Two months. Wasted away in recovery while the murderers slipped away to the safety of their hovels and dens. Time spent idling the minutes away and not being of use to anyone.

Clive stiffened as he swung his sword. It had grown heavy since he had last swung it. Not by much, but enough to infuriate him. He’d hobbled over by the armory and convinced the blacksmith, Crost, to part with four ingots. Then he tied them along his sword and went about his practice swings. The soldiers of Commander Marcos’s battalion would stop and watch him for a while. Some stood in awe at the fluidity of his movements, others in shock at the severity of his injuries, and how much worse for wear he was making it upon himself with each swing of the sword.

He didn’t care. Too much time had passed. He needed to move, to do something, anything would do. Though he was never one to look for a fight, of any nature, he had an overwhelming desire to hit something, or someone.

“Need a sparring partner?” A tall man with arms like tensile steel asked. He had a dark matting of black hair, speckled with white, though albeit a young face, too young to have peppered hair. “Or just someone to hit?”

Clive grunted, and rested the flat side of the blade against his shoulder. His arms were still bandaged from his fall, as was his head, despite this, Clive stood tall and defiant of the world. “Yes.”

“To which? I did ask of you two questions. Though, judging from the look in your eye I can guess which it is.” The tall young man drew his blade and steadied himself into a defensive pose that Clive had never seen. “You want to remove those hunks of metal from your blade? It may be easier on you to swing that silly thing around without them, old man.”

Clive was upon his in a burst of movement. The young man shifted and swung his blade defensively. The blow was parried with ease. And Clive swung back without mercy, throwing the opponent off balance. He was talking, saying something that resembled taunting, but Clive could not hear him, the sound of pumping blood was in his ears.

Then the young man’s sword cracked, and broke just down near the hilt. Clive did not follow through with his swing.

“Damnation! You’re a bloody beast of a man. That you are, do you know that?” The young man appeared ecstatic, though Clive suspected he was otherwise from the look on his face. He couldn’t read the emotion, but it wasn’t simple excitement. “I have never seen someone win by shattering their opponent’s blade. Did you see that? He cleaved my blade as though it were a stalk of wheat! Damn, that poor blade…Crost will have my neck, and spine attached to it to boot around as he pleases. Damn.”

Clive exhaled and let himself untense. “You should be less defensive in your strikes. That counter was beautiful, though slow, much too slow to be effective in combat.”

“No, shit, to that!” The young man clucked, and wiped a handful of snow upon his face and brow. “Where did you learn to do that? You aimed for the same spot over and over. I’d wager anything that you knew my sword would break! Didn’t you?”

“Aye. I did.” Clive admitted. “An old tactic a friend taught me. Overwhelming might can overwhelm inexperience. But don’t do it every time.”

“And why is that?” The young man challenged, “Damn tactic seems pretty efficient to me.”

Clive shook his head and examined his own blade; there were no new notches along the length of the edge. Good. He had been worried his gambit would not have been worth the risk. A broken blade is not the end of a fight, though he did not feel physically ready for that sort of fight to happen just yet.

“It takes too much energy to do repeatedly over and over. Let alone if you don’t follow through with each strike, you may leave your enemy able to continue drawing breath.” Clive was surprised at his need to lecture. To talk to someone else was something he apparently missed. “If they can breathe then they can retaliate.”

“Duly noted, sir. What is your name? All I know of you is that you know the commander and you’re a survivor of the massacre of the…” he paused, and not finding the words fell silent.

“Clive. Captain of the 145th battalion, the Warhawks.”

“Pleasure to meet you in the face of my own defeat, sir. Sinquet, sir, is my name. Lowly soldier serving as an enlisted man under the leadership of Commander Marcos. Though I assume you knew as much. For what it is worth though,” Sinquet paused again, dragging his words through the silence, “I am sorry to hear about what happened to your battalion.”

“As am I!” Clive snapped. Then he took a breath, “That was rude. Thank you for your condolences. I, am dueling with my own demons as it was. Forgive my outburst, if you can.”

“Already is forgotten.” Sinquet chirped. “Aside from you destroying my sword to win our little bout, this has been a genuine pleasure, Clive. And I do hope to meet again. Perhaps without you breaking my blade again? I would wish for a more agreeable defeat. If all the same to you, that is.”

Clive nodded. “Fair point, Sinquet. Next time I will allow you a more honorable defeat. I have words to speak with our fair blacksmith, and I am certain you however, do not.”

“I certainly do not. At least not so that I am rushing towards my own dismal destruction. Farewell, sir.” Sinquet turned and left for the barracks.

Clive walked past the small outcrop of onlookers that were murmuring amongst themselves over his tactics for victory. Nothing sounded dismissive or in poor taste, simple surprise at the ferocity of the attack, and all in a simple match no less. If anything at all was achieved today, save for a swift overwhelming victory, Clive had earned a form of respect from Marcos’s men. Be it from ingenuity or savagery, whichever he did not care.

“The ingots did the trick, Crost. I told you that they would, did I not?” Clive ducked past a hanging hunk of iron or steel; in the dim lighting of the forge area he could not tell which it may be.

Crost was old, grizzled, and had the appearance of a shaved bear about his body and face. Clive had met him before when he ran a delivery to Marcos’s men some month back. The look Crost had given him then, one of utter contempt mixed with disgust, had reminded Clive of his own grandfather and simpler times. Hopefully better times, but who could tell of such things.

Crost grunted, and set aside his hammer. His brow was drenched in flakes of debris mixed in with muddled sweat. “I hear tell that you broke a sword today. Not long ago either.”

“Aye.”

“Aye. I figured there was truth to it as well.” Crost wiped his brow with a dirty rag, then made a halfhearted attempt at cleaning his hands as well. “You owe me for the damaged sword. You know that, right?”

Clive nodded. “Aye.”

“Was it worth it? Breaking another man’s blade for a fight?” Crost asked.

Clive thought for a moment. “No. I fear I let myself slip until it felt the only way to win. I may have made myself a spectacle for no reason other than I let myself attack, and nothing more than attack.”

Crost nodded. “I have told you that you should work in the forge for a spell. The work may do you some good after all. Get some of that rage and pain out of you before you really hurt someone else with it.”

“So you say.” Clive murmured. “How much do I owe you for the broken steel and dented ingots?”

“Two hours in the forge and we shall call it even.” Crost decided with a gruff cough.

Clive assented, “Fair trade. What needs to now be done?”

“Grab that hammer over there and follow me. Let’s fix up your gear while we are at it as well then.” Crost led the way to the workshop tables. “I’ve had your things laid out for nearly a week now. Don’t give me that look. I have much to do around here and am as is normal, entirely swamped with work and things to mend, fix, or smelt down and make into new things. Especially since this unit is too cheap to buy knew swords and armor.”

“Perhaps it is because you make the best of those things?” Clive offered.

Crost hid a smirk in his overwrought beard, if Clive hadn’t known the man he would have missed it entirely. “That being the case is beside the point. We need new things, new steel. I cannot be held responsible, let alone accountable, for the production of this and every unit for a thousand leagues in each direction.”

“That doesn’t sound very fair to put on you. Or this modest little forge.” Clive said.

“Stuff your talk of fairness. Now I need you to hammer out that metal over there. What my point is being though, is not that it is not fair. Damn fairness. It makes me stagnant. No competition makes me a big fish in a big pond, with nothing to challenge, and even less to screw. Do not give me that look either. I may be an old codger, but I alas still have needs myself. And this work costs me coin that I cannot have, coin that I cannot spend, and well…

“Look, boy. I do not mean to tell you how a life should be lived. I myself am not stern judge of a live well lived out. But find something in this life to do, something that will fill it with joy and all of the fulfillment crap you can stomach. But, just do not let it take from you more than it will give. Lest you end up here, in a frozen shit hole, with a mountain of work, and all but not two cragged hands to accomplish it all in. Do you understand me?”

“Aye, that I do. You’re long and lonely for companionship. Lest your metals are too cold to-” Clive ducked out of the way of thrown bits of scrap metal and tools. “-to hold as a woman should be held. Perhaps instead of complaining about being the best blacksmith this side of the world, instead you should be making yourself a woman out of flint and steel? Or perhaps, not then! Watch where you throw those things! You’re liable to hurt the metal if you do that!” Clive stifled his laughter and dodged the throw things with ease and grace. Only one piece of scrap hit him, a small bar that rebounded off a beam and grazed him from behind.

Crost laughed victoriously. “Finally, I hit you! For a bandaged man made of muscle you have the grace of a cat. Damn you.”

“Ow. I merely jest with you is all. You are a friend. Despite your objections I do see you as such. And I promise you, Crost, I do understand your meaning. Find something that fills my heart, without ripping it apart in the process. I do not know if I will find such a paradoxal thing, I will look though. If I find an answer I will send you it so that you can follow my example, if you need it that is. Despite your words, and throwings, I believe that a part of you loves your workings. It comes through in your work. You do make wonderful things. Though they are crass and rend the life better away from our enemies. They are beautiful all the same.” Clive bowed in a form of respect.

Crost looked Clive over as a man would a questionable gift being handed to him. “Though you say kind words they do have an air of melancholic to them. You do know this, yes?”

“So I have been told.” Clive admitted with a wistful sound.

“Enough of this gabbing. Grab that hammer you dropped and start working on your armor and steel. We’ll get them in right order before you leave in the next few days. Do not kid me. It is unbecoming of either of our wits. I knew you were chomping to leave the moment you could rise from the bed they stuck you in. Best I could tell from you breaking my steel, that was merely you testing your strength and venting the build impatience. I can tell from my words that I am right. Next time however, if there is such a waste as that, come to me. I can make you something to chip away at that wouldn’t be as precious as a man’s weapon and livelihood.”

“Fair enough. If given the chance I will do such as that then. And thank you. I appreciate your-” Clive started.

Before Crost interrupted, “Enough talk. Start hammering until I tell you to stop. Then on to the next step.”

Clive was silently at work the rest of the evening.

“Have you thought things over just yet?”

“Aye, Commander. I need to go after the those that attacked us.” Clive was busy packing the remaining belongings he had into a small knapsack. A small pouch of money and some small bobbles, nothing more remained of his things, there was no need for much more than that anymore. Not much more need than just his sword, the gloves on his hands, and the clothes on his back.

“And where abouts will you be aiming to hunt the blue basterds? I’d need to know so as to give you a wide berth of sorts so as not to have you too killed in the crossfire once we’ve routed and wiped the filth from the frozen wastes.” Commander Marcos was patient, his voice remained stern and composed. Clive was never sure of where the commander’s intentions lied. Much unlike Tyrios, though Clive could see how the two of them must have become fast friends in the armies of the eastern kingdoms. They were both men of great honor, and above all, they were believers in finishing your duty to the letter dictated by your commander.

“We do not need a wild factor ruining collected intel,” he continued, watching Clive with his deep red filled eyes. “I am willing to allow you leave. As it stands you are the remaining member of the 145th and as such the de facto commander. I refuse to allow the brass to force you to rebuild the battalion. That said, if you wish to leave I will draw up the papers and discharge you from the legion myself. Leaving in the night as a common thief would it is, unbecoming of a captain.”

“I am sorry, sir.” Clive said. “I have two months now to rest on my laurels and accomplished nothing other than mended ribs and wounds that I would never have heeded otherwise.”

Commander Marcos silenced Clive with a motion of his hand. “I am not asking for justification, Captain. I am not asking anything more than a decision. And a blunt one at that.”

“And what decision is that, sir?

The Commander of the 273rd battalion of the imperial legion exhaled and glared into Clive’s face. “Are you leaving, or are you completing your last order?”

Clive moved to answer, but a slight movement of the commander gave him pause. “Vengeance or honor for the dead? That would be the accurate form of the question. Given that you have had nearly two months to mull it over, I would expect an answer to it by this point.”

Clive said nothing.

“I do know that I was not expecting too much of you, son. You have in your heart love enough for your fellow brother in arms, and you respect the duty and unity that comes of such comradery.” He paused, and getting no response continued with an uncommon sigh, “Vengeance is a task best left to the bitter old men who have less time to waste in getting things done. And by fire and thunder, Captain. If you do not decide your fate, then I shall make the choice all the more manageable to bare.

“If you are seen hunting the Duke’s forces. If a single scout spots you in the frozen wastes impeding our campaign, I will have you hanged for treason. Make no mistake of it. Leave the wastes. There is naught for you here in the north, save ice and death!”

At this the commander took his leave of Clive, and did not see him again for the remainder of his days.

Clive stood there for what felt an age. Mulling and brooding over the Commander’s words.

“To stay in the north and fight an endless fight with the noose being at the end of it, or an arrow to the heart. Or, to the south…”

He cursed, and finished packing his knapsack for the voyage.

The moon was nearly full as it crested illuminating overhead the eastern to mid-sections of the frozen wastes in white soft light. Commander Marcos had stationed his men nearly thirty leagues east of where the Stony Womb had been sieged. Their range of outpost had gone as far south as The Greater Falls. His battalions had all but entirely wiped out the remnants of the murderers that had committed the assault on the 145th’s forces. Small offshoots were last seen fleeing the frozen countryside to the south and west of the mountains that divided the frozen wastes from the rest of the continent. Little brigand bands betrayed one another at the first sightings of being cornered along the silver roadways that led further south towards the higher falls, no doubt hoping to find refuge in the free ports at the lower ends of the continent. Though that would have availed them little with the might weld withing the legions of men at the disposal of Commander Marcos, who took it upon himself to continue leading the charges close behind them.

Two packs of these bandits had made it as far as the first bend of the Calous Rivers, quick and violent bodies of water that flowed out of the mouth of the higher falls and bled along the length of the world, at times branching off into ports which had all manners of civilizations at their ends.

Clive had been riding for two weeks before he took possession of a small boat, provided so generously by the legion at his own expense, then he began the arduous voyage south, avoiding the offshoots of the rivers the best he could. Lest he became lost and traveling further along the Calous water of the rivers than he had hoped to go.

Near the midpoint of the rivers, just north of a known legion battlement Clive pulled the boat up onto the shoreline and began the process to make camp for the night. It would be morning in a few hours, best to sneak rest in while he could. Once the fire was going strong enough to not need any more tending, he pulled out a map and a journal.

“Thirty miles along the river, as the crow flies…” Clive watched a white owl drift noiseless among the trees that lined the shores of the slow moving waters. There had been little nightlife to observe the last few days, so the bird was a welcomed sight.

“A welcomed omen then. For I hope I am close.” From the journal he was last seen nearly six miles down river from here…Just shy of the Silver Rapids, he thought. The breaking point in the Calous Rivers, where they broke off into two main veins, one continued on in straggled manner till it washed out into the free ports to the south. The other separated itself at the lower falls, and went on to the city of ports, the launching point for trade between men and the Drituk who ventured close enough to tender their wares. Long ago it was a hive for nefarious acts and deeds, and in some sections, as Clive warily suspected, that may still perhaps be the case.

A snap of a fallen branch interrupted his thoughts. Followed by a voice, “Hail and good day to you, good man.” Clive said nothing as the mysterious person stepped into the light. The campfire illuminated little about them, their hair was dark, and if the light did not waver, Clive would have seen the greyness of their eyes properly. He was keenly aware of their light armor, and the twin vipers resting on then end of the pommel of the blade at their hip. Twin snakes that were writhing in a death struggle, their bodied intertwined, making up the handle and the twin sides of the hilt of their blade.

Clive watched as the figure stepped closer and sat down near the fire, extending his hands towards it. “Lovely evening and night, isn’t it? I’ve been hiking through these woods for two weeks without seeing a soul. Then, peaking around the western bend, just over a descending mound, I catch a glimpse of your modest fire here. And despite standard practice, I wanted to pop over and say, hello. Where are you traveling towards, good sir? Hopefully not up to any ill natured mischief? If so I wouldn’t begrudge you judgement. For who am I, just a fellow wanderer who is stumbling through the forest towards god knows what in the night.”

Clive nodded as the stranger talked, though he said little between each question. Opting instead to listen over telling.

“I am traveling down river towards the city of ports. I heard tell that a brother of mine is living there now. And I wish to congratulate him on his marriage and place in life.” Clive said, eying the stranger closely.

“Oho. He must be doing quite well for you to travel so far for it. A merchant or a politician I would imagine. No need to elaborate. I can tell you are a man of few words. And that is fine enough for myself. I haven’t seen someone who would listen to me in quite some time. I myself, despite you not asking, how conservative of you sir, how controlled you are, I myself am traveling to the west. If you could believe my feet can steer me in the correct direction however. There is a small town. Tucked away in the sights of the mountains there, just beyond that horizon in that direction. If all goes well, I myself may find my fortunes turned for the better there.” The stranger talked much with his hands, though one never strayed far from his side as he gestured wildly about. “Indeed, indeed. My fortunes may have turned long before I arrive there though. This meeting feels fortuitous indeed.”

His eyes shifted in the waning firelight. His posture appeared rigid and tense, poised. “Now, where are you really heading?” the stranger asked, his voice no longer amused.

Clive said nothing.

“The rivers here are fine and such for floating down. Though if you are going all the way to their end you are better along taking the southern highways and traveled pathways. Lest you meet questionable,” his eyes flashed an odd shade of green and red, “folks. So where are you really heading? If you would like I could guess. Give me, what now, three guesses and I’ll have you nailed down. Let’s see here…” he drew his blade, slowly and with menace. “My first guess is, that you are either a mercenary or a hunter of bounties. That would explain your demeanor and candor at a stranger coming upon your encampment. You did not betray your distrust of me. And that alone is very telling. Very telling indeed.”

“Indeed,” was all Clive would say, he did nothing more.

“My second guess,” the stranger continued on, now moving his hands with more animation than before, “being a simple one is this. You are close to your quarry. A devilish rouge. Freshly escaped from that damned encampment buried amidst the mines east of the lower falls. I make no light assumptions of you. Timing is everything here, and I do not believe I am wrong in this. Now how close am I to being on the mark? Dead center perhaps!”

Clive frowned, and opted to say nothing.

The stranger appeared frustrated with the lack of response, “Fine, I will take your silence as my words have hit the mark of truth upon you. And that you are simply too shocked to reply that I am correct. Now then, thirdly. And with pleasurable guile, I feel you are armed with a means to kill me, and the other poor souls trapped there. Whatever those mages are paying you, whatever your price may be, it cannot be equal to the value of your own life. Less of all to them. They do not care for their lab rats! The vermin that are chewed up and spat apart. All in the name of exploration and progress! All they care about is creating their damned metals! They barter in prisoners, and slaves, and the unfortunate lost souls that they can find. Well, oho, you will not have me returning upon their il begot company sir. No, you will not! Have at you sir!” He poised his blade, as a snake would ready themselves to strike.

Clive, with silence, rose to his feet and drew his own blade, letting it rest down at his side.

“I said ready yourself sir! Do you not wish to live? I will end you where you stand. Do you not comprehend this?” The stranger was shaking.

Clive sighed and said, “Take my vessel. I have no need for its nor of your company any longer.” The stranger became slack jawed. “You were wrong in your three assumptions. No, I have no interest in your personal tale. Nor am I after you in any form nor shape of nature. You have inadvertently given me the next marking for my journey however. And as thanks, as I have said, you may take my boat as far as you’d wish. For it is yours to do with as you please. Now begone with you, stranger. We have nothing more to discuss. Sheath your blade and be off with you now. I won’t tell you again.”

The stranger stood in shock, his hands trembled as he began to step around the fire and return his blade to its place aside his hip. He murmured something to himself, and when it appeared Clive was no longer looking he drew one of the snakes from the hilt of his blade, a glint of light and a flash later his blade thrown from his hand and into the fire, a trickle of blood lay upon the hilt of it. Grasping his wrist the stranger shuddered, “Please! Please, do not return me to the mages! Please, just kill me if anything else! Please, I ask this of you!”

Clive punched him in the face, bringing an abrupt ending to his ramblings. The man fell sharply to the ground without any other further sounds or words to spout off.

Clive sighed and sheathed his blade; a small scratch was forming itself out of a thin red line on his forearm. “Damn…”

Thinking better of his company, he loaded the stranger into the boat. Returning to the now sleeping form the sword and dagger that he had discarded in the scuffle. The glint of the blade caught some of the light from the stars overhead. A glint of green was upon the knife’s edge.

“Interesting metal…” Clive thought aloud as he pushed the boat out into the Calous river. It bobbed and began drifting peacefully along with the night’s gentle current.

The prospect of another visitor in the night dissuaded Clive from enjoying the warmth and light of the fire, so he gathered his effects and smothered the fire out with a blanket. And steadily made on his way into the dark forest. After some time he found an overhanging formation of stone and rock overlooking an indentation in the land between two hills coated in a layer of trees. He made himself comfortable and forded himself a few measly hours of sleep.

Two days after this incident he found himself trudging over, downhill, and uphill along uneven forested land. Sections of the trees here, he realized, had been chopped down some time before. The stumps left behind had either been uprooted or burned to prevent regrowth from occurring. An odd thought as to why this area alone, so far into the forest was cleared, away from all else that could go about in the forest, bothered him more than the stone structure at the center of the area. The lowest point of the land where the ground was at the lowest depression, save for the riverbend where he had begun his trek, had what appeared to be stone steps that rose up a dozen steps or so, leading towards a large rock slab. Crudely cut from one solid piece, looking from the distance he stood he could tell that it was marred with jagged and sharp edges at all sorts of crass and unpredictable angles. The stone itself was a milky white that nearly hurt his eyes when the sunlight glinted away from it.

A voice whispered to leave it be and continue on without investigating. Clive being of the foolish adventuring sort to never make a wise decision, decided against such a rational sort of thing.

He was right, as he walked up the stone was indeed one continuous block of stone. From the fourteen steps that traveled up and plateaued to where the misshapen block lay at its top, the entire structure was one in nature. Each step he took felt heavy with a feeling he could not recognize. The center block had an odor to it, again one that he could not recognize. Not blood, or the mold of rotting leaves. For that in itself was another odd facet, there was no such things on this structure. A soft ring lay around the whole thing along the ground where the life of the forest appeared to not tread past.

“Curious…” Clive resisted the temptation to touch the stone. Though he was sure it would have cut his hand at the merest interaction, something else stayed his hand. He drew his blade and inhaled deeply.

“You can come out now! I can hear you breathing amidst the trees! Though I have my blade drawn I assure you, I have not intent to use it! Save if you mean myself harm.”

Silence followed. A long enough silence passed until Clive began to question his own ears. Then, another twig or branch snapped.

Three shapes lunged out at him, three blurred flashes of misshapen steel, from three angles in the air around him. Three assailants with weapons drawn came at him. Clive half turned and swept his blade to deflect their own. His blade made contact and held against two blades, holding them against his own. The third attacker, a curved blade shaped as a snake against the cool ground pounced at him, aiming entirely without hesitation at his chest. Clive grabbed at one of the two others shadowed figures whose blades he held at bay, and pulled them into the path of the curved blade.

A shriek rose out. A shriek too late. The third had impaled their comrade without fail. A choking sound followed suit as a form fell to the ground in a puddle of oozing blood.

“Bastard!”, “Monster!”, “You’ll die!”, these and other things were shouted, one after another at Clive as he leapt deftly away. “Bastard, die!” He watched the blood move, seeping down into the stone until nothing was left on the surface but the blinding white that was there before, untainted by the world, and any fallen blood.

Clive rapidly moved off the monument, his eyes never leaving the gaze of the remaining assailants. They did not follow him, merely watched and screamed horrid things in his direction.

Finally he had enough, “Enough!” He shouted at them, throwing his demand out in spite. “I have done nothing to any of you!”

“Liar!” They hissed out.

“Enough! Truly, I do not know you! Nor do I care to learn about you. I am simply traveling these woods for someone. I do not have the patience for your troubles. I have no coin. No silver, nor golds of any nature. You may not have my clothing, nor may you have my steel. I have paid my own price in blood for these things and they are not to be taken whilst I still breathe. Not, that that being an invitation or any such thing…”

The fallen comrade of the assailants, her body, Clive realized as her hood became drawn back, revealing long flowing dark hair, the body began to sink into the floor of the monument as a stone sinks to the bottom of a lake. Quickly and suddenly the body disappeared withing the white stone, sinking until nothing was there.

Clive thanked the voice in his mind that told him to put distance between himself and not only their blades, but also to not touch the stone.

One of the assailants shouted something, a name Clive realized a moment after the fact, “Gloria!” Hearing her voice he concluded the third to also be a woman. It was upon her blade the third had fallen.

Their unfortune notwithstanding, Clive tightened his grip upon his blade, the hairs on his neck stood up. Something felt wrong. Something felt obviously wrong.

The two women lunged for him again, their bodies flying as a birds own would do in flight. Their feet never touching the ground as they closed the distance between him and them. One’s hood fell back, revealing golden blonde hair that radiated the sunlight that found ways between each lock.

Clive leaped, and rolled away as their blades swung where he had been a moment before. One of them veered overhead. He swept his blade upwards, feeling soft resistance. Not enough to have possibly been fatal. The form doesn’t even shriek.

Clive turns, realizing they are on either side of him now. “May I ask a question of you both?”

He had not expected an answer, so Clive was very much surprised when the remaining hooded one spoke in a hushed tone, “Speak. And do it soon, lest our blades find you first.”

“What, what crime are you seeking to punish?” Clive asked, his free hand drifting lower to his side, towards his ribs.

“Crime?” The one with blonde locks screeched out, “You have killed Gloria. The youngest of us three, and most favored amidst us.”

The hooded one remained silent. As did Clive do the same.

“Enough of this blasted silence! We kill him now, sister!” The blonde figure struck first.

Clive’s blade repelled her own. The hooded one lunged her blade towards him and he deflected it, albeit without surety in his swing. And so it continued for several moments, they would attack and he would deflect. Though he was loosing ground. And losing it fast.

A crunch of stone beneath his feet could be heard as the two assailants lunged at him together, at once in unison. Something fell to the ground with an explosion of smoke and heat.

A blade rung out and made contact with flesh. Something fell to the stone filled earth with a sickened, thump. Followed by a gush of blood.

Once the smoke had dissipated the remaining hooded figure screamed out at the headless body before her. Clive was beside her; his blade rang out, stabbing her in the chest, just above where her heart should have been.

“It is over.” Clive panted. “I’m sorry that you attacked me. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this…”

Before he withdrew his blade, the hood on the figure fell back, revealing a mane of red hair that was interspersed with flaked sections where it was instead black. “Are you weeping for the slain? Truly?” She cackled and began pulling herself off of the blade piercing her chest. “What an interesting thing to have happened. The cost perhaps was not optimal, but the result-” She whistled as the blade was no longer a factor “-who can argue with the results.”

“What sort of being are you, all of you?” Clive began to step back, though he regained his nerve and stood his ground.

Her eyes were watching him now, a deep red that pierced Clive’s chest, “Nothing that you need concern yourself over, child. I doubt either of us wishes for more bloodshed than what is necessary here. Oh, them? Temporary siblings, nothing to kill over I am afraid. I suppose I shall take my leave first. Lest you feel my eyes upon the back of your neck for some miles. A few words of caution for you, what was your name?”

“I did not give it. Nor will I do such now.” Clive stated, without malice or fear.

The woman smiled broadly and purred out, “How astute and wise of you. I like that sort of thinking. No matter. If you keep to the eastern direction there, yes that way, there is, well, something unpleasant there. You do not seem the sort to let that dissuade you though. I only wished to repay your form of mercy with an attempt at my own.” She shrugged and let out a small sigh. “If I did not know any better, I would fathom that you were already headed that way. From your guarded looks…I see…well, I shall leave you with more than you had here before you met us then. Do not let a flaming door prevent your entry towards earned freedom…farewell, child.”

Her form faded to mist, and drifted away as any mist does at the breaking of morning upon the world.

Clive exhaled and allowed his legs to shake only after he was certain that he was alone again. And thinking the better of it, decided to leave the accursed area to itself and continue the way he had been going. She had been right after all, the red haired woman, if indeed that is what she truly was. No warning would dissuade him from where he was going.

The trees began to grow more sparse and less dense as he trekked on. The mighty oak trees grew less proud, becoming thinner and poorer in strength the further east he went. Three more days had passed since he had moored his boat. Larger sections of the overbrush thinned out as well, leaving wide swarths of sunlight to spill out and over everything below the skyline. He wasn’t sure of how far he had come. The miles felt distorted and his mind was heavy with his own thoughts.

Something about her words haunted him. Despite all that she had said, he never got the impression that he could have bested her. Not in an even fight, no less. She could fly at him with a speed that was nigh inhuman, and that trick at the end. She faded as a dream upon waking. The whole matter of the bodies fading into the stone did little to settle Clive’s nerves.

The entire forest seemed to peel its eyes along him as he walked softly over fallen things, the ground was coated in orange and red leaves that Clive avoided to the best of his ability. Though he was silent, he knew that he could never sneak up on prey, not here, and not now. The animals all had a queer, cautious look about them. The birds made no noises as they hopped along overhead, merely following along to get a better view of him. The squirrels did much of the same as well. Thrice a large leaf fell, followed by a small series or twigs. Once Clive would stop to peer upwards all of the animals would vanish from his sight.

“Forest feels curse…” Clive muttered. “Something is amiss…I need to…” Clive halted; another branch had snapped apart some distances away. He fell to a crouch and hid behind a tree, just off of the light path he had been walking. Voices crept towards the way he had come, albeit from the direction he had been heading.

“So I had says to her, I says, ‘How are we to know, my dearie. If what you say is the truth of the matter before us?’ She however was gob smacked at this; the very notion of logic being brought forthwith into a discussion was unheard of in her mind it seems. So she says to me then, ‘What are you saying? You had just finished hitting and beaten my beloved sister. I say it was so!’ She saw it she claims, with both of her wide blue eyes!” One voice regaled in a story that Clive decided was against his own interests to continue to listen on with. He slunk further along the path as they walked by him. He avoided their attention with ease.

“So what did you do then, Charles?” The other one asked, his voice equally sloven and bitter. “You tell her the error of her wanton ways?”

“In my own way I did do just that,” Charles beamed, “I told her my truth as it were. And since she refused to see it that way, as the highest of truths, I decided to take it upon myself and beat it into her. Then I looked for her ‘truth’ telling sister.”

“And? Enough of leaving the story with suspense. What did you do then?”

“Nothing of it,” Charles said, his voice forlorn with regret. “Little trollop was nowhere to be found. Took to the forest, not to be seen anytime soon enough. Though the next time I see her again, heh, I’ll do much more than a simple beating. Much more indeed!”

The two men laughed, walking amidst the trail of fallen leaves, each step an example of orchestration filled with crunching and gross cackled laughter.

Clive slipped away unseen amidst the wooded sentinels of the forest. He could smell smoke before he had started seeing it drift through the forest, each plume at the mercy of the slow stilled moving air.

To the east, that’s where it appeared to have been blowing heaviest from, just due where the two bruisers had come. Clive peered back along the trail, the two of them had long since vanished from his sight and hearing, though he was naturally cautious all the same. The entire forest was cursed with misfortune. To escape it would be an act of divine clemency. A sense of will that he hoped that once the time came, he would prevail.

The forest continued to thin out as the smoke grew more dense, more full of a new scent. Clive did not ponder it long. It sent his mind and flesh on edge.

A wooden fort was buried ahead; the walls were interspersed in a thick series of planted trees whose roots crept and rose between the beams that made up the walls. The front of all of this was a wooden gateway, the size alone was of ridiculous proportions, damned thing must have been several dozen feet by about as many to match the height.

Clive heard the sounds of suffering and shoutings. There was a large explosion, followed by a plume of red smoke that quickly became black as pitch.

Seizing an opportunity, and as quickly as the smoke changed color, Clive forded a way over the wall and found a place to hide.

“No, no, no, and doubled emphatic no! Damned fool! You blew it all to hell! One part seraphim, two parts flesh of the sullied by the sun, and four soulful beings. You know this!”

“I,” a young man stammered on, “wanted, to try something. And, see if it would, work. I, I didn’t plan on it-”

“Didn’t plan?!” An irate man, tall, very tall, and with hair that was draped over the majority of his head and shoulders shouted, screaming at the youth filled man for better measure. “You, do not plan! Your is the job of adding to the mixture as is directed of you. And nothing more. Lest we toss you into the concoction as well. Perhaps then you will become of greater usage than a sniveling waste. As you are now! Now leave my sight!”

Once the young man sculked out of sight of all present, one of the older men coughed. “Perhaps you are too hard on Lavinth? He does what he can. He is a good boy to have around.”

The irate tall man shot a look at the old man. “No! If all things I am too lenient with his growing incompetencies. Do not squander our opportunities here because of your, proclivities. I do not care for your relations with him, nor do I believe they are any import if you keep them quiet and away from the task we are doing. He is a fool and you will become one as well if you do not punish his ill notioned decisions. He knew the process and consciously decided to abhor it for whatever his own idiotic reasonings or excuses may have truly been. We do not need him for more than simple menial labor at this point anyways. Protus, how far did the damage spread this time?”

A man with the face of a badger being caught in a trap grinned, “Not as terrible as the smoke would have you believe, Marzul. From what I can tell of the markings now, the boy did more aid than ill with his rash decision. Not that I am agreeing with forgiving his choice. To act on ones own impulses is unwise at this conjecture.”

“Agreed. But, providence is a fickle thing it seems. His choice bore unintended fruit indeed. Let us all have a look at the subject then. Move you old fools! Now there, from the markings I would wager we are arriving closer to a physical manifestation.” Marzul wrung his hands together over the man strapped to the bench. His fingers running along a series of markings that lined the man’s naked torso. Each line of the markings appeared to shimmer in a dim pulsing light; each pulsation shifted through soft purple hues that reflected light off the rings the man named Marzul wore.

Clive left the scene and followed after the young man named Lavinth. Down a dark lined pathway, leading to a small excuse for a shack, Lavinth undid the rusted out lock and entered. Watching from a distance Clive could hear footfalls descending down wet cobbled steps. Deciding to chance it, he followed inside the gate, past the entrance of the shack, and down the stairwell he knew to be there.

The steps below him hastened, hurrying and moving ever downward from the echoes until, stopping with an abruptness that was marred with a metallic clatter, and an echoed curse. Clive stepped lightly to close the distance between them. A metal door could be heard grinding against its hinges. He could hear it close back against metal hinges with a large slam a moment later.

Clive waited a moment, listening to the footsteps retreat away from him further, before he continued down the steps. Ending in a large hallway with a metal gate, iron from the look of it, casted in light thrown about by the torches hanging on the walls. A musky smell permeated through the bars of the gate, coarse and full of something akin to stale water. There was more to it, something that Clive expected from the talk of the old men above.

Clive waited in the shadows near the gate, off to the side of it where he would remain unseen.

“Y-y-you! Come here! Hold still. They, they want you up top. Yes, you. It is going to become your lucky day. Now hold still.” The sound of shackles being locked and moved about echoed through the underground hallway. Lavinth hated this part of the task. More so than putting up with the incessant advances of those lecherous geezers above. Horrid beings those old men became through and through. If any had a sliver of a soul, it had long since been willingly removed from their very being quite some time ago. Now he had to put up with this task, as an unwitting penance for something he knew better than to have done at all.

“Foolish, foolish,” Lavinth muttered, oblivious to the shriveled husk that he led out of the darkness. He had shackled their neck, arms, and legs as the others had trained him to do. The remains of a proud man didn’t offer any resistance, nor would Lavinth have expected him to have done so. The man was a husk of who he had been, now withered and little more than skin and bones. After months and months of being in the care of these most lavished accommodations little to no will remaining behind. Lavinth was amazed at the innate will of the body, a fragment of life that willed those kept below to continue to go on living. And they would continue on living, right up until the moment of the experiments. After that point, they did little else other than beg for the severances of death to become granted upon them. And, unfortunately for them, the entire point of the experiments was to keep them alive for as long as possible. The ritual willing, perhaps even longer than that…

“Wait a moment. Damn keys to the gate…there we are. Follow.” Lavinth pushed open the gate and led the way for the next test subject. “Step lively! Lift your feet with your knees already. Worthless husk, if I had my own way, I would be done with the lot of-”

A blade in the darkness and a strong hand upon his mouth changed his tone. Metal cutting across flesh, squelching liquid through clenched hands, and it was over. No words spoken, and certainly no demands were uttered. Clive had seen and heard enough.

Once the body in his hands went limp and the floor was sticky slick with spilt blood, Clive lowered the cadaver and cleaned his blade on their robes.

“Are you alright?” He asked the husk of a man. A brave man that now had a glimmer of life returning to his weathered form. They simply nodded.

“No need for words. A simple nod or turn of the head will suffice for my questions. Do you understand? Good, good. There are more down this hallway I surmise. Do they number in the dozens? I see. Are all in a similar state as yourself? I am, sorry for your suffering here. I swear to you that you will all be free soon enough. Not in the sense as what he, and no doubt, the others had planned for you all. But true freedom. And to show you further proof if needed…” Clive unlocked the chains binding the man with the keys that were still in the dead man’s grasp. Then after the man rubbed the raw sections of his wrist, Clive handed him a small blade, also nicked from the congealing body that lay at their feet.

“Are you able and willing to grant me your aid? I have need for you to help free the others here. I suspect someone I am looking for is amongst them. What? Oh, no. Not to end him. A friend. I’ve been following rumors and, none of this is of import. I appreciate the defensive hostility of the others here though. As I am sure they do as well. Now then, let us get to work. If you would so please, lead the way.”

The husk of a man coughed, and cackled in a mockery of laugher. “You…are an odd sort…” he wheezed, and licked his lips, drinking greedily of the offered flask. “You…know, this?”

Clive shrugged. “I have been told this. And lately at that. Though, I try to remain on the task at hand. There should be a man here, he would have a series of marks on his right shoulder leading down to the elbow. Just about to this point of his arm. Should be in a sequence of over crossing scars. Have you-”

The man nodded. “Down on the…left…” His voice, barely above a creaking wheeze.

Clive rushed forth and gazed into the darkness of the cell; a form was there huddled in the corner. Beaten and slumped into the safety of shadows, though Clive could see beyond the body that lay shivering before them.

“This is no place for anyone of your caliber to die.” As he spoke, the form shifted and gazed upon him in awestruck wonder. As a child would the coming of the morning dispenses the weight of the night. “Arise, Sirus! Today is not the day of darkness. Nor will it be for any trapped here. Arise, my friend. For there is tidings to bear, and work to have been done.”

Sirus, brother of Alter, former Captain of the Warhawks rose, unsteadily and grasping along the walls of his cell for support. Then, once his cell was open and he was before Clive, then he found the weight of the world falling beneath his feet.

“Clive? As I gasp for my very breath within this horrid of places. You live? My god! My brother in arms has come for me!” Sirus fell upon Clive in an attempt at a hug. “I feared I was forgotten or taken for dead!” Sirus wept openly. And Clive was patient.

“We will discuss many things once we are rid of this place. Can you stand? Good! Aid my friend here in freeing the other prisoners. I have work to accomplish above. My friend, no need to speak, lock the gate behind me after I am gone. Let no others come to pass other than myself. And Sirus.” He drew a medium length blade from the spare scabbard hung aloft his back. “This blade is to be yours. I- I could not be there for those that needed my aid in their times of need. Though swearing to you now, I will complete the task before me and free you all. Please, take this blade of our kin, and defend those that need us now.”

Sirus, though weak on his feet, began to stand tall and strong before Clive. Gone was the shadow of months hidden from the sun, moon, and stars overhead, now stood tall and proud the last in a long line of true men. “I will be the justice that defends those that can no longer defend themselves once more.” He recited, the unspoken motto of the Warhawks, and all they had come to believe in.

“Now my mostly silent friend,” He turned to the former husk of a prisoner, “Lock the gate. Let no others in. I’ll be returning soon enough for the promises I have strewn about here.”

“What in the bluest of hells is taking that fool so long?” Marzul cleaned the layer of fresh blood from his hands, using a bucket of cold water and a rag. He had missed sections that had congealed under his fingernails with his haphazard washing. Tossing the rag aside, he began barking out orders, “We’ll make due with this specimen for now. Lavinth will perhaps learn to undo his habits of tardiness and ineptitude with the lashings of a whip against his back another time.”

The older man aside the operating table licked his lips at the notion. “Until then, shall we proceed with the mercury or with the silver-lying? I suppose either would do the intended purpose properly.”

Marzul sneered, his hair added a notion of disgust to his expression with each subtle movement. “Dronis. The very air you suck in disgusts me to my very core.”

“Thank you, Marzul. Your flowery filled wordings bring not only tears to mine eyes, but blood to my ill used odds and ends.” Dronis grinned a crooked grin that was more wrinkles and missing teeth than the opposite of those things. The effect was quite sickening to behold. “Though, pumping blood aside. Which infusion are we apt to perform now?”

Marzul looked over the stock of bottles, vials, small leather pouches and boxes filled with powders, flowers, parts of things once living, and entities that have possibly never been alive at all, not within the traditional senses of the meaning of the word. He perused over these things with the weathered and skilled eyes of an experienced angler looking for just the right thing to attach to his line. Running his jeweled hand over each thing one by one, until he gave pause, his hand over a vial containing a dark red and blue mixture of powders.

“We shall use the remnants of an eldritch being that had long lost its claim to a name, and the Drituk warrior that had slain the beast midflight. This shall be what is used.” Marzul crooked a grin at the unconscious man strapped to the operating table before licking his lips. “Prep the machine, Protus. Dronis, bind his limbs and head more tightly this time. We don’t need another snapped neck cutting everything short of success. Now then, gentlemen. Let us begin!”

Clive exited outside with caution; there was screaming again. His hand rested tightly on the hilt of his knife. At passing count, there were the three remaining in the workshop structure to the right, behind the stores of crates and boxes containing partially the things making that horrid stench that gave the air a dizzying effect of mountain air.

Knowing better than to assume the enemies numbers in total at a passing blush, Clive crept towards the large wooden gate.

Chapter Three – Choices of men

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