed.

A fan of inky blackness with a razor sharp edge swirled out from me.

My assailant didn't even have time to shriek before they were shredded. Blood. So much blood. Ribbons of gore splashed outwards. Small chunks rained back down upon me. I was drenched from head to toe in somebody else's blood. I hobbled back to my feet. My right arm remained cradled against my chest as I limped towards the door.

The passage was deserted save for the dull flickering of torchlight.

One by one I snuffed them all out.

The low murmur of voices in the main chamber brought me to an abrupt halt.

My heart raced.

Angry insects swarmed beneath my skin. I blinked. Eerie phantoms danced behind my lids.

I stepped into the chamber and heaved.

It was so much easier than before.

The light within the cathedral died.

There was a brief moment of confusion as Legion soldiers scrambled from their tents. A dark thread lashed out. Then another. Then another. Their necks snapped one by one. The captain. Where was the captain? She and I had a talk to finish. A Legion soldier's eyes fell upon me. A lance impaled him from below.

A rattle. Was that a crossbow? I staggered to the side and fell against the altar.

The gloom roiled.

Soldiers shouted, cried, whimpered. Swords rattled. A group of five — maybe ten — of them formed up into a line behind shields.

Their efforts amounted to nothing.

A wave rose up.

A wave crashed down.

Dissipated.

All of them were gone.

A distant part of me felt the thrill of combat. Another part of me recoiled in horror. Both were muted, drowned out beneath an ocean of suffering.

I stumbled through the camp in a daze.

This was what you wanted, right Cat?

The beast purred. I shook. The sensation was strong. It called to me, crooned. Whispered sweet promises into my ears. All I needed to do was go along with what it wanted.

It was so tempting.

So easy.

All I needed to do was feed its endless gluttony.

I felt its call thrum through me once again.

My mind was far away.

Where was the captain?

Another step.

Then another.

No, that was the wrong way. More to the right.

I tripped once more. The fingers of my left hand curled around the hilt of a blade. I dug the point of the blade into the stone. I trembled. Crimson stained hair fell before my eyes. I didn't have it in me to brush it away. I heaved.

Shallow breaths.

I staggered through the door of the cathedral out into the open courtyard. Pony stood completely unruffled where I'd left her at the ruins of the stables. The cool evening air settled upon my forehead, mixed in among the sweat and blood. Silent. It was so silent. A stark contrast to the chaos inside the cathedral. Was it always like this? Another blink. I pulled the shadows in towards me. A blanket. Something to hide me from the world.

Was there anyone else? I looked around. I didn't see anyone else. Best not to leave it to chance.

Another step.

I wasn't sure where my feet were taking me.

Anywhere was better than… than…

Anywhere was better than here.

Lights up ahead.

A roar. A loud roar from below. Was that the beast? No, it was something else. Water. The river. Was that the bridge?

I let out a strangled laugh.

The captain. Halfway along the bridge. There was the captain.

Whiff. Whiff. Whiff.

The lights on the bridge snuffed out.

Another step.

Commotion on the watchtowers. That wasn't… wouldn't do. I called and the shadows answered. A wave of tendrils rose up from the ground, then slammed into the towers. The base of the towers shook, then shattered. There were screams, then sickening thuds.

Another step.

The captain had drawn her sword.

That wouldn't do. Ropes around the arms and the legs and the neck. Ropes to lash and cut and bind.

She was opening her mouth.

"Perhaps I misjudged," she sounded unruffled. "Perhaps you are his appr-"

I didn't… didn't want to hear her speak.

Not because what she said was wrong, but because I didn't want to hear a word of it. Not from her, at the very least.

Captain Nia's eyes narrowed as shadows coiled themselves around her mouth. She thrashed from side to side. Her efforts yielded as many fruits as beggars fighting over crumbs in an empty bowl.

My anger was far away, distant, buried beneath the pain. She was the reason I was hurting. She was the reason for all of this. I wasn't going to let her escape.

Eerie tendrils dragged her to the edge of the bridge. She thrashed against her bonds. Struggled and glared. Her efforts amounted to nothing.

I staggered over.

Shadows pulled her over the lip.

The sword I was using to support myself clattered to the ground as I seized her by the neck.

"I think…" I rasped. "I think the fish will like the taste of you more."

A spear of shadows pierced through her heart.

I shoved, then turned.

There was a muted splash as her corpse plunged into the frigid waters.

Where should I head to next?

I raised a bloodstained hand and considered it for a moment.

The truth stared back at me.

I'm not a hero, am I, Cat?

The uncomfortable knot in my stomach bubbled up. Acid burned in my throat. I heaved.

Come to your senses.

That didn't mean I couldn't fight for what I believed in. It just meant that I'd need to do things differently. The heroes… couldn't hear about this. I wanted to support them. I needed to support them.

What should I do?

Witnesses. I couldn't… I couldn't leave any witnesses.

The watchtowers on the other side. The merchants.

I picked up the sword and staggered my way back to the Blessed Isles.

One step. Then another. Then another.

It was hard to ignore the dull droning at the back of my head. It was hard to ignore the whimpers crawling out of my throat. I crossed the Blessed Isle and cleared out the watchtowers on the opposing side. It was trivial after everything else. At last, I returned to the cathedral. All my strength had long since gone out of me. My eyelids dragged on the ground.

I wasn't sure how many times my leaden limbs had stumbled before I passed through the broken arch again.

Somebody had relit the torches.

My eyes trailed over the corpses. I was too fatigued to properly appreciate the carnage. I spotted three people standing at the far end of the room. The merchants. They were bound, tied up on the altar.

"Promise to let me leave," Zulmat said from the opposite side of the altar.

The words came as such a surprise that they almost sent me sprawling to the floor.

"Why?"

I didn't see a convincing reason to.

"I'll let them live," he tapped the edge of his blade against their throats. "You're with the rebellion. Heroes don't let innocents die."

They're Praesi merchants. They're with the enemy. You can't let them rat you out.

I squashed down another empty laugh. It wasn't worth the pain.

"I don't think," I coughed, "I don't think that I'm a hero."

Even if I wanted to be one.

Darkness swelled. Three pairs of eyes widened. A wave of shadows crashed on the altar.

Silence fell once again.

I limped over to the altar. Set down the sword. Leaned against it and closed my eyes.

Not even the distant murmuring of two voices was enough to break me out of my exhaustion.

I saw a yellow light through the lids of my eyes. A coolness washed over me, then the agony disappeared.

Dirty purple robes greeted me as I opened my eyes.

I looked up. Met the gaze of two Praesi men. The sorcerers. I'd forgotten about the sorcerers. I said some words then — I can't remember what — before closing my eyes again.

The three of us all departed for Summherholm a few hours after the dawn of the next day.

The mission was a success. It wasn't enough to shake the shroud that had fallen over my thoughts. The Legion soldiers were dead. I should be happy. I should be celebrating. A part of me even was. There was a tiny sliver which was steeped in satisfaction. Everything about that part unsettled the rest of me.

Was this really who I was?

Was this what I was supposed to be?

Sharpedge · Oct 23, 2024

Werrelock said:
After years of lurking on this site, it was your magnificant story that prompted me to make an account, just to tell you how much I love it.

Thank you so much for writing this. It makes the days you post the best days of my week.

This is probably the highest complement somebody can give me for my fanfic, so thanks.

famfrit · Oct 23, 2024

I see 3 possibilities

1: Cat got her connection with Sve Noc early and without the threesome (Least likely since they shouldn't be effected by the changes so far)

2: Cat got a Name based on GU or Moord Nag

3: Cat got a Name based on a horror movie monster that isn't the one cape like that canon to worm (really ward but they existed in worm's timeframe) because it doesn't fit their theme

Gavin Prince · Oct 25, 2024

"Do you feel like a hero yet?"

Sharpedge · Oct 25, 2024

"What heroes don't seem to understand is that if history remembers them kindly, they either failed or didn't try hard enough."
— Dread Empress Regalia

Heiress's mind soared through the clouds while her hands gripped the brim of a wide bowl of baked clay set on the table before her.

The northern front of the conflict between Aksum and the Legions was by far the most brutal. It was the front the Warlock was most often seen on and proved the most illuminating to observe.

Akua observed another clash between a retreating line of Legion infantry covered by crossbowmen and one of the new creatures fielded by the High Lady of Aksum. It was just one fight among many that were occurring all at once on the multiple fronts spread across the wasteland.

The red and silver striped many armed snakelike monstrosity was a grotesque amalgamation of both dust and stone, shifting between one and the other whenever the whimsy took it. It had been called a Living Statuary by its creator. The beast was more of a hostile sentient zone of influence than a traditional monster, and about as hard to kill or control as that implied. Anything that it touched was petrified. Plants, animals, dirt, everything save the air itself. Broken statues of those who failed to escape its grasp lay scattered across the now stone dunes.

It was one creature among many that had been conceived of by the insane brilliance of the Mad Cartographer. He had been a sorcerer who was set on mapping the hells through divination and cataloguing all the types of devils within them before earning his Name. Now he crafted creatures inspired by the many types of devils he had discovered in some of the more hazardous hells. He was responsible for many of the more esoteric monsters that now plagued the wasteland. More than one attempt against his life had been made by the Calamities so far, but the High Lady of Aksum had invested much into keeping him alive.

Akua's thoughts drifted elsewhere. The vision shifted to the eastern front.

Another fight. This time the clash was between a cohort of Legion sorcerers and half a dozen Blade Orangutans. These beasts were far less alien in construction. They were a patchwork creation designed from the stitched together bodies of orangutans and metal blades. Akua concluded at a glance that the conflict was headed in favour of the imperial ranks when the Captain entered the fray.

Monsters like these fit the mould of the older designs of the wizards of Aksum. The Nightmare Shaper was a bit of a disappointment as far as Akua was concerned. She was far less inspired when it came to the types of Evils that she produced. Her creations were fielded side by side with many of the Aksum classics. There was at least one invisible tiger army spread out among the cliffs, and Akua smiled when she saw a legion of devils let loose against another line of soldiers.

It was the new monstrosities rather than the old ones which were the source of Aksum's confidence. Creatures made by the Mad Cartographer and the Nightmare Shaper. Wolof's spies had discovered evidence of a third villain called the Wretch Binder that specialized in fabricating horrors through the manipulation of souls within Aksum. None of their creatures had fought against the Legions yet. They were a special brand of terror that was likely reserved for once the conflict approached its end.

There had been a fourth villain. The Esoteric Butcher had designed creatures with the intent of mimicking the function of demons. The villain was far more ambitious than skilled, but even in failure, that ambition had borne fruit. He had perished at the hands of the only monster he had invented only two days past.

The conflict between the Tower and Aksum had started to enter its later stages and would likely end soon. Either at a table or on the battlefield.

Akua acknowledged that the Warlock was far more successful than she expected at keeping a lid on the many bottles of Evil that had been unleashed given the circumstances, and her estimation of his abilities rose as a consequence. The ongoing conflicts did much to tease out all of the many secrets that the current rulers of Praes had at their beck and call.

Even a sorcerer as skilled as the current Warlock was making mistakes when spread so thin. The seventh Legion had been slaughtered to a man by the creature that killed the Esoteric Butcher. The Warlock had been otherwise occupied with containing the demons of excess, absence, and apathy that had been unleashed by the villain's death. He was unable to prevent the damage inflicted by the creature at the time, and lesser sorcerers proved incapable of eliminating the beast.

The bile yellow luminescent mind-warping floating mushroom monstrosity in question gave off toxic spores that were fatal when inhaled. Nobody had seen fit to name the beast before the Warlock dropped hell-fire on it, and it was only after it had perished that anyone remembered it existed at all.

The vision shifted again to the southern front.

It appeared that for now this front was quiet. The Legions remained camped behind fortified lines, although Akua expected that soon they would push forward. It was only two days ago when she had last witnessed the clash between an uneven line of Stygian Slave soldiers and Legion infantry fortified by the Black Knight in a narrow valley close to the city of Aksum. The slaves were both armed and armoured, but didn't fare well against the might of the Legions.

High Lady Abreha of Aksum had decreed that the soldiers were "freed." A technical distinction with no real weight behind it, considering they had been indoctrinated from birth to follow orders. Aksum was covertly backed by both her mother High Lady Tasia Sahelian and High Lady Takisha Muraqib, although only the High Lord of Okoro was overtly supporting Aksum's defiance of the throne. High Lady Tasia had no interest in allowing High Lady Abreha to claim the title of Dread Empress, however the conflict both weakened Malicia and set the stage for their own bid for the throne at a later date.

The forces under the command of High Lady Abreha were putting up a much stronger front against the Legions than expected. The conflict had dragged on as a consequence, and other High Lords and Ladies were considering involving themselves, when a truce would otherwise have long since been called and the previous High Seat deposed.

The vision shifted again and settled on Aksum itself.

"Can you see, Mpanzi?" her father's excited voice drifted to her through the fog, "it's Ink Blot. I'm certain of it."

A market set in an open plaza deep within the walls of Aksum. Merchants haggled with customers. Such a scene would in ordinary circumstances be beneath notice, but today it lay at the heart of her investigations. Akua watched as coins were counted out. She observed as an argument erupted on the streets. Watched until at long last bread was handed over. She counted in her own head in turn. Counted, and noted when the payment did not match the price written on the board beside the stall. A single event in isolation could be nothing more than happenstance, but time and time again the same sequence of events played out from one stall to another.

"Yes, papa," she agreed, "the symptoms of the later stages are already evident."

It was all but confirmation that the Calamities had put one of their Dark Days protocols into play. Akua considered the decision to be noteworthy, as she did not deem the situation dire enough to justify their use unless there were other threats hiding that she had yet to glimpse. It was a conscious decision that it was easier to mitigate the fallout from the weapon's use than it was to continue fighting.

Ink Blot was by far the most subtle of all their doomsday weapons, and was designed almost entirely as a weapon against the other High Lords and Ladies of Praes. It was a ritual that could be triggered by an otherwise inert alchemical reagent that was harmless on its own.

What made the ritual so noteworthy is that the catalyst to trigger it was a part of the Praesi field rituals that had been used for generations. Field rituals that had once again become necessary as a consequence of the chaos spreading across Calernia. It was convenient for the Empress that the catalyst left trace elements of itself embedded within the crop yields. Wolof's spies had only recently uncovered evidence of the existence of the weapon. It would be some time before they had developed an adequate countermeasure to it.

Ink Blot caused a shift in cognitive associations related to numeracy within all who had consumed foods that were grown by rituals containing the catalyst. The ritual only impacted those in a designated region when triggered, however, the smallest region the ritual could affect was larger than the size of a small city. That vulnerability made Ink Blot unusable as a precision weapon, except when large scale collateral damage was deemed to be preferable to the alternative.

The decay in numeric associations became progressively worse over time.

The first stage of Ink Blot only targeted numerical associations for larger values. If a victim was presented with a chest full of coins, then no matter how they counted the coins, their final tally would always be slightly off. Lower numeric values were influenced during the later stages of the plague.

Ink Blot appeared less dangerous than a traditional plague when considered by itself. There was no sudden spike in deaths or illnesses. The rate of engineering failures increased due to the introduction of errors that would otherwise not exist. The local economy destabilized due to the changes in spending. Problems became worse as time passed — arguments broke out because people could not agree on totals — but almost all troubles were caused by secondary effects and not by the plague itself.

The only immediate rise in deaths occurred within the population of sorcerers.

Trismegistan sorcery relied on precision measurements that often involved large numbers, and the errors introduced by Ink Blot rendered even the most basic of magics dangerous to the practitioner. Afflicted victims could not even risk healing themselves — let alone others — due to the dangers involved. Only the most skilled of sorcerers even had the talent to counter the effect, assuming they noticed it before perishing due to a magical failure. The plague was notable in that through happenstance alone, it tended to kill those best qualified to invent a countermeasure first. It was almost certain that the most dangerous threats to the Calamities within Aksum would already be beyond help by the time the plague was dealt with.

The current conflict in Praes would end once the effects of Ink Blot manifested within Aksum in full.

Akua felt the hands of her father lift off her own. She released the bowl in turn and the vision faded away.

The face of her father came into focus from across the hickory table. Akua bit back a grimace. The Gilded Arcanist looked more satisfied than he had been in years. The increased turmoil within Praes had led to her mother loosening the restrictions on how much time Akua could spend with her father. That did nothing to quell the spike of resentment she felt every time she thought of the Name.

"I've finished the foundational calculations," he continued scribbling away at a page on his right, "and it's confirmed. With the right design, a pre-conversion escapement can be constructed to make use of the Due."

"So the artefact can work then," Akua smiled. "Destroy any evidence of those calculations."

"The theory has always supported its construction."

That was correct only in the sense that the artefact could be manufactured. There was no safe way to deploy it without Keter's Due killing the practitioner. At least, there hadn't been in the past.

The ritual array her father had designed to discern newly awakened Names was only novel in scale. Devices capable of detecting the manifestations of Names had long existed. The array was an iteration on old designs that had been improved upon using Akua's research into demons, and was only a practical demonstration of the smallest part of her grander scheme. Further refinements on the initial idea as well as many additions would be required to achieve her final design.

A design which she intended to keep locked away safely within her own mind until it was ready to be unveiled.

"I'll need to determine the most fitting location to perform the ritual," Heiress mused.

Finding the crown of the new Fae Court was proving to be a stimulating magical puzzle and was one of only a few pieces she'd need to put together in order to begin fabricating her masterpiece. Akua had proven that the Crown did exist using resonance between coins taken from the Ravel Bank and the Aspirant's journal, even so its current location remained shrouded in mystery. The outline of her ambitions was still in the early stages, and many complications remained unanswered. The design of the ritual array and an adequate source to power the finished device were two of the larger outstanding problems.

Her father looked up from his calculations and was about to reply when her mother walked into the room. High Lady Tasia Sahelian was just over fifty years old, though she looked barely half of that. Her appearance was no glamour: rituals to maintain the physical trappings of youth and the same superior breeding that had led to both their beauty were more than enough. High cheekbones and perfect eyebrows, dark golden eyes and full lips. She was everything Akua was taught to admire.

"Mother," Akua greeted her.

"Akua," her mother replied. "Leave your current studies and come through to the solar."

Her mother always expected her to determine what questions she was expected to ask, and to answer questions that had not been given voice.

"Who is the guest?"

Akua rose from her seat and brushed aside any creases on her red dress. Her mother departed the room at a sedate pace. Akua followed behind and bid her father farewell as she stepped out of the room.

"It's a negotiation conducted through scrying with the rebellion in Callow."

The rebellion in Callow was only useful insofar as it continued to cut away at the influence of the current Dread Empress in Praes. It would serve no further purpose in the years to come, once Malicia had at last been toppled from the throne.

"I'm to remain out of sight?"

"Under Ibrahim's mirror," her mother passed her a heavy gem encrusted leather-bound book.

Akua glanced at the title, then raised an eyebrow. A Stranger's Guide to Names in Calernia. It was evident that her mother expected her to study the contents. The Proceran House of Light hadn't been quiet when publishing their new book, and so Akua was already aware of its existence.

"I didn't think the House of Light produced books so richly adorned," Akua commented.

"They don't," her mother sounded amused. "Look at the contents page."

Akua did as she was bid and then raised an eyebrow.

"You had the book transcribed," Akua surmised.

"It's about the principle of the matter," her mother agreed.

It wasn't long before both of them stepped into the solar. The walls were panelled with light coloured hickory imported from the southern stretches of Callow. Precious stones and gilding ornamented anything of importance, and the arched ceiling was enchanted to show a perfect reproduction of the stormy sky above Ater.

The two of them approached two chairs set down beside each other in front of a full body mirror.

Akua placed the book on the table to her left, then examined her fingernails while she reclined in her plush satin chair. She tapped three times against a sapphire gemstone embedded within the arm. It wasn't long before the enchantment on the chair activated, and she faded from sight.

The silvered surface of the mirror shimmered. The Reluctant Strategist's piercing grey eyes met those of her mother. Akua noted that reports of the woman's condition had — if anything — underestimated the extent of the deterioration. There were sentient cacti in the wasteland with healthier skin.

The information they uncovered on the Deoraithe woman mentioned that until recently she had been a minor strategist of no real note, with only a single exception. While she was not considered skilled at winning battles, she was considered far more skilled at predicting the worst possible outcomes — within reason — for battlefield strategy than even the most seasoned generals.

"High Lady Tasia Sahelian," the woman greeted. "Tell me what you want."

Further notes on the Reluctant Strategist indicated that her body language served as a better measure of her thoughts than her tone of voice or choice of words, and that she fell back on her training when angry or unsettled. Spies within both the Eyes of the Empire and the Rebellion indicated that she had an aspect called Forecast. The aspect cost her a month of her life each time she called upon it. The aspect was believed to be oracular in nature, however the Eyes of the Empire noted that the Reluctant Strategist had never disclosed the exact details of what it did. Her other aspects remained unknown, but were suspected to be related to leadership.

"Reluctant Strategist," Akua's mother replied. "We have received word hinting that your rebellion is suffering from a dearth of supplies."

It was the feeling of eyes upon her that alerted Akua to the presence of another.

Akua remained nonchalant, even though by all accounts she should be veiled from sight. She examined the room projected from the mirror while she considered what she knew. The Reluctant Strategist wore a simple cotton shirt and trousers. She reclined on a rock slab set some distance from the mirror, with a pile of documents set atop her lap.

The dull light of a fire flickered on her right, and the shadow of a figure fell across the floor before her. Akua judged it to be one of the emissaries. One of them would be required to maintain the scrying ritual, even if they were not in sight of the mirror itself.

"Give me the offer." The woman picked up one of the pages and set it beside her, "I'm doing the work of over a dozen people and don't have the time for verbal trickery."

Further examination of the space on the opposing end of the scrying ritual at last bore fruit. The shadows behind the Reluctant Strategist had a depth to them that didn't appear natural. Akua considered her observations, then leaned in to Catalogue to make sense of what she saw.

"The Dread Empress placed restrictions on the circulation of a specific currency within the Dread Empire of Praes. We are interested in an exchange of currency with the rebellion as a consequence."

A stocky, brown haired girl with narrow cheekbones and Deoraithe colouring stood opposite Akua and was hiding within the Reluctant Strategist's shadow. It was an amateur working. One done by a villain who was new to their Name. Akua's mouth twitched. She noted that the shadows under the girl's eyes were off. Not in the sense that the girl looked like she lacked sleep, but that they fell just short of the positions they belonged.

None of that explained how the girl was seeing through Ibraham's Mirror.

Or had Akua made a mistake and the girl had seen nothing at all?

"Why should I consider this?" the Reluctant Strategist asked.

Further examination of the girl suggested that her eyes had fallen upon Akua by happenstance. The girl's attention remained focused upon High Lady Tasia and never returned to Akua herself.

"It serves our interests to see the rebellion flourish at present."

"One aurelii in exchange for five coins minted by the Ravel Bank," the Reluctant Strategist offered. "Nobody but us are willing to use that coinage."

Akua felt a twinge of surprise. Her mother had made no mention of the specifics of the negotiation. The aged youth was informing them that she knew more than she should by opening with an offer of her own.

"Your offer is ambitious," her mother began, "however, an exchange of one to one with another half in goods the rebellion requires seems far more equitable."

Callow hadn't had a mint of its own in years. Even the current rebellion was still relying on the Empire's coin. The people of Callow had Praesi coin in excess, but no goods to spend it on. The price of everything had risen as a consequence.

"One to five," the grey eyed woman repeated. "Further loans will also be taken out by Callow with the Ravel Bank."

Her mother blinked, before raising her hand and laughing.

"I believe that the Calamities have underestimated you," she murmured. "Iron sharpens iron, Mabli of Daoine."

The woman reeled back as if slapped.

Her mother and the Reluctant Strategist continued to negotiate terms of trade. They settled upon one is to two, although an additional quarter of that would be delivered in goods. All transactions were to occur through intermediaries. The agreement would give Wolof the leverage it needed to continue scheming against the Tower, while also turning the attention of Malicia somewhere else.

Akua picked up the book beside her and paged through it as further discussion unrelated to the negotiation itself commenced. She made note of several stories that ended with Evil claiming the ending, and smiled inside at the thought. The Calamities were too ossified to risk experimenting with new narratives. They had forgotten what it meant to be Praesi. Malicia would set aside the stories within the book, and in doing so would spit on all that had come before her. It was a chance for Evil to not just claw for scraps but rise up and claim its own victory.

Akua would not turn away from that opportunity.

The mirror rippled once more, then became inert.

Three taps on the sapphire and the spell around Akua faded.

"What did you learn?" two golden orbs turned her way.

Akua had considered the matter as she read and come to a startling conclusion.

"She is inflating the value of goods within Callow deliberately."

It did not matter whether the rebellion won or lost. The consequences of the Reluctant Strategist's larger plot would echo decades in the future if the Black Knight did not act against it before the coins from the Ravel Bank became spread throughout the local economy. Praes was wealthy enough to mitigate the potential damage. However, none of the potential methods of doing so were quick.

The resulting strife would all but insure another rebellion in the near future. It was the kind of long term spite that could be expected from the Deoraithe. The only surprise was that none among the rebellion had caught wind of it.

"What of our own plans?" her mother smiled.

The coin from the exchange could be used by her mother to continue sparring with Malicia. Most of the High Seats would come out of the current conflict in Praes weaker, but with a much stronger grasp of the force the Empress could project. Another uprising among the High Seats against Malicia was all but assured with time. Akua would be at the forefront when it occurred and make certain that it would be the one to succeed.

"They remain unchanged," Akua replied.

The interrogation continued for a while before at long last her mother was satisfied with what she had discerned.

"Return to your studies, Akua," her mother dismissed her. "There is much to prepare before we are ready to step onto the stage."

Indeed, mother.

Most of the future remains shrouded behind a veil of uncertainty.

It's a pity that one day soon I'll be cutting you out of it.

Sharpedge · Oct 28, 2024

"A siege is just a long-term commitment to knocking on the wrong door."
— Dread Empress Maleficent II

The Imperial Highway was empty at this time of the morning. Not that it would be busy at another hour, since the rebellion had now dragged on for over a year. The barren fields grown wild with disuse on either side of the road were the true cost of our defiance. One of the cheaper costs. The fields we had passed an hour before had been blackened from fire. My hand traced the grip of the dagger on my thigh at the thought.

I turned my mind eastwards in a bid to distract myself from my simmering fury. Scouts had brought news that the Calamities had succeeded at putting down the uprising within the Empire. The High Seat of Aksum had been replaced seven times in the past four months. The High Seats of Okoro, Nok and Kahtan had been replaced twice. The Seventh Legion had died during the height of the conflict, and the other Legions had been mauled. Rumours claimed that the Calamities were forming groups of smaller villains that agreed to follow their rules now that they had killed something like close to half a hundred of them. I wasn't sure that I believed it.

The truth didn't matter.

All that mattered was the fact that now that the conflict in Praes had been contained, they had turned their attention back onto Callow. Five of the Legions of Terror were seen by scouts marching west. The Reluctant Strategist had sent me to recall the Faithful Warrior in defence of the city. She didn't trust that the message wouldn't be lost if she sent anyone else.

Mabli had given me many tasks over the course of the year in addition to becoming more involved in my learning. They fell into three categories. The first was diplomacy — which I was terrible at — but I enjoyed the most. Mabli would often have me negotiate low stakes agreements between parties.

The second type of task was unofficial and as far as I knew only Mabli knew about them. They were unsanctioned raids against smaller fortified Legion positions. They were the types of tasks I hated the most, even though I was the best at them. Now people talked. There were rumours about the Nightmare Child. It wasn't my Name, but I knew who they talked about. I knew what they said about me. The only reason anyone tolerated me was because they had no idea that the Nightmare Child and me were one and the same.

Things happened when I leaned into the shadows.

Don't think about that, Cat.

Well, I was also good at the third kind of task, but it wasn't fulfilling. It felt like a waste of my time, and it annoyed me that I was used for it. Even when the messages were being sent to perilous places. I'd complained about the duty. Mabli had told me that if a message was important enough she'd send me to deliver it, then it had to arrive.

I still didn't like it.

There were some improvements to my circumstances. Mabli had told the other heroes that I was one of them. I followed along with the lie, even if I was convinced that I was a villain and that the Reluctant Strategist knew as much.

It helped that my Name sounded so innocuous. I was the Novice. I hadn't risked using shadows in the presence of the others — not that it was difficult to avoid — the shadows weren't easy for me to control. They weren't pleasant to use, either. I grimaced.

Think about something else, Cat.

The voice in my head helped ground me.

It kept me from slipping further.

The journey from Summerholm to Dormer had taken me a while. The Faithful Warrior was attempting to free the port from Praesi control but hadn't met much luck. I'd arrived, delivered the message and joined them on the return. Our journey was almost at its end. Summerholm was less than a day's journey away. I was looking forward to seeing Abigail again after being on the road for so long. She was always jumpy around me in a way that always brought a smile to my face.

The Faithful Warrior and the force he had put together over the year was only a day's march behind us. The Silver Lancer, The Vengeful Warrior, The Radiant Archer and I were all riding ahead. In an odd twist of fate, the Gallant Youth had departed to deliver a message to the Reluctant Strategist only a day before I arrived. We were expecting him to already be within Summerholm.

The road was silent, save for the constant bickering within our band.

"The only reason the Warlock hasn't fought me is he's too afraid to lose," the muffled voice of Merton called out through the fog. "When you're as good as me, you don't miss."

The blurred outline of the Radiant Archer on horseback was only a few feet ahead of me. I couldn't see his open shirt or his bow, but I'd still be willing to bet that he was playing with either his collar or his bow.

"Your death won't free us, shepherd," Hilda replied. "Stop stroking your c-" she glanced at me from the horse on my right and cut off, "bragging and think for once."

The steady canter of her armoured stallion's hooves reverberated on the paved road from my left.

"Calm your tits," I stated solemnly. "Merton's ears are definitely too innocent for that kind of talk."

The Radiant Archer let out a choked laugh.

"The soldiers are a bad influence on you," Hilda muttered.

I glanced her way.

The Vengeful Warrior was tall and in her early thirties. Scars lined her face. There were so many of them that it looked like she had hair on both sides of her head. Her pale blonde hair rested against the leather armour covering her broad shoulders.

"Cuthbert's not even dead yet, and you're already finding a replacement," Merton mocked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hilda's voice was caustic.

"You still haven't noticed?" Merton teased, "First your mother dies, then you avenge her. Then your father dies and you avenge him. Then your best friend. Now you've taken on an apprentice-"

"You're wrong?" Hilda forced the words out through gritted teeth.

"That's the difference between us," there was a rustle from up ahead, "I don't need to avenge dead friends because I'm good enough to keep them alive."

"Say that again." I heard an awkward shuffling from her horse and looked over. The vague outline of her two-handed weapon stood out in her hands.

"I don't need to avenge dead friends because I'm good enough to keep them alive."

"Say another word and my axe will carve through your skull."

"Your words are dishonourable," Oswin berated her, "apologize to your ally, Hilda."

The Silver Lancer was in his mid-thirties and was the only hero among the rebellion who truly looked the part. He was clad from head to toe in polished steel, but the gallant man under the armour had a regal air that the rest of us all lacked.

"He mocks the dead," she challenged.

"And he will answer for that in turn," Oswin replied.

"He will, will he?" she sneered. "You would have already chastised him if I was anyone else."

"I insist that you apologize to him," his words had a hard edge.

"Not unless he does first," she spat back. "He's been insufferable ever since he shot the Warlock's hell-fire out of the sky near Marchford."

"I would not gainsay you were you to boast of any victories of your own," Oswin replied. "Prioritizing vengeance over duty harms our cause more than it furthers it."

"What victories?" Merton teased. "It's not my fault that-"

His voice cut off. His horse halted.

The rest of us stopped beside him.

The fog gave way to a scene of carnage. Three dozen bloated corpses were strewn across the middle of the road. They were spread between what appeared to be the ravaged remains of a caravan transporting grain. Most of them looked like peasants. The rest were Legion soldiers. They must have died days ago and nobody had bothered to do anything about them.

My boots touched the ground before I realized that I'd dismounted. My breath came quick and heavy. I bent down among the wreckage. I ignored the buzzing of flies and scared away a crow from a nearby carcass as I walked over to examine it. Maggots writhed within eyes.

The stench was overpowering.

My anger will get the better of me one day, and I'm going to start killing rebels for doing things like this.

"Traitors selling food to Praes," Hilda spat on the side of the road. "Good."

"I'm sure the people starving in Laure are happy to know that more Callowens will join them soon." The words slipped out of my mouth before I'd even realized it.

"Their lives were forfeit the moment they chose to cosy up with the Empire," the Silver Lancer agreed with the Vengeful Warrior.

My hand tightened around the hilt of my dagger.

"It must be nice being too important to deliver messages," I drawled.

"Say what you mean, kid," Hilda grunted. "Don't dance around it."

I hear all sorts of things on the road," I continued. "Like how farmers are more scared of the rebellion than of the Legions."

"It's why they need us to guide them," Merton sniffed. "They would support us if they knew better."

"It's a pity for the sheep that it's usually the shepherd that kills them," I pointed at the Radiant Archer, then pointed at the corpses.

His face purpled.

"At least sheep don't die on an empty stomach," Merton spat while stroking at his bow.

The shadows around the edge of my eyes darkened. The umbral threads which were often out of my reach whispered slick, oily words in my ears. They called, begging to be used. Spiders crawled down my spine.

Don't think about the shadows.

I listened to the voice in my head. I forced the darkness away.

"Your choice to starve the flock is proof of your skill as a shepherd," I took two steps towards him and glared into the blue of his eyes from beneath his chin. "It's a pity that your ego is good for nothing at all," I smiled. "There would be enough food to last Callow through winter if it could be eaten."

"The little girl comes running to the real heroes for help the moment the Calamities show their faces," Merton shoved against me. "A novice should know when to listen to her-"

"Catherine, Merton," the Silver Lancer's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "I implore both of you to put this matter aside and apologize to the other."

I breathed in, then unclenched my shoulders.

"Sorry for being honest," I scratched at an itch on my chest while glaring at Merton.

He didn't apologize in reply.

The Silver Lancer appeared satisfied regardless.

Hilda approached and gave me a measured slap on the shoulder in support. I smiled back, but withdrew from the conversation regardless. It wasn't long before we mounted up again and continued on our journey. The three of them continued to bicker as the sun rose and the last vestiges of the fog were burned away.

The dying rays of the late afternoon sun were hot on my back when we saw it in the distance. First there were the banners. A black tower on red. We dismounted, then sneaked closer. Concentric rings of palisade fences were set around the walls of Summerholm. Around them were trenches and spikes. Then, tents organized in rows.

"Two Legions," Oswin stated. "They pulled two whole Legions out from further in Callow to besiege the city from both sides." He paused, then continued. "I'd bet they came from Marchford."

"We should launch an assault now," Merton declared and pointed. "A quick strike to destroy those stockpiles and the war will be over within a week."

Remember yourself, Cat.

I held back from interjecting. I wanted to agree with Merton. There was only one problem. I couldn't avoid using shadows for a fight this large. It was better to wait for a larger conflict where I could act within the chaos and still avoid being noticed.

"Remember your duty," Oswin denied, pulling off his helmet. "You were called upon to counter the Warlock."

"Merton thinks only of his own glory," Hilda spat, "but I agree with him."

"The Radiant Archer is the only one among us skilled enough with a bow," the Silver Lancer reminded her.

"This is our chance to see them all burn," Hilda spat. "A strike here against their camp could-"

"Cuthbert has been captured," Merton gestured towards a section of the encampment which was more heavily guarded. "There are prisoners there. I can Perceive them."

"Are you sure?" Hilda grabbed at Merton and pulled him close, staring deep into his crisp blue eyes.

"Of course I am," the arrogant archer's eyes narrowed, "he's under watch by a sorcerer."

"We strike," the muscled woman insisted.

"It would be wiser to attempt a prisoner exchange," the Silver Lancer ran a hand through his raven hair. "The Legions of Terror may begin to execute prisoners should we make the attempt."

The Silver Lancer had soft grey eyes, round cheeks and a button nose. He was almost always earnest when speaking to others. It made it even more unfortunate that none of the heroes could tolerate each other. The fact that I was sitting among a group composed of one of the rare exceptions felt like a bad joke on the part of the Gods.

"I don't care," Hilda dropped Merton, then picked up the axe from the ground beside her and took a step towards the Legion camp.

"You would jeopardize our quest?" the black haired knight challenged.

"I'm not letting another charge die."

"There is no justice in allowing other prisoners to die so that one may be freed," the Silver Lancer chided.

"Revenge is the only just I need," she buried the head of the axe in the ground before her and scowled.

These two aren't going to stop arguing if someone doesn't distract them.

"You argue so much that I'd swear I'm with three villains," I declared. "Oswin will free the Gallant Youth."

All three of them turned my way.

"The child thinks she can give me orders?" Merton sneered, "why, she has no re-"

"The Gallant Youth is probably injured and needs to be carried out," I interrupted. "Oswin is the most skilled on a horse," I pointed at the looming figure of the knight. "He can get in and out of the camp the fastest. That makes him best for a rescue mission."

"No," Hilda disagreed. "He's my charge."

"While dedication to your charge is noble," Oswin replied, "our duty is to-"

"Can your arrows break the wards on the sewer grates?" I interrupted and asked the man busy examining his lacquered green quiver.

"Undoubtedly," he puffed his exposed chest out and preened.

"I know the way through the sewers and where one of the grates are. You," I pointed at Hilda, "will be the distraction while Merton and I sneak past their camp. You," I pointed at Oswin, "will use the distraction to free the Gallant Youth."

"I should be the one leading," Merton scowled. "I refuse to follow the words of a-"

"Her words have merit," the Silver Lancer interrupted, "but better to use a sally point than create a breach in the city defences." His eyes fell on me, "you'd also have a better explanation for why you've been exploring the sewers."

I ignored the heat on my cheeks and avoided meeting his gaze.

"I know where there's a sally port as well," I evaded.

"I'd do better than Hilda as a distraction," the Radiant Archer protested.

"Consider the glory you might earn defending the city from the walls, Merton." Oswin nodded to him. "Fire an arrow into the sky to alert us to your success once you are beneath the aegis of the city walls. We will pull back once the signal has been seen."

The three of them began to bicker over this amended plan once more, but the shape of the argument had changed. It wasn't long before all three were in agreement. We pulled back from the Legion encampment and waited until well after dark.

"May the Gods grant us victory," Oswin clapped both of us on our shoulders before he and the Vengeful Warrior split off and approached the Legion camps.

Hilda and Oswin mounted up.

The Vengeful Warrior kicked her mount into a full sprint. Arrows began to fall towards her. It galloped towards the ditches, before she leaped off its back among the stakes and scattered them with her axe. The sound of a Legion horn reverberated through the darkness.

Then there was a silver flash as Oswin joined the charge. He swung his lance and half a dozen torches flickered out.

"Lead on," Merton ordered.

I could hear the sneer in his voice.

I swallowed back the cutting barb on my tongue.

Both of us crept closer to one of the gaps between Legion camps. There was a soft twang as the Radiant Archer loosed two arrows, and two guards fell dead on the ground. We rushed forward, then slid into one of the ditches. Stakes smiled on my right like the teeth of a hungry dragon. I could hear every breath I took. The cool air settled on my shoulders. A cloud passed over the moon.

The shadows deepened.

Do I risk it? Yes, I can't afford not to.

I loathed that they never answered me unless I was so out of my own mind that I was almost a different person. I hated how I needed to fight to keep myself under control. Anger sometimes worked, but it wasn't reliable when I needed to defend myself. I was almost helpless without the shadows. The dagger on my thigh slid silently out of its sheath. My hands trembled. Blood oozed as I ran its edge across the jagged scar down the length of my left arm. I bit back a cry of pain.

This is wrong.

Shut up.

I shouldn't do this.

Shut up.

I know this is a bad idea.

Shut up.

The insistent voice in my head died.

The ringing of steel and the screams of dying soldiers within the camp grew louder with each step we took towards the fortress city.

We passed out of one ditch onto a narrow bridge. A gate into the Legion camp yawned on my right. Light from torches spilled across the ground. I spared a glance through the gap between camps towards Summerholm. The tent city outside the gates had been dismantled and turned into a maze of traps. Then we were beyond the bridge and into the darkness of a ditch on the opposing side.

Shadows widened, danced, then whispered to me as the dizziness I'd suborned myself to stole over me. I licked my lips and reached towards them. Their sickness repulsed me. Their sweetness filled me. It was cloying, rancid, like eating rotten fruit drenched in honey, only a thousand times more addictive.

Don't fall for their tricks.

The little voice in my head called me away from the brink. More blood welled as I bit my lips and reeled back from the call.

The gap between camps narrowed the closer we drew to the city. My shoulders tensed. It wasn't long before light from torches near the leftmost camp spilled into the ditch. The sounds of fighting died away.

The edge of my sight darkened. The world gained an almost surreal quality as-

The palisade shattered under his mount's hooves. Bolts howled through the air like the cries of the damned. None found their mark. The sound of Hilda's fight became more and more frenzied. Oswin examined the prison and was puzzled by what he saw. There was a… listlessness to the prisoners. Another bolt charged towards him, and he deflected it with his sword.

"People of Callow," Oswin shouted, "Raise your heads and do your duties, for the hour of your freedom is nigh and your nation calls to war."

A single prisoner turned his way.

The breath went out of him.

The heat of righteous rage swelled beneath his armour.

Zombies.

They were all corpses that had been brought back to life.

For what reason were the dead being held prisoner?

The Calamities deserved death for both this blasphemy and every other that had come before it.

He would do his duty as a knight and put them all to rest.

-the shadows pulled near to me. I forced them away and blinked. We'd almost reached the end of the ditches. The light from torches flickered on the walls of Summerholm standing proud in the distance.

Images of the soldiers standing alert on the walls flashed through my mind. Not just Callowens who had joined the rebellion, but support from other parts of Calernia as well. The watch had sent a contingent of troops from Daoine and mercenaries from the Free Cities had been hired with money from Wolof.

Procer had refused to send aid. The thought of our western neighbours made me furious. They claimed that the Yan Tei fleet which had landed in Levant was a more pressing concern for them. Their heroes didn't even bother to show up on their own. Never mind that every city that wasn't under the control of Praes had fallen into chaos, or that our heroes could barely manage to keep the new villains — I didn't count — contained.

The trembling of the earth shook me out of my reverie.

The tremble evolved into thunder.

Merton's pace shifted from unhurried to urgent.

I strained myself to keep up.

"Why are we even here?" somebody complained. "Nobody ever tells us. Just kept in the dark and fed shit."

The last of the moisture in my mouth dried out.

"Shut up and get to it," another replied. "You know our orders."

My eyes darted back and forth.

The Radiant Archer broke into a steady sprint.

We passed into the no man's land between the Legion camps and Summerholm and came face to face with two full patrols.

Merton pulled back the string on his bow, but it was already too late.

"Alarm!" a sergeant with a hooked nose shouted from the back of a horse while reaching towards a horn.

We couldn't afford to slow. There was no use hiding what I could do if both of us died. The sweetness called to me. It sang. It whispered. No, I couldn't give them control. I needed to maintain possession of my senses while I fought against the enemy.

Don't do this, Cat.

I ignored the voice.

I reached out towards the shadows and-

Hilda's axe arced through the air and tore through the throats of three more legionnaires. There was a dull thud as their heads hit the floor. Their bodies followed soon after. Over two dozen corpses stained the soil in blood.

She dashed forward and broke the palisade walling off horses near the prisoners. Oswin had ordered her to stay away from the prisoners and create a distraction somewhere else. Oswin could always be trusted to do two things. The first was to do his duty and the second was to keep his word.

Hilda would have obliged him had he given his word.

The trouble was that he had not.

So she fought within sight of the broken walls of the temporary cells. Oswin had carved his way through them with his usual thoroughness.

Her blade rose and a horse died. There was a flash. Hilda's axe rose as she pivoted and deflected a bolt. A man holding a crossbow wreathed in a cloak of shadows stood behind her. Her lips puckered. Another puppet under the control of the Black Knight. She'd already killed four of them, and they showed no sign of giving her a reprieve. The man was clever. Always fighting from the shadows. Never giving an honest fight. She could appreciate that part of him, even if she hated everything else.

She darted forward and swung. A rain of splinters scattered to the wind as her weapon struck the toy. Her senses warned her of another bolt. Hilda leaned forward, then glanced towards the prisoners in the distance.

She smiled as she saw Cuthbert. It was him. Even if she couldn't see any of his features properly — even if he was so far away — she knew that it was him.

There was a flicker of silver. Oswin's sword rose and cut through the Gallant Youth. Her heart stopped. A traitor? Oswin was a traitor? Her eyes stung. They always died. Why did they always die? Her friends, her charges, everyone she came to care about. A heavy red wave washed over Hilda's eyes.

Not again.

Not again.

She couldn't save him.

She could never save them.

Useless.

Why were all her Aspects so useless?

Useless, save for one of them.

If she couldn't save Cuthbert, then she would Avenge him.

-half a dozen men were dead. I was on the back of the sergeant's horse, staring into his wide, open eyes. I drew my dagger across his throat. He struggled against his bindings. My breath quickened as he fought against the shadows hidden beneath his armour. His efforts were futile. My heartbeat raced, my cheeks were warm.

Who should I kill next?

"Catherine!" a voice shouted.

Irritation. Should I kill him? No. I'd decided not to.

Resist it, Cat.

What was that? Ah, it was the whining voice of the little girl that I'd locked away inside a cage.

I ignored it and revelled in how alive I felt.

A wide smile stretched from one side of my face to the other.

The Radiant Archer was loosing another arrow. I could tell that he would miss. The shadows slithered beneath the victim's armour and locked her in place. I heard a distant thud and almost chuckled in glee.

"Catherine!" a voice persisted.

Annoyance. He was the reason I was hiding. I could do what I wanted if he was dead.

Remember that this isn't what you want.

What? Why wouldn't I want this?

The shadows embraced me beneath my armour.

I padded the underside of my palms with shadows and pushed myself off the horse, hurtling towards my next victim. He let out a terrified shriek. His armour shattered, and his skin parted beneath my blade only a few moments later.

The beast purred as I pulled my knife clean.

"Catherine!"

I snarled.

A hand slapped my face.

Yes!

The bars of the cage bent, then broke.

Something weak pushed against me. The nagging voice that I hated so much. It never went away.

Another slap.

No, I pushed against it. The Evil thing that I became whenever I slipped. I hated it. I hated what it did to me. I hated that I could never be rid of it. That it was always there and that I always ended up needing it. One step at a time, I forced the darkness back. It felt like trying to lift a mountain using a teaspoon.

One last heave.

The cage slammed shut.

"Yes?" I gasped.

"There's no point sneaking any more!" Merton shouted. "Run for the walls!"

I followed his advice and didn't bother to reply. Both of us sprinted away from the Legion camp. The situation was grim. Legion soldiers were hot on our heels, and there were at least two dozen people peppering us with bolts. I reached towards the shadows and felt the beast reach back. I waged a silent war against the monster in my mind.

Syrup ran through me. My mind became fuzzy. I stumbled, but pushed through.

Now it's easy.

I bit my tongue to avoid swearing at the unfairness of it all.

The beast was always less controlling after I indulged. The urges went away. Now I could wield the shadows without having them wield me. Not that it improved the situation much. I grasped upon the inky blackness around the bolts and nudged them. Their path shifted.

Why did heroes get it so easy? Well, all of them except Mabli. I saw the kinds of gifts the heavens gave them. Almost none of them had costs. None of them went mad the way that I did.

Then we entered the killing fields below the city walls and attacks against us ceased.

Both of us slowed. My breath was shallow. A sea of lights swimming over an ocean of walls. Stars, innumerable stars. Voices. No, one voice. Caverns beneath the bastion of Summerholm burrowing deep into the darkness. The jaws of monsters rising up to swallow me. Why were there that many walls?

No, it was only another nightmare, wasn't it?

I smiled.

Nightmares for a Nightmare Child. There was a symmetry there. What kind of Novice was I? I wasn't a Novice, I was a monster. A hand wrapped itself around my palm, only to slip. Ah, I forgot to heal myself again. I focused on the injury. Focused on my bloody dress.

Absorb.

The wound closed.

The blood faded away.

The fog within my head dissipated. Many walls resolved into two, caverns became ditches, monsters became stakes. The beast growled within my chest. It hungered once more. It hungered, and I knew that as much as I railed against it, I would feed it once again.

I swallowed a whimper.

"Nobody warned me you suffer from battle fury," Merton spat. "To think they wanted me to follow you."

"That way," I pointed.

Merton raised his bow and loosed a radiant arrow into the sky, only for the sky to open. Red, then orange, then purple. One colour, then the next, then the next. An angry black. Blistering fire and lightning arcing from nowhere to nowhere else. My mind boggled. Boulders the size of mansions floated in the air above us and crackled with malevolent energy. They were swimming towards us. Not swimming, falling.

The beast inside me snarled.

The Warlock.

The thought was muted. I should have felt angry, upset, something.

Instead, I felt tired.

Why here? Why now? We'd almost reached safety.

The first rock that fell from the sky struck against Merton's arrow, only to deflect the projectile back towards the Legion camp.

Then more of the hell-fire to start raining down.

"Run! Catherine!" the Radiant Archer shouted, "I'll deal with the Warlock."

I didn't even consider arguing. Fighting would be stupid, I'd already broken into a sprint.

A wilting wind scoured its way across the ground outside Summerholm. Dust swirled, whipped around me. I raised my arm and shaded my eyes, then squinted up ahead. Traps lay between me and safety.

A rock slammed into the ground beside me. Blistering heat sent me scrambling back. I stumbled, then righted myself. A glowing arrow arced into the sky, then another, then another. One after the other, rock met arrow and rock shattered or diverted.

I reached towards the shadows and they answered eagerly. I couldn't afford to slow for the traps. There was no subtlety to my working. A black fog spread out across the ground ahead of me and swallowed it all in darkness. I ran along the path I made, even as sweetness coursed through me.

Ran and made my way to safety.

The roiling scarlet above me faded away. I didn't trust it. It was a lie. The safety was a lie.

I panted as my hand touched against the walls.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Words were said.

The sally port opened.

I was welcomed inside.

It was only then that I realized that the Radiant Archer hadn't followed behind me.

A terse few sentences were exchanged before I dashed through the gatehouse, found a staircase and climbed to the battlements. A wind that was both hot and cold brushed against my face. I blinked. It was an odd blend of both normal air and the fires of the hells.

I ignored the voices of the soldiers and looked out over the killing fields. A light smattering of hell-fire coated the ground like hail during a storm.

Where is Merton?

I looked.

Was that him? There was a corpse in the distance buried beneath a boulder. I couldn't see most of it, just the legs. No, it couldn't be him. There was a radiant arrow piercing the heel. Merton was a braggart, but I didn't see him shooting himself in the foot.

I looked again.

And looked.

And looked.

There it was. A hand sticking out from beneath a rock clasping a broken bow.

My shoulders slumped.

I swallowed.

I turned away.

So much for bringing the other heroes to our support.

My first day during the hell that was the Second Siege of Summerholm came to an end.

famfrit · Oct 28, 2024

Oof Black is really playing for keeps here. Cat's canon legion was the 14th so Praes has 13 except 1 got wiped out, 1 is just a dragon, I think 1 is kept on guarding the capital and the 13th isn't really trusted cause it's made up of Callowan defectors or something like that so he's using 7/9 of his available and loyal normal legions on this which I suppose makes it not quite as bad since someone like Akua's mum might take a swing at the tower.

Roth963 · Oct 28, 2024

famfrit said:
Oof Black is really playing for keeps here. Cat's canon legion was the 14th so Praes has 13 except 1 got wiped out, 1 is just a dragon, I think 1 is kept on guarding the capital and the 13th isn't really trusted cause it's made up of Callowan defectors or something like that so he's using 7/9 of his available and loyal normal legions on this which I suppose makes it not quite as bad since someone like Akua's mum might take a swing at the tower.

I think the 13 was made after the 14, or something similar, two legions were being raised at the time he took Catherine in if I remember correctly, which would mean 12 legions currently exist.

Also, he just finished shattering up many highlords, and Malice probably had some super weapons at ready so it might not be as bad as it looks, especially if he did recruit some of the new villains.

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