The trip took weeks. She just started feeling acclimated into the urban environment these last few years and now she got to experience it all. Oceans, desert, grasslands, mountains, swamps and now snow. Her papa would freak out, if he knew where she was right now. Probably followed by a heart attack, if word traveled to Union that Dydamia Gorsoko has been performing in taverns and whorehouses. Thankfully, she has been using an alias. Not only for when patrons are enjoying her talents, but ever since she left her prisonous family estate. Changing your persona is a tricky task, but Damy – her papa called her that – had plenty of experience. Thanks to Mrs. Yudil, her home-school teacher, she was trained in glamor arts. From the age of eight to fourteen she perfected using garments and cosmetics to disguise her glowing skin, her opalescent eyes and her demi-grown wings, all part of her celestial legacy, her angelic blood. That damned dormant legacy that decided to reemerge through her. That damned legacy that convinced her papa to keep her locked up in her room and isolated for the biggest part of her life.

It wasn’t that bad. At least that’s what she told herself. Besides her papa and her teacher, she was visited by Joe, her best friend. A street-urchin girl that regularly sneaked into the Gorsoko estate and kept her company. She liked hearing Joe’s stories. Tons of adventures in the slums. Crazy characters, street games, pilfering and trash fire songs. She loved the songs. She always hid small parts of her lunch to trade for new rhymes with Joe. She knew that many of the urchin’s rhymes were thought of on the spot to ease her hunger, but she didn’t mind. She would prefer to trade for a way to escape her isolation but Joe would not divulge her secret pathway. Not even for sugar puddings. “Can’t say. I gave my word. Honor among thieves and such!” she always said. The urchin came and went as the years went by until she didn’t. The last time Damy saw her was about the same time she started scheming for her escape. Now, she pays for food on her plate by crafting rhymes like the urchin and chanting those rhymes next to enchanting melodies picked by her lute. She is a bard and a fine one at that. Also, a pretty fair fencer thanks to Mrs. Yudil. Otherwise, the many hurdles on the way here would have ended the trip early.

She stepped foot inside the white courtyard. C’gardnire Keep at last. Ruins of the Beloden Kings frozen in time. A revolution begins where another one ends. Fitting, yet unpromising. Damy’s feet took a pause and she pondered that thought for a bit as she began scouting the dozens that have answered the same call she has. One , two,  three, four, – a brute’s voice interrupts her count.

“Tight booty you got there missy … Lost de time staring at it.”

She turns around and she sees a seven foot, lightly armored, monstrous figure of a mutant drooling over her. Pale blue skin, inhuman tusks sliding above his lower lips, muscles for days and a horrible haircut. On his back, a giant great-axe painted in gore and on his left arm the bloody corpse of a hare. His other arm is performing some squeezing gesture bringing a huge smile on his ugly face. Subtly disgusted, she swiftly utters her long rebuttal as he brings the lifeless hare next to his jaw and bites big, crushing bones and tissue.

“Thank you kind sir. I’ve been feeding it lots of dwarven cock. Lots of squatting on top of their big beautiful bellies. Their length is average but see their girth … their girth is triple than normal. Length matters and all but I’ve found its a multiplication of sorts. A five cock times three is better than a pure ten. You should try it.”

The hulking blue mutant chokes on his bite and starts spitting a mix of slimy bone and meat, stunned by Damy’s response who gently bows in a curtsy and hastens away. She can hear him mumble from afar as she blends into the crowd. She’s had many incidents with creeps where she worked and this was no different. A speech like that usually dazes them and halts them from going further. A few of them get offended and some of them even lay their hands on her after that. Usually they’re the ones that she can handle in a brawl. That blue guy though, he could do permanent damage to her if he wanted. He looked and smelled like a barbarian, fearsome primal warriors who channel their might through their rage and blind emotions, living outside of civilization while worshiping beasts and spirits. Fortunately for Damy, barbarians aren’t known for their intellect. His mind probably got stuck with the math. Most people do. They didn’t have Mrs. Yudil to teach them all about arithmetics.

Humans, elves, mutants, dwarves, shortbreeds. All kinds of people have traveled here. Every single one would be considered a traitor if each one’s homeland knew about it. How many of them received a personally addressed letter? Not many, Damy guessed, feeling more troubled than proud. Troubled because the letter she received almost a year ago was addressed to her real identity. Dydamia Gorsoko. Only her, her papa and Mrs. Yudil knew who she really was. And her best friend Joe of course. She’s here because of that. She had to find out who sent the letter. Before she got it, she had seen the posters in the streets of Kanalica with just a big sketch of the inverse labyrinth symbol on the envelope’s wax seal and the same two verse riddle she received.

‘A year from now the dawn will thin

as men in war are served in tin.

The leaves will fall to shroud the blood

as blind you gaze at floating land.

Both kinds can march and lay the plinth

elude this frozen labyrinth.

In cursed place of rebel lords

find life’s eternal scarlet hoards.’

A hand wrapped in muddy white cloth extends in front of her. She raises her eyes to meet a smiling pointy eared female with a leather band below her umber messy top-knot dreadlocks.

“Hi. I am Alu. And this is Moira.” she points her other hand toward a darker skinned female with long pitch black hair hiding most of her pointy ears and a less excited look on her face. “I am a monk of the Wode and she … Well, Moira is an adventurer. We both come from Athos.”

Damy grabs Alu’s hand smiling and then waves at Moira.

“I am a trained assassin.” Moira says, smiling in contempt.

“Oh ok. My name’s Joe. I am a bard from Kanalica.” Damy’s here in secret, like everyone else, but still she lies instinctively and out of habit.

Damy looks at Moira, the darker skinned elf, who seems troubled by something she’s looking at. She draws her short blade and instantly leaps at Damy’s left side. Alu, surprised, grabs her wooden staff and Damy turns around to see about fifteen feet away from her, Moira pointing her shortsword at the face of a helmetless blonde haired and light-skinned knight.

“Why the hateful stare blondie?” Moira queries the knight while threatening his life.

The knight unstirred by the dark elf’s assault raises his shield to turn her blade away. She’s too fast for him as she drops her weapon from one hand to the other avoiding the thrust of his shield and now points it closer to his exposed neck. However, while thrusting the shield he was also stealthily unsheathing his longsword and arming himself with it, striking Moira’s shortsword away. Moira twists her body around and once again tries to sneak her blade towards the knight’s exposed face. This time though its Alu’s wooden stave that blocks her.

“Enough Moira!” Alu exclaims. Everyone is now looking at them. Moira grins as she stands down.

The blonde knight sheaths his sword yet clenches the handle of his shield harder as he utters. 

“I’ve lost two brothers in the hands of YOUR people.”

Alu’s eyebrows squint and Moira rolls her eyes.

“Athosian bastards!” the knight raises his voice as he takes an aggressive step forward.

Alu struggles to shove him back using her stave. He’s not that bulky, but combined with his plate armor he can be an immovable object if he wishes so. Maybe some sharp words will help.

“What are you doing? Where’s your gallant honor knight?” Alu yells at him.

“SHE started it!” the knight rages.

“YOUR people started the war!” Moira shouts.

“Hey ! The both of you! Stop! This is why we are all here. To make amends. To end the war right? Right?” Alu carries on her attempts to reason with them.

Moira licks her teeth and looks down. The knight in time calms off and agrees with the Wode elf. For a moment everyone ponders the reasons each of them have for being here.

Damy approaches the trio and taking a copy of Alu’s metaphorical book of friendliness introduces herself to the knight. “Hi. I am Joe.” Still she lies. “I am sorry for your brothers.” 

“Are you from Athos too?” the knight asks with a disappointed look.

“No, no. I am from Kanalica. This side of the world. The more acceptable side I guess.” Damy says and ends her response with the cutest smile.

Alu subtly giggles as the knight blushes.

“Name’s Alesander Artumore the third. I come from Serragar, Heevos’ capital and I am not a real knight. If I was, I’d be on a boat right now headed to the other, less acceptable, side avenging my family. Yet, I chose to come here to partner with infidel elves. I deserve the guillotine.”

“Hope brought you here. So did the elves.” Damy reminds him.

“What brought You here?” he asks.

“Hope too.” again she lies.

Alesander exhales. Relieves the hold on his shield and arranges it on his back.  “I apologize …” he says.

“I don’t.” Moira speaks.

“She never does. Don’t sweat about it.” Alu humourously adds. 

Meanwhile the larger crowd gets arrayed and slowly moves into the inner courtyard where walls still stand. At its end, a large tent guarded by few. Mostly thuggish looking figures. A brawny brunete in hide garb stands out from that pack with her honey tone skin, golden shoulderpads, matching bracers and a massive serrated greatsword on her back. She patrols and orders the other sentries around, making sure that no one in the crowd surpasses a pseudo-line made of stakes about ten feet forward from the front of the tent. Sometimes even by force.

The sun sets and the first ruddy leaves of autumn begin to fall from whatever kind of forestry that springs in this place. Torches and campfires get lit while Damy and her newfound acquaintances gather closer to the tent. The standout female guard captain blows a horn and then yells ‘”Attention! Introducing Lord Novey ! Behold and listen !”

Through the tent, a medium sized man with semi-long silver straight hair and crooked-pointed ears in ashen noble vestments, strolls forward. His facial features combine the elegant feminine beauty of elves with the virile broadness of men. Damy tends to fancy half-elven gents, the only kind of presumed mutant she has ever bedded. She is bothered though by the silver hair, and that name. She has heard the name ‘Novey’ before. Can’t seem to remember where.

The half-elf silently whispers something looking down on his palms and then smoke conjures at the edge of his fingertips. A peaceful whirl manifests between his lips and absorbs the fumes within his gorge. His eyes light up and rise toward the attentive crowd. He speaks and the whole of C’gardnire Keep can hear his powerful voice as if standing next to him.

“I am Suseh Novey. Welcome to the last night of the world as you know it. Tomorrow comes a new dawn brought by those who transcend their destiny!”

Damy scowled after hearing the first sentences. Her experience kicked in. She could hear the intentions in his vocal delivery. She could see the anxiety in his body language. A bard’s job is to weave words together with senses and stimulate the mind. Usually towards temporary excitement. At least, that’s what the small minded think. Those who truly understand the value of this craft, pay hefty sums to people like Dydamia to make things happen. To stimulate the mind towards agendas. She has performed a few tasks in that field. Perhaps, this is how these people found her? Perhaps, they should have advised her in regards to that speech. Perhaps even, she should have been the one to make it. 

“Prior to this day, you’ve all risen from your beds thinking it’s the will of the gods. You’ve struggled in making ends meet, thinking it’s the will of the gods. You’ve made families thinking it’s the will of the gods. You’ve participated in war and you’ve lost loved ones thinking it’s the will of the gods. No! Predestination is a false dogma. Fate is a false creed. It is OUR will not theirs. And their will is to feed on ours.”

Typical manipulation. The operator patronizes the subject.

“Fate is an unholy tool made by the holy to confine us. To have us knit ourselves on puppetry strings. Bloody strings of war dangling below their celestial city. I’ve peered into the city. It is not what they claim. It’s not the rapture. Neither scripted Elysium nor Arborea. I’ve walked within the city. Edenkand is … power.”

Philosophical rumblings followed by offerings of esoteric knowledge.

“I have … part of that power. And I intend to share it.”

Here’s the carrot. Only thing missing is the stick.

“Only with those who choose to abandon their fate. Only with those who embrace sacrifice.”

Mysterious and menacing forthcomings. There it is. The indoctrination has fully started.

Shouts are heard within the crowd and a few bodies are shoved to the sides as four men in two groups are running toward the tent screaming.

“Traitor !”

“Blasphemous scum !”

“Death to infidels !”

“For Hevor ! “

The first two are shoulder blocked and taken down by the guards. The female guard captain dashes towards the path of the other two and swings her special greatsword on the leading one. It lands on the left side of his ribcage as he screeches in pain and falls down. She struggles to pull her blade back as the last runner approaches her master. The jagged metal hooks itself on the guy’s gored innards making it hard for her to retrieve her weapon. She yells in rage as she thrusts her boot in the guy’s chest. She manages to pull her weapon back, but it is too late.

“The church sends their regards.” the runner yells as he continuously stabs the silver haired half-elf in the chest.

He stares at his assassin’s face as several blood streams flow from the wounds and onto the icy stone floors of these god forsaken ruins. The assassin’s short blade exudes fumes as its going in and out, in and out. A small sanguine pool forms between their feet and yet the half-elf doesn’t flinch. A few seconds later, the guard captain arrives and grabs the assassin by the neck cursing profanely. Before she grapples him away, her master pauses her with an arm gesture. He hinges his gaze back to the assassin.

“Does your family get paid if the mission to assassinate me… fails?” the half-elf smilingly asks the assassin as the poisonous dagger falls from his hand.

The pierced flesh that can be seen through the half-elf’s bloody garments begin to spiral and in a few seconds heal, leaving no sign of the former wounds. The assassin stunned by the sight loses his breath. He tries to utter some response but his own blood now starts to flow into his lungs.

“Don’t worry friend. I will find them and make sure they are paid in … every … last … dime!” the captain whispers into the assassin’s ears as she skewers his back with her huge blade.

Damy is taken aback by watching these events play out. At first she reckons that what she’s witnessing is a performance of some kind and a pretty good one. She gazes at the first gored body. Then on the second one that is now being impaled on a pole. No kind of glamor can disguise something like that. illusion magic maybe? Well, from what she knows illusion magic dissipates if interaction occurs with the object, in this case a human body. No magic can simulate the sight of a dead man being impaled on wooden poles like a big piece of meat. 

Damy ducks and throws up. It’s not the first time she sees someone’s life ending prematurely but definitely this was the worst one. That was no performance for damn sure. At worst, they hired the assassins themselves to create this brutal show. But what about ‘Suseh Novey’? He was stabbed several times, bled a ton and didn’t even wince. The wounds for sure went away with some kind of necromantic shit, but still the pain should have shown somehow. He’s not that good of an actor. She knows that much.

“Are you ok?” Alu asks, holding Damy’s hand.

“Yeah … sure” Damy responds.

“If you can’t handle the blood, you shouldn’t have come here.” Moira says avoiding eye contact.

A pause for silence while the surviving two assassins are shackled and moved by the guard captain inside the tent.

Damy turns to the dark elf and asks. “Moira … were those truly hired assassins?”

“What they definitely were, was stupid. Too stupid to take the job.” she responds.

Alesander surprised by her words, breaks his silence. “What are you talking about?”

“They give you so much coin, you never take the job.” Moira explains. “Had to come here and see what the fuss was all about. A lot of important people fancy that silver curl dude gone. Shit’s pretty serious.”

A new voice breaks out from behind. “Not that serious, I dare say.”

Everybody turns around to see a dark brown short haired medium built man with a goatee dressed in furry hide armor. On top of his armor, a leather shoulder strap tightly hangs containing a myriad of handaxes of different shape and size.

He continues while pointing at the guard captain. “Well, look at the people guarding him. Yeah, that warrior lady seems strong, though smart as bait. What kind of fighting man chooses a sawtooth blade for such a heavy armament? A dumb wo-“

Alesander ahems and the dark haired man halts. “Oh, I apologize. Name’s Lifespill. I met Alesander on the way here.”

“Sounds pretty menacing. Is that a nickname?” Alu asks.

“Kinda … Yes and no. Don’t really wanna stress this story too much.” Lifespill says and exhales.

“Yeah, better not do that.” Alesander quickly agrees.

The fuss has ended, the bodies have dried and the stench of blood starts to break in. The silver haired half-elf named Suseh Novey is continuing his recruitment speech.

“The Church is right to fear me. They will come to fear you too, in time. Assassins and poisoned blades will only slow you down. Your body will supernaturally heal its wounds like mine. You will draw strength and sorcery from the same fount I do. The power that I saw, you will behold too in time. We will use that power to take down their authorities and end this pointless war. All you need is sacrament. Sacrament that will twist you and attempt to take your life. If you’re worthy you’ll survive. If not, that’s the sacrifice.”

Coming here was a life threatening situation, Damy knew as much. Her goal was a lot simpler than most. Now things are getting more complicated by the minute.

Suseh continues. “Commune with this powerful blood as I and my people did before. Abolish the weakness that the corrupted Pantheon gave you and ascend mortality!”

Flashback to a few minutes ago, as another individual from the crowd steps forward in a hurry. This time a dwarf with a fiery ponytail. The guards collect themselves to protect their master, encircling him, but the dwarf is not heading towards them. He kneels in front of the former position of Lord Novey, where now lies a frozen pool of his own blood. The dwarf opens his mouth and starts munching.

Everyone is looking at the dwarf while Suseh is holding his guards back. Soon, the red haired dwarf stands, and with his back to the crowd, he grabs his neck in pain. Steam begins to discharge from his skin which appears to start glistening like the verges of molten lava.

“Unfortunately, greed is a trait of the unworthy.” Suseh utters with regret in his voice.

The dwarf screams as its flesh hardens and twists in scarlet angular shapes resembling dragon scales. He clearly cannot breath and he turns around erratically seeking for help. None is given. From the extreme pressure, the veins on his face push through his transformed skin and soon his eyeballs pop out in flames. 

His burning lifeless body drops to the ground, slowly revealing the dirty gray stone that hides underneath the white snow.

Alesander stands forward and speaks as loud as he can. “Assuming what you offer on the table is true, who or what defines worthiness in this crazy invitation to ‘self-combustion’ or ‘power ascendance’ dice roll?”

“Firstly … what I offer IS true.” Suseh changes his tone into a more serious and almost angry one. He swiftly raises his right hand forming a gust of wind and the burnt body of the dwarf rises almost hovering from the ground. His head turns toward the cloudy night sky and a green luminous radiance blazes from within his eye holes and his open jaw. From nothingness, his eyes begin to form again and the skin on his face supernaturally heals. He’s briefly back and he’s staring at the crowd horrified. 

“Help … me!” he says with whatever force his charred lungs can produce, as his newly born eyes reflect the torments he has faced after consuming the sacrament. A few seconds later, Suseh raises his second hand, whispers something horrible and makes a twisting motion with his fingers. The body and face of the dwarf stretches and he screams. A dark red energy consumes the dwarf’s entirety, absorbing his flesh, his essence and returning it back to this gruesome spell’s master until there is nothing remaining but twisted bones.

One or two rare disturbing smiles in the crowd, but mostly abhorrence conquers in the reactions of the crowd watching. A few of them collect their belongings and start walking away.

Suseh Novey appears to care little for those leaving. He continues. “For your second question knight, as I’ve said, don’t be greedy. Be pure. Defy the possibility of death. Some of you … your bodies might not be able to handle what I will give you. If you are true to the reasons you have come here and you truly want to survive the ritual, transcend mortality, then I promise that regardless of the toils … you will ascend. It won’t be easy, but your dreams of peace will come true.”

Alesander skeptical of the answers given, turns back to his companions but before he gets a chance to breath new words, Suseh Novey’s voice clouds his mind again.

“Whoever is not sure about this, they should leave. This is the first and last time I offer this.This opportunity is going to end our reliance to the divine and bear forth the era of Men. We will unite the public against a common enemy and peace will flourish. Before that though, I need something from you. Before you get your chance to join me, you all will need a vessel. The same vessel, the same chalice through which we received the founding sacrament. The last time I laid eyes on it was on top of the Skadowep Peaks, a place not too far from here. On the largest peak, there is a cave, now turned into a shrine by Dragonsprites. Inside, you will find the chalice. It’s a hard place to reach and there are dangers in the journey to acquire it. I believe that this quest will help prepare you for whatever comes next. Whoever comes back victorious from this assignment, they will be worthy of this bloodline.”

Many from the crowd including Damy try to speak up but Suseh Novey halts them all. “Come back with the chalice and I will answer all your questions”. He whispers something to the female guard captain and then he moves inside his tent.

“Dragonsprites are dangerous indeed.” Lifespill says. Everyone that hears this looks at him confused. 

“This is your response? Are you really considering taking part in this? Alesander?” Alu asks.

“Getting afraid there, Wode monk?” Moira takes a crack at her.

Alesander weighs his thoughts for a few seconds. Soon enough, he looks at the horizon and the peaks of Mount Skadowep above. With great confidence, he looks at everyone around him and says “I seek vengeance for my brothers. The knight status and the heirlooms of my family are not enough to make this happen. I came here, I will see it through.”

Damy came here to find how this Novey guy, or his people, knew who she really was behind her fake persona. She has lived with her special bloodline her whole life and she truly sees the curse that hides behind the power. If she could, she would deny her celestial legacy. No reason for her to expand that curse further. She hasn’t gotten what she came here for yet. Maybe going on this ‘sacred’ chalice quest won’t hurt much.

“Well, I’m not sure I am willing to take part in this yet, but I know I am willing to help those who are.” Damy surprises herself by speaking these words. She knows she’s not telling the whole truth, but at least this time she’s not lying.

Alu smiles. She likes what she hears.