I stand, pushing myself free from the rubble, my limbs trembling beneath the weight of smoke and ash. Fire rages around me, devouring the remains of our stronghold. The air stinks of charred flesh and spilled entrails. I don’t know how I’m still breathing. Somehow, I’ve survived.

  The demon god is gone. The sky, once torn open by its descent, begins to stitch itself closed. But its taint remains.

  New horrors rise from the aftermath, my brothers. Twisted by that abomination’s foul power, they shamble forward as monstrous parodies of the men they once were. Blackened veins pulse beneath their skin, eyes glowing with infernal light as they tear into fallen comrades, devouring them with animalistic hunger.

  I choke down a cry. I can’t bear to watch.

  At their head moves a man. A human cultist commanding my twisted brethren.

  With a wave of his hand, several corpses twitch and rise, jerked into the air by unseen force. Their chests split open midair with a sickening crack. One by one, their hearts are torn free, each glowing with a nefarious, pulsing light. They float toward him, encircling his head like a halo of damned stars.

  Rage burns in my heart.

  Magic.

  The dark arts.

  Practiced by men and demon alike. The faeries claim to be the origin. The men of the east say it was born from their world-dragon.

  We of the faith knew better. That it's true nature originates from Lumina's light, a pure force that has been distorted by the greed of men. Our tainted souls, corrupting the it into one of darkness, breeding unnatural phenomena. Hence why it is known, as the dark arts.

  Men should not control such forces. The bending of nature is a privilege that belongs to god alone. In faith do we rely, for miracles to be born. The holy fire that set our blades aflame, the purifying might of the blessed water, the fear our symbols instill in the hearts of the wicked. Those are the weapons allowed to us, the strength we need to face their cruel and corrupted magics. That is what our goddess has given us, so that we need not delve into the dark arts ourselves.

  And yet.....

  My hand bleeds with red fire. Power and rage coursing through my veins as I glare at the man defiling the corpses of my brothers.

  My palm faces him and in a flash, he is engulfed in flames.

  Incredible....

  What incredible power this is. If I had this in that last battle, how many could I have saved?

  But....

  The cultist twists through the fire, waving it away with a snarl, runes pulsing across his skin. I take up my hammer, muscles tensing as I see him prepare to retaliate, his body crackling with dark energy....

  But then again, it happens.

  Red fire engulfs him from multiple directions.

  More survivors emerge from the rubble, burned, bloodied, furious. Men who were not slain, nor twisted into monsters. Power burns in their veins, same as mine.

  What is it? A gift from heaven? Or yet another of the demon god’s cruel mutations? A perversion of our souls, rather than our bodies....

  The thought sickens me to the core, but I cast it aside. There is no time for doubt.

  I join my brothers, flames rising from our hands, our bodies, our fury. Together, we burn the cultist and our corrupted kin alike. There is no salvation left for them.... only cleansing fire.

  The west may have fallen, but we have not. And so long as we draw breath, we will stand. No matter what it takes.

  No matter what we have to sacrifice.

  "Oooof!" The cart jolts violently as it strikes a rock, pulling me from my slumber and the unsettling dream that came with it. The air is bitterly cold, with snow falling steadily, blanketing the ground.

  “Fuck... another nightmare.” I whisper to myself. I’ve been having them constantly since leaving Mistvale, dreams of demons and death.

  It must’ve been that fight with the giant spider, addled my brain.

  I tug my threadbare cloak tighter around me, though it does little to ward off the chill. The stale stench of old piss and sweat clings to me, but the driver doesn’t seem to notice, or care.

  It’s been a long journey.

  "Ye listenin', lad? This be our history."

  "Yeah, yeah, I'm listening, old man. Your fairy tale is fascinating." I yawn, dragging a hand through the long, tangled mess of my hair, the dark, clumped strands parting reluctantly under my fingers.

  I cast a weary glance at my surroundings. Snowy fields stretch endlessly to the north, south, and east, but to the west, the high stone walls of Ravencroft loom on the horizon. Finally, I am almost there.

  "Hmph! A fairy tale, is it?" the driver spits, his voice rough with disdain. "Ye’ll regret mockin' history, lad. Especially with the rumors I’ve been hearin' of late...." His gaze remains fixed on the path ahead, his shoulders slumped wearily.

  "Fine," I mutter. "Finish your story. I'm listening." I humor him. Rough sort or not, he’s done me a good turn by taking me through the snow. The least I can do is listen to whatever tale he’s picked up on the road.

  "Hmph. Story..." He falls silent for a moment, pondering. Then he continues, his tone somber.

  "The demons ravaged the land, crushin' kingdom after kingdom. We fought 'em, aye, with Holy Saint Lude leadin' the charge, pushin' 'em back. But when the Warlock came? Everything changed."

  The title catches my attention, snapping me out of my indifferent haze. "Warlock? What’s that?"

  The old man scratches his beard thoughtfully, as though searching for the right words. "A sorcerer of sorts, but not the ordinary sort. The great Warlock fraternized with the demons, drawing his power from their corruption. It’s said he wielded the strength of the underworld itself."

  I mull over his words. Sorcerers I’ve heard of, most people have, relics of the ancient world. But this Warlock... drawing power from demons? That’s a new one.

  "Together," the old man’s voice cuts through my thoughts, "with his pact-bound demon, the Warlock summoned the demon god and turned it against humanity. We survived... barely. Thanks to Holy Saint Lude. But.... the forces of evil are never truly vanquished."

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  I consider his words, the weight in his tone tells me this is no mere fireside story to him.

  "Where did you hear this tale, old man?" I ask, genuinely curious.

  "Me gran," he replies, his voice steady. "Never knew the woman to be a liar. If she told a story, she told it true." He nods to himself as though affirming her honesty.

  "Hmmm..." I murmur, still skeptical. I've heard the tale before, the clerics that passed by our village repeated it endlessly, I didn't believe it then and I don't believe it now. But even so, it’s a new twist to what they would usually tell. I can appreciate that at the very least.

  "Believe it or don’t, but mind yerself out there, lad. I’ve heard things during my travels. Entire villages abandoned, armed men disappearing into the night. Just two moons past, a village I regularly made trips to, I found in ruins..." The older man looks down, sorrow clear on his face.

  "Stick t' the road, ye hear? For beyond it... dark things prowl." I’m not sure how to respond to his warning. Surely, the tale of the abandoned villages isn’t something he’d lie about. But dark things?

  Are more of those spiders out there?

  "Better yet, keep within the town walls," he adds, a bit more cheerfully. "For we’re finally here, Ravencroft. " The cart creaks to a halt just outside the town’s entrance. It isn’t the largest settlement, but compared to Mistvale it’s like a whole kingdom in itself.

  Tall, thick walls, weathered by time and sturdy enough to repel most threats. Known for its modest trade, I'm hoping I can find some opportunities here. I have a few things to sell at least, and an... acquaintance.

  "Thank you for the ride," I say, stepping off the cart and brushing off the snow that clings to my cloak. I hand the old man three copper coins. I don’t have much left but I always pay for services rendered.

  He accepts the coins with a grunt, his calloused hands snatching them up. "You’re welcome... what was your name again?" His brow furrows, as if rummaging through his memory.

  "It’s Seven," I reply.

  He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of curiosity passing over his weathered face. "A strange name... Well, Seven, I’m Old Bram. Good to meet you. Do not forget what I said. If yer leave this town, stick to the roads. I ride between here and Mornsted every half moon too. If yer need my services again, ye know where to find me."

  With a final nod, he urges his cart forward, the guards giving him a familiar nod as he passes through the town gate into the quiet town. I lift my eyes to the looming walls of Ravencroft, promising shelter, at least if things go well.

  I step toward the gate, my boots crunching against the icy ground. The guards eye me warily, their hands gripping long spears, their padded armor bulked beneath thick, weathered cloaks. "Halt, stranger," one barks, his voice tinged with suspicion. "What is your business here?"

  As I draw closer, their noses wrinkle in unison, recoiling at my scent. I can’t blame them; weeks on the road leave little room for cleanliness. "I'm here to sell some goods and visit my mother. She’s a resident of this town. Her name is Zaenith."

  The guards exchange a glance, their eyes scanning me from head to toe. "That would explain your size," one mutters, his tone half-joking but still cautious. "You're almost as tall as she is. Got giant's blood in you?"

  Standing a full head and shoulders above both men, my tall but wiry frame looms as I shrug. "Maybe. Who knows?" My answer is nonchalant, but inwardly, I’m relieved they know her. I’ve not seen Zaenith for some time, by my own choice, but.... I have nowhere else to go and she and I have unfinished business.

  "Very well," the larger guard says, his round, droopy face creasing as he points with his spear. "Zaenith’s house is on the south side of town, near the apothecary. And if you're here to trade, the market district is close by."

  "But watch yourself," the second guard interjects, his tone darkening. "There have been reports of brigands about. They like to prowl at night."

  I nod, thanking them curtly before stepping past into the town of Ravencroft. The streets are quiet and clean, though lined with snow, the stone road leading to the south side of town neatly shoveled. As I walk, I take in the sights.

  I appear to have entered through the residential district, the faint outlines of houses visible in the distance. An inn catches my eye, its warm glow beckoning from behind fogged windows. It looks inviting, but my meager coin purse would barely stretch to cover a bed.

  One of these days I’m going to stop being poor.

  With a sigh, I set my sights instead on Zaenith’s house, hoping she might offer me a blanket and some space on her floor for the night.

  I wander through the silent streets, crossing into the empty market district. The stillness is a little unnerving, as a stranger in this town. But somewhere in this maze of quiet streets lies Zaenith's house, but where exactly, I haven’t a clue. The shutters of the surrounding homes are firmly drawn, their occupants surely abed at this hour. No one to ask, no sign to guide me.

  Do I knock door-to-door and risk earning the ire of the townsfolk? The thought makes me hesitate, but with no better plan forming in my mind, I weigh my options in the cold.

  "Hm?"

  A sharp crunch of snow pierces the silence, distinct and deliberate.... a sound that isn’t mine. My heart beats faster as I spin around, my hand flying instinctively to the hilt of my knife. The guard’s warning echoes in my mind: brigands prowl the streets at night. I can’t afford to be careless.

  But when I turn, there’s nothing. Nobody. The street lies empty.

  Yet, I know that sound wasn’t my imagination. My ears strain for another, my eyes scanning the dark corners of the market square. The memory of the spider flashes through my mind, that haunting creature chasing me...

  Surely, a monster like that wouldn’t be in the town walls...?

  CRUNCH

  I hear it again, a sharp, deliberate movement in the snow. Whipping around, I stumble, my feet sinking into the thick drifts. "Fuck!" The world tilts as I crash to the ground, snow clinging to my hair and clothes. My head spins, far more than it should from such a fall.

  I struggle back to my feet in a rush, dizziness clouding my senses.

  "Hey, you!!"

  The voice cuts through my clouded mind like a blade, youthful but strong, coming from directly behind me. "Wha-?" I spin around, my knife already in my hand.

  "What's this? Another brigand-"

  My vision slowly clears. A man stands before me, young, perhaps as old as I am, a little north of his twentieth year. But unlike me he's handsome, clean, lustrous golden hair maning a well sculpted jaw. He's tall, perhaps not to the unusual degree I am, but more than most men. He wears fine armor, a half-plate over chainmail, the tabard over the top bearing the same blue and grey as the guards at the gate.

  "Who are you…?" My heart still pounding, I stare at the stranger confused, gripping the knife tightly.

  "Wait, there was a-" I turn back around, scanning the shadows for what I heard earlier, but there's nothing. No one.

  "Release the blade brigand scum." The man behind me snarls, stepping forward, his hand going to the sword at his belt.

  "No! Wait! Something was-" I step back, raising my hands. But the youthful warrior does not halt his advance. "Save your lies, commoner filth. I can smell your misdeeds from here." He draws his weapon, a long steel sword. I look at my small knife, it's hardly a match for a weapon like that, but....

  "Release the blade, or by Lumina you'll die by mine, right here." He shouts, leveling his sword at my throat.

  I curse inwardly, my instincts tell me to fight, to resist, to hold on to my weapon no matter the cost....

  "Fuck."

  But I drop the knife regardless. Whoever this man is, he seems trained, and he has the better weapon.

  "Hmph. So there's a modicum of sense in that lowborn head of yours. Good." He kicks my knife away and snatches my fallen bag from the ground.

  "You are mistaken, I am no brigand." I glare at the armored man, but make no move to stop him as he rifles through my sack of belongings.

  "A few copper coins... a tunic... and what's this...?" He pulls the iron pendant from the bag, cleaned of the blood and venom. "A pagan necklace, how quaint." The imperious man sneers, holding the chain at a distance as though he'd just pulled it from a chamber pot. "Careful, I want to sell that-" I reach out and grab the trinket...

  "Arghh-" But he snatches it back, the edges of the linked chain sharp as a razor, cutting through my palm with ease.

  "Hmph, serves you right, possessing this pagan filth." He says, looking disdainfully at the now blood-soaked item. "I should have you flogged for even attempting to peddle this trash." Clutching my bleeding hand, I glare at the man. "Who exactly are you?" He smirks imperiously, looking down on me despite the fact that I'm near a head taller than he is.

  "Daniel Stont, captain of the Ravencroft town guard and son of Mayor Edwin Stont," he declares, his voice dripping with self-importance. "But you, brigand scum, will address me as 'My Lord.'"

  A sound behind me... footsteps, firm and deliberate. I turn just as several armored figures approach, their spears leveled.

  "Captain," one of the guards speaks, voice steady. "Do you require assistance?"

  Daniel nods, gesturing to me. "Another brigand. Put him in irons, father will see to him tomorrow." He puts the pendant back in the sack and then tosses it to the guard. "Take his belongings too, evidence of his crimes. And that knife as well. He accosted me with it." He points to the rusty dagger, buried in the snow beside me. "I didn't, I was being-" A hard blow to the abdomen shuts me up, knocking the wind from my body. "Silence, the captain gave no order to speak." Two guards grab me by the arms, while the third pokes his spear into my back.

  “Sir.” The guards nod to their captain and then, turn back to me.

  "Walk brigand." The spear prods my back hard, almost enough to draw blood. And so, left with no choice, I obey.

  Letting the guardsmen take me away.

  Take me to be imprisoned…. again.

  Results

  - 9 Copper Coins

  Status: Imprisoned