A Story of my Makers

[Smokestorm]

Chapter Two:
Into the Hellrock

"I have walked the path; the shadowed roads
that led to terror's breast. I have plumbed the depths of
Hatred's womb and scaled Destruction's crest."
-The Adept

He could have struggled, could have made it difficult for his captors to contain him. But instead, he was still, fear and despair held him silent and motionless. He prayed that it was only a trick, that Master Renaud had used an Illusion as he sometimes did and faked his own death. Or that he'd somehow lived and was waiting for the moment to strike and rescue his apprentice. But in his heart, he knew Renaud was gone. The Sense was smothering him in panic now. Surrounded by enemies and without allies. How could Ibn have done this?

He had been bound at the wrists, knees, and ankles before being thrown over the back of a horse facedown. The smell of the beast in the hot sun wasn't helping the feeling of suffocation. His left arm burned like fire, blood flowing down his fingers to drip freely into the sand.

His mind was working furiously to dredge up every random and unconnected thought it could, flooding his attention with complete tripe, all to keep the memory away. And still it was failing. Every few seconds, the boy's mind would snap back to the splash of blood that soaked the ground as the dagger opened Renaud's jugular. But maybe Renaud had survived. He'd lived through so many things in the years Zachary had known him. Things a normal person couldn't have. Clinging desperately to that thought, the boy closed his eyes and began to calm himself. The jostling of the horse, the feeling of asphyxiation, and the Sense pounding against his mind made it easier said than done.

Voices chatted merrily around him, muffled by grotesque silver masks. They spoke of victory, of the kill, of the captured boy. He tried to shut them out, seeking just an ounce of peace in a day that had gone horribly wrong and would haunt his memories and nightmares for the rest of his life. He cast his mind back to better days, easier days. Recollections bubbled to the surface; standing on the deck of the Corone Galleon Quicksilver with Renaud, practicing with their daggers, laughing together as they bantered and danced inside ribbons of flashing steel. He could almost feel the spray of the ocean on his face, could almost hear Renaud's comforting voice.

Time crawled forward, the boy's eyes shut tightly against the outside world. Tears leaked out between his eyelids, blood from his wounds, sweat from his pores. He needed to be calm, and prepare for what was coming. He was being marched into Hell, and he had to do more than survive until Renaud came to rescue him. He had to finish the mission. He would have to find a way to kill the emotionless monster that led the column of guards. He was wounded and scared, but he would not fail. He would kill Marcel Axelandre de'Travoin for the Mortalis. And Ibn, he would kill for free.

[Smokestorm]

The blows fell down on him, armored fists tearing skin and fracturing bone. On his hands and knees, Zachary ground his teeth in the futile effort to make no sound. He would not scream, he would not beg. He would not give them the satisfaction. He was Renaud's apprentice. He would be unbent, unbroken, unyielding. A crack filled the air, as loud as thunder. Lightning lanced through his ribs. Bloody mist rained to the bricks below him. He was flash frozen, held in place by muscles flexed into near petrification. The blinding pain eased a fraction, and the muscles went limp. He slid as he hit the ground. The whip had bitten deep, so deep that white bone showed through frayed and stained skin.

Lord Marcel sat across the room, watching as his guards brutalized the boy. Ibn stood at his side, but his gaze was turned away. He hadn't made eye contact with Renaud's apprentice since entering the Hellrock. Marcel stood and walked forward. His bootheels rung distinctly with each step, echoing from the dark stone walls. He stopped just short of the radius of blood, his hands clasped behind his back. His lavender eyes watched intently as Zachary rose to his hands and knees. To move was agony, pure misery. But he wouldn't give in. When Renaud returned, he would find his apprentice strong.

"Just tell me what I want to know, boy. I'll let you go if you do." Marcel said. His voice was even, his face emotionless. It was the cold eyes that told Zachary of the lie in his words.

Zachary inhaled deeply, or as deeply as he could. It felt as if his left lung had been punctured, or was filling with fluid. The heat had returned in full force here. Why waste money shielding a prison from the influence of the desert sun? His body was slicked with blood. His shirt, or the remnants of it, lay on the ground in tatters. His chest and back were bruised and mangled, the thatch pattern of the whip engraved in him.

He spat on the Lord's boot. There was some spit, but most of it was blood. Marcel stared at his shoes for a moment, his lip turned up in disgust. And then he walked back to his seat. Zachary's eyes went unfocused as a fist hit the back of his head and he fell forward. He expected more to follow, but was surprised. He looked up after a moment, and found Marcel holding his hand up to stall the guards.

"You are a complete tool, child. Your Mortalis masters point their fingers and off you go to murder someone in their sleep. Do you even realize how much Renaud has hidden from you?"

Zachary started to speak, but coughed up a glob of blood instead. He spat it out, cleared his throat and tried again.

"You are a murderer. You imprison innocent people, beat and rape them for fun. Why would I believe you over my Master?" The boy said, his voice barely holding together under the strain of his aching body.

Marcel looked to Ibn and let out an unconvincing guffaw of laughter. "Of all the things you could tell him, you told him that?"

"My Lord was unspecific about what I should tell them after they arrived." Ibn replied.

Marcel stared at the Raja'Aini for a moment, then shook his head and looked back to Zachary. "I find it sad that Renaud didn't even bother to tell you what you were risking your life for."

Zachary looked down, a shiver passing through his weak body. The heat was still pressing against him in waves, his blood still leaking to the rock below. The pain pulsed through him, a steady beat like musical drums being struck in his chest. He was confused, and he was scared. But he would be strong. Renaud would come for him.

Marcel studied the boy, his eyes empty and his posture revealing nothing. The hardness seemed to have gone out of him, but no warmth had taken it's place. He turned to speak to Ibn, the Raja'Aini still looking away.

"Take him to the Dark Block. Collar him, and do not heal him."

Ibn finally looked at the boy, and back to Marcel with horror. "He is dying, My Lord."

"I'm not going to break him with one hand while the other helps him stay strong. There is no time for that." Marcel scowled at Ibn, his tone cold. "You will do as I say, your wife will live, and the boy will come around. Now go."

Ibn looked like he wanted to say something, but he apparently thought better of it. The guard nearest Zachary knelt and picked the boy up roughly. They left the Warden's chamber together, Ibn leading the way while the guards followed. Away from the eyes of Marcel, the guard carrying him relaxed into a more comfortable and careful posture, but any comfort it would have given paled in the circumstances. The dark stone of L'enfer Rocheux was just as Ibn had told him, merciless, and seemed to press down on them as they walked. The light of the torches felt fragile, as if one solid gust of wind would snuff out the flames and leave them in shadow.

After what felt like days, they stopped in front of a heavy iron door. And as it was opened, the boy felt a stab of fear. There was no light beyond it. Just pure darkness and silence. He could feel... something. There was wrongness in this place. The Sense that had been buzzing in his head since the ambush suddenly changed in some indescribable way. It was like a candle's flame suddenly turning blue, or a steady note dropping an octave. It was just... different.

Ibn lifted his hand, and light rose around it. It was a pale radiance, somehow sickly in appearance. The skin of his hand turned a bright red, and shadows of his bones showed through as he lifted his arm to shed light over the cell block. Shadows flickered as they walked down the hallway, iron cages passing by each side... all of them empty. They were small things, dirty. Ibn stopped about halfway between the far wall and the door they'd entered through. He pointed at a cell, a cell no different from any of the others. One of the guards moved forward, his keys jingling as he unlocked it. The hinges wailed as the cell was pulled open, flakes of rust falling from the pitted metal.

The guard holding Zachary walked through the door, and lowered the boy to the floor. He retreated quickly, and followed the other guards as they left. Ibn, however, remained behind. He knelt in front of the apprentice, his hand falling on to Zachary's shoulder. The boy was too tired to fight the Raja'Aini away. His Sense flickered as magic poured into his body, and everything began to feel dryer.

"He said to not heal you, so I haven't. But it won't do any good if you bleed to death." Ibn said.

Zachary didn't bother to reply, only stared at the man. The Raja'Aini's eyes dropped, and he pulled a steel collar from his robes. Set into the front of the collar, an archaic Raja'Aini symbol was engraved around a single crystal. The man snapped it around the boy's neck, then left the cell. He turned, outside, and spoke again.

"I am sorry."

The cell closed, and the lock latched into place with a loud click that echoed from the empty walls. And as Ibn walked away with the torch, shadows and silence filled the cellblock behind him.

[Smokestorm]

Temperature became the only way to mark the passage of time. Insufferable heat and thirst marked the days, biting chill and hunger his only companions during the nights. Silence and Darkness were the extent of the world beyond the cold metal of his cell. There was no way to know how long he'd been here. His body contained the only clues; the hunger had become a natural feeling to him, the stone floor no longer cramped his back after he slept. Every so often, he would run his fingers over the iron bars just to hear the sound echo through the abyss. In that way he knew that he could still hear. The collar around his neck let him test his sight; every time he tried to Shadow step through the bars and to freedom, the crystal at the front would glow a faint white. But those tests became fewer as the days wore on. Every time he tried the collar would flash white hot, searing his neck and bringing agony.

His wounds remained open, though he was growing used to the pain. His body ached without end or respite. He could feel the beginning stages of infection setting in as his chaffed and lacerated skin grew tender and hot, his body slicked with sweat even after the sun had set and his prison had become frigid. His mind was starting to slip out of focus, random memories springing up to replay through his consciousness as if they were currently happening. During that endless night, many phantom Renauds came to rescue him. And every time he awoke to find his eyes dead and the cell still around him, he wept without sound.

As the days passed, he grew weaker. The hunger was an ever twisting knife in his gut, and the infection had turned his arm and back into a furnace of heat. The prison seemed to be spinning slowly, constantly. Trying to keep his balance was as difficult as seeing through the darkness.

The guards came every now and then, some bringing food and light, others with water and brutal beatings. Some came empty handed, seeking only the joys found in hurting him. One smelled of tobacco, and brought nothing but taunts. Another held blinding light in his hand and alcohol on his breath, and he pissed through the bars upon the shivering child. But there was one other guard, one who brought extra food and water. He was the only one the boy remembered clearly.

Swaying between the world of reality and fevered dreams, Zachary heard the door at the end of the hall creak open. Light poured through. To a normal man, it wouldn't have been enough to read by. To the boy, it seemed as if the sun itself had been dragged into the hallway. He was too weak to move, let alone shield his eyes. But the whimper of pain was enough, and the guard lowered the shutter on the oil lamp as he approached. Sounds swirled around Zachary's fogged mind, but made no sense. Until the cell door squealed open on it's rusted hinges. It was piercing, stabbing into his ears as it echoed through the chamber. It was then that the boy came full to reality.

As the guard knelt nearby, Zachary's brain cleared and his instincts came back into focus. The time to escape had come, his chance to be free. Gathering what strength he could, the boy exerted it all. His arm lifted two inches from the cold stone, then fell back down.

... Fuck.

The guard had noticed the movement, and seemed pleased by it. He lowered himself to a sitting position, and reached forward to slide his hands beneath the boy's neck and shoulders. He pulled carefully, lifting the limp body clear of his armor. When he eased Zachary back down, the boy's upper body rested on the guard's folded legs and lap. Zachary was confused, until the water dribbled into his parched mouth. And then he was spluttering, choking, and despite it all still trying to drink.

"Slowly. Slowly!" The guard's words were only a whisper in the silence, but plenty loud enough for the boy to hear. He tried again, but as the man had said, slower. The coughing subsided, his throat easing more with each sip.

"You have an infection."

The scathing comment that Zachary tried to reply with came out completely unintelligible. The sound reminded him of something a retarded baby might make while drooling.

"Hush. Speaking uses strength."

And then the pain came, as the guard began to rub at his wounds with a water soaked rag. It was a miserable torture and like many, inspired by kindness. The ache it left in his body wasn't as strong as others he'd known in his life, but it was amazingly potent. He endured it without fighting or complaint, well, if you didn't count the involuntary spasms of pain.

"Can you eat?" The guard asked. Zachary's face must have conveyed the nausea that rose in his stomach, because the guard put the crusted heel of bread back down on the plate. The guard rested his hand on Zachary's chest carefully. "I'm going to sit with you for awhile longer, and then I'm going to go get the Raja'Aini. If nothing is done, this infection will kill you."

And so in the flickering light of a shaded oil lamp, Zachary felt the first hint of sympathy and humanity in the L'enfer Rocheux.

[Smokestorm]

Fevered dreams constructed Zachary's reality, fading and intensifying from moment to moment. Memories rose and fell like ocean waves, lifting him up and dropping him to drown in their depths. He was lost to the current, pulled along like a puppet dancing to hidden strings.

Steel flashed in the moonlight, deadly edges seeking warm flesh in the cool night. They danced an intimate pattern around each other, matching each other move for move as only an Apprentice and his Master could. Years of training against each other and fighting side by side had melded their movements into perfect cohesion. It was like watching water flow against water. There was no winner, no loser. Only the dance.

Renaud came in high, his right dagger cutting down toward the crown of the boy's head. Zachary stepped into his Master's arms, twisting to smash his back to the older man's chest. He bent his left arm at the elbow at it rose, catching Renaud's descending forearm with his own. The Apprentice's right arm moved swift across his abdomen, catching his Master's left blade with his dagger. Locked front to back, the two lashed out at the same time. Zachary's head whipped backward to ram Renaud's throat as the Teacher's foot buckled the student's knee.

Zachary dropped, turned his stumbling momentum it a forward roll as Renaud staggered backward coughing. The boy twisted as he came up to his knees, facing Renaud. His Master's face disappeared behind a mask. He did this often to make the fights harder, so his target couldn't read intentions in his eyes. It was a harlequin mask this time, white and blue with exaggerated eyebrows and a smile that stretched up to the empty eye holes. It was one of the few that Zachary truly hated. He wasn't sure why, it was just disturbing.

Renaud came in again, but disappeared in a swirl of purple and black. Zachary had been expecting it. He dove forward into a roll, feeling the wind of his Master's strike wash over the back of his neck. But the boy had trickery of his own. He disappeared into a Shadow Step, and emerged ten yards above Renaud, already falling through the open air. Renaud looked every direction except the one that would have saved him. At the last minute he realized his mistake, but by then it was too late. As his head whipped upward, both of Zachary's boots came down on the man's shoulder. Bone snapped, a clearly audible crack echoing out through the night.

Amid Renaud's grunt of pain and the rush of victory, the Apprentice bent his knees and pushed away, somersaulting backward through the air to land in a crouch as his Master fell to one knee. Renaud's mask faded away and despite the pain, there was a smile on his lips. Renaud stood, disappearing into yet another cloud of purple and black smoke. When he reappeared an instant later in front of Zachary, his shoulder was properly aligned and uninjured. Shadow Step healing. That was a technique that the boy had yet to grasp.

"Good, good. You are going to be a fine assassin, Zachary." Renaud said as he moved to stand at the edge of the building's roof. It was a far fall off the side, but the Master seemed without worry even as the wind whipped his cloak over the side and sent ripples down it's length.

Zachary accepted the praise with a smile of pride.

"Do you understand why I did it, boy?" Renaud asked, looking out across the darkened city. Overhead, clouds were drifting on the breeze. The moon vanished behind one, and the world fell into a deeper darkness.

"Why you did what, Master?" Zachary asked. He wasn't confused, he was slowly growing used to the frequency of topic shifts. It was something Renaud did often.

"Let the thief live." Renaud replied.

The thief he spoke of was their last target, a man notoriously hard to find and even harder to catch. Renaud had taken the job, but backed down from the kill after meeting the mark face to face. Whatever words they'd exchanged had completely voided the Master Assassin's intent to kill and he'd returned to the Mortalis order empty handed, demanding the contract to be removed. As was often the case, the Masters of the Council deferred to Renaud's first hand experience and accepted his recommendation.

"No. Why did you, Master?" Zachary asked, coming to stand beside the older man. As he looked out over the dark city the moon slid from behind the clouds. Ghostly light fell across the Corone streets, casting silvery highlights along the narrow streets and framing the buildings. From time to time a figure would cross into the open below, the light turning them into a specter in the night.

"We kill. For money, for revenge, for honor. But we must never kill when we don't need to. The greatest Assassin is the one able to understand and show mercy when the situation calls for it."

Zachary listened, taking the words into his memory and his heart. He turned to reply to Renaud, but the Master Assassin lay on the rooftop. His body was still, and a black line stretched around his neck. An inky pool spread out below him. The boy fell to his knees, blood splashing up around him. It stained his clothing, soaked through to the skin below. His hands twisted in Renaud's shirt as he cried out, screaming the man's name. His heart ached, but his screaming did not bring life back to his father figure's eyes. His skin was burning now. His ears heard nothing as the sound faded out and the moon fell back behind the clouds. And then there was nothing. Nothing but darkness and silence.

But then the heat faded, and strength began to fill his limbs. The world returned to him.

[Smokestorm]

A chill was spreading into his body, easing the aches and chasing the pain away. Reality was being woven together again, the phantoms and splintered memories of his fevered dreams dispersing into the back of his mind. A dim light was shining against his closed eyelids, faint sounds prodding his consciousness. It was an odd feeling, like coming home after years away. Seeing the place you grew up, but feeling as misplaced there as you'd ever felt. Sweat was dripping from his hair as he opened his eyes. They were slow to focus.

The scent of rot and sickness hung heavily in the air, disgusting and sweet. The stone beneath him was warm, even though the air was cool. And in the flickering light of the oil lamp, Ibn's features looked both concerned and reserved. He was withdrawing his hand from the boy's chest. He understood what had happened then. He had been pulled away from his approaching death to suffer more at the Lord Marcel's hands. He wasn't surprised. He began to roll over, a fit of coughing wracking his lungs and throat with the movement. The Raja'Aini moved his hand toward the boy, but stopped short. It was probably a good thing too. Zachary's strength was returning, and his animosity had never left.

He crawled several paces, and turned toward them as he fell against the cell's bars into a sitting position. His spine popped at it straightened against the wall. His eyes were locked on Ibn, though the man refused to look back at him.

"Lord Marcel wishes to speak to you one last time. For your sake, I recommend you tell him whatever he wants to know." The Raja'Aini said as he stood and walked out of the cell.

There was silence then, and Zachary finally took the time to glance at the other occupant of his cell. It was the guard from his fragmented dreams. A great bushy beard streaked with gray and dark eyes, long hair tied back in a loose tail. He knew then that some of those dreams had been true. This was the one who had brought him extra food and water, the one that had sat with him when he was near death. And as good as his word, he had fetched Ibn to heal the boy. Zachary almost wished the guard had let him die instead. He said nothing as he pulled himself to his feet, using the cell wall for support.

The guard was beside him before the apprentice noticed him moving, and was sweeping him upward. His reactions were still dulled by the fading magic and infection, leaving him at the guard's mercy for the moment. But all he did was cradle the boy in his bear sized arms, and walk from the cage. The corridors were as lightless as before, though Ibn waited outside of the cellblock. He lifted his hand, and as before light poured out of it.

Zachary said nothing as they moved down the empty, dark corridors. The inside of L'enfer Rocheux was a labyrinthine maze of black rock. Windows were rare, and where they appeared they served only for arrow slits in case of an invasion. Torches were bracketed sporadically on the wall, never so close that their light overlapped, but spread far apart like beacons meant to lead you through the stone jungle.

They stopped all too soon, and the guard lowered Zachary to his feet before they made their way into the Lord Marcel's chamber. The man sat as he had last time, his blue armor shining over the smoke colored clothing, his chin resting lazily on his hand. Two guards stood on either side of the Lord's chair, their weapons reflecting even in the low light. He was speaking as soon as the boy stopped moving.

"I'm done playing games. Answer me now or you'll never get another chance. Where is Renaud's Legacy?" Marcel asked.

Zachary frowned, unsure he'd heard correctly. "His what?"

"Renaud's Legacy. A journal. Letters. Anything he may have left that would contain information." The Lord replied, his voice slow and clear as if he were speaking to a babe.

"I have no idea." Zachary said, his answer truthful.

"Last chance." Marcel warned.

"I'm telling the truth. I really don't know." The apprentice replied, his Sense warning him of impending danger.

Marcel's expression darkened. "Have it your way then." He turned his attention to the guards beside him. "He refuses to speak. Sew his mouth shut and leave him in the dungeons to die."

Zachary was stunned. He understood that these men were no friends to him, but he'd been telling the truth. Renaud had left nothing behind except his apprentice. Ibn stepped forward before the guards reached the boy.

"Wait. Let me." The Raja'Aini didn't wait for permission. His hand closed around the boy's throat, and magic surged into the apprentice's body. His throat suddenly felt hot and dry. Ibn's hand came away, and the man returned to stand beside Marcel.

Zachary opened his mouth, but no words came out. He tried again, as he had thousands of times before, but not even the slightest sound was made. His hands lifted to his neck, but there was nothing wrong. At least, nothing physical.

"There's no need for the thread. I have taken his voice. He will never speak again." Ibn said.

Marcel stared at him for a moment, his face empty. "You misunderstood my intent. Thank you for your attempt however. My desire was for him to die of hunger in a cell." He gestured to the guards, and they grabbed the boy by the shoulders. A third guard moved from the back of the room, producing a needle and thread from his belt. It wasn't the guard that had shown him sympathy.

His mouth was forced shut, and there was no sound as they started.

[Smokestorm]

The cell was dark and silent, as it ever was. The ache in his lips was slow to fade, and he kept his hands clasped tightly together in his lap. He'd learned that trying to alleviate the itching only led to a greater pain. As he sat there in the darkness, his hopes finally bled dry. He realized that Renaud was not coming. The terrible memory had washed over him hundreds of times since he'd entered this hell, each time tainted by the strong hope of a child's eyes. He had invented ways that the man could have survived, had convinced himself that it was some kind of trick. But here, at the last, he knew it wasn't. He knew that the red that had spilled across the ground was exactly what he'd refused to believe. It had simply been Renaud's blood as his throat was slit.

Zachary could feel the night around him, even if he couldn't see it through the darkness of his windowless cell. A chill had risen through the stone and metal around him. Where his back touched the rock wall, his skin had gone numb and his insides shivered. If there had been light, he'd have been able to see fog rising from his nose with each breath. The hunger gnawed at his stomach, the thirst crusting his throat. He wondered then how long it would take for him to die, and what he would find after he crossed from the world of the living. Surely he would go to no paradise everlasting. There was too much blood on his hands for that. His only regret would be that he couldn't take Ibn and Marcel with him.

The shadows were slowly parting now, a faint silvery pinprick growing and brightening. It was a tiny orb, the size of a pea, but as he watched fibers of light stretched out of it. Like living tendrils, they wrapped around themselves, tying knots far too intricate for human hands to replicate. It reminded the boy of light observed through rippling water, warping and flowing in ways he'd never seen before. He held his hand up to his eyes, shielding them from the piercing radiance as the thing took shape in front of him. But as the image became recognizable, his hand dropped to his lap.

He tried to speak, but his lips erupted into pain. He hadn't adjusted to his new reality yet, and a part of him wondered if he had returned to his fevered dreams. But as he thought that, the apparition shook it's head. Renaud looked just as he had in life, but younger. Much younger. Still, Zachary would recognize the man anywhere and at any time. It was then that he remembered Ibn's words, Renaud's words. The dead of Tal'Ahkmet walked the streets at night. His Master was truly dead then. The boy began to weep silently, his tears glittering in the silver light as they rolled down his cheeks.

He heard Renaud's voice then.

"Ibn has the answers. My heart is in my mind. I will be there when you wake."

And then he was gone, the specter rupturing like a smoke ring blown by a strong wind. The light vanished, and Zachary was left alone. But his confusion was driven from his mind as a sound echoed through the darkness, the sound of a key turning a lock. Light spilled into the chamber again, but it was a dim golden. It bobbed as the man walked, illuminating rusted metal cells and the pitted black stone of the Hellrock.

The guard that stopped in front of Zachary's cell was the same one that had stayed with him before, when he was dying from infection. That didn't surprise the boy too much. How this man got mixed up in this business was beyond him, but it was clear that his heart was too big to support the cold cruelties of his Lord. The man stopped in front of Zachary's cell, his face tight with anger and disgust.

"I should have acted sooner, but I honestly thought we had more time." The guard's voice was gruff as he opened his overcoat and began pulling objects out. Zachary recognized them. "Ibn is down the corridor from here, in a chamber along the right fork."

The guard's hands moved quickly, the door to the cell popped open. Zachary felt a rush of fear and joy. This couldn't be real. He was being released. But his astonishment only deepened when the guard tossed the objects to the ground in front of the boy. There were two gauntlets, both of them Hidden Blades. One was Zachary's, the other Renauds.

He picked up his Master's weapon carefully, reverently. The gauntlet was beautifully etched with a flowing design of roses and thorns, inlaid with gold along the edges. The inside was padded with soft leather, direwolf fur at the top and bottom to keep the ends from digging into flesh. The gauntlet was closed by hard leather straps with iron buckles at the side, made to be adjustable. He held it close to his chest, feeling both sorrow and happiness. After a few seconds, he looked toward the guard. Compelled to speak by the child's eyes, he faltered at first, but eventually found his voice.

"I was sent by the Mortalis to find out why Renaud left. Ibn explained what he could. There was never any mission here, Zachary. Whatever 'orders' Renaud received were false. This entire thing was a trap." The guard pushed the door open further and stepped back.

Zachary gestured at the man with his eyebrow raised.

"Me? No. Marcel killed your Master. This revenge belongs to you." The man said. His face was dark with rage. "I knew Renaud, Zachary. When you leave here, take Marcel's head with you."

[Smokestorm]

Chapter Three:
Karma

"Leaning over you here
Cold and catatonic,
I catch a brief reflection
Of what you could and might have been."

Zachary walked through the shadows, his white hair stained red by yesterday's blood, his lips sewn shut. His bare chest was littered with scars and bloodstains, his leggings torn and frayed. Two daggers hung at his waist, twelve inch blades wicked and waiting. The torchlight reflected from the gauntlets on his wrists, cast flickering shadows over his form as he moved. He was alone as he walked through the black halls of the Hellrock. The guard had disappeared after freeing the boy, and Zachary was fine with that. He had to do this alone. One last tribute to Renaud, one last act to show his love for the specter he felt nearby.

Be it fate or lucky happenstance, he came across no one as he followed the directions the guard had given him. When at last he found Ibn, conflicting emotions drove him. Murder, or mercy. Revenge or kindness. Either way, he would have his answers.

The man sat at a desk, his back to the open door. Candlelight flickered across the walls, books covering the desk. Two guards stood at either side of the entrance within, their demeanor relaxed but ready. Their purpose was obvious, to keep the Raja'Aini from fleeing Marcel's web.

Zachary walked through the doorway without a care, lifting both arms and flexing. On either wrist, the blades deployed from the gauntlets, punching easily through skin, muscle and bone. The guards dropped without a word, their armor sending loud, resounding crashes through the otherwise silent room. His eyes swept the chamber as he stepped over their bodies, and found only one person aside from Ibn. The woman was rising from a rickety cot, her right hand shackled to the wall. Her face was alarmed, but her lips pressed tightly together. The lack of a scream was probably what saved her, and kept the throwing knife from leaving the boy's hand. His arms dropped back to his sides as he waited. Ibn, by contrast, made no movement.

"You're sooner than I expected, Zachary." He said.

The knife still rested in the boy's hand, and his fingers itched with the desire to throw it. But for some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling of the woman's eyes on him. He recognized her easily enough, she looked just as elegant in person as she had on the Marriage Tapestry, despite her disheveled hair and the dark spots under her eyes. Her skin was dark and smooth, a small diamond affixed to her forehead by a thin silver chain in her dark hair. Her dress was simple, deep red silk cut in a style that mixed practicality with sensual design. As he waited just inside the doorway, the woman stood and moved as close to him as her chain permitted. The horror in her eyes as she glanced between him and her husband was almost comically over exaggerated..

"What have you done, Ibn?" Her accent was thicker than the Raja'Aini's.

He stood from his chair, carrying the candle with him as he approached Zachary. He spared a look to the side, to his horrified wife. Candlelight flickered over his face. "I protected you. It turned me into a monster, but I have no regrets." Ibn turned back to Zachary then. "I never wanted to hurt you. And I never wanted to hurt Renaud."

Ibn stopped dangerously close to the boy who was still debating rather or not to kill him. But fearlessly, the man reached up to Zachary's neck. As his hand's neared, the collar clicked open and fell from the boy's throat. He lifted his hand towards Zachary's mouth, but the boy caught his arm in a vice grip.

"You intend to keep your injuries? I guess there is no need to restore your voice then." Ibn turned away and moved back to his desk, speaking over his shoulder. "We have little time to waste anyways."

The woman spoke then, her voice still ringing with disgust and anger. "How will he eat then? You will just let him die?"

Ibn didn't turn as he rummaged through his desk. "Renaud, his Master, was able to heal while stepping through the Rift. I imagine a similar technique will give his body all the nutrition it requires. Zachary, here." Ibn called, pulling a folded paper out of the stack of books so recklessly that it nearly tore. With a snap of his wrists, it unfolded across the desk.

Zachary disintegrated in a cloud of black streaked with purple. The Rift was as violent as ever, but felt welcoming and warming after his long separation from it's embrace. As he passed through that non-world, he felt the shadows crawling across his skin, filling his pores. Even before he emerged next to Ibn, he knew the man had been right. The hunger had faded to a manageable level that left only the barest of desire burning. Ibn glanced at his face as he appeared, and smiled. Despite the stony expression, he had interpreted something in the boy's manner. Ibn was very intuitive, it seemed.

"It worked. He will live, Abla." Ibn glanced down at the paper, Zachary saw that it was a map, and tapped his right forefinger on a room. "This is where we are now. This is where your cell was." He tapped another room a short distance away. And finally, he tapped a third chamber, larger than either of the two previous. The Assassin knew what Ibn was going to say before he said it.

"This is Marcel's Chamber."

Zachary burned the lines and directions into memory, before looking up at Ibn. There were many questions left unanswered, but he would be unable to ask them. He wasn't bothered by that, though. He would learn all there was to know, eventually. He knew life would be harder now, handicapped by the inability to speak. But who would he speak to now that Renaud was gone? What purpose was there in speech when the only ears that could hear it didn't really care about your words? He had no use for it any longer. Ibn seemed to guess at his train of thought.

"We don't have time to answer all of your questions. All I can say right now is that Renaud was betrayed, and not just by Marcel. Marcel only set the trap, someone within your Order helped him lay the bait. And no, it was not I. As for why, Marcel seeks something your Master possessed. An artifact of great power. You must find Renaud's legacy, and before anyone else does. Heed my words, Marcel wasn't the last or only one to seek it."

Ibn's wife looked as thoroughly lost and confused as Zachary felt, but at least he had some small help. He thought then of the words Renaud's specter had left him with. My Heart is in my mind. But what did it mean? And how would he ever know now?

"Zachary, you must go. More guards will be coming soon, and your absence may have been found already. But one more thing. Renaud knew Marcel because they trained together. Marcel is an Assassin as well."

[Smokestorm]

Zachary was conflicted as he moved silently through the shadows of L'enfer Rocheux. Part of him knew that Ibn deserved to die for his part in Renaud's death and Zachary's torture. But another part of him was okay with sparing the Raja'Aini's life. He had betrayed them, had permanently mangled the boy's life in multiple ways. But everything he had done, he did only to protect his wife. He wasn't the one who had forced this deadly game. Marcel had pushed the first domino, had set this vicious chain reaction into motion. His hand had lent the momentum.

Every so often, a patrol of guards would cut across a hallway, forcing the boy to seek refuge in the deep shadows. Though the street had been full of them when they'd been captured, there seemed to be very few here. A mercy that the boy was thankful for. The more corpses he had to leave behind, the better the chances of an alarm being raised.

Though no one walked beside him, the boy knew he wasn't alone. The spirits walked the night, and he could feel Renaud close by. The Sense was quiet, though not for lack of threat. It felt as it had while Renaud was alive; as if danger were near, but allies were closer. There was a barrier, a shield between himself and the peril. It was an odd feeling, to know the dead walked with you. It was a coldness that didn't bite, a light that moved in the corner of his eye but disappeared when he turned to look. And it was that feeling that kept him going. The knowledge that here, in the heart of darkness and evil, he was perfectly safe. It was past time that the hunter became the hunted.

By the time he neared the chamber Ibn had marked with his finger, Zachary felt no fear. He felt neither rage nor lust for revenge. He felt nothing. Nothing but a deep hole in his chest where something had once lived but was now vacant. His mind was machinery without emotion, simple gears that turned and worked, processing without fuel and yielding no product. He was dead, and only one thing would restore him to life. Death for life. That had ever been the only real currency in this world. One last tribute for Renaud. One last sign to show his love.

The door was ajar, flickering lamplight spilling through like a pool of liquid gold. The shadows peeled back from his body as he entered the light, his eyes searching. The room was large and rectangular, obviously meant for meetings or audiences. There was a single wooden table near the right wall that could easily sit twenty men, and a chair that seemed more like a throne on the opposite wall. He broke into a silent sprint as his eyes found Marcel. The Lord stood at a window, his back to the door. Rather it was a reflection from the glass pane or just supernatural senses on the man's part, Zachary would never know. He was less than two yards away, his hand lifted and pulled back as if to deliver a punch with his Hidden Blade, when the man disappeared in a streak of purple and black.

Zachary's instincts saved him. He dropped into a roll as the razor stars whirled above his head. They split the air with a keening sound that reminded him of a cat's throaty hiss. Two of them hit the wooden window sill hard enough to send splinters out of it as they quivered to an embedded stop. The third shattered the window as it sailed through and disappeared into the night. But Zachary was already twisting to launch a salvo of his own, the knives reflecting gleams of golden light as they spun toward the man.

Marcel wasn't wearing his armor now, but he still made no attempt to move as the knives came in. Almost lazily, he knocked one off course with a backhanded smack. It was nothing more than a fly to him. The second was spinning off course, and wouldn't have hit him anyways. The third traced a shallow line of red across his cheek.

"Seems Renaud's apprentice has teeth after all." Marcel said.

He drew daggers then, and Zachary followed the lead. He held them easily, his posture relaxed but ready. The sense of calm within felt unnatural, and he knew he should have been afraid. Marcel was older, stronger. But Zachary could still feel Renaud's presence wrapped around him like a protective cloak. This would end tonight, one way or another. And Renaud's words still echoed in the boy's mind. I'll be there when you wake. Failure didn't seem so harsh. He had nothing left to lose, and nothing to really gain. If he did kill Marcel, it wouldn't bring his Master back, or undo the damage Zachary had taken. This meant nothing.

Marcel came in high, his daggers whispering through the air side by side. Zachary caught Marcel's wrists in the cross of his forearms, his foot lifting to intercept the kick meant to slip past his defenses. And then the fight began in honest, razor edges whistling through the air, daggers smearing the firelight into golden ribbons as strike after strike fell. It was a dance of parries and blocks, riposte and counterattack. Even their bodies became lethal weapons as they lashed out with kicks and punches, elbows and headbutts.

Zachary drew first blood in that melee, scoring a shallow nick across the back of the man's knuckles. Marcel replied with a line of fire across the boy's shoulder. And on and on it went until they were both panting with effort, sweat soaking their clothing and stinging their wounds.

Marcel disengaged with a backward somersault that took him to the opposite side of the chamber. He landed lightly, his daggers back at his waist. Zachary knew something bad was coming, and the feeling was affirmed when the man lifted his hand to point his palm at the boy. The torches that lined the walls began to roar as first one, and then others began to explode outward in a torrent of flame. Each column of fire moved like a snake, rearing backward and striking with lightning speed. The boy was running and dodging, and where the magical assaults hammered into the wall behind him the stone was left scorched and smoking.

Three tongues of flame slammed down in front of him, blazing upward in a wall of smoke and heat that halted the boy in his tracks, and behind him another line of fire boxed him in. He was caged, with nowhere to go. Across the chamber, Marcel smiled as he pushed both hands forward at Zachary. For a moment, it seemed as if the man was orchestrating a symphony. And then he was hidden behind the rushing pillar of death.

Instinct drove Zachary to the ground, lifted his hands to cover his head. But it would do no good. There was no escape from the approaching ocean of fire. But in the face of that certain end, he felt Renaud's specter. It felt like a comforting hand on his shoulder, or the protective embrace of a father. He felt the Rift opening around him, but not in the same way it did when he Shadowstepped. Instead, he felt as if he were pulling something toward himself, rather than projecting himself through it. And from the dark corners of the room, the shadows slithered outward to wrap about him like a cloak.

When the flame hit, he felt nothing but warmth. It parted around him like a river around a stone, flowing to each side and merging together again when it passed him. The boy stood, his form bathed in flame but not consumed. The wind left in the inferno's wake lifted his hair, rustled his clothing. Zachary reached again to the Rift, this time falling into it. The world of flame disappeared around him like smoke in a hurricane. When the flame cleared, there was nothing. For a split second, Marcel smiled.

And that second was all the boy needed. He stepped out of the shadows, wisps of purple and black smoke licking his face as he drove Renaud's Hidden Blade into the small of Marcel's back. The blade bit through skin and muscle, burrowing deep and piercing the right kidney. It was a painful death. Less than clean, far short of easy. The man collapsed backward into Zachary's waiting arms. And despite the hate, and the pain, the boy lowered Marcel gently to the ground. His face was contorted in misery. Words whispered from his lips.

"She was all I wanted. He could have given her to me. We could have..." The life passed from Marcel's eyes. And as Zachary knelt over the dead man, his mind wondered only of what could and might have been.

With care, the boy removed Marcel's Hidden Blade. Inscribed with the mark of Mortalis, the weapon belonged to an Assassin. Not to a traitor and murderer. He fastened the leather straps to his belt, and left it to hang against his left thigh. And then he began the grisly work. He'd made a promise. And he intended to keep it.

[Smokestorm]

He left Marcel's head in the exact spot where Renaud had died, a grim and bloody tombstone. It was barbaric, he knew. And it didn't make him feel better. But it didn't make him feel worse either.

In the morning, the people of Tal'Ahkmet would find a gruesome present, courtesy of a disfigured boy and a dead father. It wasn't much, but it would be enough. It had to be.

And as the ship pulled away from the harbor, it's captain greedily counting the purse full of gold coins, the boy looked back at the city. Like many other things in life, it had left him with more questions than answers. What would happen to Fallien? How long would the dead continue to walk among the living? Why were they rising? Who inside Mortalis had betrayed Renaud, and what artifact had his Master hidden away?

The sun was rising now, the ripples of the ocean reflecting red. The clouds were like bloody smears across the sky. Zachary had finally found his strength, but it had left him broken and drained.

And as the sun finally broke across the horizon, the boy felt Renaud fade away forever.

Requested Spoils:

Items: Renaud's Hidden Blade, made of either Prevalida or Delyn (or whatever you feel I've earned here.)

As well as Marcel's Hidden Blade, don't care what tier metal it is.

Ability: Anti-magic Shell. An ability that weakens magical attacks made against Zachary while active. If approved, I'll work out the exact details with the RoG Mods at my next update.

Thank you for reading, and I hope it wasn't too painful for you!

[The International]

A Story of My Makers

Let me begin by saying this was probably the most enjoyable solo I’ve had the pleasure of reviewing so far. Once I started reading I only stopped when I had to, which was mostly for tedious life things like the dryer buzzing or someone calling. Perhaps those forced breaks made this all the more valued and enjoyable.

Plot Construction ~ /30

Story 8 /10 – You took me on a ride here. For the most part it was very well paced. The beginning was action packed and got me hooked, the middle didn’t sag too much, and the end was riveting and gave me a good catharsis. For the vast majority of the thread this was an amazing read. There was however a few posts after the first where you sought to introduce the reader to your Fallien. It was good, but it felt like those few pages in a Dan Brown novel where it seems like Robert Langdon is preaching to the reader about history. If you had cut that a little bit shorter and found another way to show some of that, you would have been golden. This lul was, however, minimal, and didn’t hurt the pacing of your story much at all.

Strategy 9 /10 – Sense and Shadowstep were so well used and depicted that I didn’t have to look at your profile once to make sure they were viable. I particularly loved the fact that you decided to ‘show’ and not ‘tell’ Zachary and his master’s skills and abilities. The scene where Zachary is inhibited by the collar comes to mind first. You did that very very well. I was waiting for a really great show of Zachary’s combat skills, and you definitely gave that to me in the battle at the end.

Setting 9 /10 – A-mazing. It was totally vivid and appealed to all five senses without being overwhelming. I think what made it very effective was that you only depicted Fallien and the many aspects of it through action, like how you only mentioned how deep the sands were by showing them through Zachary’s steps. You also only dealt with the setting when it was important to one of the characters, like when Zachary noticed the scene of Ibn’s wedding in front of him. That’s what made it real, and that’s what kept it from dragging.

Characterisation ~ /30

Continuity 7 /10 – Your thread is the prime example of what I want to see in terms of taking liberty with Althanas lore. You took risks, and for the most part, hit the nail on the head with the story world and how it affected your character and the plot. I loved the fact that you used Hindu/Indian etymology for names and clans. I loved the fact that you pointed out the diversity of ethnicities and tribes in Fallien, and I particularly like how you injected some Native American tradition into Corone (Dreamcatcher… nice!). I was this frickin’ close to making a new forum for that city if it weren’t for the presence of a King. Fallien is a matriarchal society, so that little discrepancy couldn’t be ignored. The rest was amazing though. As for Zachary, it was nice to see a brand new character with a past. This is something a lot of players forget to do - give a character a history that dictates his/her own actions. He definitely showed growth during the thread too, especially upon his master’s death. I’ll be keeping up with him.

Interaction 9 /10 – Interaction judges the way the main character interacts with the world around them, be it socially, physically, or otherwise. Not only was Zachary’s action logical and entertaining, but everyone else’s action was too. It drove the story forward with every single step, and you didn’t get caught up on minute details.

Character 7 /10 – You proved something here. A character need not have a lot to say to have a personality. And I mean that in more ways than just one. A lot of writers think that if their character isn’t saying much outside, they have to say a boatload on the inside with italics all over the damn place. I hate that. However, somehow, you managed to give Zachary a distinct personality. You did it by filtering the narration through him. You also did this with Ibn and Renaud, and you organized it superbly. You head hopped the narrative’s POV but you only did so in between posts. That way the reader knows whose mind he or she was in. The one note I will give you is that I felt like Ranaud stole the spotlight from Zachary, which is okay if that was your intention. Believe me, my player’s family takes the spotlight from him all the time, but I do that on purpose. If it was your intention to make Renaud the star of the show for a while, it might have been best to tell the first post through his eyes, but if it wasn’t your intention consider exposing a bit more of Zachary’s back story so that we feel like we know him better than Renaud (who is kind of out of play now so…).

Writing Style ~ /30

Creativity 7 /10 – This category deals with the utilization of literary and rhetorical devices. Despite being reminders of the real world, the quotes were a nice touch. Similes, imagery, metaphors abound and all done pretty well. Watch out for redundancy though and try not to lay it on too heavy at the beginning of the thread. I sometimes felt like you made a bit too much of an effort to remind us that Fallien’s hot in a relatively similar fashion. If you took some of that beautiful prose about Fallien in the first few posts and sprinkled them throughout the thread I think it will serve to balance things out more.

Mechanics 7 /10 – Spelling, grammar, and all that good stuff. I didn’t see any blatant spelling errors, but every now and then I noticed peculiar mistakes like a small conjunction missing from a sentence or two.

… to show you what you were endure if you were ever captured.

Wasn’t there supposed to be a ‘to’ somewhere in there? As small as these were, they were hard to ignore. Perhaps that’s because I catch myself doing that all the time and kick my own ass about it.

Clarity 8 /10 – This has a lot to do with spelling and grammar, and if that’s good, this usually pans out well. Other things that affect this category is how well you describe things, how well you build your storyline and how easily the reader processes the information presented. It was all crystal clear to me except for one part. Maybe I missed it, but where exactly is Tal'Ahkmet in Fallien. There’s no wrong answer to that since it’s your city, but that was the only question I asked myself that didn’t seem to get answered.

Wildcard: 7/10 – Awesome.

Total 78 /100
This is the highest score I’ve given on Althanas so far.

Smokestorm gains 1404 exp

Renaud’s Hidden Blade approved at Delyn strength.
Marcel’s Hidden Blade approved at Steel strength.
Ability granted pending RoG approval.