• Chapter One: Haunted

    The night was young and damp; the patter of crystal water droplets dulled all other sounds. The road had gone from firm dry dirt to soggy mud in a matter of seconds. Along the road, a small white rabbit darted under a hollow rotted log for shelter against the downpour. The small creature shivered and shook the last few clinging raindrops from its coat. A blackened steel boot came down and sent water sprawling through the air, the rabbit startled and skittered into the forest. Another matching boot came down even with the other, the owner stood still.

    Extending up from the boots were thick leather greaves. Strapped around the right thigh was a dagger, the handle made of polished wood extended into a gold colored metal that made up the blade. At the left hung a scimitar, the blade blood red and the hilt made of dragon bone strapped to a black sash. An arm swung up to the head and fell back down carrying with it a helm of twisted metal in the shape of a gaping dead face. The mouth, open a silent everlasting scream extended far below the chin. From the top stuck a single row of spikes. The helm rested on the hip of this man with the arm holding it in place as the hand hung lazily. Small periodic drops of water lost their grip on the steel covered fingers and splattered on the soft mud.

    Just above was a black mail shirt covered by broad black chest plate marked with set in runes of ivory and a black obsidian skull at the collar guard. Extending down the right arm was more black armor twisted with the faces of torture and agony and littered with claw-like spikes. Down the left arm was more of the same save a smoothed pauldron rounded and covered with a cape of shaggy black bear fur. In the center was a head, prominent in features but withered from many years. The skin was pale and clung to the cheekbones and the lips curled in an almost permanent scowl. Along the left of the face from top to bottom was a scar that crossed directly over the eye which was paler than the skin, almost like the dead, the pupil of the eyes were narrow and cat-like. From the head of the figure flowed long gray hair that was already wet from the rain.

    In the middle of the road stood the figure of a rigid and muscular man but with the appearance of weakness, and hardened in expression from long years of exile. His eyes were fixed on the Haven door the reflection of the glowing light clearly seen in his glossy eyes from the darkness of the night. A small sign of movement upon his back was the only thing that stirred this night. A small bulge on his back had begun to move unhindered, unattached, and unnoticed by the man himself. A head peered out from under the bearskin cape, the long narrow lizard-like head curved around to peer over the man’s shoulder. The head of a drake, small and yet deadly, now stared down any who would become its foe. Upon its forehead was etched in a glowing navy blue rune, the mark of the bone drake. Precisely what this creature was, a bone drake, its body was devoid of flesh. Only bone remained a skeletal monument to what once was there. The minions’ eyes had a faint green glow that gave it a dastardly look. The creature caught sight of the Haven and seemed to draw back slightly before looking at the man in questioning. The creatures head cocked slightly as if it were communicating with the man in some way other than speech. At a slight nod from the man the drake hissed in the direction of the Haven and let out a screeching burp of green flame within the fiery burst could be seen the moaning faces of the dead and the clawing hands of the creatures captive souls.

    Rilec stood for a few moments until the stench of the living wafted into his nose; snorting a little, he strode forward and entered the Haven. Standing for a moment, he looked at those whom now inhabited the place. The dead seemed more appealing to him, necromancy had made him that way, bitter to all those who lived. His scowl deepened as he looked over those present with sadness, disgust, and pity for those who enjoyed being even moderately “alive.” With a frown, he made his way to the back of the room to stand near a window and looked out into the torrential rain. It was cold, but not cold enough, he stood near the window and breathed deeply exhaling on the cold glass, no fog, not even a little, he could not remember the last time he had seen the foggy glass on a chilling night. The simplest thing he had never thought more of than a place to draw, as a child was now no more than a dying memory.

    His head pressed lightly upon the cool glass and his eyes closed, he stood motionless for long moments. The world around him had stopped; the low buzz of the voices blurred and before long disappeared all together. There was nothing, only darkness, time was dead, and blackness devoured him.

    Soft breathing sounded in his mind, his own shallow breaths. His eyes opened, a desolate plain was before him, flat and full of nothingness. The sky was dim and scarred with spontaneous flicks of green lightning. The thunder was nonexistent though the blades of the gods struck the land in abundance. This place was foreign to him, but failure all the same, he had been here before.

    Behind him as he turned, his sight was drawn to a single tree, solitude and dead. Its bark charred black from a fire. From one large outstretched branch hung a single noose, the rope fresh, unsoiled, and un-charred, as if it were awaiting its victim. Someone else was here.

    “Why have you brought me here?”

    He turned slowly to face a woman, clothed in a black silk skirt that covered only the lower half of her slender figure. Her chest was mostly revealed, what was covered bore a black leather top, covering only the necessary parts with spider-like fingers, which caressed her body to meet along the lower of her spine. Magnificent works of silver ornamented her body. On her arms were intricate armbands of twisted serpents and on her waist rested a silver chain linked to a necklace of obsidian and ivory beads. Upon her head rested a crown of twisted black glass that seemed hollow and from within it shone the undying flame of lost souls. Fine black hair flowed from under the crown of the underworld to place itself hanging loosely at the end of her spine. The dark Goddess Nocturnal stood before him.

    “You know why.” her voice was an echo in his mind.

    Rilec shifted slightly as the feeling of uneasiness, the desolation, the horror of this place had reached the pit of what remained of his soul. Nocturnal took a step toward him, he made no notion to speak; she moved around next to him her chest pressing against his arm. Her lips came close to his ear the warm breath of the goddess spread across his neck. Rilec stood motionless his gaze locked forward while his mind soaked in thoughts of murder, vengeance, and power.

    “I can bring her back”

    Her voice echoed again as if it were a bottomless canyon, the last words ran over in his mind taunting him. “Bring her back” How he longed to see her again to taste the sweet bread she had always made. The thought of the return of his mother tormented him. A bead of cold sweat ran down his forehead to cling at the crease in his brow. His stomach felt as if was twisting into a knot of mottled flesh strangling the soul within. The image of his mother, beautiful, young, and happy faded into his mind. She was crouched on the river bank picking rare floral to use in her spells, she turned to look at him with a welcoming smile that lured even the most ridged of men.

    Nocturnals’ hand made its way to the cool steel of his breastplate to slip over his shoulder as she moved around behind him to the other side. Again, her lips pressed up against his ear to whisper softly.

    “Or I can take her from you”

    Memories of the night his mother was killed flooded into his mind. The smell of burning flesh wafted into his nose once again, the sound of her screams deafened his ears, and the sight of his mothers burning body swinging from a noose blinded him. The darkness swallowed him in an instant and his eyes opened in a start. He was in the Haven again; his face was drenched in sweat, though cold, his body seemed to be burning on the inside. The veins in his head were pulsing, he could hear it; the deafening sound of blood rushing through his body began to fade away replaced by the soft whirr of those in the Haven. His chest heaved and he took a deep breath. Stepping away from the window, he looked out into the darkness of the night. A soft breeze had begun to blow in the trees and had cleared the sky of overhanging clouds. The moon was clearly visible in the night sky, full and red, the year of the bloodmoon had begun.

    He now had little time, and no choice, he had to accept the mistress’ offer, and he would not succeed otherwise. The mere thought sent his insides into turmoil; he could not bear the thought of becoming what she wanted him to be. He stepped away from the window with a look of desolation on his face, and moved to the bar in silence. His arm reached over the bar to clasp around the neck of a bottle, he removed it from its resting place. It was covered in the dust of years past, his hand ran over the label rubbing clean the fine silver leafed letters, “1986” a bottle of perfectly aged cognac. His hand went for a large brandy glass within reach, taking hold of it he pulled the cork from the bottle and poured himself a large glass of the warm amber liquid. He took a long drink and sighed heavily before making his way to a far table with bottle and half-full glass. He sat quietly and alone in a dark secluded nook of the Haven, letting the cave of his mind swallow him.

    When he awoke in the now sparsely populated Haven the lanterns were out and golden sunlight flooded in through the windows illuminating all within save the small dark corner where this man had remained motionless throughout the night. Rilec glanced down into his lap to fine his faithful companion curled up into a jagged ball asleep. What would have appeared to be a smile crossed his face though it was quickly gone as he looked back up rubbing his eyes gently coaxing them out of long acquired night vision. After a few moments, the man of solitude stood and left the haven as he had entered it.

    Chapter Two: The Portrait

    The crunching of snow echoed, and the sound could be made of only one thing...footsteps. They echoed through the murky silence that was hostage to lunar glow. The crunching was fast, as was their maker. Of what made the noise, one could not merely tell, but of closer eyes, a black wolf that stuck out to all over the white ground, but the dead trees of the forest provided him something of camouflage to it. But why would he be in such a place? Where did he come from?

    The black wolf was like a black sheep; all the wolves in the land were white, for the snow would ravage any other of the right to hide from anything who could deliver it a slaying. Nevertheless, this one stayed alive. Giving him the strength to go on, passion burned from his green eyes at the base of a black snout with a gleaming nose at its end. They bore a kind of hatred, hatred only the most wicked of creatures would understand. But with them was the shaggy black fur of an arctic wolf, black sheep indeed.

    Leagues could be seen behind this wolf, for he was in search of a necromancer, through vast lands he traveled, vengeance driving him to do such. His kin was slain by undead, zombies and skeletons, wraiths and specters, vampires and flesh creations. And for what? Hunger most likely, but positivity was not in his possession, so for that, he sought the dark lord's council himself.

    Why only council? Such a beast with a fury be held back? What a feat! But alas, it was no feat, and no lack of courage, but he had intelligence. What could a mere wolf hope to accomplish against a man who could rally the dead? If he even was a man. For someone like him should know...looks can be deceiving. For the wolf as spoken of, was not merely a wolf.

    Leagues behind him...dead trees, broken skeletons, and amongst it all, paw prints gained sovereignty. A creature of the dead burst forth into his path, and with reflex, the wolf jumped and with a tyrannical jaw snap, tore the neck asunder, and kept running, even as ice cold blood sprayed into his face. Searing at his eyes, the liquid hardly hindered him, for he drove onward, like a warrior into battle.

    And onward to battle he went, against the distance between him and his journey, a place called Necrobane. How he knew of this place, even he did not know, let alone how he knew where it was located, it was as if the dark lord whom he sought himself called to him. The dark lord who should not even know of him, the dark lord whose minions should have slain him with his kin, why was he left alive? A bigger mystery than its precursor.

    Alas he came upon a cobblestone path, where the trees grew more dense, but the bath was untouched, and was quite dusty, but the wolf treaded upon the path, kicking up the dust, when anymore, he was no longer a wolf, but a man, with wolfish features.

    He stood at a good height, probably about 6'0 or 6'1 to be exact, his body was lean, but it held hints of muscle, only lightened, from starvation, or in better words, determination. He was bare and pale, as were most of any humanoid race in the region, for it was foggy, grey, and cold. A long black canine tail came down from the back of his waist, and curved back up, just as a wolf would have. Atop his head, which bore shaggy black hair, were two black wolfish ears, to match his tail, just as his pearly white fangs, which were unseen, matched his ivory claws. Tribal markings made appearance on his face, neck, arms, legs, and torso, as if to state what he was, if it were not already obvious, he was a wolf of the north, as dark as his fur was, he was of northern blood, bearing a scar over his left eye, right forearm, and collarbone, all long, and apparently from a type of long blade, he also bore a small scar, just above his waist, looking as if from a spear or dagger. And he sought out the darkness which reigned over the murderers of his kinsman.

    The lord of his manor was sitting quietly at a large rounded table in one of the many chambers deep within the halls of his twisted home. His body sat motionless save the occasional movement of his arm to quench his everlasting thirst with small glass wine. The walls of the room were lined with books and trinkets alike though many were covered in the dust of decaying life. Along the northern wall hung a great portrait of a beautiful woman, her skin pale, her expression full of eagerness, locks of golden brown hair flowed over her shoulders to rest neatly above either breast, her body clothed in an elegant dress of her court lined with golden lily’s. Upon her head rest, a grand tiara of silver ivy leaves a mark of her stature. Around her neck laid rest a pendant, set with a grand ruby and lined with silver dragon clutching the sacred gem within its talons, the very same pendant that adorned the breast of the soul living inhabitant of the room. Beneath the painting hung a small tablet reading "Alicia Farchaos, herald of the realm of Frethen in the land of Sundereth and countess to Riley Farchaos son of Roghallach" The portrait within this hall was one of the few things devoid of dust showing it's grave significance to the lord of its resting place. Beneath still was a great stone coffin engraves with markings of safe passage to the heavens and curses to those whom would disturb the sleepers rest. Upon the sealed lid of the tomb rested a bouquet of ivory lily’s held together with a grand ring, the ring of the Lords mother, it had remained untouched for many years.

    Rilec sat deep within his studies when the ever-recognizable stench of rotting flesh seemed to grow stronger under his nose. He had no need to look up, he knew exactly what it was, a soft scuffling sound began to echo down the hallway. Soon the sounds maker stood before him, at last the man looked up to find one of his many servants standing before him. The thing of the dead would not speak nor could it, a headless corpse, a soulless body with perfect obedience. The undead servant carried with it a small plate of food and several rats that squealed in fear. The plate was set before Rilec and the rats tossed to the floor a few meters away from the man. The corpse then left just as it had entered. The rats had cowered in a corner though they knew nowhere around this man was safe for them. In a far corner of the room sat a small figure of bone that remained so still one would have mistaken it for just an ornament, but in a sudden awakening and cloud of dust the figure of his companion drake pounced upon its cowering dinner snapping the spine to render the vermin immobile. The drake began to feed mercilessly while its victim sat helpless and in terror, the creature’s soul began to flow like a wretched cloud from its very eyes, within a few second the small rat lay lifeless and silent while the drake moved onto its next victim.

    Silence had filled the room again as Rilec had begun to pick at his food, these days hunger hadn’t plagued him much and when it did it was light and easily satisfied. His companion had abandoned its perch in the corner to curl up neatly on the table before its owner. An hour had pasted when Rilec’s senses perked as he began to feel a growing presence in the vicinity of his home, he’d felt it earlier but it was faint and far off, thus he’d not thought much of it. Few ventured near his home for the darkness of his nature seemed to take a toll on the land. No wildlife would enter the Shattered Woods nor would those of the nearby villages, he who dared would often not return, there was legend that one man had though he returned to his home a mad man he returned none-the-less

    Above the stone entrance to his dark home there say a warding creature though made of blackened marble it was ever watchful with black diamond eyes. The guardian of Necrobane was a fierce creature brought forth from the depths of the underworld, A gargoyle bred for a single purpose, to destroy the unworthy.

    Rilec sensed the growing presence through this creature and rose to make his way into another chamber. The room was bare save a large pedestal in the center of the room, The lord of these caverns looked down into the pedestal filled with a silver liquid as an image began to form, the path into his home was now clearly visible, a creature upon it, a creature of the living. Rilec smiled as if he’d known who it was, he left the chamber with a single sentence.

    “Stay your claws gatekeeper; we shall test this one in the Halls of Rebirth.”

    The Gatekeeper stared down at the newcomer with slight disappointment and unease. Its eyes relentless and unblinking while its mouth curled around into a welcoming smirk. The keeper moved down to stand near the stone door as the living approached. The door swung open on great hinges with the scraping of stone on stone sending a shudder through the quiet forest. Within was a single tunnel leading downward into the depths of The Dark Lords wretched home, no torches lit the halls only darkness was within.

    The sound of welcoming gateway came to the ears of a wolf nearby, continuing down his path, passion burning in his eyes still. Trees without life were silent as ornamental steel as he passed them, for there was no breeze in this place called Necrobane. He had a feeling that he was expected, but why, he knew not. He knew not even what he wanted to find, or how he knew of this dark lord. It is common knowledge that behind every undead, there is a necromancer, but how would he know just where to find this necromancer.

    The murky woods beckoned him further down the path, and further he went, pursuing his obscure goal, to meet with this vile noble, whom he knew nothing of, only that he would find him here. So he walked on, determination engraved into his face. But determination meant nothing at this point; he knew not if he walked into a vicinity of hostility or hospitality, he only felt that he needed to be there, so onward to the lair he went.

    As he walked, the trees continued to increase in density, and the air grew ever more still, but the chilled blood on his face and chest still cut at him, but still it seemed to be no hinder. But for the first time since he left a lonely cave in the north, he stopped. He took in a deep breath, and listened to nothing, for there was nothing to listen to.

    But silence, as golden when raw, as it may be, never lasts long. Two undead came from the woods, followed by a skeleton, and he had a feeling more where on the way. He sighed, and the once fiery eyes turned grieving. "Alltaf þrjóskast við ert the meistaragráða blindur skálgi." Always persistent are the master's blind roaches

    He darted past the undead with flesh, with ungodly speed. Before the skeleton could act, he grabbed onto its wrists, and kicked it in the chest, sending it armless into a tree, ultimately resulting in the shattering of a ribcage. At this, he equipped himself with a stolen battleaxe and buckler, being quick to arm.

    He took a decapitating cleave at the undead to his left, while using his off-hand to fire blasts of lightning at the other. But what happens when you kill a roach? Two more come. As if on cue, a handful of undead and skeletons came from the trees and looked at him with hunger.

    Acting quickly, he hacked the chest of the one in front, and bashed it aside with his buckler, sending icy blood spraying from the gaping wound. He sent out another blast of lightning, jumping between a few of them. After the lightshow of flesh, he swung his buckler into the face of a skeleton, crushing its skull, along with its support. He took another wild swing at an undead cutting him in half, allowing another geyser of frozen life to hit him.

    After a fair amount of bashing and chopping, he threw down his weapons and made a statement to the lifeless piles of flesh and bone "Og alltaf hægur til the athöfn eins og heilbrigður." And always slow to act as well. To his surprise, he looked up and saw a dark opened doorway to welcome him when he looked up; it seemed he had finally arrived.

    The new arrival had stirred the depths of the caverns the very walls seemed to come alive with the presence of living flesh within them. The floor was bare dirt near the entrance to the hollow and gradually became smoothed stone as the trek into the bowls of earth went on. Deeper within there was a faint light a pale green illumination flooded in from a high vent in the ceiling though the lower end seemed to be covered by a raw formed gem, emeralds as primitive form. More of these occasional vents began to appear in a multitude of colors. The air began to feel heavy and fill with the stench of ever-recognizable death. The Buried faces of the dead began to emerge from the ground to gather around their master whom no waited deep within the caverns in the antechamber atop a balcony that over looked the newcomer’s path.

    The sensation of life grew stronger yet and Rilec withdrew into the darkness leaving only his companion to watch for the new child of Necrobane. The tunneled entrance to the antechamber had turned into a stone hall gated by two perching stone dragons these unlike their gatekeeper were soulless and immobile their mouths gaped in silent roar and their talons lashed at each other in an eternal battle. At long last, the new child would enter Necrobane. The wolf creature stood in the center of the antechamber when the Lord reappeared silently in the entryway.

    “Ah I see you’ve finally found your way into my home, how do you like it, alive enough for you?”

    Rilec smiled with a vague almost amused expression and moved into the torch lit antechamber, his arm rose slightly in motion for the creature perching upon the stair rail to take presence upon his shoulder as it did willingly with a soft screeching caw. Rilec turned back to the one before him and looked him over carefully. He cocked his head slightly and spoke again.

    “Hmm less furry than I expected, hmm no matter, come Levuri. Oh yes, Levuri, that is you, here your name matters not, whatever your kin may have called you forget it, you are Levuri, it has certain significance to you. Ah dear me on one of my tangents again, Come!”

    Rilec turned so suddenly it left even his companion flustered and in the air. He stalked down a corridor swiftly to stop dead in the center of another chamber.

    “Ah yes here we are. Down this corridor is a chamber I like to call it the camber of Rebirth, but those who dared enter it have called it the Hall of madness. Within the chamber lies an alter, upon it is set a necklace, the Charity of Madness. Retrieve it and return to me in my study.”

    Rilec left the new student of his standing alone in the corridor in utter silence save the soft clanking in the distance of chain and steel on stone. A faint voice called back.

    “Oh and do mind the General, he doesn’t particularly like visitors.”

    "Hvaða?" What? He inquired, but he knew he would get no response. And like his quest to Necrobane, his location now, he did not know why he would do this, but, before he knew it, he found himself walking down the corridor, towards a door. A door, somehow he knew it lead to the Chamber of Rebirth.

    When he reached the door at the end, his destination, he slowly reached out toward the silver doorknob. The doorknob was surprisingly cold, opposing to the vivid place which was entitled Necrobane. It sent a chill up his spine. But he turned the knob and pushed it open, and at that, he took a step into the Chamber of Rebirth.

    The room was different from the rest of the rooms he had visited, it was devoid of color. The floors where checkered with large black and grey squares. The walls were black and had runic designs over them, with larger than life obsidian suits of armor on the walls, except for the front and back walls, they were lined with the same style arrangements of armor, only human sized, and they were lined as if ready to fight, each with a different weapon. The ceiling was very high, and was made of the same marble as the walls, with monstrous pillars, containing the runic designs coming down. But what caught Levuri's eye the most was an obsidian alter at the far side of the room, with a Minotaur standing guard.

    The Minotaur had brown fur over flesh that hung from muscled bone; in fact, in some places you could see wounds open enough to where the bones were visible. He bore only shoulder armor, which had crossing leather straps over his chest and back, and armor over his thighs and groin. One of his horns had been broken off, and it appeared to be one of his many visible scars of battle. But more menacing than the piercing red eyes he had, was his monstrous obsidian flail, and along with that, the sound of clapping hooves over marble.

    Quickly he grabbed a halberd from the nearest suit of armor, but before he could admire its ebony blade, he was forced to dodge a cleaving blow from the Minotaur’s mighty flail. The noise echoed throughout the room, it was almost deafening. The sheer power of the blow shattered the tile that had just before lain beneath his feet. He quickly took a stab at the Minotaur’s waist, but all it did was cause the beast to grow more enraged. Glancing at the large crevice in the floor, he moved again quickly to avoid the flailing swing of the beasts arm.

    Another swing glanced the halberd in his hand tearing it from his grip and flinging it across the room. The clatter of the chained flail rocked the floor beneath his feet as the creature roared in anger. Its breath was foul with the stench of rotting corpses. The creature swung again straight for his head. Quickly rolling backward he clambered up to another suit of armor pulling free a giant clamor glittering with inset gold. The blade was heavy in his hands.

    The beast swung round flinging the weapon in an arch over its head. He darted in and swung as hard as his body would allow. The blade connected with the beasts’ thigh ripping through flesh, bone, and muscle to rip off the leg entirely sending the beast reeling backward into a toppling fall. The beast slammed hard into the floor shaking the rooms’ very walls. The Minotaur wailed in fear as the flail that had been in mid air came flying down to crash into its own face. The beast fell silent and motionless, thought he knew full well it was not dead. Darting over the body he leapt up to, the high alter and grabbed the ancient necklace.
    The sound of chains dragging over the floors echoed in the chamber and he turned to see the beast raising again, its leg attached and face unscarred. Stuffing the necklace into a small pouch at his belt, he discarded the large blade and leapt down onto all fours. Sprinting away, he ducked between the creatures legs and ran toward the door. The rush of the giant flail flew past him as the steel crashed into the floor. Slipping out the door, he sprinted down the halls as the clatter of hooves endlessly chased after him. Reaching the main hall he glanced back to see the beast nearly 100 yards behind him. Turning abruptly, he darted up the stairs and sunk back against the wall but only enough to look over the edge. Soon the Minotaur entered the main hall pausing a moment to look around. The creature huffed loudly and turned back dragging the flail along the stone floor. The deafening sound of chain and hoof slowly faded away down the great halls of Necrobane.

    Levuri glanced down and pulled the necklace out of the small pouch. A tarnished silver chain had hung around it a simple pendant with a portrait of a woman. Not in any way enchanted.

    The door to the study swung open on silent hinges, the room within was dark and less illuminated than the rest of this underground mansion. The single source of light was a large fireplace set into one of the stone walls the floor unlike the rest of the chambers was covered with the pelt of some great animal, the fur soft to the touch was evidence of the owners seemingly split personality. In the center of the room sat a large ebony desk, was almost seamless, it looked to one as if it were fashioned from a single piece of the raw material, and upon it rested numerous scholarly things ranging from quill and inkwell to scales. The room seemed warm and welcoming but upon the mantel rested another great painting. Its colors were deep reds and shaped to form the horror of its reality, the painting was of a great battle, corpses piled high as their killers drank from a pool of their spilled blood. The sky was smoke filled as villages in the distance burned under a blood red moon.

    “They say that the painter of this great piece used his very own blood as the ink for his work. His name was Lucience, he is there.”

    A hand moved out from behind a large chair in front of the fireplace to point to a large display case in the corner. The glass glowed orange with the reflection of the lapping flames, but within could be seen a wretched decayed corpse and yet perfectly preserved. Its mouth ajar in a gaping screech and eyes were marked with a certain sadness and despair. The eyes were drawn deep and sagged giving it a look of utter desperation. The corpse seemed to be in a position built for a corner, as it seemed the former owner perhaps died in one. The thing that seemed to draw the most attention though was the single paintbrush clutched in its hand stained with a dark red liquid.

    However, it could not be seen, Rilec began to smirk,
    “Oddly though, that corpse is merely a month old.”

    Rilec sat quietly at his chair now dressed in black robes; another identical chair had been placed beside him for the occasion. The Room seemed abnormally warm compared to the rest of the caverns yet the air was filled with an eerie bone chilling cold that seemed to constantly surround the man.

    “Come, sit. I am sure you have many unanswered questions. Yes come sit and let the howling winds of your spirit run silent, Black Wind…yes quiet a good name that, quite good indeed….”

    Rilec trailed off slightly and began to mumble quietly to himself in a different language. His native tongue had not fallen on the ears of anyone outside of his village since his father’s rule ended long ago. One word in particular would stick out to any what heard it “Verda.”. Rilec began to rub his temple gently until he felt the soft nudge of his small companion trying to crawl onto his lap.

    Chapter Three: The Bargain

    Iuguolo,
    terminus poena,
    addo gelu,
    iuguolo.

    The words were hot and burning into his brain. The air grew tight around him once again. A thousand years of servitude and this is all she gifts him, a petty wolf boy? Iuguolo, Iuguolo! The voices were screaming, urging him to kill, to make, better. Beads of sweat rolled down his pale forehead as he lay still under the furred blankets. The whispers clawed mercilessly at his mind trapped within a corridor of corpse. Deep gushing scars bound him to revenge, to death. All fell silent within the masters’ bedchamber, his breathing had stopped. Rilec awoke suddenly; his eyes were a blood red throbbing in some deep hatred for all things living. Without hesitation, the man rose from the bed with an inhuman motion. His body was pale and unclothed; his muscles seemed to bulge outward as if something within were trying to escape. This was not the master of the manor, the man padded quietly down the hall to stop before a heavy arched door. He examined it for a moment and brought up a hand into his viewing, a blackened mass swirled around his fingertips. A ghostly-clawed hand appeared and wavered in the flickering torchlight of the hall. In an instant the hand thrust forward to the door sending a wave of destruction forward to shatter the door into flying splinters, the hand pulled back in a grasping motion and all noise and motion stopped, as if the creature within the master controlled time itself. Within lay the newcomer, the black sheep in its pile of hay, completely unaware to the fate now lying before it. The man walked forward to stand above the wolf boy, a hand, the masters hand, reached out to grasp the wolf by the collar, he hung lazily from the man’s hand, he slept. Just as the hand had appeared so did a face, feminine in all natures save the hallowed eyes. A gasping sound arouse from the wolf boy as a dark mist drew forth from him to join with the face. The wolf fell limp to the ground as the splinters of the shattered door clattered against the stone floor.

    Rilec awoke in his bed, wiping his brow instinctively to clear the sweat; he was startled to find none. Something stirred in a darkened corner and it became clear. His eyes closed for a moment and he spoke quietly.

    “A soul for a seed.”

    “An army for revenge, yes, that was our barging, and I’ve come to collect.”

    “Does your collecting never end goddess?”

    The figure of the dark goddess emerged from the shadows, dressed in little more than ebony beaded bra and skirt.

    “No, my dear Rilec, it does not.”

    Rilec opened his eyes to look at her briefly; she was now standing at the end of the bed studying him.
    “You are a cold lover Goddess; your nagging is endless and ever unsatisfactory.”

    Nocturnal has moved to the side of the bed, standing over him for a moment and dropping the beaded clothes to the floor. Smiling a little the goddess made her way into his bed.

    “I will be warm in due time my love” she spoke softly as she moved to straddle him.

    Rilec sighed softly and looked up at her with a frown. “Very well.”