Morrith rose to his feet. Before him the body of his mother lay on an old wooden bed, the straw mattress stained with blood and bile until it was more brown than yellow. The smell in the room was near overpowering, and Morrith wrinkled his nose at it. His eyes looked slowly around the room, taking in the pristine condition of everything, even the lack of dust on the dresser. He crossed the room and stepped out into the living room of his parents small stone home. Compared to the bedroom it looked like someone had thrown an explosive alchemical mix. The wooden dining table was overturned and blackened with what looked like soot, but the table itself was oddly unburned. On the stone oven a skillet sat, filled with a black sludge that had once been food. A horse whinnied outside, more a shriek than Morrith had ever heard a horse make, and he sprinted to the door, kicking it open and stepping out into the quickly darkening streets. His sword near leapt into his hand as he watched his horse drug to the ground, zombies scrambling over each other for a taste of it’s warm flesh.

“Divinum Furis!” Morrith felt the rage build up inside of him, the heat of it filling his body before travelling to his sword. The sword itself glowed with a holy light, and Morrith charged. He slammed into the pile of zombies with his shield, bashing out and sending them tumbling. The rest looked up from their slowly dying meal, mouths gaping open and low moans escaping their throats. Morrith didn’t give them time to react, his movements fluid and practiced. His first strike stabbed down into his horse’s brain, instantly killing the beast. A zombie rushed him from the side, a fat old woman that Morrith vaguely recognized as the village baker. He bashed her across the face with his shield, but she latched on and pulled herself closer with an unnatural strength. A flash of glowing steel and her arms separated at the elbows, causing her to stumble back. Morrith lashed out and cut the head from her shoulders before turning back to the horde, many of whom were edging toward him with open mouths and hungry eyes.

“Augus Luminos!” Morrith shouted and his rage poured out of him in all directions. The holy light shred all the undead near him, their horrid shrieking matched by the thunder of the spell. When the light finally died, Morrith stood alone in the small square, his dead horse at his feet and nothing left of the zombies to be seen. Morrith stumbled backward until the wall of his parents home braced him and he took a moment. His breathing was ragged and his head was swimming. Though some of his peers could sling spells around like it was easy, Morrith had always found it difficult, especially after a particularly tough spell. He quickly undid the saddle bag from his dead horse, his fingers fumbling with the clasps. Finally he pulled it away and slung the leather bags over his left shoulder.

He stumbled down the street, vaguely aware that he needed to get away from the town before he was overrun, when a whinny brought him back to reality and he pushed himself on. As he neared the butcher shoppe the smell of decay lessened. The doors were whole, but there was no guarantee that there was nothing inside, so Morrith gripped his sword with what energy he had left and flung the door open. The room was empty, aside from the usual; a desk with a chair, a counter with a few choice cuts of meat that had long since rot, and a door at the back leading to the meat locker.

A whiny echoed through the small shoppe from the meat locker, and Morrith cocked his head to the side in a moment of confusion. He crossed the room and threw open the door, sword at the ready, only to be greeted by rotten meat hanging from the walls, and a living, very hungry horse chained to the floor. He didn’t want to know why a horse was chained up in the butcher’s shoppe, or what the meat hanging on the walls was, but he was immensely relieved to see the horse was fit to ride. He grabbed the chain with his left hand and swung his sword as hard as he could. Three swings later and the chain snapped.

The horse neighed with approval, or so Morrith fancied, as he turned it around and led it out of the shoppe. The smell of meat, both living and long dead, had caught the attention of a massive horde of undead. Zombies, skeletons and shades shuffled slowly towards the shoppe and Morrith took it all in. He still didn’t feel ready, especially for a fight like this, so he whipped his sword into its sheath and leapt onto the back of the horse. It neighed a complaint, but Morrith dug his heels into its flank and it charged like a bolt at the line of undead. Morrith kept his head down, his hands gripping the animals mane as tight as they could, and plowed through the zombies as they reached out, hungry for the warm flesh of the living.

Once through the wave of undeath, Morrith let the animal fall into a trot. He wanted to ride as fast as he could to New Haven, to get help, to return with an army to clear the undead from this village, but the animal was as exhausted as Morrith was, so they trotted along the road, making their way toward New Haven at a leisurely pace. Soon Morrith was swaying on the horse, his eyes closing with the clomp clomp clomp of the hooves. He leaned forward, resting against the neck of the horse while forcing his eyes to remain open.

Morrith woke with a start and blinked back the haze of sleep. The horse clopped along the dirt road at a walk, paying no attention to the man on it’s back.

“By the Virtues, I can’t believe I fell asleep.” Morrith patted the horse on its neck and he sat back, saddleless and sore, and turned his head up toward the sky. The stars shone brightly that night and he let their light wash over him as the horse clopped along. After a while the wilderness receded on either side of the road, replaced with well maintained flowers and fruit trees. They passed a small grouping of apple trees and Morrith slid from the saddle, dust billowing up from his boots as he hit the road. He took the chain in his hand and led the horse to the apple trees, then reached up and plucked several, holding them in his tricorner hat. They were rich and juicy, much larger than the small green apples that grew near Britain, and not nearly as sour. Morrith held one out for the horse, then another. It ate hungrily from his hand and Morrith had to wonder how long it had been inside that butcher shoppe, and what it had subsisted on before he arrived. When Morrith had had his full he offered another apple to the horse, but it had fallen asleep and woke with a start.

“You’re right, we need rest,” Morrith said to the horse as he led it just off the road. He dug around in the saddle bags he was carrying and came up with a blanket roll that he set out on the grass. They were far enough from the village that he wasn’t worried about the undead, and a fire would keep the wild animals away. He tied the horse to a tree near his bedroll and grabbed tinder from the ground. It was dry and lit easily, and before Morrith realized it he was asleep next to a roaring fire that filled him with warmth.

His eyes opened again when he heard footsteps. The sun was low in the east, the fire long dead. Morrith climbed to his feet and quickly rolled up his blankets, throwing them back into the saddle bags. His body ached and he stretched as best he could in his red travelling leathers. Finally he grabbed the chain and led the horse from the trees and back onto the road. A young woman with blonde hair, green blouse and purple skirt walked up the road calmly. She stopped and stared as Morrith stepped out of the trees with his horse, her hand going to her purse and a look of fear on her face. Morrith realized how he must appear, covered in dirt and blood and stepping out of the forest in front of a traveller, and he raised his empty hands, palms outward.

“I’m no highwayman Milady, I’m sorry if I scared you.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously but didn’t run, so Morrith figured it was a good start. “I wouldn’t head that way, the undead have overrun Old Haven.” He forced the words out of his mouth, the pain still nearly unbearable for him. The young woman, a comely young girl he didn’t recognize, simply shrugged and cocked her head at him.

“O’course, been that way for months. You not from around here?” She asked, and Morrith felt his knees nearly give out on him.

“Months! Why haven’t the guards from New Haven cleared it out yet?” Morrith was almost screaming, and the poor woman took a step back and held her hands up, terror written on her face. Swearing, Morrith grabbed the horses mane and pulled himself up onto its back. It gave a snort and took off as Morrith gently kicked its flanks. The two raced down the road, dust flying behind them in a cloud that nearly obscured the sun. By the time they finally saw the walls of New Haven the sun had moved from behind them to directly above. The torches outside the walls burned even in the noonday sun, inviting travellers inside, and Morrith raced paced them and through the gate heading for the keep. His horse’s hooves clacked wildly on the cobbled streets, and men and women were forced to leap aside as he flew through New Haven. He passed through the gates of the keep, wooden walls used to separate the soldiers in the training field from the general population.

His head down, Morrith didn’t even slow or dismount as he entered the keep proper. A young squire stood before him, eyes wide and filled with terror, as Morrith pulled his horse to a stop and leapt off. He handed the chain to the young squire and squinted, staring into the kids eyes.

“This horse will be here when I get back.” The squire nodded emphatically, his hair flapping back and forth, and Morrith knew it would be. He heard soldiers shouting out in the yard and realized he must have caused a dreadful stir, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. He near sprinted through the halls of the keep, his feet carrying him without his brain paying much attention. Finally he tore into the chambers of the High Paladin of New Haven. Most major cities had a contingent of Paladins on hand, usually used as regular guards or soldiers, but ready in an instant to combat any undead threat the city might face.

Before him stood a massive, imposing man. Dressed in pristine platinum coated platemail, trimmed in gold, Aelorn was a bear of a man. His long brown hair was combed and shined nearly as much as his plate, and Morrith suddenly felt subconcious in his dirt and blood stained travel leathers, leaves and blood caked into his beard, black hair disheveled beneath his tricorner hat. Aelorn raised an eyebrow at him and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Ser, if you’ve come for something other than a swift death, I would out with it,” Aelorn’s voice boomed throughout the hall. Behind Morrith the doorway was suddenly full of men in various types of armor, each wielding a weapon and all of them glaring at Morrith. Aelorn held a hand up and they stopped, though Morrith could tell that many of them were eager for a fight.

“Ser I come with grave news! Old Haven to the east has been overrun with the undead. I found nothing living there, my family, everyone I grew up with is dead,” Morrith spurted out, careful to keep his hands away from his weapons. His eyes darted past Aelorn to a slender man behind him. Dressed in the same platinum coated platemail as Aelorn, this figure cut an even more impressive sight due to his massive white wings that sprouted from his shoulders. Morrith dropped to a knee and lowered his head in reverence of the High Paladin of New Haven. Brahman looked him over but spoke not a word, meanwhile Aelorn watched the exchange and he lowered his hand from the hilt of his sword.

“The news you bring is rather old, Ser…”

“Morrith Havenson”

“Ah, Havenson. I remember when you came here, many years ago, and enlisted in the Paladin Order,” He paused for a moment, his eyes taking in Morrith’s disheveled appearance. “Are you still one of us, or have you run away from your training?” Morrith rose back to his feet, the fury building in his stomach. Aelorn kept the content out of his voice, but Morrith could see it in his eyes.

“I am a Paladin still, and I would have cleaned before coming here if I had known this news was no news at all,” He said, managing to keep his voice from quivering in anger. “If it’s known, why has nothing been done to eliminate the undead in Old Haven.” Aelorn waved his hand and the soldiers in the hall began to disperse, some reluctantly.

“Ser Morrith, I understand your anger. You’ve come home after many years to find your family, your entire town raised to the ground and infested with the undead,” Aelorn stepped over to a large table in the center of the hall and picked up a golden goblet, draining several gulps before continuing. “Know that, while it was terrible what happened to Old Haven, we have no interest in ‘eliminating the undead’.” Morrith stood dumbfounded, his jaw hanging open in confusion and horror.

“Why the hell not, Ser?” Morrith forced out as he slammed his mouth shut and ground his teeth. Aelorn just smiled serenely and shrugged.

“Business.” when Morrith didn’t comprehend Aelorn continued. “We could destroy the undead in Old Haven, and spend the next hundred years trying to consecrate the earth there to prevent the dead from rising, or we could take this tragedy and turn it into a benefit.”

“How is the dead walking around eating people a benefit?” Morrith raged.

“First, the only people near Old Haven are the bastard scoundrels living in that shanty town. Pirates and thieves, the lot of them. Second, we have two training halls and both of them are packed with students, too many to handle really. We can’t really go around setting up villages of the undead for our recruits to practice on, the people wouldn’t stand for it, but we can take one that happened naturally and turn it into a training ground.” Morrith was gripping the haft of his sword so tightly he could no longer feel his hand. Aelorn caught the movement and chuckled. “Besides, the Necromancers and Mages here are thrilled at the chance for easy access to ingredients that are usually pretty hard to come by.” Aelorn watched as Morrith mastered himself, forcing his body to stop shaking.

“So that’s it? Good people are dead and nothing is going to be done about it?”

“Verily, even if we wanted to we….well, we don’t want to,” Aelorn shrugged and Morrith scowled. “If that’s all, I have to ask you to leave, we have a lot of work to get back to. Dozens of recruit applications.” Morrith managed not to punch Aelorn in his smug face, turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. His feet carried him back to the entrance hall while his mind raged with curses and silent screams. Finally he heard the snort of a horse, and as he turned into the entrance hall he saw that it was now packed with soldiers. He took the chain from the squire who stood there at attention, blinking rapidly and sweating like a recruit. Morrith scowled and led his horse from the keep while the soldiers gathered, jeering after him. He managed to make it to out of the courtyard and into the streets of New Haven before the cursing started. One hand pulled the chain connected to the bridle of the horse, the other still gripped his sword tightly. He followed his memory to the large, two story inn that was closest to the keep. The sing swinging over the door read ‘Gentle Sleep’, and the sneer that flew onto Morrith’s face nearly scared him. He tied the chain on the horse to the hitching post, then walked into the inn. The common room was nearly empty, though the fire in the hearth burned brightly, making the air stuffy and too hot. An old woman ran over to him, bowing rapidly.

“Hello good Ser, Janice at your service. I run this fine establishment,” she looked at his dusty, blood covered leathers and smiled. “A room with a bath ser?” Morrith nodded.

“A room with a bath, and my horse outside needs a saddle and reins, oats and a good nap.” She nodded and snapped her fingers at a young ginger haired boy, who ran from the common room out the front door to take care of the horse.

“Forgive me Ser, but how will you be paying?” She smiled widely, a gap toothed smile that did more to make her ugly than her parents had. Morrith ruffled through his saddle bag for a moment and withdrew a golden cross. It was his graduation present, given to him by one of his teachers. He weighed it in his hand for a second, then tossed it to the innkeeper.

“Have the boy take that to the local blacksmith and cut off a beam. That should cover me for the night.” The innkeeper’s eyes widened as she stared at the solid gold cross. She nodded and smiled.

“Of course Ser, just follow me and I’ll show you to your room.” He followed her out a side door and up a rickety wooden staircase. When they got to the second floor they went back inside and she led him to the first room by the door. She opened it, then handed him the key with a smile. “The bath is down the hall. I’ll send my boy up here with the rest of this cross as soon as it’s back from the blacksmith.” Morrith nodded and stepped into the room, then closed the door behind himself. The saddlebag was tossed onto the small chair.

Morrith took his time with a long, warm bath, then crawled into his bed and closed his eyes. He was exhausted and he had an early morning. He was up before the sun, pulling his chainmail from his saddlebags, strapping his fighting sword on his hip, and pulling his helmet down over his head. He hadn’t wanted to return home in battle gear, but now he had no choice. If the local Paladins wouldn’t put an end to the desecration of his home, Morrith would.

“Tonight, Haven will burn in purifying fire.”

I made my way as quickly as I could to the gates of the city. The undead wandered the streets but it was a small matter to stay in the shadows and remain undetected. Finally I could see the massive front gates of Mathosia, gates I had heard about in stories since I was a boy. They were broken and crumbling, guarded by only two men, a Mathosian and a Dwarf, neither of which looked like they were fighters. Suddenly the very earth shook, dropping me to a knee as a bolder slammed into the stone wall of the city only a block away, sending massive stones showering down into the streets.

A shout rang out from the gate and I looked up in time to see four men, dressed in rags and carrying tools that could barely be called weapons. They rushed the guards at the gate, but the Mathosian met them head on, charging into them with his shield and knocked two of them to the ground. Before they could get up the Dwarf brought his mace down and caved in the skull of one, while the Mathosian stabbed his short sword into the belly of the second. The other two glanced at each other and took off running back into the forest. They made it fifteen feet before their bodies caught fire, and they died screaming and rolling on the floor. The Dwarf smirked, a magical fire dying in his hands, and he looked over at me. I stood back up and dusted off my leathers before jogging over to them, feeling extremely unimpressive all of a sudden.

“Oy Gents!” I called as I approached the gate, forcing an air of calmness into my voice that I didn’t quite feel. “Name’s Erp, glad to make your acquaintance,” I threw a little flourish into my bow for good measure.

“Aye, what ye be wanting then Ascended? Headin out to the big battle?” The Dwarven cleric asked, his voice was as gruff as his face was ugly, but he had a conviction that few even of the clergy could match. The Mathosian glanced at me for a moment, taking stock of the situation and any possible threat, then turned back to the gates to keep an eye on things. I walked closer until the only thing separating me and the cleric was the dead body on the ground.

“I’m tryin’ to find a man named Orphiel, a powerful stupid man that needs a lesson taught.” The Mathosian glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes staring at me curiously, before he chuckled and turned back around.

“He’s just another yellow belly. Probably just hanging fire so he don’t have to go to the big brawl,” The Mathosian said, but the Dwarf shook his head and looked me up and down.

“That the case? If you’re skippin’ out on us I’ll knock you same as this one got, make no mistake Ascended.” I let my lips slide into a smile.

“And you’d be right to do it, but I hear Orphiel got himself a machine that’s lookin’ to give Regulos the power of the Ascended.” As I spoke the words the Mathosian turned back around and looked from me to his Dwarven comrade. “That’s right, and I’m lookin’ ta put a spoke in that wheel, if you get my meaning.”

“Why would Orphiel and his Defiant scum side with Regulos? They’re a foul bunch, to be sure, but not lookin’ ta obliterate all of Telara,” The Mathosian said.

“That something we can take a chance with right now?” They looked at each other again, then the Dwarf shrugged and pointed out of the gate with his mace.

“If what ye say is true, and I’m not sayin’ it is, it bears mentioning to Cyril Kalmar. He’s in charge o’ the main war host down the road. You report there and inform Cyril of your suspicions and see what he has ta say.” The cleric kept his mace pointed down the road and into the wooded area beyond the wall.

The forest didn’t stretch very far, but the trees cast shadows long enough for near anything to hide in. I set out at a jog, eager to reach the legendary Cyril Kalmar, but not wanting to get caught in a fight already winded. I made my way along the path, a small cobblestone street flanked by torches, most of which had gone out long ago. Soon the trees parted and I came upon the war camp of those Mathosians who hadn’t lost their minds to Regulos. The camp was only a dozen tents, but the commotion was near deafening. To the west soldiers gathered to form a living wall, holding back the tide of undead that threatened to break through the barrier on that side. To the east three men in brightly colored robes stood guard on another barrier. A host of skeletons near ran toward them, their pilfered swords raised above their heads.

I grabbed my daggers and turned to sprint over to the barrier, but one of the mages finally looked up from the massive book in his hands. He raised his right arm, left still supporting the book in the crook, and a wall of flame shot up in front of the skeletal horde. They charged through, several of them losing bones to the searing heat. One of the other mages shook his head at the display, then waved his hands in the air, his lips working to form words I couldn’t hear, and a massive chunk of earth lifted from the battlefield, nearly the size of a wagon, and slammed into the skeletons like a hammer. Their bones burst or were crushed to dust, and the younger mage, the one that had wielded the fire, turned back to his book.

In the center of the chaos was a Mathosian that was larger than life. He stood near eight feet tall it seemed, his ornate armor scarred from flame and blade. He raised his massive two handed sword, pointing at the west barrier where men were starting to fall back. One of the mages heard the command and turned, twisting his fingers and causing near half of the attackers to collapse, dead once again, while jets of red magic shot from them into the defenders, sealing cuts and preventing several from dying, at least for a while. Heading down toward the man I knew must be Cyril, I brushed the dust and blood from my leathers as best I could. He barely spared me a glance, his eyes keeping track of everything happening in the camp, but he did nod.

“Ascended I take it? Good, we could use more on the front lines,” he said, before shouting out an order to a young squire readying a horse. “Faster boy, and don’t forget the planarite.”

“Cyril Kalmar I presume,” I said, bowing as low as I could. “Might be there’s something more important for me to do.” Cyril looked down at me, his eyebrow raising in question. “The Defiants are traitors, they are using machines inside the city to turn good folk into the walking dead.”

“Do you have proof of this Ascended?”

“Only that it was Borrin Gammult told me.” That brought a pause to Cyril, whose eyes glazed over for a moment before he put his thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose.

“Just what we need, more enemies.” His voice was strong but weary and I felt terrible adding even more to his worries.

“That’s not all, apparently a man named Orphiel is creating another machine to give the power of Ascended to Regulos some how.” This news caused Cyril’s head to shoot up and his head snapped left. I followed his eyes and saw a massive outcropping of rock hanging over the battlefield. Odd lights shone from the structure on top of it, and I knew I would find Orphiel there.

“If that’s the case, and I have no reason to doubt Borrin, then we need to put an end to it as soon as we can. Still, even if he gets his machine working and starts creating Ascended, I can’t imagine it’ll spit out an army in a few minutes, and we have more immediate concerns.”

“Like what?” Cyril looked at me for a moment as if deciding something.

“If the Defiant are against us, that means their machines are more dangerous that we previously thought. They’ve been building perverse machines near the walls that are powered by planarite. They told us the machines were to protect the wall, but…” Cyril let the thought trail off as he looked around the camp. “What’s your name Ascended?” He finally asked.

“Erp, at your service sir.”

“Very well, Erp, I need you to go dismantle one of these machines. I’ll send someone else for the others. Carwin Mathos, the bastard brother of the mad Aedraxis himself, was supposed to be back by now. He should be taking care of a problem near the machine you’re to take out. See if you can find out what happened to him.” He grabbed a map from the young squire that stood next to him and jotted down the position of the machine quickly. With that Cyril turned, grabbing his massive sword, and waded into the battle on the eastern barrier, shouting commands while his sword cut down waves of enemies.

I glanced at the map and turned back toward the forest. I forwent the the lit path this time and went deep into the shadows of the trees. The woods weren’t empty, but if anyone could move quietly from shadow to shadow it was me. I skipped past a patrol of, well to be honest I wasn’t sure what side they were on, and I’d hate to go killing off our soldiers for no reason. Finally I stood before an oddly shaped machine, a large ball on the top glowing with an unholy power. Already I could feel my daggers glowing with the blessing of Bahralt.

As I stepped toward the machine I heard movement behind me. I spun just in time to see a massive man, his chest bare and rippling with muscles, slam into me and send me stumbling. Cursing myself for a fool I let him charge and watched. He raised his dagger over his head while I dropped mine into the dirt and as he neared I pushed out with my legs, slamming my boot right into his groin and sending him over me and into the machine. It tipped but didn’t fall, and I was on my feet daggers in hand before my attacker could recover. As he stood I ducked under his arm and stabbed both my daggers into his stomach, then pulled them wife, carving a massive fissure in his body and spilling his insides onto the ground.

His body fell, the blood soaking into the dirt and grass as quickly as it poured from him. My daggers glowed white hot as I approached the machine, and they slid into the metal like it was hot butter. Sparks flew and I ripped my daggers free just in time to drop to the ground and pull the body of my attacker on top of me. The machine exploded sending sharp metal shrapnel everywhere. I felt the body on top of me spasm as it was stabbed and burned. I didn’t move until the body stopped twitching, then I finally threw it off of me onto the ground. My leathers were covered in blood and even singed in some places, but I was relatively unscathed. I pulled out the map Cyril had given me and left in search of Carwin, the brother of the mad Mathosian King.

I came back into the real world and fell into a roll in the small room. I stopped by planting my foot hard on the floor and listened for any noises. A scream pierced the air from the floor below, as if someone was being butchered. I crept to the door and opened it, careful to push up on the handle, lifting the entire thing the tiniest bit, but enough to prevent the hinges from squeaking. The hallway was dark, lit only by the light escaping from the first floor. The scream echoed through the building once more and I felt myself start walking toward the stairs. I stalked down them as quietly as I could and came out onto the first floor in a large reception room. It was destroyed, one of the walls having collapsed and taken part of the second floor with it. In the middle of the room was the source of the screaming, a skeleton staring at it’s bony hands.

“You Defiant bastard! You said it wouldn’t hurt me!” The skeleton screamed at a bald man with an odd looking staff. The man merely laughed and shrugged.

“I am as good as my word, you felt no pain. You didn’t ask if you’d be stripped of your humanity. Still, a small price to pay in the long run.” The skeleton shook, though I couldn’t tell if it was from rage or the magic holding it together.

“Small price? Small price? Let’s see if you think it’s a small price when I rip the flesh from your lying bones!” The skeleton launched itself at the bald man, but a black shadow interceded and threw the skeleton to the ground. The bald man stood over the skeleton with a sneer on his face as the shade held it down.

“You said you want to help, and you shall. Shade, take him and hook him up to one of the machines.” The Defiant turned away and walked over to a small table where he took a quill and dipped it in an ink well. The skeleton screamed as the shade lifted it easily into the air and carried it out. When it was gone, the Defiant set down his quill and looked directly at me. “Well, now that we’ve got that taken care of, how can I help you my good Dwarf?” I stepped out of the shadows of the stairwell, right hand on the hilt of a dagger in what I hoped was a casual, yet warning, stance.

“Who are you?” I asked, sauntering over and putting the toe of my boot into the rubble and ash piled up on the floor.

“Well, I guess introductions are in order. My name is Varil Lorithian, Master Technician of the Defiant, at your service,” His bow was stiff and he never took his eyes off of me. “and your name my good Dwarf?”

“Not your business, judging by what I’ve seen,” I spat. Varil laughed heartily and waved a hand toward the door the skeleton had been carried out of.

“Don’t feel bad for him, he was a traitor anyway. I just made him useful.”

“Aye, and exactly how is that?” Varil waved the question aside as if it didn’t matter.

“I think I’ve heard enough, Guardian. You think you’re helping, but we’re creating an army of the dead to defeat Regulos, and sacrifices must be made.”

“The walking dead in this city, that’s your doing?” I asked, horrified. Varil merely nodded and smiled.

“Some of them anyway. Enough of this, I’ve got work to do. Give my love to your Gods, Guardian.” The ball atop Varil’s staff glowed an otherworldly green and his mouth opened to cast a spell that probably would have ended very badly for me. I didn’t really feel like finding out, so I kicked with my foot, sending the soot and ash into the Defiant’s face. He stumbled back, spitting and wiping the dirt out of his eyes, and I was on him.

I lunged with my dagger, but it was turned aside by a force shield. I kept hammering for a way through, sending yellow sparks flying with every thrust. Varil laughed and waved his staff, sending me flying into the opposite wall. I slammed into it with such force that one of the wooden support beams cracked, or a rib, I wasn’t exactly sure. I gasped as the air was driven from my lungs, and Varil walked slowly toward me, his staff focused and keeping me stuck to the wall.

“Foolish Dwarf, you had to stick your massive nose where it didn’t belong.”

“Let me go and fight like you aren’t a coward, for once in your miserable life, Sorcerer!” I shouted, and while Varil did laugh, he also released his spell and I fell to the ground.

“Very well, attack at your leisure. You have three swings before I kill you, use them wisely.” Varil laughed and slammed his staff into the ground. I lunged, then dropped to a roll and came up almost underneath him, but the point of my dagger was turned away nearly a foot from him. As it was being deflected I brought my other dagger down toward Varil’s chest, but it too hit the invisible barrier. Cursing I rolled back to get some room. Varil watched from behind him protective bubble, his voice grating in its mirth.

“Once more, and quickly if you would, I have places to be. Even now Orphiel is working on creating a new type of Ascended, and now that I have finished the last of my experiments I’ll be joining him in history.” Varil laughed deeply, and I glanced around the room for something. My eyes once again went to the dirt and soot on the floor, so I scooped up a large handful. Varil raised an eyebrow as I did so. “A feeble final thrust,” He smirked as I threw the handful at him. It hit his barrier and coated it. “If you hoped to blind me with that, you’re dumber than most of your kind.”

But it wasn’t blindness I was attempting, merely to see the extent of his barrier, and exactly how far from his body it rested. I felt the world rip through me and I was propelled forward, right through the magical barrier. It was a tight fit, and I came back into the material world with my legs wrapped around Varil’s waist, my head on his shoulder, and my dagger shoved up under his chin. The light in Varil’s staff sputtered and disappeared, and as he fell to the ground I released my hold, rolling to my feet. A breeze hit my back, and I pulled off my shirt to see that the back was missing.

“Cut it close this time, you old fool,” I grumbled at myself while stripping Varil of his leather doublet. It was well made and would provide much more protection than the thin shirt I had found myself in when I woke up in the church what seemed like ages ago. I slipped out the front door and back into the street. It was nearly empty, and I continued to make my way toward the church that was my destination. It was mostly rubble from what I could see, but as I stepped inside I saw the massive anvil shrine to Bahralt.

As I knelt before the altar the air became colder and I felt an oddness creep over me, until I began praying, asking for the blessing of Bahralt to empower me. As I did I felt a presence, amazingly powerful and full of love, even for a bastard like me. My limbs filled with power and my exhaustion disappeared entirely. The blades of my daggers glowed with a bright light and then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone, and yet I felt different. I left the small church and made my way along the abandoned streets, heading for the spot Borrin had marked on my map as the location of the machines creating the walking dead. I didn’t give it much thought until I turned a corner and saw what I was looking for. Row upon row of horrible machines, harnessing the power of sacrifices to change living beings into the walking dead.

A shade wandered between the screaming skeletons, adjusting straps and checking dials on the machines as he went. When he saw me he let out a howl that sounded more like the wind than any creature I had ever head. It shot through the air at me and I brought up my dagger in a feeble attempt to protect myself. To my amazement, and the amazement of the shade, my dagger burst into a bright light and tore through the shade, shredding it to pieces. It took me a second to regain my composure, but by then I knew I had received Bahralt’s blessing. I walked up to the first machine and took a close, horrifying look.

The machine fed tubes and the power of the plane of death through the still living skeleton’s attached to them. They screamed and flailed but it didn’t stop that power from bursting from their chests, corrupting the innocent Mathosians the Defiant were using as subjects. Each machine was connected to the others by massive cables, all of which led back to one massive machine. I stepped over to the closest one and jabbed my dagger deep into the circuitry. A bright light bit into the metal and built up until the machine sputtered, and as the light died out it sparked an explosion that passed from one machine to the other, the holy energy attacking the death plane energy powering the machines and destroying them. The Mathosians who were still alive ran, and the skeletons fell to the ground, finally lifeless. All except the one next to me, the one I had seen in the inn. It looked up from the ground, it’s hollow eyes staring straight at me.

“Kill me, don’t leave me like this.” It made noises as if sobbing, but it had no tears to shed. Neither did I.

“Where’s Orphiel? Where’s this death machine?” If he could produce Ascended, and had sided with Regulos as it appeared, then I needed to find him and put an end to his abominations.

“He…he said something about Overwatch, but I don’t know.” I believed him, he had no reason to lie, not now. His sobbing finally stopped when I brought the heel of my boot down and crushed his skull.

“These machines won’t be a problem anymore, and if I find Orphiel with another of them, or something worse, he’ll die a death even this poor bastard wouldn’t envy.” I scraped the bone fragments from the bottom of my boot as I turned toward the road that would take me to the city gates.

The salt air swept over the docks as Morrith stepped off the boat. The hustle of daily life immediately brought him back to his childhood, one spent fishing with his father in the woods near out home. It wasn’t far from New Haven, a small settlement with a stone keep, an alchemist, a few farms and his fathers woodworking shop. He specialized in musical instruments, and his mother would play him a lute to sleep. That was fifteen years ago now, and Morrith hadn’t been back since he was sent to Britain for Paladin training. Now done with formal training, all that was left was for Morrith to go out into the world and make his own way.

The first stop for Morrith was the stables just past the docks. When he was here last they had been run by a man named Leo Tevo, but several years ago Morrith had received a letter from his family. Amongst the other news was the passing of Leo and that his son, Rio, had taken over the families stable business. Far more than just housing horses, the stables were a busy place and a lucruitive business. As he entered the stable yard Morrith waved a hand at the man Rio had become.

“Hail and well met friend, my name is Morrith and I require a horse.” Rio looked up from the straw he was distributing for the livestock and flashed a smile that held no recognition.

“Hail friend, I’ll be Rio of New Haven, welcome to our city.” He brushed his hands on his pants, leaving massive black streaks, before holding his right hand out for a shake. Morrith shrugged internally and took the man by the forearm. “What breed of horse would you like sir? We’ve got several.” Morrith waved away the question with his hand.

“Any will do, I’ll not be going too far.” Rio nodded, smiling as widely as he could.

“Very well sir, you’ll have my best horse. Nothing good for a trip back home but the best!” Rio shuffled off into the stables proper and Morrith smiled. He thought about telling Rio that he just wanted an older, cheaper horse, but it couldn’t hurt relations to pay a little bit more. Plus, he’d soon be home and looking for a steady job, so he could afford to spend the rest of his money on a nice horse. After a bit Rio came back out with a grey Verity, saddled and ready to ride. The beast looked magnificent, and Morrith felt comfortable handle over his entire coin purse for the beast.

“You’ve got your fathers taste in horses Rio.” Morrith said as he pulled himself up into the saddle, his dyed red travel leathers squeeking softly as they slid into the saddle.

“You knew my father sir?” Rio asked. He used his left hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he looked up at Morrith sitting in the saddle.

“Indeed I did. He was a good man, always fair. I was sorry to hear about his passing.”

“If I had but known you were a family friend, I’d surely have given a discount on that mount sir.” Morrith waved the thought away with his hand.

“The gold is yours good sir, as well as my patronage when I come back this way. The sun is getting closer to the west, so I must be off. It was a pleasure seeing you again.” Morrith swept off his wide brimmed hat and spun his mare around. He trotted to the stable gate and Rio sprinted ahead, opening the gate and waving him out.

“Here you go…and good day to you!” he exclaimed as Morrith rode out.

Morrith trotted his horse down the cobbled streets of New Haven, memories flooding back to him. The smell of the fishery, vile as it was, was a welcome home he cherished. As he passed the gates and entered the wilderness he put his heels to the mare and sped up, eager to get to his families home before night fell. While not as dangerous as the mainland, the New Haven wilds could be dangerous for those travelling alone.

He rode for some time, then got off and walked his horse for a bit, letting the beast rest. Morrith plucked an apple from a tree on the side of the rode. It was as red as his own leathers, and Morrith took a large bite. It was juicy and ripe and Morrith almost took it for his own. Instead he fed it to the horse, who gobbled it down with enthusiasm. After an hour or so Morrith pulled himself back into the saddle and rode on, careful to keep a slow pace. He hadn’t seen anyone else on the road so far, which was confusing. Last time he had been here the main road between New Haven and the village he had grown up in had been well travelled and busy.

Morrith crested a small hill and the village was finally in view. Something wasn’t right. He passed the stone keep that guarded their village at a walk and gaped in wonder at the shattered walls.

Morrith remembered the massive tower that had stood over the keep. It wasn’t a large keep, but it should have been able to stand up to anything in the wilds of New Haven. Perhaps it had simply been abandoned, having no real use for such a structure on the island. Morrith continued toward the low stone buildings he remembered from his childhood. As he got closer his horror grew. Men walked the streets, but their shambling steps and low moans marked them as the vilest of evils, undead. His town was under attack by these beasts, and Morrith wasn’t about to let them hurt the villagers. He spurred his horse hard, riding it into the midst of four zombies. He flattened one of them under the hooves before leaping off. His sword practically flew into his hand and his left grabbed the buckler that was hanging from a thong on his hip. He sprinted at one of the zombies as it stood up and Morrith raised his blade, calling out his divine fury and sending it into his sword.

His sword cut through the head of the zombie with ease. He turned it around in his hand and slammed it backward into the zombie that was slowly coming up behind him. It clutched at it’s intestines as they spilled from the wound before it fell to it’s knees, the unholy light ebbing from it’s eyes. Morrith kicked the last zombie in the kneecap, crushing it and sending the fiend to the ground where he stabbed his sword into it’s skull. The zombies dispatched, Morrith made a mad dash for his fathers music shoppe. He burst down the door and nearly screamed.

The room was dusty, and the wooden planks groaned under his weight as he stepped into the shoppe. Morrith’s eyes squinted as he re-focused them for the darkness. His Brothers corpse turned to stare at him with hollow eyes. His father dropped the human leg he had been chewing on and looked up hungrily from across the table that seperated them. Morrith’s eyes watered, but his hatred nearly turned the tears to steam as he gripped the haft of his sword. A twitch sent his cloak spinning back over his right shoulder, freeing his sword arm and stirring up the dust.

“What happened here? How could this be?” Morrith shouted the words at the animated remains of his family. He knew they weren’t his father and brother anymore, but the emotions ran wild in him as they advanced, putrid drool running down their chins. His brother lunged forward, reaching with fingers that ended in bloody nubs. Often the freshly dead tried to eat themselves, and fingers were the first to go. Morrith spun aside and his sword cut the arm off of his brother, spewing old blood and maggots.

“What spell turned this entire village into the undead?” His next blow took his brother’s head off. It fell to the floor and rolled into Morrith’s boot, blank eyes staring up at him. Morrith almost kicked it but stopped himself, instead he stepped over it and squared off across the table from his father, who’s eyes were nearly focused as they watched Morrith. Morrith reached into his belt and pulled for a small round bell that jingled with the slightest movement. His father’s eyes followed it as he threw it across the room toward the musical instruments. Before it hit the ground Morrith had turned and leapt over the table that stood between him and his father. He tackled the corpse to the ground and smashed in the front of it’s face with the guard of his sword.

When it was done he pulled both of their corpses into the center of the room and set them carefully side by side. Kneeling next to them, he closed their eyes with his left hand before closing his own.

“By the eight Virtues, I swear that you will be aveng…” Suddenly Morrith’s head shot up and his eyes shot around the room. “Mother…” he whispered. Quickly he closed his eyes again and felt his righteous hatred of Evil build inside him, spreading through his sword and into the wooden planks of the floorboards, which instantly caught fire. Morrith stood up and made his way to the door, and by the time it closed behind him the fire had engulfed the entirety of the room. Morrith ran as quickly as he could to his family’s home, a small stone building on the fringe of the village. He kicked open the front door and sprinted to his parents room, his eyes scanning everywhere for a sign of the undead. He threw open the door to his parents room and stopped dead.

Morrith moved to his mothers bedside, heart stricken with grief, and yet there was thankfulness that at least she had been spared the fate of his father and brother. His eyes teared up and he stood there, his eyes taking in the way she had died. Peacefully in bed, happy in the end. Suddenly the fire returned inside Morrith and his tears near sizzled on his face as the full reality of his new life fell upon him.

“I swear Mother, I won’t let them go unavenged. I will do everything I must in order to find out who did this to the village.” Morrith reached down and brushed the bones of her hand gently. “Goodbye Mother.”

Episode 1: What We Lose 1

Episode 2: What We Lose 2

Episode 3: Blessing of the Gods

Episode 4: Hunt for a Traitor

Episode 1: The Arrival

Episode 2: Forsaken

Check out the stories link at the top of the page to see some of my past stories, short though they may be. Also, feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think, if you like the stories or hate them.

Introducing Of Blood And Bone, a new series I’ll be starting alongside ‘Wild’ Erp. While Erp will be continuing for a long time, Of Blood And Bone will most likely only be a very short lived, quick to finish story. This one is set in the world of Ultima Online, a game I remember very fondly. There were a lot of things you could do in that game to role play, including building a camp.

Since I’ve been back the people have been great. I had someone take two hours out of their day to show me around and teach me all about the new changes. I’m in a great guild, and very surprised to be liking the game as much as I am after all this time.

Morrith is the hero of this tale, and he’s a noble born paladin returning to his home, a village just outside New Haven. That’s all you get tonight, but look for episode 1 up tomorrow.

She told me her name was Fayne Doran, a blind seer who had been tasked by the vigil to bring the Ascended up to speed. I wasn’t wrong, I had been killed, and though I have never been a holy man, indeed I’ve done terrible things, the gods saw fit to bring me back to life. It wasn’t for piety that they chose me, but for power. Power I had, though I felt weaker than I had been, as though all the power had drained from my body with my blood when I died.

She told me that we had lost our battle, but that the vigil had stepped in to help up win the war. I’m not usually one to follow orders, but when someone brings you back from the dead, well it’d just be bad manners not to help them prevent the destruction of Telara. We didn’t have much time together, but after a quick rundown of the situation, desperate situation that it was, she pointed me in the direction of the resistance. Ardenburgh town square, but in between me and my destination were roving bands of the dead, brought back by the power of Regulos to harry the defenders and prevent them from mounting a full assault. Good, I needed a little exercise to get rid of that rigor mortis.

I left the church yard on my way to Ardenburgh proper, careful to keep behind buildings whenever possible. It’s not that I was afraid, simply that I’m not stupid. I can kill most men, but not thirty undead at the same time. Besides, it’d be pretty bad form to return my gift of life so shortly after I got it. I came around the backside of one building and came up short as a massive blade split the air in front of me. The sword bit into the ground and sent dirt flying into the air. A suit of armor stepped around the side of the building, towering over me. It sounded hollow, but there was a glow coming from the closed helm that didn’t quit obscure the dead face underneath. Animated by the will of Regulos this corpse knight easily ripped its sword from the ground and brought it around in a spinning slash that nearly took my head off. I dropped to one knee and rolled behind it, stabbing one of my daggers into the back of its knee joint. Blood dribbled out of the hole in the armor, but the knight pivoted and brought its sword down in a backward thrust. I just got my other dagger up in time to deflect the blow, and I saw its massive sword pass by my face as my dagger slid the length of the blade.

I leapt up as my dagger bit into its mailed fist. The force and the bite of my dagger sent its sword spinning through the air. I danced back as it aimed a mailed backhand at my temple but it caught me with a cuff to the jaw. I could taste blood, but I didn’t have time to worry about it. Even as I prepared to attack the metal on its arms and hands seemed to glow with a deadly force. Its left arm seemed to melt down, pouring toward the ground. Its right hand began to twist and rise until it was no longer defenseless.

The knight let out a hollow roar that echoed through its armor as it brought its newly formed shield up to protect its face. The axe came in a swift downward strike with a speed I wasn’t prepared for. I barely got my daggers up and crossed in time to block the strike. As it was I lost my footing and stumbled back. Before I could recover the knight slammed into me with his shield, a shield nearly the size of me, and I felt my nose crumble beneath the blow. My eyes watered, but the fight was on me and I didn’t feel the pain that would surely be there later. I rolled to the side as the axe slammed into the ground where my groin had been. It only took a second for the knight to pull the axe free, but it was enough for me to get back to my feet. I was on the defensive, but that’s exactly how I like to fight. A smile split my cracked lips as I positioned my daggers, one out in front of me and the other slightly behind.

The knight swung in a wide slash that I easily dodged by dropping to a knee. I was up instantly as the blade passed. With amazing speed and control the axe suddenly bolted in the opposite direction. The haft hit me in the shoulder and I stumbled back cursing myself for a fool. Defense was how I played the game, but not with an unfeeling behemoth like this. Small cuts over a long period of time would serve only to draw out this fight and allow more of them to converge on the noise. The knight lifted its shield up over its head to strike with the butt end of it and I knew what I had to do. Time seemed to slow down as the pain spread from deep inside my body. I could feel myself being torn apart and I slammed my teeth together to prevent the scream that welled up from releasing. Just as the pain crescendoed I felt myself shoved forward through time and space. I cleared the small distance between me and the knight quicker than any observer could have possibly seen, and my dagger found its way under the breastplate by the time I re-materialized.

The blood poured from its wound as the knight tried to keep fighting. It gave a feeble swing of its axe, but the momentum took it off balance and it fell to its knees. I stepped up behind it, put my blades into the mouthpiece of the helmet and slammed them deep until the squishing, crunching sounds had stopped. As the body dropped to the ground I looked around to make sure nothing else had come during the commotion. The body started steaming, and within moments it dissolved into a puddle of putresence.

I peeked around the corner of the old stone building and saw nothing but open space between me and the next group of huts. Dozens of undead knights shuffled around the courtyard, and there was simply no way I could fight all of them. I once again reached deep inside me and felt my body ripped apart. The pieces were shot through time, space and the planes until I was thrust back into normal space across the courtyard. I didn’t make it the entire way, and as I got my bearings I saw three of the knights heading my way. I’d love to tell you that I stood my ground and fought to the death, but I’m simply not that foolish. I turned and ran toward the square I knew to be only a street away. I could hear the metal footsteps of the knights as they ran behind me, and finally the town square came into view. As it did I saw a dozen soldiers rush out from behind barricades and rush past me. They engaged the knights, and with the overwhelming advantage they made short work of them. It was only then that I had a chance to take in the situation.

A small fountain in the middle of a burned out town was all we had it seemed, and to my horror I saw the current King of Lord’s Hall hard at work repairing weapons damaged in the fighting. A Dwarven king reduced to huddling by a fountain in a dying town. I think that’s when the reality of the situation struck me. Suddenly Borrin Gammult looked up and saw me, and a smile crept across his face as he waved me over. I stepped toward them cautiously, after all I was a criminal just a week earlier. I knelt before the king of Lord’s Hall and he bellowed a laugh that shook the stone of the fountain.

“Stand up Dwarf! This is no time for foolish notions of pride and humility.” I stood slowly, my eyes drawn to the massive warhammer that Borrin wielded like it was as heavy as a dagger. “What’s your name Dwarf?” He bellowed.

“Erp, your Lordship.” I said as I regained my composure. Borrin’s eyebrow raised a bit.

“Queer name for a Dwarf, but I suppose you Hammerknell Dwarves got all kinds of queer customs that don’t matter much right now.”

“Formerly of Hammerknell, but how did you know?” I asked.

“Don’t be foolish Dwarf, only two types of Dwarves came to this battle, and I know all those what died from Lord’s Hall.” He looked pained as he said it. We stood there for a few moments while he stared off into space, his mind probably recalling the battle more clearly than mine could. Suddenly his reverie was broken by the twinkling sound of an Elven female’s voice.

“Borrin, we need to put an end to those infernal machines quickly!” I turned and saw one of the skinny Elf women standing near us. I never caught her name, but she seemed the exude an air of superiority. Then again, most Elves did.

“Aye, but how?” Borrin suddenly looked over at me with an odd glint in his eye. “You came from the church yes? Ascended right?” I nodded, still unsure what that really meant. Borrin and the Elf exchanged glances and a grin spread over Borrin’s face. “Well, the gods may not grant us all power, but surely they’ll do so for one who they’ve already embraced?”

“It makes sense. We send this Dwarf to the shrine of Tavril and ask for a blessing to enable him to destroy the machines.”

“Bah, he’ll beg a boon of Bahralt or not at all. He’s a Dwarf after all!” Borrin boomed back at the Elf.

“It’s rude to leave a man out of a conversation about himself,” I said, my eyes narrowed with suspicion. Borrin laughed heartily and nodded, his massive beard quivering.

“Aye Dwarf, it is. The forces of Aedraxis have us pinned in this square, separated from the main army that masses just outside the city gates. But we can’t just fight our way through. There are machines, horrible machines that harness the power of death to reanimate the dead, or turn the living into willing zombies. We can’t leave them behind us or we’ll soon have an army at our backs as well as our front.”

“And you can’t just smash them?”

“Tried that already, Dwarf. They’re protected by the power of Regulos. A triffling thing next to the power of Bahralt, to be sure, but still unbreakable by us,” Borrin said, and the Elf nodded, adding her own words.

“We need someone to get the blessing of the Vigil to destroy these machines, but we’ve already sent people out to find the shrines and none have returned,” she said, her voice grated on my eardrums like a high pitched whine.

“That’s where you come in. You’re not the first ascended to come out of that church, but most of them are already at the main encampment. Besides, we saw that teleporting stunt you pulled, and that could come in handy for anyone trying to sneak through this corpse infested city.”

“I guess I don’t really have a choice do I?” The two looked at each other before shaking their heads no. “Very well, where’s this shrine?” I didn’t really believe that the gods would grant me a boon, but I never believed they would save me from death either. Borrin pulled a folded parchment from under his breastplate and handed it to me. I glanced at the map and quickly spotted the fountain we were at. The shrine was four streets away in a small church, normally an easy walk. I looked down the street and saw nothing but the shuffling dead. My hand squeezed my dagger. “Well, at least it’s not as boring as playing lord.”

My name is Erp. It used to stand for Ruck Erpine, of the Hammerknell Erpines. Now days it just stands for Erp. I’ve decided to keep this journal in the hopes that it will help me understand everything that’s happened to me recently, and to provide truth to combat the lies that have been told about me. I’m getting ahead of myself, why don’t I start from the beginning?

For a while I had it all. I was a member of a respected Dwarven clan until shortly after my 23rd production day. By then I had fallen in with a fairly rough crowd and I had decided that the life of a tradesman just wasn’t for me. I left Hammerknell and the disappointment of my family behind for good, or so I thought at the time. Over the next six years I travelled all over Telara with my friends, exploring the wilderness until we’d stumble upon a town, then we’d wench and drink until we were run out of town. I broke more than a few hearts during those years, and more than a few faces.

Eventually I settled down in a small vale on the eastern edge of the Moonshade Highlands, my peoples ancestral home. I wasn’t getting nostalgic though, in fact I was downright disgusted by my kin. By this time I had developed a rather large following, near on 30 men at my beck and call. Most of them were rustlers, rapists and thieves, but we had our share of builders and farmers. That’s how the Wild Keep was born, a small stone mansion surrounded by a little village of huts for the farmers. We had to run off a few landsteaders, but with my small army it wasn’t much of a feat.

Things were going great for a while, my men began calling me ‘Wild’ Erp, and the local brothel got new girls everytime we raided the nearby towns. One day a messenger from Hammerknell appeared under a white flag of truce, to the surprise of no one. Truth be told I’d been wondering what was taking them so long to respond to my claiming of their territory. The messenger brought news of an army marching from Hammerknell, but not toward the Wild Keep, instead they were headed to the Empire of Methosia. One of their insane leaders had unleashed the fabled dragon of death, Regulos, and the peoples of the three great kingdoms were marching together to put an end to it, and to save the world. Hammerknell’s messenger brought with him an ultimatum: Rouse my army and follow the Dwarves to battle Aedraxis and his army, or suffer one of two outcomes. Either Regulos would breach the Ward and destroy Telara, or the armies of the Dwarves, Elves, and Mathosians would march north after the battle and lay waste to the Wild Keep and anyone in it.

Needless to say my army was marching south within the week. We were nearly one hundred strong by now, though most were farmers and craftsmen wielding poorly maintained weapons. It was one hell of a hassle keeping my men from pillaging every village we came across, but the unspoken promise that, should I help and win, the Wild Keep would be officially sanctioned, kept me going. I won’t get into the details of the battle, suffice it to say that it was the most gory thing I have ever seen in my life. Men were disemboweled by the hundreds, blood stained the grass for miles, and the sky bled black as the fighting wore on. The last thing I remember was lying face down in a pile of bodies, four spears stabbed straight through my chest and my arm twitching just at the edge of my vision, no longer connected to my body.

The next thing I knew I was waking up in a church, whole and confused as hell. There were others around me, but I’ve never been one for company, especially when I’ve just come back from the dead. The truth is that I ran from there.

I’m not proud of it, but there it is. Chalk it up to being ripped out of nothingness, peacefulness, and being thrown into a body that no longer feels like your own. I didn’t stop running until I escaped from the church and got a glimpse of what was outside.

The mass grave brought me up cold. It was only then that I noticed the war wasn’t over. Boulders imbued with ghastly magicks streaked across the sky, destroying buildings and people alike. The people around me weren’t right though, they walked wrong and looked deathly pale. It wasn’t until one of them noticed me and ran, howling a throaty roar like some animal, that I saw it’s face was rotting away. I nearly gagged from the smell, but I hadn’t spent my life perfecting my fighting style to die twice in one day. I felt the rift tear inside of me, and in seconds I was next to the abomination, my dagger aiming for the place it’s heart used to be.

The blood that gushed from it’s wound was putrid and I stumbled back as the smell assailed me with more force than the corpse had. I covered my mouth with my hand and bent double, trying to keep my composure. That’s when I noticed a hand on my shoulder. I spun around, knife poised for a strike, but stopped short when I saw the blind woman before me. With no weapons of any kind it was ludicrous that she should be here, alive, and in another time I would have simply pushed her to the ground and continued on my way. There was something about her that forced me to stay, and my mouth opened and the words came out before I knew what I was saying.

“Lady, what are you doing in the middle of a warzone. War is no place for cripples. Head back into the church and bar the doors, do not open them for anyone until you are sure the fighting is done.”

“I believe I am in better shape than you are Erpine, after all, I haven’t died yet today.” Erp stared at her incredulously, but all he managed to force out of his mouth was a simple:

“It’s Erp…” She let out a soft laugh like a chime and placed a hand on Erp’s shoulder.

“I think we should talk.”

Meet “Wild” Erp