#elesar

https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/546685537/aragorn-king-elessar-crown-lord-of-the

Elesar stood upon the wall as a group of others slowly trickled up the stairs. Each was a veteran of Barthon, or a servant of the Raven Queen.

A goliath monk, a revenant sorcerer, a genesai swordmage, a shardmind warden and Mawlock. Each seemed less subtle than the last... This was most likely what he would be working with - to achieve what, he did not know.

Silently a shadow coalesced into the tall, pale figure of Drakath. He eyed them all carefully for a moment before he spoke.

'Some of you... No, I don't expect any of you to know why we are here, although some of the more intelligent ones may have guessed.' he said, giving Elesar a mocking smile.

'You are here because you are the best bruisers that this city has offered up. You will be her enforcers, keeping the guilds in line, and helping with other tasks.' 

He paused for effect.

'You are special though, Elesar,' he continued, revealing just how special he really thought Elesar was, 'We don't expect you to keep up with the others, just to keep them in line, and smooth over any relational problems that they cause.'

He didn't let a hint of his annoyance show on his face.

'First we just have a small test to see if you are ready. All I need you to do is to is stand behind me and look tough, we're having some problems with some of the guilds.'

'Which guilds?' 

'Some of the Bleeding Hand and the Dragons, as well as a few remnants of the Red Chains. Some within their ranks are unhappy with the new situation. We just need to show them who is in control here.'

They wouldn't be the only ones.

Elesar smirked.

Drakath walked down the wall, expecting them to follow, and soon they were before a gathering of the guilds. To tell the truth, Elesar did not pay much attention. The guilds were unhappy with some of the arrangements made for them. Which was to be expected. But from the brief snatches he heard, he decided Drakath was going about this the wrong way.

You'd never win a true allegiance from a man by threatening him. He would just wait until you showed a vulnerability to stab you in the back.

As Mawlock moved suddenly beside him, he flinched, stumbling over a rock to the ground. Drakath turned, fixing him a cold stare, before continuing.

You know, I do actually believe he thought you did that on purpose. 

As the guilds left he decided that he would have to do something about their loyalty. He may not have liked Drakath, but the Raven Queen's cause was something to stand for.

'West of here there is a watch tower that needs goblins cleared out of it. We intend on fixing an outpost upon that location.'

Elesar snapped out of his thoughts, and briefly considered where the tower would be.

'Right guys, lets go get this done.'

The half-elf stood silently, Dischord sheathed at his waist, a backpack slung over his back in upon one of the many failing rooftops of Barthon. His golden eyes gleamed in what light there was, his hair hanging lightly across his face. There was a hint of sadness in his posture, and more than a little fear. He was caught up in a sparking war between the Raven Queen and Orcus. It was true, he could leave if he wanted - but the consequences of what was to come were enough reason to stay. The sadness was for another reason. In two days almost all of his companions had left.

Redgar, the monk had walked out of the city and onto the plains only half an hour after the shadar ki arrived, telling Elesar that he had a certain guild of monks to deal with. Elesar wasn't sure whether or not he would see him again.

Fin had vanished overnight without a trace - but he was close to Redgar - so Elesar assumed he had left to offer him a hand.

Snipe, on the other hand, had been flattened. One too many bursts of flame underneath an unstable stone structure. That had been a harrowing experience.

He watched as layer upon layer of darkness coalesced around the perimeter of the city. He could barely make out the weave from here, but that wasn't needed to work out what was happening. They were building a wall using shadow.

Another incredible feat of magic.

This city seems to attract them.

In the distance he could see a storm brewing, crackling with energy and lightning... Somehow he doubted that it was of natural causes.

Silently, he shook himself out of his dark mood and leapt off the roof, landing with barely a sound on the gritty cobblestones. Standing undecided for a second, he considered his options.

There must be something about this city. Why else would she concentrate everything here? 

A Strange Awakening

The figure awoke, his face pressed against the cold cobblestones of the street. Everything was wrong. He didn’t know who he was. His memory had vanished, he realised with shock.

Who am I?

Elesar

The name sprang to mind, a voice whispering it to him from the furthest reaches of his brain. It seemed as good name as any, he mused to himself, pushing himself up onto his feet, his hands smudged with muck. Swiftly, he took in his surroundings in a single sweep with his perceptive eyes.

A city of some form. Old, dirty and demolished. Doesn’t look like anyone has lived here in a while.

Barthon

Another appropriate sounding name sprang to mind, not giving a hint of information, and yet it tugged at his memory, pulling at thoughts in the far reaches of his mind. Then he noticed the ornate blade lying at his feet, its silver gleam glowing in the available light. Instinctively his view shifted, and he could see an aura of glowing energy around it.

Magic

But that was not the start of it. The entire landscape around him glowed viciously with a tempest of colour, energy and thoughts, almost all of it beyond Elesar’s comprehension.

Some incredible spell or ritual was cast here.

Elesar realised that the other voice was his subconscious, so really, himself telling himself things.

Does that make me insane? Having a voice within my head.

Only if you talk back.

Suddenly Elesar was unsure what to do, standing in the middle of a dark street, in a city he did not know, with nothing but a name, and the ability to talk to himself. After a moment he headed up the street, any way was better than none. And hopefully he would find someone to explain to him where he was, or even better, who he was.

It turned out he didn’t have long to wait.

Five minutes up the road two men approached him. Elesar thought about it for a moment, brushing his cloak over his blade subconsciously, before speaking to the men.

‘I was wondering if you could tell me where I am?’

‘For your coin purse I will, stranger.’

The stranger laughed.

Not in a happy way

No, definitely not in a happy way.

Quit humouring me, we’re about to be stabbed.

Elesar didn’t know if the silence was in amusement, or just his subconscious giving up, but he stumbled a few paces back when he saw the two men draw short swords. To a trained eye, it would have appeared a perfect bluff, but the men were nothing but thugs, amateurs. Elesar tensed as he heard the faintest footstep behind him, and turned to face a third thug with his blade extended, about to lunge.

Elesar didn’t believe what happened next.

He drew his blade lightning fast, and slid it in between the thug’s lower ribs, riposting upwards through most of his major organs. Hearing the charge from behind he drew the thug’s own dagger, and charging it with energy, span and hurled it at his new target. Immediately, not watching the dagger slicing through the air with a thunderclap he slid out his blade, and parried the third thug’s blow, flicking his blade to the side, before following it round, slicing off the figures right hand. A second later his blade was embedded within the thug’s third vertebrae. All three were dead before they hit the ground.

Elesar threw up.

What surprised Elesar more was his apparent use of magic, charging the dagger with a pulse of lightning, causing it to shoot through the air like a crossbow bolt.

Whatever I was before, I wasn’t a house clerk.

Gathering

He had quickly acquired the skills required to keep him alive in the city, the methods of keeping himself hidden, of taking what he needed to survive, and to remain inconspicuous, just another one of the cities scum… Over the last few weeks he had collected a small group of warriors, thieves and thugs.

Elesar and his motley crew.

Shut up.

Each was within the warehouse with him right now.

Fin, a Human two bladed Ranger, with a thirst for the blood of each of the clans of this city. He was volatile, to say the least, but he was useful in a fight. Good at what he did. But still, a very skilled warrior. He joined me given the promise of revenge.

Mawlock, the dark Minotaur Paladin, angry, violent, and strong with divine fervour. A very sharp mind, and a strong hammer, he was a strong ally to have, even if he does get into maddened rages at times.

Redgar, a Human Monk of some form. He had a darkness to him that the others had not seen, a history probably best left alone. He wasn’t any ordinary monk; that was for sure… he was trained as a killer.

And finally Snipe, the Human Invoker. His use of divine power was frightening, and he fought in a way so skilled, so trained, that he must have been more than meets the eye.

He smiled. They had some work ahead of them, but with a bit of luck they would have this warehouse a safe place to live in somewhere in the near future. Then he would find out who he was and why he was here. Someone had to know. Anyone.

Gear

He looked quickly over the gear that he had salvaged over the last month. Blades and other weapons taken from dead corpses lying in shadows, food from unattended houses and a stash of other adventuring gear were all laid out before him.

But then there was the other blade, the short sword. It was clearly of strong workmanship, ornate design, and a small green gem embedded in the hilt… There was something about that gem.

He picked up the blade from the table and stared into its polished surface, watching the smaller features of his face change as he somehow manipulated them. Green eyes shifted to blue, and his hair dropped a few levels of darkness, before his ears lengthened into points at the tip.

Shapechanger

Once he had seen it in action, he had assumed something of the sort, a changeling, which would explain why he had not recalled anything immediately about himself, just a bunch of epic tales, perfect for a Bard to tell, not useful for remembering his own past.

I’ve spent too much time in too many different identities.

Or its just your mind finally giving out.

He had learnt much in the last week or so, using his words, which he found he could lace with magical intention, to draw truths from people. With the smallest hint of power he could give his words an almost magical property. People listened to him, put away their swords and treated with him. Mawlock seemed to see this as amusing and frustrating in equal measures. Apparently it was not how things were done in this city; he would rather belt things with his rather large hammer.

The violence sickened Elesar, he would much rather find a diplomatic way through the situation. And so he had.

The city was controlled by a series of guilds, all of them ranging in strength. Some were pushovers, others were to be feared, and some… some were to be avoided at all costs. If he was going to live in this city, it seemed he would have to strike a bargain with one of them, or find a way of existing without their knowledge.

That’s going to prove hard with the minotaur stalking around.

Nothing is ever easy here…

The Iron Fist

They had been constantly harassed by a local group of thug’s over the past week, and something had to be done about it. They had not given them a moment’s peace, always skulking nearby in the shadows, waiting for a weakness to show, Elesar assumed.

Nothing but an unorganised group of uncouth youths.

His subconscious barely comforted him, and yet he saw the truth in the matter. They were young, boasting upstarts, and were the most direct threat to him and the others. They had shown no particular initiative, and appeared, by all cases, to be useless at almost everything.

They are practically asking for it.

He was used to the voice by now, whether it was his own mind throwing things at him or something else, he did not know. Elesar smiled to himself, wearing a guise that he easily slipped into, a Half-Elf with a darker-than-normal complexion, sharp face, and dark, deep eyes. It was a natural form, easy to take… and Elesar couldn’t help but to liken it to Naumar Shadowstep… a Rogue Warlock - a legend from one of the tales that he almost instinctively sang.

After a brief discussion the group decided to at least first visit the Daggers to request help if they needed it, which Elesar doubted that they would, and they set off down the back streets to find the Daggers. After they dispatched some oversized rats in the streets, they came across a relatively clear courtyard, and a building that was clearly well built. The Blades headquarters. 

Redgar was immediately on the roof whilst Fin went for the door. Checking to see its defences. A simple lock. He turned and faced Elesar, who continued scanning the roofs around them. The Daggers were a powerful guild; it was not likely that their HQ would be this weakly defended.

‘The fire is just doused.’ Redcar’s voice called down from the roof, whilst Fin badgered Elesar to pick the lock.

Too easy…

‘No Fin; that would be suicide. They are too powerful for us. We wait.’

Just as Elesar had got comfortable, a figure dropped down from the roof tops. After a minutes discussion the Dagger agreed to help them if it was needed, and then left them to go onwards.

Elesar at the lead, they continued to loop up and around the Iron Fist’s HQ, those capable moving across the rooftops, before they spotted a guard of Fists. Three Halflings and two humans. Elesar shifted carefully closer, so he could watch the guard patterns and after half an hour the Halflings changed position.

A second later there was a shout of warning.

Elesar was on his feet within instants, charging over the rooftops, and leapt the gap between roofs before crashing into the Halfling, pinning it to the ground, only vaguely aware of what the others were doing. Seconds later it was on top of him, before running across the roofs, as he loosed shot after shot at the creature, as his allies did battle in the alley beside him. Instinctively he sang the Tune of Rejuvenation, channelling magic into Redgar, and he felt him slip back into consciousness. Then it was done, the last of their foes surrendered, and they walked them, without incident back to the warehouse. 

Immediately he separated the prisoners and marched one into a dark room, tossing Mawlock a ‘Do Not Disturb’ before shifting into a great black dragonborn with blazing red eyes. He hissed.

The Halfling wet itself.

May have overdone that one a little. As if a figure from legend is not scary enough…

The interrogation went well. They had barely twenty members, a lot of which were new. And gosh those Halflings thought the sun shone out of their leaders arse. Their leader was a tall human, wielding a great sword. It was all they spoke about. They sustained constant, heavy casualties.

They were about to sustain more.

* * * * *

The guards never knew what was coming. With an almighty crash, Mawlock ran straight through the first wooden wall, the planks splintering out of his way, and then cleaved his hammer through the second one, running straight through the remains.

Elesar watched as they blanched, and loosed a crossbow bolt at the figure on the roof, which slammed heavily into his shoulder, which proceeded to fall off the rooftop. The others leapt into action, and after a brutally fierce encounter, all of the guards were dead on the ground.

Quickly they checked the windows, three warriors, a tiefling and an absolutely massive man sitting on a throne in the middle of the room. After a brief moment’s discussion and a brief rest, in which Elesar sang a song of rest, they decided on a shock and awe tactic.

Several minutes later Mawlock crashed in through the roof, the others dropping down in his wake, and the slaughter began. It all began with a perfect cut from Elesar’s scimitar, straight across the chest of the leader, before almost instinctively; he began to sing… a song of war. His ally’s blades struck in perfect beat with the song around him as his blade darted between one target and the next, their own blows clumsy, off step, useless. He laughed in the joy of it, barely noticing the unnaturally dark shadow hovering upon the ceiling. This was how battle should have been, one great act. And then they were all dead.

The shadow.

Elesar looked up as the shadow detached itself from the ceiling, and formed the figure of a person upon the stone floor. His face happy, almost laughing.

‘Well done, what a show!!!’

‘Who are you?’ Elesar said, not a trace of humour on his face.

‘I am Drakath, and come on behalf of the Raven Queen.’ His face was still happy, but his eyes were deadly serious.

‘What do you want?’

‘Your assistance.’

‘What to do?’

‘To prepare this city.’

‘How?’

‘Make the gangs join you, or destroy them.’

‘For what?’

The questions and answers were thrown between the two like darts, sharp, and swift. Elesar faced the man with a set look upon his face.

‘Not even I know that…’ The man looked slightly crest fallen, but his demeanour was still there. ‘But she has offered you her gifts, and blessing if you accept. Shadow magic.’

Elesar felt a cold shiver run down his spine, and noticed Redgar walking towards the door.

‘Stay! He has more to say.’

‘You have time to think about our proposition, Shadowstep, for you bear the legend a remarkable resemblance… I will return when you have decided.’

He knows.

The question that haunted Elesar’s mind was not that he knew he was a shapeshifter; that much was obvious from his form, but that he knew what Naumar Shadowstep looked like.

Let’s just say you’ve been busy.

Elesar collected the gear, and together they headed back to the warehouse.

The Raven's Emissary

Elesar looked from the Shadar Ki before him to the rest of the men. Each had spent their time in thought as to whether they would accept the Raven Queen’s blessing or not. Mawlock of course would accept; bent on blood he would love nothing better than another way to kill in the name of Bane. Fin would as well, he wanted revenge, and didn’t care what it would take to get it.

Redgar had been a different matter. Elesar suppressed a shudder, remembering the look of pain that he had seen on the Monk’s face when he had revealed that he had been sent here to die. That his contact, Uso, was actually nothing more than a lie.

Redgar needed a new purpose, and he had found it in Drakath.

Elesar watched each in turn walk forward to Drakath, before pledging themselves to the Raven Queen, each other than Redgar collapsing to the ground in agony as her blessing was given to them.

Drakath turned to Elesar.

“I will serve the Raven Queen faithfully, and prepare this city for the approaching storm, but I will not be accepting her gifts,” Elesar told the Shadar Ki, sounding a lot more confident than he felt.

He wondered how the Raven Queen took to those who refused her hospitality.

“I am trying to discover who I am, and I feel that this will be more of a hindrance than anything…”

“I understand,” Drakath returned, and after a brief discussion he left.

Elesar turned back to, and helped ease the pain of his companions while still wary. There was something about the Shadar Ki that was a bit too much for him.

Anger and Mercy

After a nights rest they set out at once towards the Hidden Knives to offer their preposition to its leader. Through the day they made good ground, crossing half of the city before night fell, each taking turns at watch while the others slept. 

Elesar was woken in the early hours of the morning by Mawlock, and taking the form of Naumar Shadowstep he set himself up for a long cold watch. Half an hour in a band of shadows began moving up the road towards him; at least they weren’t approaching over the rooftops.

As they came closer they became clearer and it was shown that they were a small group of reasonably well equipped thugs.

‘What do you want?’ Elesar called out, his voice having a slight rasp to it.

The rasp came instinctively with the form, but the thugs took it as a sign of sickness. He would not be able to take them all down, but he was not sure whether he would be able to wake the others before they had their throats cut either.

‘You’re sleeping in our territory, all we ask for is a bit of compensation for your safety,’ one who looked to be the leader stated.

Elesar smiled, so it wouldn’t come down to violence.

‘How much do you require for our night?’ he asked, his hand never too far from his belt.

‘Just one gold piece each it would be,’ the thug returned, reaching out his hand. 

Elesar counted out five pieces of gold and threw them to the thugs before sitting back down, his blade resting carefully on his lap. And as the thugs left he breathed a soft sigh of relie

The rest of his watch passed uneventfully.

They set out early the next day, and not twenty minutes down the road, the thugs from the night before stood before them, blocking the path.

‘Road tax, you are leaving our territory, and we request payment for using our road.’

It was the same thug as before. Something inside Elesar snapped, at the greed of what these men were doing, and giving the rooftops a brief scan for foes, he drew his blade and charged towards them, vaguely aware of his friends being at his side.

‘I am Naumar Shadowstep, and you should fear me!’ he yelled, his blade whistling through the air, forming a perfect chord.

D Minor, the chord of rage. Only a Songblade could produce such a perfect sound.

And then he realised what the little dips and marks all over the blade were for, they were for forming a melody. The melody of battle. And suddenly only one of the thugs was left standing, bleeding out from wounds all over his torso. And as he approached the survivor, blade raised, the rage subsided. The song had been sung.

‘Thug, what is your name?’ Elesar asked, menace in his voice.

‘Lucas,’ he replied, no fear resting in his features.

‘Lucas, you fought bravely, well, and have shown yourself to be fearless. Would you like to join us in preparing the city for what is to come? We could use a few men like you.’

Elesar reached out his hand towards the warrior, Lucas, which he took, and watched in surprise as tendrils of magic passed between them. He watched as his wounds knitted themselves back together, and soon he was whole once again.

And that is the way it is done.

The Hidden Knives

They came upon guards from the Hidden Knives near sundown, and approached openly along the road. There were three men, well equipped and alert sitting at a small barricade of sorts.

‘I am Elesar Songbite, and I have come to speak to your guild master about an offering from the Raven Queen.’

The guards stepped forward carefully, their blades drawn a long time ago. They were well disciplined.

‘And what makes you think that our master would want to listen to your offer?’ one of the guards spat, his face almost humorous.

‘Because it is the better alternative,’ Mawlock growled, as Fin stepped up beside Elesar.

‘No need to get touchy about it, I’ll go grab him now. Good luck,’ the guard replied, a hint of irony in the last two words as he walked off down the street.

He returned two minutes later with two tieflings. 

‘My name is Kreoth, and this is my second in command, Tarak,’ the taller one said, walking out of the barricades towards Elesar.

‘I am Elesar Songbite, and these are my companions, and we have come on behalf of the Raven Queen to offer you a preposition.’ 

‘So I heard, and what would that be?’ he asked, seeming in good enough spirits.

‘The Raven Queen would request your assistance in the defence of the city against what is to come.’

‘What is to come?’

Elesar hesitated a moment, all he had been told was that it was a storm, not that he hadn’t been brewing his own opinions on the matter.

‘A storm, a war, the darkness.’

‘Everything and nothing then?’ 

There was a hint of humour in his voice.

‘Yes, the end and the beginning.’

‘What do you have to offer me?’

‘The Raven Queen can share with you her blessings.’

‘Her blessings?’

Redgar dissipated into shadow and reformed by Kreoth’s side, a sly grin upon his face. The tiefling didn’t flinch; Elesar had to give him that.

‘And under me, I can offer you magic items of the like you have never seen,’ Elesar continued.

There was a few moments silence before Kreoth replied.

‘We will join you,’ his voice was set, ‘under one condition. You destroy the Blades.’

It always comes back to violence.

Better destroying the bloodthirsty barbarians than having them behind your back.

Then maybe there is some wisdom to it.

‘We will offer you our assistance in this matter, it is just we have not been able to gain the upper edge against them for years. The Blades are brutal murderers, savage, destructive, and represent the worst of what Barthon is. That is my price.’

Elesar hesitated only a moment.

‘Then it is done. We will set out at once, of course after we have sorted out this matter of assistance.’

‘I will send Tarak with you, as well as a large portion of our men. You had better achieve the victory quickly, as I don’t like leaving our territory so weakly protected for long.’

‘Of course,’ Elesar replied, a smile tracing across his Half Elf face, and quickly he strapped on his gear while Tarak rounded up a considerable force of men, and they left at a brisk pace through the city.

Concerning Preparations

Elesar watched the preparations taking place in the room around him, figures practice duelling, Tarak talking to his men, Mawlock brooding over, Bernard reciting vows under his breath.

He turned back to the blade resting on his lap. Long, slender, and strong, it was unlike anything else he had seen in this city… Slowly he ran his fingers up the blade, feeling the dimples, and slowly he began to realise that D Minor was not the only chord it could play. By tilting the blade at different angles, and with a minor addition of magic it could play anything. And yet its effect on his emotions was frightening.

Dischord.

The blades name, not that he knew how he knew it.

Eris, Harmony, Songbite.

All names it had used over the years. The blade was ancient, it had a long history about it, and yet he could tell nothing of it. Then there was the gem, which was now gleaming a deep blue, ornately embedded in the hilt, folded into the metal.

Knowledge and wisdom.

But what that meant, he did not know. There was definitely a force of magic stored within it though. He would have to deal with its secrets later. Quickly he sheathed the blade and stood, doing rounds through the men, learning names, abilities and any particular motives, before producing a meal for the men and speaking to Tarak.

Over the next few days and nights they watched the Blades, noting their patterns, guards and the way their compound was managed. Numbers, equipment and weaponry were also noted.

Then, one night they closed themselves in a room with Lucas and Tarak and after several hours and heated discussions they came upon a plan. Elesar doubted it would survive contact with the enemy.

Blunting the Blades

Elesar dropped off the rooftop, the Assassin beside him, ramming his blade through the neck of one of the guards, before cleaving it into the chest of the other, whilst the others around him finished them off. The blade rang an eerie G Minor, adding to the silence of their movements.

He hoped that the others were on track to the objective, bringing down the other guards. If one of them was spotted, it was all over, and then there was one path left.

A bloody path to victory.

Quickly he shifted through the buildings and rubble, his blade whistling out a hunters tune as he hummed it under his breath, heightening his senses and cancelling out the little noise that he made.

The second group were just as easily disposed of, so sure in their safety that their weapons were not even readied. They dropped to the ground in twin fountains of blood. They met the others at the place they had decided and with nothing more than a whisper between them, they carved a path down towards the Headquarters.

Swiftly breaking through the rear entrance they crept up a tunnel through the earth and silently pushed a section of floorboard out of the way. 

There was a guard standing just in front of them. The assassin leapt up, out of the tunnel, slipping his garrotte around the guard’s neck, and then silently dragged him back into the hole as Elesar and the others leapt past him, moving silently into the room to bring down the only other conscious guard.

Elesar moved to the bed in the centre of the room, readying Dischord.

‘Wait, this is not him,’ Tarak hissed under his breath, unsheathing his blade.

A trap? A decoy? Shit.

A million thoughts raced through Elesar’s head as Tarak moved to each of the beds before stopping at one of the corners.

‘This is him.’

Elesar breathed a sigh of relief, the features of the Half-Elf, Naumar, he had taken the form of, relaxed visibly. As one the group spread out to cover three of the five beds within the building, and cut the throats of the occupants before dragging them into the ‘secret’ passageway.

The Blades were as good as finished.

* * * * *

Elesar sat perched on a cross in the centre courtyard of the Blades compound which Mawlock had constructed in the early hours of the morning. Then, softly at first, he began to play his lute, which when joined with his voice yearned to play a ballad of stealth, subterfuge and blood. A tale in which one man crept into a guild and brought them down from the inside.

Slowly a crowd of murderers and thieves crowded around this figure, perched on a cross, under which lay the bodies of their companions, and more than a few heads nailed to its beams.

He stopped singing.

Silence is as much a song as music.

And so silence reigned for half a minute, as Elesar pondered his words and the faces before him. Then he spoke, his voice the rasping voice of Naumar Shadowstep.

‘You will join the Raven Queen and I in our quest to defend this city against the oncoming storm, or you will be destroyed. You will be provided with food, shelter and if she deems you worthy, her blessings. You will swear yourselves to me and you will be under my command. I do believe that you will not find it as terrible as you would now imagine.’

The courtyard was silent, whether in disbelief that one man could cause so much destruction or whether contemplating how best to skewer him off the cross Elesar did not know. He hesitated a little longer, before stowing his lute and drawing his repeater crossbow.

‘Drop your weapons now, or you will leave me with no choice.’

None of the Blades seemed to be willing to be the first one to put them down, in case this was one big set up.

‘Or maybe you need a little more motivation…’ Elesar muttered, standing up upon the pole and waving one arm in the air.

At that moment twenty other figures came into view, lifting themselves up into standing height on the rooftops surrounding the Blades, each with weapon raised and trained on one of the thugs. At the same moment Mawlock stalked into the courtyard, and physically tore the weapon off the first of the Blades. Within moments there was a clutter as the weapons hit the ground.

‘Now, you will swear yourself to me and the guild.’

Once again, no-one seemed to be able to make the first move.

Mob mentality, they will remain stalwart until one caves, then they all will.

Elesar smiled. He just needed to give them some extra motivation.

‘Of course, if you are dead because you do not do this, you will not be able to share in our monetary and magical earnings. And mark my words, if you do not do this, we will kill you.’

At this one or two of the faces perked up, they would be rewarded for this. They would have money. A spark of rage ignited within Elesar at this, but he quelled it, waiting for the inevitable. One figure, whose face strangely reminded Elesar of a rat, bent down onto his knees.

‘I swear myself and my loyalty to you.’

And as one the rest of the guild followed suit.

The Dank of the Sewers

A few days later they strapped their gear to their packs and head up through a series of alleys into the North of the city. Within an hour they had found an entrance to the sewers that Mawlock had discovered existed, and silently they lifted the grate covering it, and slipped into the festering pipelines.

Quickly they drew their torches in the dim light and lit them, the lights flickering, throwing an eerie light onto the top of the pipes. Slowly they made their way in a Westerly direction trying to head back into the middle of the city.

After hours of walking the group approached a large intersection in the sewers and Elesar drew his blade something tingling in the back of his memory. 

‘Guys, there is a small object floating on the water over there. It looked like an eye,’ Snipe remarked, pointing into the darkness.

Elesar strained his eyes to see it, walking forward cautiously, something still poking at his mind. Then he spotted it, a small floating piece of garbage with a spike pointing ominously out of it. There was an eye on it.

Otyugh

He realised what it was too late, as a great rotting hulking body rose out of the stagnant muck, revealing an enormous mouth, lined with razor sharp teeth. It roared fiercely and in that moment Mawlock chose to charge the thing, bringing his warhammer to bear. With a moments longer hesitation Elesar leapt forward to join him.

A beast that dwells in rotting matter, it kills its prey and then leaves them to decompose before devouring their corpse.

Charming… With a flurry of blades and hammers, the tune of his blade humming constantly in his mind, they attacked the beast before them, as repeatedly it lashed out and grabbed at the companions as they cut at its tentacles, ever trying to keep away from the rank mouth. Elesar darted around the beast, watching as a radiant fire burst to life on its back and as Mawlock slammed his hammer into its stomach as he picked out its weaknesses, working from some unknown memory, darting in and out, digging his blade into its tough hide. And then, as Redgar rammed his spear up through its head, the beast collapsed back into the muck from which it came, hitting the ground with an almighty splash.

Elesar let off a brief nervous chuckle.

‘Well that was quite something…’

‘Tell me about it,’ Mawlock replied, gruffly, wiping the grime off his weapon as he magically patched up his wounds.

After Elesar had tended to the more major wounds on the rest of the group, they moved on quickly through the sewers taking a more South route through its winding pipelines. And before not half an hour had passed, they were mobbed again, a great bat, leaking shadows lunging from the darkness at Mawlock’s face.

Shadowhunter bats again…

As Fin and Mawlock advanced into the room, weapons ready for the next swoop, something else lunged out of the darkness, and Elesar barely had time to spot what before he was beset upon by one of the bats. He lunged out with his blade, catching the thing on its side as its tail whipped around, cutting a huge slice up across his chest. 

He stumbled backwards, his chest burning in agony as he spotted what had attacked Mawlock, a Stirge, which now had its stinger embedded in his chest. Elesar drew himself to his full height and readied his blade again, whispering a few words under his breath, instilling it with magic, and watched out of the corner of his eye, whilst Mawlock’s wounds began to stitch themselves back together. Then, from nowhere, Redgar dashed between them all, as quick as a blur. Elesar watched in intrigue as the spear slashed through wing and torso, bringing their attackers to their end. Suddenly it was over the creatures writhing on the ground.

Elesar began patching up the wounds again, Naumar’s face twisting as if in some strange irony.

The Secret Ways

Elesar spotted the two figures up ahead and his hand tightened on his blade, as he carefully strode into the dimly lit chamber. With the others close by his side, he approached the strangers. 

As one they pulled the hoods back off their faces, revealing a red hued skin and curling horns. tieflings, a pair of them at that, guarding a ladder. Something told Elesar this was going to be interesting. One of them spoke.

‘We are the Guardians of the Secret Way,’ his voice was almost bland, he seemed slightly annoyed.

The reason soon became apparent.

‘Yes, we are the Guardians of the Way,’ the other spoke, confirming his companion’s statement.

‘And I am Elesar, and these are my companions, Mawlock, Redgar, Fin and Snipe,’ he replied, gesturing at each of them in turn.

The Guardians stared at them blankly.

‘We would like to pass you and use the ladder,’ Elesar continued, unsure of how much attention they were paying to him.

‘You may use the Secret Way, but only if you prove if you are worthy,’ the first said, his voice firm.

‘Yes, only if you are worthy,’ the second confirmed his statement.

Elesar smiled; a test. Well, that was always more welcome that combat, he thought, the slash from their last incident with the bats still throbbing gently.

‘And how may we show our worthiness?’ Redgar asked, stepping forward.

‘However you will,’ the first replied, a smile moving across his face.

It was quickly removed when his companion mimicked him again.

Redgar moved forward confidently and in a quick darting movement ran towards the ladder, and in the blink of an eye, one of the Guardian’s feet was in his way, and he tripped, falling to the ground.

‘I will fight you,’ Mawlock said from nowhere, ‘A duel.’

Elesar stared in horror at what Mawlock had just initiated.

Why do we always have to fight things?

The first tiefling unlimbered a vicious looking short sword from his belt and stood, prepared to take on Mawlock. Metal rang against metal, as they locked in combat, before suddenly the tiefling was gone. Just vanished…

Elesar’s eyes widened in shock, before he looked using his normal and arcane senses for the tiefling in the room. Quickly he spotted it, an unusual air current, an explosion of dust at a footfall, and the noise of the blade cutting through the air. It was incredible magic. But not fool proof.

‘Nice spell he’s got happening there… Shame it doesn’t render him completely outside notice,’ Elesar commented to the other tiefling, who nodded his head, a little more seriously than normal.

A cut sliced across Mawlock’s chest as the tiefling dropped back into vision and he charged him, swinging his warhammer in a tight arc. It impacted, hard and the tiefling dropped to his knees, before rising as Mawlock lifted his arms again, reading his Warhammer.

‘Enough, you have proved you can fight. But that alone does not make you worthy,’ he said, stepping out of the way of Mawlock’s hammer.

‘No, that alone does not make you worthy,’ the second confirmed.

‘Would you like me to sing you a ballad?’ Elesar asked, a smile crossing his face.

‘No,’ grumbled the first tiefling.

‘No,’ shouted his companions.

‘Yes,’ remarked the second tiefling, ‘I love music.’

Elesar smiled, he wondered how it would be to spend your entire life with someone you were annoyed by so much. He would almost do it just to see the first one’s reaction.

‘But surely what we have done is enough; we are on an incredibly important mission, tasked to us by the Raven Queen. It is imperative that we get out of these sewers so that we can prepare the rest of the city for what is to come,’ Elesar spoke, filling his voice with magical energy, helping them to see his side of the situation.

‘If we stay within here, the city will burn and you will have nothing left to guard. There will be no secret way,’ Redgar added, seeing the interest in the faces of the tieflings.

‘You could join us if you wished,’ Elesar continued, adding some flattery to his argument, ‘We could use such worthy fighters and guardians for our cause. You have quite exceptional talents, and are fearsome in battle. Of course, if you deem your task here not finished, we would not hold it against you if you refused our offer.’

The first tiefling spoke.

‘You speak well, my friends, and you can observe, as well as fight. But you have not yet proved yourself worthy of the way.’

‘No, you have not yet proved yourself.’

Fighting, convincing, seeing and what…? Elesar tumbled the possibilities over in his mind. Constructing… creating…

The situations are contrasting. Solving a problem through fighting or talking. So there is seeing and…

Not being seen.

Elesar began to hum a little tune under his breath, and hearing it Redgar moved silently along the wall, hoping to make himself inconspicuous enough to vanish from their sight. At the same time Mawlock began to make a show, hefting his warhammer, and looking frustrated at their situation.

When the Tieflings tried looking for Elesar or Redgar again, they were gone, and then suddenly they were half way up the ladder.

‘I suppose we are free to go now?’ Redgar remarked, a smile upon his normally hard face.

Elesar slid back down, drawing some residuum from his pack. 

‘Here, can I borrow your blade for a moment?’ he asked the first Tiefling. 

The Tiefling passed over his jagged blade, and for the next hour, Elesar whispered incantations, hummed sombre melodies and poured magic into the item, until it was finished, the blade shrouded in a shifting black and white fog. He passed it back to the Tiefling with a smile, and with a short ‘thanks,’ climbed the ladder.

An Older Barthon

Elesar slid open the grate from the sewers and looked at the scene surrounding him. They were in a small square courtyard, with a road leading out of it on each side. Quickly he stood up and let the others out, taking the form of Keldein Purestaff, a wizard from legend.

The buildings are odd.

It was true, there was something very wrong with the buildings around him, and yet he could not quite place what it was.

‘These houses are in excellent condition, and look at the gardens… green as a forest,’ Redgar said, eyeing the scene cynically. 

Of course. They looked new, nothing like what Barthon was. Well, nothing like they had seen anyway. Redgar walked towards one of the walls. And he did, and yet he didn’t. The walls were just as far away from him as they had been when he had exited the grate.

‘Unusual,’ he muttered under his breath.

He stopped, and picked up a stone from the ground, before lobbing it at the wall. The stone arced through the air, but before it hit the wall, it vanished.

Elesar searched for any magical aura over any of the buildings, and yet nothing was out of place, they just looked mundane… Odd. Well they weren’t going to be making it to the houses any time soon, so he walked down the Eastern road, finding his movement unimpaired.

‘Looks like we go this way…’ Elesar called back to them.

Mawlock grumbled, and he was right, it felt like a trap. Soon they came upon a small T intersection in the road. The path to the left looked clean and neat, and free of obstruction, whilst the one from the right was rigged with barrels, broken carts and all other manner of objects. It was a bit more in the style of Barthon.

‘Right, which way do we go?’ Elesar asked the others, keeping a keen eye on both directions.

‘To the south, if this is a trap, they would put it on the easier path,’ Redgar stated.

‘Unless that’s what they want you to think, and really, they have trapped the harder path to catch you out,’ Snipe added in his uncanny humour.

Mawlock growled.

‘If this is a test of character, we would be inclined to take the harder route,’ Elesar stated searching again for any magical aura, and finding none.

Mawlock walked up the harder path, pushing several barrels out of his way, so Elesar and the others followed, finding it hard to keep pace. The further they moved, the harder their progress became, roots sticking out of the cobblestones, puddles of mud and oil making the walk treacherous and soon it seemed like the very air was pushing them back.

Elesar stopped walking, Redgar by his side.

‘I believe this is pointless to continue… Whatever has created this place obviously wants us to go the other direction, badly, and I don’t believe we are going to make it through in this direction.

Mawlock slammed his hammer into something wooden in frustration at the wasted time, and they turned and headed back through the rubble, before walking down the clean street where it felt like the air was pushing them along their path.

Soon they came upon the gateway to a mansion and they cautiously approached the large oak doors, drawing their weapons in case of an ambush. Elesar walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

A few moments later it swung open, and an older man in fine robes was revealed, a great smile upon his face.

‘Oh, greetings, you must be guests. I haven’t had any guests in a long time,’ he spoke, his voice bright and cheerful.

‘I am Elesar, and these are my companions, Redgar, Mawlock and Snipe. We were wondering whether we could impede your hospitality for a meal?’ Elesar asked, his voice equally happy, sliding his blade back into its sheath.

‘Oh, I forget myself, my name is Drago, and this is my manse, not the biggest or most beautiful in the city, but it keeps me warm, dry and fed. And I would love to have you for tea, it has been so long since I have had guests.’

There’s something about this man.

Not the most beautiful in the city? There was something severely wrong with this him if he thought that any of the trash that was out there was better than this… The look of shock must have shown on Elesar’s face however, as Drago looked at them with an undecided expression on his face, before inviting them inside.

‘So do you get out much?’ Elesar asked, trying to work out if the man had ever left this house in his life.

‘Oh yes, I do go on some lovely walks sometimes, I love looking at the gardens. Especially the ones around the town hall, they are exquisite.’

‘And you don’t have any trouble with any people?’ Elesar continued, wondering about the other guilds.

‘No, I never see many others; I go out early in the morning, before it gets too hot.’

‘Umm, you were going to show us to your dining room?’ Snipe asked, some his voice sounding intrigued.

‘Oh, of course,’ Drago exclaimed, ‘Right this way.’

He led them up a wonderful wooden staircase and straight through a pair of oak doors into a room with a long dining table, set for a feast of thirty. And yet Elesar was paying no attention to the table. He gasped.

Outside the window, the city of Barthon stretched out into the distance. And yet it was not a Barthon that they recognised. The buildings shined in the light, trees growing along the streets, and the red tiled roofs made the city look like a large ruby gem. It was absolutely beautiful. And yet, it was absolutely wrong. An illusion on a scale that was unimaginable.

Only a god or something close to it could wield that much power. For a human to do that is remarkable.

‘This is not the Barthon that we know,’ Elesar told Drago.

‘What? This is how Barthon is, it has never been anything else…’

‘And yet it is not the Barthon that is. The real Barthon is a taint on the kingdom, it is a city that was razed to the ground, a city which is now a hive of gangs and murderers, and anyone else who was crazy enough to become entangled in it.’

‘No, you’re wrong, look at it!’ Drago exclaimed

‘Then it must be an illusion,’ Elesar pointed out, ‘Although I am not yet able to find any sign of it…’

He was silent for a moment. 

‘It has to stop somewhere…’

Elesar moved over to the window, and jumped, falling to the ground with a sharp thud, almost instantly regretting it as he winced at the pain. Then he started jogging up the street.

‘I do insist…’ he could hear Drago’s voice calling from the mansion, but he kept walking.

Then he felt his legs turn and walk straight back the other way, back to the mansion, and searched for the source of the compulsion, a tether of magic linking himself and Drago.

A mage. A powerful mage.

He climbed the wall with no effort of his own and stepped back into the room.

‘Now a guest shouldn’t just leave like that, especially before tea,’ Drago scolded him.

He actually found himself feeling slightly guilty for what he did, and wondered whether it was some form of continuing magical compulsion.

‘Surely you can see that this is not real! As a mage yourself, you can recognise there is an illusion there, can you not?’

Drago stopped for a moment and looked out the window. He was silent for a long time. Then finally, he spoke.

‘You say that Barthon is destroyed?’

‘Yes.’

‘That it is a hub of violence and corruption?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you say that these gangs are more than say gangs, that they were organised beyond simple crime.’

‘Well yes, they have to be to survive. A better word may be guild.’

Drago’s face fell.

‘There was a prophecy… Hmm… Best not to worry about that at the moment, first we will see what’s happening out there.’

Elesar was silent for a moment, and decided not to push the subject.

‘It is an illusion is it not?’ he asked instead.

‘Yes, an illusion of my own crafting. And yet I cannot remember why I put it there…’

Elesar smirked; it seemed his subconscious was wrong. Drago, although powerful, was not a god. At least he didn’t think so.

‘So can you dispel it?’ Elesar asked earnestly.

‘Yes, but it will take time, knowing myself I would have riddled the illusion with catches and traps. I don’t take people unravelling my spells likely.’

Like anyone could tear that spell down, it would take years, even centuries…

‘Right, there is food on the table. I should have the illusion finished with in the morning, no-one interrupt me in the meantime. I’m sure you will find your path to the guest rooms well laid.’

* * * * *

Elesar woke up in the morning to Redgar already sitting before him, and the others still fast asleep on their bed. He changed into the guise of Drake Ironfist and then strode out into the entry, before moving into the dining room.

Drago stood by the window looking out at the city, still glimmering red and green in the morning light. He turned at Elesar’s entry, and his face lit up.

‘What an incredible impression. In fact, it looks like you have his form just perfect.’

‘You knew Drake?’ Elesar asked, intrigued.

‘Knew him? He was my cousin.’

‘Your cousin?’ Elesar could barely keep the surprise out of his voice.

Of course, Drago was Drago Echofall. He was an incredibly talented mage from some of the greater tales, one that had been around since forever. Elesar cursed himself, he should have realised sooner.

‘Yes. Together we cleansed this city of the corrupt followers of the Raven Queen, in the name of the King of course. Together we rebuilt this city from the dust. And together we lived here for several years. Then he left…’

To destroy the city.

That he had built… It didn’t make sense…

‘You know he was the one that razed the city to the ground? He is the reason that this city is how it is now. He drove the civilians out, and left the city in ruins.’

‘Then he must have had a good reason to do it. My cousin was many things, but he was not rash…’ he stopped for a moment, ‘And I chose to lock myself in a time pocket here, to wait until a later time.’

To wait… so he had found a way to unravel it.

‘So you can bring the illusion down?’ Elesar asked, probing the subject.

‘Of course,’ Drago said, his face lighting into a smile once again, ‘I hadn’t even trapped it, why bother, when no-one would ever want to bring it down. All I need to do is pull one thread and watch the entire thing fall apart. It is quite unlike my usual work.’

There was a short pause.

‘Shall we wait for your companions?’

‘Most certainly.’

Over the next hour they came into the room, and as one watched as Drago tore out the anchoring thread. They watched the bell tower crumble before their eyes, roofs disappearing, walls staining a dark brown, and the trees wilting, before shrivelling up all together. It was spectacular. Drago stared in shock at what had befallen his city. They watched the afternoon sun blazing of the city for a moment longer before Drago lead them out into the entry once more, showing them the door before pausing. 

‘Why are you here? In this?’ he asked, intrigued.

Elesar hesitated a moment, and Redgar filled the mage in.

‘We are performing a task for the Raven Queen, uniting the guilds of the city against what we have been informed is ‘the approaching storm.’ Of course, we don’t know much more than that.’

‘Then the time has come,’ Drago replied mysteriously, ‘Inform the Raven Queen that she will have my assistance in this matter. Here, have this ring if you need to contact me, I will be here, looking up a few things.’

He passed Elesar a golden ring, with a small multi-coloured gem set as its stone. Quietly he slipped it onto his finger. As one they turned towards the door, but were interrupted once more.

‘Elesar, whom do you worship?’ his voice was light, but his eyes said something more, ‘It is just you don’t seem like the type to fall in with the Raven Queen…’

You worship no-one.

‘I do not believe myself to be religiously inclined, yourself Drago?’

‘Corellion, naturally…’

Elesar turned, before hesitating once more.

‘And Drake?’

‘He was just the same as yourself. Though he took Bahamut’s philosophies to heart… They got on those two. Two of the same mould.’

And on that note, the group turned and left the mansion, heading back out into the Barthon they remembered.

Fall to Diplomacy

Immediately, once they had returned back to their warehouse and checked up with Lucas, they set out across the city towards the territory of Joe’s gang. Soon they arrived at the outer guard station for the gang, and approached cautiously.

Three guards stood behind a barricade of sorts, weapons raised in defence.

‘We come in peace, we would like to speak you your leader,’ Elesar stated, back in the form of Drake Ironfist.

The guard laughed at him.

‘Well, there is always the second option, we kill you and your friends, walk in there, and talk to him anyway,’ Elesar snarled, ‘Although it would put unneeded strain on the message we are to give him.’

At this Mawlock stepped up beside him, hefting his warhammer into his hands, and let out a low, menacing growl, and seeing no visible response grabbed the guard by the throat, and slammed him into the wall of a nearby house.

‘Take us to your master now,’ he growled, watching as the guards face turned purple. 

The other two were unsure what to do at this, reaching for their blades, but slowly, Mawlock let him down and he lead the rest of the party into the territory of Joe’s Gang.

Soon they were ushered into a small room with a table and chairs, and told to wait, before a human with a large sword walked in.

‘So I am to believe you have an offer to make me?’ Joe asked, his voice deep.

‘Yes, I am Elesar, and I have come to present you a request from the Raven Queen.’

He ladened the words with magical compulsion and felt them taking grasp.

‘Go on, I am listening,’ Joe replied.

‘There is a storm approaching this city, one that could possibly wipe it from the map, and we would like your assistance in the defence of it. I would need you to be ready to lend your services to me when it comes, and in return we can offer you safety, magical weaponry and other boons of the Raven Queen.’

‘What kind of boons?’

Mawlock, Redgar and Snipe dissipated into pillars of black smoke, and reappeared behind Joe.

‘That kind.’

Joe thought about it for a few moments, the three shadowy figures moving back towards Elesar’s side.

‘It’s a deal, call upon me when you need.’

Elesar smiled. One more down.

The Sole Council

They set off almost at once, already well rested from their stay at the magicians home. The group were not obstructed on their way through the streets of Barthon. The smaller groups of people had quickly learned to stay away from the strangers with the Minotaur. Elesar had considered copying Mawlock’s form many times, just to amplify the effect. He always settled on the black Dragonborn however, it was more his style.

Elesar had begun forming a new identity, something of his own, and was staying in that form more and more throughout Barthon. It was a thin Half Elf of moderate height, sporting a small amount of brown hair, enough to slightly cover his ears, and almost golden brown eyes. Nothing too flashy, which suited Barthon perfectly.

Before they knew it, they were well within the territory of the Bleeding Hand, and approaching their guild hall. Two Dwarven guards stood watch just outside the door. They seemed unphased by the approaching figures.

‘Good morning, I am Elesar, and these are my companions Mawlock, Redgar and Snipe, and we were wondering whether we could take a proposition to your leader?’ Elesar asked, his voice light and colourful.

Ok, almost nothing too flashy.

‘Of course,’ the guard replied, ‘You can put your offer to the council on Thursday.’

Two days… That would give them plenty of time to see how this guild worked, they were certainly not a normal guild. A bit more civilised than anything they had seen within this city.

‘We would love to do so,’ Elesar replied, ‘Do you mind if we stay here in the mean time?’

‘You’re welcome to; just don’t get up to any mischief.’

‘Of course,’ Elesar smiled lightly.

* * * * *

Elesar and the others stood up the back of the guild hall as the council worked its way through matters that were facing the guild. They moved quickly and efficiently through the items of the agenda. It seemed almost, civilised.

Almost like back within the King’s courts.

Elesar smiled, he was used to his mind handing out useless pieces of information by now.

Whatever I did, I have certainly been around.

The council covered the incursion of the Dragons on their territory, and their inability to combat it, as well as the Jones family overtaxing independent thieves within their own and the Bleeding Hand’s territory. The guild were weak, although large, they had no strength. And as he listened Elesar formed a plan.

‘And finally, we have a group of strangers who have an offer to put to our guild, so Elesar, will you and your companions come forward?’

Elesar and the others quickly made their way through the crowd into a clear space and stood for a moment.

‘I believe we can solve your problems,’ he said, his voice formed of confidence.

‘Go on,’ the chairperson said.

‘We will speak to the other guilds, the Dragons and the Jones Family. Help them see your point of view, and offer them alternatives to what they are doing. If they fail to agree to your requests, then we will see that new leadership is implemented within their ranks.’

‘We are rather efficient at persuading others to see our way,’ Redgar interjected.

‘This sounds… favourable,’ the Dwarf who was in charge of defence replied, ‘Will you need our assistance in the implementation of new leadership?”

‘We will come to that if we reach that situation,’ Elesar replied, a grim smile spreading across his face.

‘And what do you ask in return?’ the Human in control of the treasury asked.

‘There is a storm coming to Barthon, one of a great magnitude and force. The Raven Queen asks if you would assist us in the defence of the city against this. Of course, the Raven Queen will offer you power if you choose to enter her service.’

‘A storm?’

Elesar faltered. They still did not know what exactly the storm was.

‘A war, a fight, an uprising, a struggle,’ Redgar replied, his face set, giving a pause after each phrase.

The council discussed within itself for a minute, and then cast out for the opinion of the audience. One brave thief spoke.

‘It doesn’t look like we have much option in the matter.’

The council nodded.

‘We will help you… but first you must help us.’

It would be done.

The Best Laid Plans

They approached the house of the Jones Family swiftly up the street, not spotting any guards to talk to. Without any challenge they were at their door. Elesar paused, not knowing what to do, and knocked.

A butler in a black suit with a white suit answered.

‘Welcome to the Jones residence, what is your business here?’

‘We would like to speak to Mr Jones,’ Elesar requested thoughtfully, what on earth was a butler doing within Barthon.

‘Of course, first however I would have to request that you remove your weapons, you cannot meet Mr Jones so armed,’ the butler said, a smile chasing across his face.

Elesar drew Dischord and passed it to the butler, before drawing his crossbow and also handing it over. Mawlock parted reluctantly with his hammer, and Snipe handed over his staff. Redgar spent the next five minutes removing daggers from his person. Elesar sighed, always with the violence.

Overkill is overrated. Better to be prepared.

Eventually they were let in, and led into a small study, where a man sat in a leather lined chair, a great mahogany desk before him, with incredibly high quality parchment lying in a stack on it.

Worth hundreds of gold pieces.

However it was the man who drew the most attention to himself, clothed in something ridiculously out of style for Barthon, he was in any use of the word, fat. And that was said in the nicest way possible. A fire ignited within Elesar, he was a greedy self-obsessed slob.

‘Good afternoon, and what would you ask of me this fine day?’ he asked, his voice haughty.

‘We have come on behalf of the Bleeding Hand to request that you stop charging the thieves under their protection for their earnings.’ Elesar stated; his voice barely controlled.

‘I have not taxed any thieves for their earnings,’ he replied a smile spreading across his obese face.

‘And yet members of your family have been. It would be in your best interests that they stopped.’

‘I have no control over what my brothers, cousins, sons and nephews do with themselves.’

Elesar couldn’t stand being around this man any longer.

‘Well you had better learn to, otherwise I will control them for you!’ Elesar yelled, turning and walking out of the building, not bothering to conceal the threat in his words.

As he collected his weapons from the door, and Redgar started strapping his own back on Elesar walked close to him and muttered in his ear.

‘Keep an eye on everything, I want to know guard numbers, locations, and how trained they are. Oh, and if they are going to stab us in the back right now.’ He smiled a little; he would like to see them try.

He vowed that he would wipe the Jones family from the earth.

* * * * *

Silently they were shown by a guard into the house that the leader of the Dragons resided in. The leader met them in the entry; he looked like a sharp man, battle worn and very observant.

‘I have been told you have a request and a deal for me?’ he asked, his voice rough.

‘Yes, I have been sent by the Bleeding Hand to request that you stop advancing into their territory. It isn’t good for their business,’ Elesar replied, his voice even.

‘I do understand that,’ he replied, ‘But you must also understand my side of the situation. The area we control is no longer large enough for our gang. We need to claim more or we will not be around much longer.’

‘How about the rest of the Northern half of the city?’ Elesar replied, ‘We have cleared it of opposition, there is plenty of space along there.’

‘Ahh, but it is not a very profitable area is it? You must know this yourself.’

Elesar was silent for a few moments, his mind ticking over. Then an expression crossed over his face. He had the perfect way to solve the Dragons problems.

‘Would the Jones Family’s space be suitable? They are about to find that they do not need it anymore.’

The same expression passed over the Dragon’s face.

‘I’m sure that would be… workable.’

Elesar hesitated a moment.

‘You were told that we had an offer to you. We have come on behalf of the Raven Queen to request your help against the coming storm. You will be given equipment and gold, and if you so choose to enter the Raven Queen’s service, she may bestow upon you her blessing.’

‘And what happens if I decline your offer?’

‘We will get to that when we get there, but more than half of the guilds in the city have already joined us,’ Elesar replied, his face unfaltering.

‘What say we just let you deal with it and take what is left?’

‘There won’t be anything left,’ Redgar replied, his voice set and his tone morbid, ‘The city will be lost, and everything in it destroyed.’

‘Then it looks like I don’t have much of a choice in the matter does it?’

‘There is always a choice,’ replied Elesar.

The Dragon was quiet for a while, thinking.

‘We will join you when the time comes, and look forward to hearing from you again once the Jones Family has been eradicated.’ 

Elesar shook his hand. Three birds with one stone. Now it all depended on how well that stone was thrown.

Secrets of the Past

Elesar sat watching as the Hand’s warriors prepared their gear around him, running his hands up and down Dischord. Mawlock was watching the men sharpening their gear, getting to know their names. Redgar was studying a diagram of the Jones’s house, tracing lines on the paper with his finger. Snipe hung upside down from the roof blasting objects that a pair of Halflings were hurling into the air for him. It was still several hours before they had to leave.

Elesar brought the hilt closer to his face, and watched as the gem morphed colours again, from a light green to a deep red.

The gem.

Yes, there was something about it. Slowly he pressed a finger to it, and watched as the colour shifted to a deep blue. Slowly he channelled some magic into it. It fed magic back.

A dark street.

A complex weaving of magic.

A darkness in the shadows.

The breaking of a ritual.

Blackness.

The gem, it contained memories, if that is what they were. A magical source of withheld knowledge.

Much more than memories.

Elesar probed it longer, spells, incantations and rituals flooding his mind. He only understood the meanest of them, and yet he quickly found one with its use. He looked up at the room and asked one of the Bleeding Hand for a small brick, or box. He returned with a wooden box of questionable make. It would do.

Quickly he took out his dagger and gouged out a circle, before beginning to mutter under his breath.

Ten minutes later he opened his eyes again, taking his hand off the hilt, and more importantly the gem, of Dischord. He smiled. It would be quite spectacular.

‘Mawlock! Come over here!’

The Minotaur paladin stalked over, his footsteps echoing with swirling shadows. Elesar handed him the box.

‘You see the round circle in the top of the box? If you need any hand causing your distraction tonight, just hit that and stand back a few spaces. It should light up the sky quite spectacularly.’

Mawlock took it and placed it carefully upon his belt. He liked making an impact. 

Elesar tucked his blade away and moved around to check out the men. It was going to be a bloody night.

The Demise of the Jones

Elesar, Redgar, Snipe as well as the two Halflings Jak and Offord stood in the shadows behind the Jones house. All they needed was for Mawlock to begin his distraction and they would be on their way.

Elesar heard Mawlock roar in savage fury before a great crunch. Elesar frowned. What had he just done? Then there was a shattering noise, wood breaking he guessed. Mawlock had just blown through the front door. Elesar cursed in some foreign language under his breath. He was meant to draw them away from the house, not block them within it. They moved towards the house anyway.

Quickly Redgar scaled the wall, and seeing Elesar slip, caught his hand, before climbing through the window of a disused room. Then they stopped, something was approaching along the corridor. Quickly they all ducked into shadow as a guard walked into the room and checked, before turning and leaving.

They heard his voice from down the corridor. 

‘I thought I heard something hit the wall, but it must have been something downstairs.’

Elesar cursed, that would have been him hitting the wall when he slipped. And what more, the guard did not seem at all disturbed my Mawlock’s assault. 

Silently they slipped out into the corridor and moved down to the next room. Peering through the keyhole they could see there was only a guard in the room, so they moved silently on. The next room revealed a noble sleeping in his bed. Silently Redgar slipped open the door and they squeezed in, approaching him from both sides. Redgar stabbed for the throat whilst Elesar plunged Dischord into his heart.

He was dead within seconds.

They moved further along, and within the next room, one of the nobles was sitting at a desk. Elesar considered for a second before morphing into an accurate likeness of the guard he had seen. There wasn’t time to do anything to his gear. Giving Redgar a wink he slipped inside.

‘What do you want Blackthorn?’ The noble asked at once as he slipped in.

‘Nothing, I was just checking to see that you were well,’ Elesar replied in a gruff voice. I was just stopping by to check your window, to see if anyone had come from behind the house. Actually… can you see something in the shadows over there?’

As the noble got up to walk towards the window, Elesar walked towards him, and as they passed, in one fluid movement, Dischord sliced through his throat, cutting his vocal chords. It rang silently within the room as the noble collapsed, Elesar slowing his descent. 

He walked back into the corridor. The next room had two nobles and a guard within it. There would be no way of taking them out without a fight, not within their current state. Elesar thought for a second before pressing his fingers to the jewel on his blade.

A spellshard, containing a wealth of magical knowledge.

All he needed was to be able to unlock it. Elesar pushed the thought aside, finding what he was looking for, and sat, starting to mutter under his breath. 

Silence, a ritual that should be able to prevent anyone outside the room from hearing anything going on within.

Like a battle perhaps?

Sure.

The others moved on down the corridor. Snipe burning their way into the first room, in which Redgar silenced the noble swiftly with his spear. Snipe stood before the door, now boasting a giant scorched hole and started muttering himself, words which Elesar recognised were to make the door whole again. Redgar, Jak and Offord continued to the remaining rooms, and soon all but the last two nobles in Elesar’s room were dead. 

He morphed into the form of the guard, Blackthorn again and pushed open the door. The three in the room looked up at once. The guard had just been talking to them about what was happening downstairs.

‘It was suggested that we keep an eye on the rear of the building, in case the assault was really a distraction,’ Elesar said, pointing into the night. 

He hoped that Redgar was watching for the correct moment, because he wouldn’t be able to hear anything from out there because of the noise ward that Elesar had placed on the room. He cursed himself silently as they stood by the window and searched outside. Then, feeling the other’s presence behind him he drew his blade and sliced at the guard’s neck in one fluid motion. The skirmish was brutal, the nobles actually knew how to wield a blade reasonably well, but they were no match for Snipe’s divine blasts, or Redgar’s practised efficiency. Nothing could protect them against the song that Elesar had begun subconsciously singing since the moment he first sliced with the blade. The nobles defences just melted away before them.

And then they were all dead.

Elesar walked into the corridor again, and headed towards the guard quarters. He had to be quick and precise for what he wanted to do.

He opened the door and walked in, back in the form of the brown haired Half Elf.

‘The Jones Family is dead,’ he announced to the ten present guards, ‘You are bound by no obligation to them anymore. We will pay you the same amount to work for us, as long as you come peacefully.’

As one the guards nodded, it was all a job to them.

‘Swear your allegiance to me now. Elesar Songbite.’

‘We swear our allegiance to Elesar Songbite,’ they stated as one, not really meaning it. But it was good enough for him.

He moved quickly downstairs and healed Mawlock and as many of the others as he could, before they set off back into the night.

Balance of Power

Elesar looked up from his worn boots out into the city. It had once been a beautiful place… It still could be a beautiful place with a bit of time and effort. That was if this ‘storm’ didn’t wipe it from the map.

He could see why some of the others chose to spend their lives here. There was something thrilling about living on the boots of society. He was always cautious, always waiting for something to go wrong. It made him feel alive.

Both the Dragons and the Bleeding Hand had given them their word that they would assist when needed. Things were working very well for them. But the three worst gangs remained. Well, in reputation anyway.

He had a feeling that the Smith Family would be of the same cut of the Jones. But the Red Chains weren’t likely to join them. They wanted the city for themselves. Which left one option for them. Dissolution.

Then there was the Cloaked. Not much was said about them. The others feared them... and yet, they had never claimed any more territory than they had. 

Then he saw the figure approaching down the street, a hood pulled over his features, but from what he could see, it was the only person.

Elesar jumped on the roof and landed just ten paces away from the figure, his blade out.

‘Redgar!’ 

Within a few moments Redgar, Mawlock and Snipe were all beside him. Then the figure took off his hood. Drakath.

‘Greetings, Elesar Songbite.’

‘Greetings Drakath. What do we owe the honour?’

‘You have done well, most of the guilds of the city have joined you, and there has been little bloodshed.’

‘We only did as you requested.’

‘And you have promised many money,’ Drakath replied, his voice taking on a slight menacing quality.

‘Ahhh. Yes, I was thinking that…’

‘It is of no matter,’ he continued, his face taking on a teasing quality, ‘The Raven Queen will provide the funds. This is worth her effort.’

‘Of course, wait, you’ve been watching us?’

‘Of course,’ he replied in humour, ‘I couldn’t just let my investment go and hope it did what I wanted.’

Elesar shook his head; of course they were being followed.

‘Would you happen to know a wizard known as Drago?’

Drakath’s whole demeanour changed at that moment. Elesar smiled, now he had Drakath on the back foot. They obviously hadn’t followed them through the Secret Way.

‘We are acquainted,’ he replied, carefully.

‘How so?’

‘I fought with him, a long time ago. We had our… disagreements.’

‘Why?’ Elesar pushed, looking for a boundary.

‘Different Gods, you’d be surprised how often that happens. Suffice to say, we clashed on several ideals. And by gosh he was powerful. You met him?’

‘You could say that.’

‘This complicates matters, he wrecks the balance. He could be a worthy foe.’

Drakath seemed to be more muttering to himself at this point than talking to any of the four standing before him.

‘You will be pleased to know that he offered his help then, it looks like you and him will have a workable alliance once more.’

‘He did now? Well that simplifies things…’ Drakath continued, ‘This is good.’

There was silence for several moments

‘So, which one next?’

‘The Smith Family should be easy to dispose of, although the Red Chains will be harder to throw from their throne.’

‘And the Cloaked?’

‘Ahh, I think you will be pleasantly surprised by what you find within their domain.’

Drakath was back to his usual, charming self once more.

‘Always with the riddles.’

‘Naturally. Well, I’d best be off, I’ll see you later.’

Elesar smirked. He would be seeing them, but they wouldn’t be seeing him. And so Drakath turned to a black mist, and blew away on the breeze.

Greed of the Smith

Elesar fumed, Mr Smith had been mocking them for the last five minutes. They had come with a proposition and he had done nothing but laugh at their words, telling them to go back to their mothers and fathers.

No-one in the group particularly liked this sentiment. Mr Smith was exactly the same cut as Mr Jones. Obese, greedy, and convinced of his own superiority. 

‘So, I am sorry, but I am disinclined to acquiesce your request.’

There was nothing to it. 

Elesar lunged at his neck, and began to sing a tune of blood. He missed, as the fat man ducked and leapt to the side as Mawlock fell on him, his warhammer slamming into Mr Smith’s chest. At that moment two firing holes slid open on the wall and crossbow bolts shot into the room. A figure dropped from the roof. It had been a set up.

Generally you would place a few men behind a panel in the wall to assist him in melee.

Which would be his downfall. Quickly Redgar jammed his spear in the door frame, hoping to delay any reinforcements, while the others quickly dispatched Mr Smith and his ninja friend. Elesar turned as the door burst open, and watched Mawlock struggling to get at one of the men within the wall. Quickly he moved to assist Mawlock as Snipe blasted a hole in the wall next to the door, spreading shards of wood throughout the room. He was getting good at that.

Redgar charged those at the door, leading them into the corridor as Elesar slammed his blade through the wall at one of the crossbowmen, carving a hole through his head. Before moving across to the other.

They needed an escape route quickly, or another way out of it. He channelled some of his magic into a quick verse, and felt as Redgar’s wounds, which he could not see, stitched themselves together before slashing forward with the blade.

Then, the crossbowman in the wall charged him with his blade, making a lucky blow to Elesar’s stomach, and he collapsed to the floor, blood spreading onto the floorboards.

He blacked out.

And came to seconds later, feeling a foreign, divine power wash through his body, knitting back together his wounds and replenishing his blood. He lashed out at the figure in the wall, taking up his song again as he felt for Redgar’s presence in the corridor outside. He was unconscious, on the ground. Quickly he channelled more magic into the monk, ducking a blow from the crossbowmen, before stabbing forward with Dischord once more. He felt it sink into flesh and pull out as Mawlock charged out the door to assist Redgar. Things were not looking too well.

Something needed to change, soon. And he had just the idea.

He limped to the centre of the room, before climbing onto the table and shouting at the top of his lungs.

‘Mr Smith… your master is dead. Lower your weapons and you will be spared,’ his voice was shaking, in one or all of adrenaline, weakness or fury.

The guards assumed the latter.

‘We will accept you into our service. Feed you, give you weaponry and pay you the same amount as the Smiths.’

There was silence for a moment.

‘We are yours to command.’

‘Good. Now go upstairs and kill the rest of the Smith’s. Their existence is a stain not needed upon this city any more. Return here when you are done,’ he said, looking a lot more confident than he felt.

Then he noticed Mawlock and Redgar.

‘Redgar, take your spear from our allies throat, and Mawlock, would you please lower your hammer. They’re on our side now.’

With a brief grumble from Mawlock they returned to his side, where he drew his lute, and his song of healing sprung to life, purging their bodies of injury.

‘We did well… However, just in case, let’s bring back up next time.’

Snipe laughed

Breaking the Chains

They spent a few days recovering, before heading out onto the streets once more, on a circle of diplomacy.

They visited each of the guilds in turn, with something of a unique request. Men, not for fighting, but a show of strength. They were going to bring down the Red Chains. Each guild listened politely to his request.

Each guild told him that they had only agreed to help with the actual storm.

Each guild then lent him a large portion of their force anyway.

It was obvious not many people liked the Red Chains.

And so now he was marching down the street towards the territory of the Red Chains, with a force of one hundred and twenty men behind him. 

A ritual that should allow your voice to be heard by everyone within six hundred feet.

The spellshard was making itself more and more useful. As they got closer Elesar spoke towards their guild hall.

‘We have come with a request for you to join us.’

His voice did not carry at all, it was not loud, but Elesar knew immediately that everyone had heard him. He was speaking directly into their minds. A single figure walked out from the guild hall. 

‘Umm, I guess I’m the leader now…’

‘What happened to the others?’

‘Ummm. They ran.’

Mawlock let out a deep booming laugh. Redgar muttered something under his breath.

‘The remainder of your guild will be disbanded and sworn into mine. Everyone else can return to your respective guilds. Thank you for your assistance, we hope you enjoyed the show.’

Much less painful than they had expected. He laughed. The city was all but theirs.

The Cloaked

They decided to visit Drago once more before entering the territory of the Cloaked, and walked openly into his property once more. Elesar strode up and knocked on the door, to be greeted warmly by the old wizard.

‘Ahh! Welcome Elesar, Redgar, Mawlock, and my dear Snipe.’

He led them into the house, almost bouncing in enthusiasm.

‘And what can I do for you today?’

‘We just thought we would come and visit, to let you know what’s happening,’ Elesar replied happily.

Drago’s mood was infectious.

‘Drakath seemed slightly uneasy about you,’ Elesar said, smiling.

‘He would,’ Drago laughed, ‘We didn’t always agree at times, and he always came off second best. The whole different deity thing, you see. By the way, I wanted to check something.’

Drago gestured for him to hold out his hand.

Elesar did so, and suddenly he could feel himself moving through his mind, but Drago was leading him towards something. And then it was revealed. A great source of energy, locked away in the corners of his body.

Only very complex spells can withhold a person’s power. Something incredibly strong must have bound you.

‘There is something about you, Elesar Songbite, great amounts of power locked away in the corners of your soul. I think it would be hazardous to unlock them all at the present time, rather, let them emerge as they see fit. You may even begin to recall the memories that you have lost.’

He turned back to the others, Elesar still shaking.

‘Where to next?’

‘The Cloaked,’ Redgar muttered ominously.

‘Ahh, they are still around?’ Drago asked, excitement rising in his voice.

‘Still around?’ Elesar inquired weakly.

‘Ahh yes, they were here when the city was formed. It has been a while since I have given them a visit. Maybe I can come with you?’

‘You would be most welcome,’ Elesar replied, his voice still weak.

* * * * *

They walked into the Cloaked territory happily, Drago by their side, not worrying much about anything that could occur. Almost immediately, shadows began darting between buildings, looming ominously behind corners, and a thick fog began to descend on the path they walked along.

‘Oh, they are still playing these games are they? Well, that should do it.’

And with a flick of his hand the fog cleared and the shadows were vanished, a great pillar of light burning down through the sky to illuminate the party. Elesar laughed. They should have asked Drago to come with them all along.

A figure leapt down in front of them, and threw off his hood, revealing a white, heavily pierced face. A Shadar Ki.

‘What are you doing here Drago?’ he asked, his voice sharp.

‘It has been too long, Kaleton, and I thought we may have a little chat.’

‘I am Elesar…’

The Shadar Ki talked over him.

‘You are lucky we didn’t kill you and them straight away. We vowed never to let another in here.’

‘If I had any doubts in my ability to protect myself and my friends from you, I would not have walked so openly into your presence.’

‘So why have you come?’

His voice was ominous.

‘I came because these fellows here have an offer for you, one which I think you cannot refuse.’

‘Sure… So, what do you have to say for yourself?’ the figure asked, turning to Elesar.

‘I have come on behalf of the Raven Queen, to ask for your assistance in defending this city against the approaching storm.’

‘That time already is it?’ he said, sounding slightly bored and a little worried.

‘I know, right?’ Drago interjected.

‘Drakath sent me,’ Elesar continued.

The Shadar Ki was quiet for a moment.

‘It has been many years since I have seen his face. We were the best of friends once. I was tasked by the Raven Queen to hold this land for her, and the coming storm, whilst he had other tasks to prepare… It will be good to see him again. Of course we will join you.’

‘See!’ Drago exclaimed, ‘I knew you wanted to listen to them.’

The Shadar Ki gave him a death stare.

‘We are ready.’

The Suit Returns

Elesar and the others walked swiftly back to their hall, where they were sure they would find Drakath. As he walked though, the feeling that he was being followed tingled down his spine. Instants later Redgar elbowed him in the side, and whispered in his ear.

He stole a glance at the roofs behind them, and spotted the figure following them, a rough black figure, silhouetted in the light. Mawlock turned a little less subtly when he realised that Elesar had seen something, and tearing a huge stone from the road, hurled it at the figure. Without a moment’s notice Redgar sprinted towards the figure and scaled the wall, landing beside him as Elesar tried to draw him off the roof with some compulsive magic.

At that moment, Elesar watched as Finn the Ranger, who had stayed to take care of the hall, launched himself at the figure from a nearby rooftop, throwing him off the roof and onto the street. They must have made it to within their own guild’s defensive range.

As he landed, Elesar caught a glimpse of the figure’s clothing and face. The Jones Family butler, come to take his revenge on those who had killed his master.

Elesar leapt forward, starting to sing a song of battle and blood, Dischord providing aggressive harmonies for his tune. As he did so, he concentrated some of the divine power stored within him, and felt it guide his blade, cutting into the butlers flesh. In a flurry of slashes the butler and Elesar traded blows to one another, each of the others also lending their hand, a spear thrust catching his off hand, a pillar of fire exploding under his feet, and slowly he was worn down.

Elesar smiled through the pain caused by the wounds tracing his body. Some were minor cuts, but others were bleeding freely, and needed stemming soon. The butler was on his last leg. Then, suddenly, before Elesar could react, a blow sunk past his defences, the butler’s blade sinking into his chest, before he dodged around, the blade piercing his thigh, and then his shoulder. 

Elesar collapsed to the ground, barely murmuring the tune of his song of blood, and blacked out as Redgar charged the suited figure.

Elesar regained consciousness moments later, feeling Mawlock’s divine healing magic coursing through his body. He was on his feet in moments, still feeling tight around the chest, and pumped some more magic into his wounds, before feeling Mawlock’s consciousness slipping in his mind. A second later he was fully aware again, his armour radiating a red aura of healing. He slammed his hammer into the figures chest as Redgar thrust his spear deep into the butler’s chest.

He collapsed to the ground.

He has had training far beyond your average rogue. An assassin. After years or possibly even decades of training.

And he was loyal to the now deceased Jones Family of Barthon. There was a story behind that, Elesar was sure.

Elesar considered him for a second. If left alive he would never stop hunting them, and yet, he should not be killed for such loyalty. He rushed forward, knitting together all of his major wounds. Then, without a moment’s notice, saw as a dagger sliced clean through both of the butlers wrists. Elesar turned in surprise, and then saw Redgar’s expression. 

He had made his decision, and Elesar was quite sure that if he reattached them, Redgar would just cut them off again.

‘Fine, Mawlock, can you carry him back to our hall?’

Mawlock grunted and picked the figure up as Elesar sealed the wounds on his wrists. They would have to deal with this later. Silently, he took the hands, and began a ritual that would keep them from rotting away. 

They walked the remainder of the way back to the guild hall.

Approaching Storms

Elesar opened the door, and instants later Drakath was standing before him and the others, his heavily pierced and tattooed face gleaming in the low light. Elesar conjured a ball of light, throwing the room into sharp colour.

‘You have done well; the entire city is now ready for what is to come next. You have done well with minimal casualties, and maximum gain.’

‘Only to please you. I trust that we will gain some kind of reward from this?’

‘Of course, the Raven Queen rewards those who do her great services.’

‘The Cloaked are on their way,’ Elesar continued, ‘With Drago Echofall in tow.’

Drakath’s expression was barely readable, but sat somewhere between amused, happy and exasperated. They were silent for a moment before Redgar spoke.

‘So what next?’

Drakath hesitated a second, ‘This was just the preparations, now we actually have the real task ahead of us.’

‘And what is this storm that we have been preparing for?’

‘You would be better off to ask Drago that question.’

Seconds later Drago led the worshippers of the Raven Queen into the hall, and they fanned out, assessing the situation and space before them. Drago came forwards and stood beside Mawlock.

‘Drago, what is this approaching ‘storm’?’

Drago’s face lit up, almost as if in excitement. This worried Elesar somewhat.

‘There is about to be a struggle for the position of the God of Death. Another plans to overthrow the Raven Queen from her Shadowfell throne.’

Elesar was shocked for more than a moment. This was so much bigger than anything he had imagined.

His mind flicked through the gods, considering which would want to take her domain, and found no clear patron.

Vecna would like to reign both Death and Undeath, although it would be unlikely for him to challenge the Raven Queen so openly.

‘Who?’ He asked, his voice wavering.

‘Orcus, the Demon Lord of Undeath,’ Drago replied, a little more quietly.

Orcus, the Blood Lord had sought the death of the Raven Queen for thousands of years, his goal to usurp her control over death and the souls of the dead. His realm, Thanatos epitomised this both death and undeath, nothing living within it continued doing so for long.

Elesar was shocked, knowing so much about the worries of the deities above them. Once again he found himself wondering about his own past. And no wonder that the other deities were supporting the Raven Queen. Having Orcus as a deity once again would not bode well for the world they knew.

‘Now, the city is ready,’ Drakath said, snapping Elesar out of his thoughts, ‘We will bring in the legion.’ 

Elesar stared as great smoking pillars appeared from nowhere, coalescing and forming into humanoid figures, before they solidified, revealing both Shadar Kai and smaller, black cloaked figures. They had dark skin, and rather large noses, with large gleaming eyes, accustomed to seeing things in the dark.

Dark Ones, creatures native to the Shadowfell. They serve the Shadar Kai in any way they can.

Elesar was shocked, but quickly Drakath gestured towards the door, and seconds later they were on a platform, hovering hundreds of metres above the city. 

And the sight was remarkable.

All across the city black pillars of smoke were coalescing, revealing more Shadar Kai and Dark Ones. Elesar struggled to take it all in, trying to estimate the numbers before and beneath them. There were hundreds, thousands, if not tens of thousands of them.

Barthon was alive once more.

Things just got a hell of a lot bigger.