Return - The Morrow Point Massacre

[Revenant]

A shrieking roar cut through the dim light of the obfuscating dawn, signaling the arrival of a dangerous sea squall. The troubled weather caught the passenger vessel Maiden Fair by surprise. But despite the storm’s sudden appearance, the crew scurried expertly across the rain slicked decks and handled the ship with an expert hand. Shrieking wind and battering waves slapped at the vessel’s hull, but try as it might, the tumultuous seas couldn’t seen to get a grip on the ship. Time and again the vessel leapt about the frothing furor, like an exotic dancer escaping the groping hands of an admiring crowd. But even the most lithe dancer tired eventually, and so it was with the Maiden Fair.

“Haul around smartly on the starboard!” The gruff command cut across the deck like a knife as Bryson, the Maiden Fair’s boatswain directed the scurrying crew. An angry snap overhead answered in reply, the thick foresail canvas jerking against the bracing lines like a trapped beast. “Turn her lads, bring her about,” Bryson roared, the salt encrusted whip he carried cracking to add force to the commands.

As if in defiance of Bryson’s commands another bust of wind caught the foresail and filled it, a boom like the shot of a cannon popping the ears of those on deck. Three men on the sail’s bracing line stumbled forward in alarm, the line jerking wildly in their weathered grip. “Get her. Get on her,” Bryson yelled, running towards the line with a gesture for other hand to join him.

“Get that damned sail turned, Bosun,” Caas, the Maiden Fair’s captain, roared. “If I lose a yardarm to this middling squall I’m docking a week’s pay for every man on the deck.” Caas stood atop the flying bridge, his long hair and worn coat whipping wildly about him. Despite the stoic, composed stance that he had adopted, his agitation and annoyance was plainly visible.

“Aye Captain,” Bryson replied and cracked his whip again. “Hear that you lot. If you won’t haul for your life, then haul for your pay.”

The scurrying deckhands had just seemed to have gotten the foremast brace under control when the deck of the Maiden Fair fell out from under them. A pair of closely packed waves had pushed the vessel’s bow up, only to drop and bury it in the frothing storm waters below. All forward momentum was halted by the churning waters, sending the vessel’s stern high into the air. Then, like a pendulum, the stern came back down and heaved the bow out of the sea, casting a wall of water across the deck.

“Watch out lads, on it,” Bryson yelled, bracing against the water. But even as the deckhands scrambled to catch up the bracing line another gust surged into the sail, forcing it back to the straining point. The wall of water had scattered the deckhands, and the remaining crew weren’t enough keep the heavy line from whipping out of their grasp. Overhead, the screeching sound of tortured metal clawed down at the sodden deck as the yardarm swung free.

“Everybody down!” Bryson screamed, leaping aside as the brace line whipped across his path and slashed a groove into the wooden railing. Thick as a viper, and just as dangerous, the rope slashed back and forth across the deck. Repeated cracks of splintered wood and shouts of surprise and alarm drowned out even the howling wind.

“Damn it Bo’sun.” Caas’ stoic mask had been replaced by a pure look of fury. Another crash drowned out the sound of the squall as the yardarm bounced again at the limit of its range. The force was enough to shear metal, and the entire apparatus only had moments before it came apart under the strain. Even so, no one was brave enough to chance the whipping brace line to wrestle the yardarm back into position. Apprehensive eyes watched the scene unfold from the group of passengers who had gathered together on deck.

“How quaint,” whispered words escaped from the raised hood of a dirty, weather beaten cloak. Of all hands topsides, passenger or crew, only this figure seemed unaffected by the perilous drama unfolding before him. Showing no hesitance or fear, this lone figure strode alone out into the rain, eliciting surprised cries from everyone around him. As if sensing the figure’s challenge, the whipping line snapped back at him with the speed no human could match.

To the surprise of all, instead of being broken in half by the deadly whip, the figure merely reached out lazily, as if batting away an irritating insect, and snatched it in a firm grasp. Having secured the line, the man pulled against the brace with inhuman effort, turning the protesting yardarm once more into the wind. Surprised and awestruck as they were, the Maiden Fair’s crew didn’t hesitate to leap upon the brace to lend their support in securing the line. The Maiden Fair almost immediately righted itself as the yardarm settled into its proper place, and the ship steadied against the driving seas. A celebratory cheer erupted from the watching passengers and several of the crew even threw their hats into the air. Despite all this, the cloaked man merely pushed his way through the appreciative crowd and headed back below decks.

“Bo’sun,” Caas yelled, cutting through the cheer.

“Yes, Captain,” Bryson replied, scampering atop the flying bridge.

“See to it that this mess is cleaned and get a rigger up to that yardarm to assess the damage.” Cass dismissed the boatswain with a nod, but stopped him before he could get too far. “Also, make sure that an invitation to dine in my cabin is sent to our savior.”

“I believe his name is William,” Bryson replied, slipping back down onto the deck, “William Arcus.”

[Revenant]

“Captain Caas? I’d like to present Mr. William Arcus.” William looked around the Captain’s finely furnished stateroom with resigned interest. He’d wanted nothing more than a quiet, routine voyage and yet here has was, the savior of the Maiden Fair. The thought of being anyone’s savior caused the destructive urge to writhe in his chest like a nest of angry serpents, but that didn’t mean as much now as it did when he had started his journey.

“Mr. Arcus,” Caas’ deep voice boomed in the small stateroom, a much more potent sound when it didn’t have to contend with a howling gale. “Please come in and make yourself at home.” The captain had replaced the weathered coat he had been wearing through the squall with a warmer, more opulent one that accented his deeply tanned physique. William wasn’t sure if Caas was planning on dinner or seduction to thank him for saving the ship.

Caas shot William a knowing look. “It’s something of a nautical tradition to dress up when dining with a vessel’s captain.” The two men shook hands and Caas led William to a polished dark wood table that had been set with a variety of semi-fresh fruits. He gestured at the produce casually as he dropped into his chair. “As you can see, it’s also tradition for the captain to get the best pick of the lot.”

“Must be nice,” William said, accepting a glass of oaken liquor from the captain. He sipped at it lightly, gesturing at the opulent decorations.”Looks like you get several others perks as well.”

Caas laughed, slapping the table. “Quite right, quite right.” He stood and wandered around the cabin, pointing out specific pieces to William and explaining their significance. William listened patiently, sipping politely at the alcohol while nodding in all the right places. Caas was captain of the Maiden Fair and, savior or not, it just wouldn’t do to get on his bad side by pointing out how little he cared for all the pomp and circumstance.

“And what about you, Mr. Arcus?” Caas returned to his seat and poured himself another drink. William politely waved off a refill of his own but did help himself to an orange from the fruit basket. “I must confess that I was extremely surprised, and more than a little grateful, at your actions this morning.”

William shrugged, tearing the peel from the orange in a savage manner. “I saw something that needed to be done and I did it.”

“You’re not a sailor but anyone could see from my crew’s reaction that it was an incredibly dangerous thing to do. I’ve seen loose lines to tear a man in half when they get worked up like that.”

This elicited a savage grin from William. “I’m not the sort to shy away from danger.” He popped a hunk of orange into his mouth and chewed messily.

“Still, what you did seemed almost more than human.”

William shrugged, wiping away the juice on his chin with the back of his hand. “I’ve always been something of an oddity.”

The captain pulled a handful of grapes from the bowl and popped them into his mouth, chewing much more gracefully than William. “I feel I should point out that we’re headed to Amra, William, and they don’t tolerate oddities much there.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a pleasant enough country with delightful wine that sells for top dollar,” Caas leaned back, crossing his blackened boots on the table while he ate his grapes. “But frankly they’re a bit xenophobic. Had some bad times a generation ago or so and now they’re a bit paranoid when it comes to anything,” he swept an arm in William’s direction, “odd.”

The moment was interrupted by the steward, who came back bearing two plates loaded with steaming meat and vegetables. Caas swung his feet off the table and gestured for the steward to serve the meal to him and his guest. William let his mind wander, thinking about Caas’ words. He was all too familiar with the fears of the Amran people. He was, after all, the source of many of those fears.

“Please enjoy, Mr. Arcus, Gene here is quite the chef.” Caas tore into his meal with gusto. Following his lead, William ate a few select morsels.

“So where do you hail from?” Caas asked in between bites, sipping at his drink.

William hesitated slightly before answering, “Radasanth. In Corone.”

“I’ve sailed this vessel halfway around the world but I can’t say I’ve ever heard of Corone.”

William pushed his food back and picked up his drink. “It’s been a very long journey,” he admitted, looking wistfully as the smoky liquid swirling in the glass. Time had made him an expert at reading people and all of his instincts told him that Caas wasn’t the type of man to let something go. He really didn’t want to talk too much about who he was or where he was from, but it would be far less painful in the long run to feed something to the captain.

He began his narrative with a sigh, speaking at length about sailing from Cororne to Scara Brae, and from there through the Gates of Samech where the men dance naked in the moonlight with the nature spirits. Caas listened, enraptured as William spoke of the land of Verdure, where all men must be accompanied outside of the docks by their women masters, and of rowing for his passage across the Sea of Burning Gold to Theracia.

“Ah now I recognize Theracia,” Caas chimed in. “And I assume that you bought passage from there to Furia where you boarded the Maiden Fair making her way to Amra?”

“You’ve got it,” William nodded.

“Damn,” Caas whistled. “No wonder you seemed more than human.”

William resumed his silence, sipping at his drink, letting Caas go on and on about how impressed he was until the oil in the lamps burned only dimly. The steward, Gene, returned after a while, coughing gently to get the captain’s attention.

“Of course, Gene, thank you.” Caas stood. He swayed slightly, though William couldn’t tell if it was the rock of the sea swells or the liquor that was the cause. “It seems,” Caas said, gesturing broadly, “that our time is up Mr. Arcus.” Definitely the liquor, William concluded. “Thank you for the delightful evening and thank you again for saving my ship.”

“I’m glad we could do this, captain,” William said, the lie flowing easy from his lips. William rose and clasped the captain’s outstretched hand and gave Gene a polite nod, thanking him for his services.

“Remember what I said about Amra,” Caas called out as William stepped out of the stateroom.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” William muttered, the darkness of the hallway hiding the twin points of burning light which shone from William’s eyes.

[Revenant]

Despite being a small town at the edge the wilderness, Morrow Point’s harbor was a hot bed of activity. Flags of every shape and color filled the air with a cloud of floating cloth, and the cries of the morning’s fish merchants mixed with those of the gulls who circled overhead, both interested in the same scaled wares. A dozen different spiced scents tantalized the passengers who waited eagerly against the Maiden Fair’s railing, the potency reaching even across the bay to call the vessel into port.

“Home again, home again,” William whispered, looking over the bustling docks but not really seeing any of it. It hadn’t been a lie when he told the captain that it had taken him nearly a year to get from Corone to Amra. The time hadn’t mattered at all to him though, he had already given enough of his life to Kal’Necroth.

Kal’Necroth, he thought, the name rolling around in his head like a protruding nail, jaggedly catching on everything as it turned. It was the soul mage’s soldiers who had taken William’s livelihood from him and put his family to the sword and it was Kal’Necroth himself who had taken William’s life as a man from him and left him to an existence as a monster. When William had first left Amra, it was only because he thought that his former master had died at William’s own hands. He had been glad to put his life as the Demon of Amra behind him, but fate had seen fit to reopen that chapter of his life.

“All passengers are asked to collect on the aft deck while we dock the ship, m’lord.” William’s reverie was broken by one of the ship’s deckhands. William murmured his thanks and let the man on his way, remaining at the rail with his thoughts for a minute before gathering his things and making way towards the back of the ship.

Many curious whispers followed the well-worn battleaxe on William’s hip as he pressed through the assembled crowd on the aft deck, though if these bothered him at all he gave no indication. The axe and the matching shield on his back had been his only companions through the long journey from Corone and he wasn’t about to go without their familiar weight to appease a group of strangers. Frankly, William wasn’t in the habit of doing much of anything to appease those around him, as his departure from Corone had shown. When William left Sei’s Tomb, he did so quietly in the middle of the night, better to facilitate an exit without any notice or fanfare. All of his magical trinkets had been left behind, a farewell gift from the captain of the monster hunters to the Ixian Knights’ treasury. There were those in the Ixian Knights who would be disappointed with his sudden departure, he supposed, but that mattered little to the demon warrior. Of all the Ixian Knights Sei Orlouge was the only one who came to William’s mind now, the rest lost to the ravages of apathy and time. But William couldn’t forget Sei so easily, he knew, for there was too much hatred between himself and the mute mystic to forgive.

The leader of the Ixian Knights had been William’s self-professed friend and mentor, but with nothing except the endless rolling seas to occupy his time, William had spent many hours examining his poisonous relationship with Sei. When Sei had found William at the Citadel in Radasanth, the revenant was very nearly nothing more than a feral beast. Sei had offered to help William, to give the shattered man his life back and William had foolishly trusted him. While it was the soul mage Kal’Necroth who had transformed William into the revenant, it was Sei Orlouge who had forged William into the living weapon that Kal’Necroth had envisioned. It was as if William had woken one morning to find that he couldn’t even recognize himself in the mirror anymore.

William watched the ship’s mooring with detached interest as he mulled things over in his head. As always, the beast within him bubbled beneath his skin, demanding violent release, the gift that was the legacy of Kal’Necroth and Sei Orlouge. A shrill whistle cut through the air, signaling that the passengers were free to depart the Maiden Fair. After nearly a year of travel in pursuit of restitution, William had finally come home. But with all that has happened, he thought, will one man’s death truly solve anything or is this a fool’s errand? William solemnly followed the crowd down the creaking gangplank and into the crowded streets of Morrow Point below and was forced to admit that he didn’t have an answer.

[Revenant]

The Maiden Fair’s gangplank disgorged her passengers directly into the heart of the festivities on the docks. Everywhere he looked, streets and buildings teemed with enthusiasm and vigor. Happiness and youth flowed like wine throughout the Morrow Point, as if the city itself was alive and embracing the joy within it. Five minutes after making landfall William found that he had been propositioned twice, had had three drinks thrust into his hand, and had been invited to taste a sample of ginger spiced flatfish, with a helpful reminder to cast a vote for The Lucky Dragon at the town hall’s cooking competition booth. The place was so full of vibrant energy that William almost couldn’t believe that the Maiden Fair had actually taken him to Amra. It was a far cry from the fearful, huddling masses he remembered from his departure.

Unlike the other passengers, who immediately fell to mingling with the celebrants, William maintained a somber air as he pushed his way through the crowd. He wasn’t in Morrow Point for gaiety and celebration and refused to loosen his grip on the brooding nature of his thoughts lest he lose sight of what really mattered. Morrow Point wasn’t just a port of entry into Amra for William, he had been told that the key to finding Kal’Necroth was somewhere close. The apprentice who thought that he could control William had been very emphatic about that at the end. Still, Morrow Point was a decent sized town, even when not swelled to bursting by festival partiers, and William was clueless on exactly where to begin.

“The Demon of Amra!” a voice from the crowd yelled, eliciting a chorus of jeers from all around William. He tensed at the words, his hand resting on the grip of the axe at his hip. A quick scan of the crowd told him that he had little chance of escaping without some serious bloodshed. And even then, it was likely that the mass of bodies around him would be too much for William to handle.

“Damn,” he hissed. How exactly had someone known who he was, let alone recognized him in the crowd. And yet, he realized, no one had made a move against.

“Here stands the Demon at the gates of fair Illium,” the voice called again, eliciting another round of jeers.

Illium? William thought, confused. A moment later, after another scan of the crowd, William’s hand fell away from the hilt of his axe. A puppet show! he thought, amused.

“And why is that?” the puppeteer continued, listening as the crowd roared a chant of “Leonine!”

William watched the puppeteer produce the puppet of James Alexander, which posed heroically on the mock steps of the Grand Temple in Illum. Memories flooded back as he watched the wooden dolls act out the scene of his greatest defeat for the enjoyment of the crowd. He remembered how the sandy haired James Alexander, barely more than a boy, had fearlessly faced him in single combat. Wounded and barely able to stand, the knight had nevertheless held firm while those around him fled. At the time William had been unable to appreciate the stoic determination that the young man’s eyes had held, but he had yet to meet another man whose heroism matched that of the injured young man with a sword in his hand.

The crowd roared to life, applauding and jumping up and down as the puppet of James struck the head from William’s puppet. As the William doll’s body collapsed, William himself found that he was rubbing his neck unconsciously. After that it was just a matter of the puppeteer soaking up the applause and taking in the coins that the appreciative onlookers threw into his collections box. The crowd slowly dwindled away, but William stayed where he was until only he and the puppeteer remained.

“I hope you enjoyed the show, m’lord,” the puppeteer bowed low to William, gesturing slightly at the coin filled on the table beside him.

“An interesting tale, to be sure,” William said, tossing a pair of coins into the box, to the delight of the puppeteer. “But one I’m unfamiliar with.”

“Serros,” the puppeteer bowed with a flourish. “And, allow me to welcome you to Amra, my foreign friend.”

“Foreign friend? Apparently not knowing your story is a real tell.” William smiled awkwardly, glad that his Amran heritage wasn’t immediately apparent.

“Of course it is. Every Amran knows of the Battle of Illium, and of how leonine Alexander defeated Kal’Necroth’s demon.”

William bobbed his head towards the collections box. “And yet you seem to be doing well retelling a story everyone knows.”

Serros laughed. “Well, as the saying goes, the old tales are the best tales. Besides, life is hard arouns these parts and people want to be reminded of our triumphs during the Swallow’s Festival.”

“Swallow’s Festival?”

“You really are new to Amra, friend,” Serros said, gesturing wide. “Amrans revere the Swallow as our psychopomp.” William gave Serros a confused look, and the puppeteer added, “a psychopomp ferries souls to the afterlife.”

“So this is a festival of the dead?” William asked, looking around at all the bright colors and swirling excitement.

“No, though I can understand your mistake. Amra is a place where souls don’t rest quietly. Without the sparrows to ferry them to their next life, the souls of the dead gather together and cause trouble for the living. Thus we give our thanks to the sparrows for keeping us safe.”

“I see,” William nodded, then changed the subject. “So how does your story end?”

“The Battle for Illium?” Serros asked, surprised. William nodded. “Well after the defeat of the demon on the stairs of the Grand Temple, the sorcerer Kal’Necroth lost much of his power. When his generals realized this they turned on each other, seeking to claim the army for themselves. The army was scattered and Amra was once again safe.”

“And what of the man who killed the demon?”

“The Leonine was made the General of Amra and granted the highest honors by the king. But one night he vanished, leaving a note that said that he still believed the demon was alive and that he would not return until it had been slain.”

“He set off to hunt the demon?” William blinked stupidly, completely caught off guard by the revelation that James still hunted him.

“Some say it was noble, some say the war caused him to lose his grip on reality, but mostly we were just disappointed,” Serros said quizzically watching William’s reaction.

“Interesting,” William said, a bit too hastily. He threw another handful of coins into Serros’s collections box to cover his awkwardness. “Thank you for the entertainment and for humoring an ignorant foreigner.”

“If you want to know more you might want to check the new temple,” Serros called out after him. “It’s across town but they’re not dedicating it till the end of the festival.”

“I guess it’s as good a place as any to start,” William sighed and disappeared into the crowd.

[Revenant]

Morrow Point’s temple was small enough that it could be called quaint, only able to house fifty or so patrons during its services. But despite the structure’s relatively small size, the finely crafted architecture made it seem far more regal than its occupancy dictated. William sat alone in the central chamber, silently taking in the soft curves of the arches and buttress supports that were distinctly Amran in nature. Though he had travelled far and seen wonderful sights, there was nothing that quite captivated William as much as coming home.

Head bowed in respect, William lowered his guard and let the memories wash over him. He remained that way for an hour before a quietly approaching figure stirred him from his thoughts. Though the molten power under William’s skin urged him to prepare for combat, he instead let out a sigh and turned to face the intruder.

“You seem troubled, friend.” An elderly priest bearing the symbols of the lion god Leon smiled sorrowfully at William. “I sense dark waters weighing upon your head. Is there something that the Temple of Leon can do for you?” Chuckling softly, the priest added, “though we technically aren’t a temple for another two days.”

William offered the priest an uneasy smile before turning his eyes back to the architecture of the holy place. “There’s not much you can do …”

“Balthius. Father Balthius of the Order of Leon.”

“Well Father Balthius, it’s nothing more complex than the fact that I’ve been traveling for a long time and your church reminded me a bit of home. And they say that there’s nothing like a bout of homesickness to cloud a mind.”

“Is that what they say?”

A scowl appeared on William’s face, a response to the Father’s poking.

“Peace my friend,” Balthius held up his hands defensively. “I’m only trying to lighten to mood a bit. It is a festival after all.” William relaxed slightly and nodded at the priest. “Well if our homey little chapel causes you grief, perhaps a tour of our garden will clear your mind.”

Balthius gently touched William’s elbow, guiding him towards one of the church’s back doors. William tensed at the unwarranted contact, his instincts itching to lash out at the Father. If Balthius noticed William’s increased breathing and the slight dilation in his eyes he politely said nothing. The surge lasted only a moment before William regained control and allowed himself to be led away by the Father’s gentle urging.

“It’s really quite a beautiful sight,” Balthius said leading them through the small kitchen off to one side of the chapel. “The brotherhood has put quite a bit of time into tending it while the chapel was being built and I believe the orchids are currently in bloom.” William nodded, not really hearing the words. True to Balthius’ word, the garden was lush and swelled with the rich scent of orchids. Balthius stopped just outside the backdoor and inhaled deeply. After a moment, William followed suit, letting the sweet scent wash the black cloud from his mind.

“Now that we’ve taken care of that,” the priest laughed softly. “What brings you to the Temple, friend?” He moved to take a seat among the flowers and gestured for William to do the same. “I assume you’re in Morrow Point for Swallow’s Festival?”

“Not quite,” William replied, taking the offered seat. “I just stepped off the docks an hour or so ago,”

“Well then I hope your first impression of our fair town is a pleasant one. I have to admit that I’m still curious about what brings a foreigner to our temple for contemplation. Are you familiar with the tenets of Leon?”

William busied himself with examining the garden. “Not exactly,” he murmured. “A puppeteer named Scaal directed me here after a rather interesting puppet about a knight and a demon.”

Balthius smiled ruefully, “I am somewhat familiar with the story.”

A moment of silence passed as William batted absentmindedly at one of the flowers near him. Balthius was patient, waiting for William to come around, a good priest.

“I find it curious that a port town like Morrow Point doesn’t already have an established temple,” William finally said, rubbing the film of pollen that had coated his fingers.

The smile vanished from Balthius’ face, replaced by an intense look of sorrow. “An astute observation.” The priest exhaled slowly. “There was another temple here once, a fire destroyed it.”

“Oh?” William said, finally drawn into the conversation by Balthius’ tone. “I sense more to the story than you’re letting on.”

It was Balthius’ turn to look away, “yes, sadly. The fire occurred several years ago along with a slew of other horrible incidents. We call it the troubled times.”

“The troubled times?” William echoed. “Must have been pretty bad to have earned such a dramatic title.” Balthius shrugged. “If it’s not too prying, may I ask what exactly made those times so troubled?”

“The war had just ended,” Balthius stopped and then offered William a sad apology. “Sorry, the war was what your puppeteer’s play had been about. Anyways, things were still bad from the fallout of the war. And then an old man living on the edge of town started a horrific murder spree.” William cocked an eyebrow at that, but maintained his silence. “Of course we didn’t know he was the culprit at the time. We were all spending too much time hiding in our homes and trying not to be the next victims.” The priest rose and began pacing around the garden, letting the words flow unconsciously from his memories. “His name was Graul, and we’d all warned him when he stated his intent to build his home on the foundation of the old ruins in the woods. And then, near the end when we were all jumping at every shadow that crossed out paths, a fire caught in the temple and it burned to the ground.” Balthius closed his eyes, an intense spasm of sorrow crossing his face. “It was also in the troubled times that my daughter died.”

All sense of pleasantness that the garden provided suddenly felt cold and shallow to William. Must I bring pain everywhere I go? “I-I’m sorry for bringing it up. Please pardon the folly of a weary traveler.”

“Nonsense,” Balthius let out a shuddering breath before allowing a sad smile to return to his face. “It is through no fault of your own, my friend; simply the regrets of a sad old man.”

An awkward moment of silence hung in the air between the men. “I should be going then.” William muttered, excusing himself.

Balthius nodded, lost in his own world of silent sorrow.

[Revenant]

The day was as warm and bright outside of Morrow Point as the festival was inside it, but far more open and inviting to a man like William. It was a place where he could spread out and stretch his limbs, where he could feel the breeze on his skin without being jammed and jostled by an unfamiliar crowd. It was a place where he could exist without bringing pain to those around him.

William sighed. It was a warm autumn day and the colors of the leaves were brilliant, dazzling as the wind spun them from their perches. And yet despite all of this, all he could see was Balthius’ silent misery, the buried pain that William had managed to dig up and put in front of him with only ten minutes of polite conversation. It was as if he had a knack for destroying things, even with his words.

The carpet of dried leaves beneath him led William deeper into the woodlands. Each step crunched steadily as he climbed an embankment up and away from the port city. But as free as he was to move about as he pleased, the open space was not enough to free him from the raucous gaiety trailing him all the way from Morrow Point.

A rush from the under the nearby leaves drew William’s attention. From it sprang a panicked fox leaping swiftly away from him in full flight. Yaps followed the fox’s flight, mournful, lonely yaps that could only come from abandoned children. William shook his head sadly and moved on, knowing that it was merely his presence that had caused a mother to abandon her children. He didn’t know if the mother would come back when he was gone but he hoped she would. There was already far too much blood on his hands.

The fox hole wasn’t too far from Graul’s abandoned cabin, William found. It was a small cabin, weather beaten and fallen into disrepair. But despite the general malaise that surrounded the shack, it had held up surprisingly well for standing in the wild lands without maintenance for so many years. He could see no signs of occupation by thieves or scoundrels, and no sign that the structure had been made a test of bravery for foolhardy youths. It was as if the place itself exuded a sense of lonely isolation. William shrugged and pushed against a door which came apart in rotten, soggy clumps beneath his hand. He was no peasant to be deterred by some indescribable sense of horror.

Judging from the cabin’s interior, the shack had been nothing impressive even when it was new, merely a single room partitioned into smaller ones by hastily erected barriers. Weeds cracked through a half dozen spots in the splintered floorboards, allowing William to see the worn stones of the original edifice beneath. And despite being far from sealed, the air inside was surprisingly humid, the heavy scent of rot and mold clinging to William’s nostrils like a wet blanket. But even with these charming qualities, the cabin still provided a place of reasonable shelter and a promise of solitude. William would stay in Graul’s cabin until he had found what he needed and could move on from Morrow Point.

First things first, William knew that he needed to cobble together at least a semblance of comfort if he was going to stay in the cabin. And despite the cabin appearing immune to attention from the inhabitants of Morrow Point, William would need to ensure that he remained undetected should some drunken reveler happen to pass by. Moving from room to room, William conducted a quick examination of the shambling building and its crumbling walls and sagging roof. There was nothing special to catch his eye until he brushed away a weave of dried weeds to reveal a small trapdoor. Graul had no doubt dug a small stock cellar and covered it thus, or perhaps it had been a portion of the original structure that he had built his cabin on. Whatever it was, William noted with satisfaction, it would serve the purpose that he needed it for.

Gripping the rough wood tightly, William heaved the door open. It was heavier than it looked, and held firmly by an ages worth of binding grit. Little light reached into the shadowy interior, but from what William could see it wasn’t a terribly large room. But just as William was not deterred by the odd feeling the cabin gave off, he wasn’t deterred by a little darkness.

A wave of anger rippled across William’s mind as soon as he dropped into the basement. The sudden rush caused his eyes to dilate and his nostrils to flare. It was an extremely powerful urge but was nothing that he hadn’t dealt with a thousand times before, no matter how sudden it was. With an effort of practiced will, William thrust the urge aside.

”Wh…what are you?” A timid, almost frightened voice whispered in William’s head, a voice he saw more than heard.

“Who speaks to me?” William snarled, reaching for his axe. He was all too familiar with voices speaking in his mind since telepathy was the only way Sei had to communicate.

”B…brother?”

This gave William pause, and the revenant’s eyes bored into the darkness, seeking the source of the mental intrusion. The only thing he could see in the twilight confines of the basement were decrepit piles of food items long since wasted, shards of furniture fallen to decay, and a worn hunk of stone that could have possibly once resembled a man.

“I will not repeat myself again,” William hissed. “Who speaks to me?”

”I am Kholaeros brother,” the voice replied, ”I am spirit given form.”

[Revenant]

“What to do mean destruction given form? Show yourself!”

Hundreds of images poured into William’s mind. Scenes of horrible slaughter, fires consuming a mountain of children, sickly light from a dying star flensing the cracked dust of a shattered field, each of them powerful, horrible, and yet a tantalizing morsel for the power that hummed in William’s bones. He could feel the excitement pouring off of him in waves of heat. He stumbled under the assault, his body quivering with barely restrained desire and he swooned drunkenly around the basement.

”Why do you resist brother?” the voice returned, glorious and horrible in William’s mind. “I can feel your power surging within you like a raging torrent, ready to reach over the banks of your restraint to wash out everything around you.”

Burning embers flared to life in the darkness of William’s eyes, fanned to life by the coaxing breath of the spirit which called William its brother. A feral growl escaped William’s lips as his grinding teeth tore through the flesh of his lower lip. Hissing blood oozed down his chin, the pain acting as a central point of focus in the center of the chaos which tore at his consciousness. William latched onto that point, curling himself around it and from there pushing back against the rising tide. Seconds ticked by as he lurched about in the dimly lit room, fighting against his own molten power, but slowly the black veins of corruption in his flesh receded and William regained control of himself.

William leaned against a support strut, doubled over with his arms crossed under him. “If you do that again,” William panted, “I will tear you apart.”

“Is that so?” the voice growled, a predator raising his hackles in response to a challenge to his territory.

Dark eyes scanned the dim room, the curse of Jomil rotting everything away in William’s field of vision. Only one thing remained relatively unscathed in his eyes, highly resistant to the ravages of time. It was the worn stone in the corner, which pulsed with angry life under the revenant’s cursed scrutiny.

“You are housed in the stone,” William hissed, reaching for the word granite with hooked, claw-like fingers. “I am more than powerful enough to destroy you, brother,” he spat this last word.

”Are you so sure?”

William allowed the barest fraction of his power to manifest, flooding the room with spectral fire. His eyes once again gleamed in the dim light, only this time powerful, angry, and with malicious intent. “Are you?”

Immediately the spirit in the stone retreated, pulling the hostility from the air like a hound with his tail between his legs. ”Mercy, brother. I was a fool to challenge one such as yourself, great destroyer.”

Freed from the stone’s influence, William surged across the basement and hoisted the stone. Even William’s enhanced strength, the equal of a team of grown men, struggled to lifting the piece, but William was angry, and that anger filled his limbs with molten strength. He brought the stone to eye level, staring past the surface until he could almost see the destructive spirit within, cowering away from him. He sneered and then, with an effort, allowed the stone to tumble free from his fingers.

“You have my mercy for now,” he hissed, allowing his power to fully subside. “But don’t mistake me for a weak willed fool because of it. I will not hesitate to grind you to dust if you raise yourself against me again.”

”Of course brother,” the voice returned, fully subservient. ”There was no harm in what I did, yes? I merely thought you were a lesser form than I, and as is the way with our kind, tried to subvert you to my will.”

“It’s dangerous to assume such things,” William said.

”You are housed in flesh,” the voice countered. ”And only the weakest of our kind can be housed in flesh for any length of time without degrading the host.”

“Kal’Necroth bound a creation spirit to me as well. It constantly repairs the damage to my body that my power does.”

”I do not know of this Kal’Necroth but he must be quite the novice fool to have done as he did. Why have the other Sillonians not rended your forged soul asunder?”

“Sillonians? What in the name of the pyre is a Sillonian?”

”Sillonians are the soul mages of Amra, brother. Surely the one who created you was of their ranks.”

William cocked an eyebrow at the stone, “if that’s true then the Sillonians haven’t been alive for ten thousand years.”

William could feel a melancholy weight fill the air. ”I know a long time has passed since my master’s study fell into disuse. I never thought it was that long.”

“You’ve been sitting here for ten thousand years?” William asked, skeptical.

“As I said, I was not aware exactly how much time had passed. This was once the study of the Sillonian Theloma, the one who summoned and bound me. Theloma disappeared one day and the years since have slipped by in a sort of trance. That is until the other came and woke me.”

“The other?”

“Yes, the one who came before you. Not long ago. I reached out to him as I did to you, but his mind was weak and he ran, screaming, from this place.”

The spirit’s words brought Willliam’s thoughts back to the wave of anger that had washed over him upon entering the basement. At the time he had thought it was nothing more than his own dark urges rising to the surface, as it was wont to do. Apparently it had just been another manipulation attempt by the spirit in the stone to drive him into a murderous frenzy. It also explained what Father Balthius had told William about the Troubled Times that had fallen upon Morrow Point years before. The old man who had lived here must have accidentally roused the spirit from its dormancy, and must have been driven to murder when the spirit touched his mind.

It was a sensation with which William was all too familiar.

“What else can you do?” William asked, curious.

“What do you mean, brother?”

“You can make people murderous, fill them with our wrath. What else can you do?”

“Ours is not suitable for much more than teaching, enhancing the warriors of our masters, and breaking down our enemy’s defenses. Your housing of flesh is much more suitable than mine of stone.”

One word stuck with William, igniting the fires of interest in his mind. “You said that you one of your purposes is teaching?”

”Yes, great brother.”

Unheeded, William’s lips split in a vicious grin. “Then teach me brother.”

[Revenant]

For having been forgotten in a basement for several thousand years, Kholaeros proved to be an apt teacher. Despite having learned a wide range of knowledge from the Ixian Knights’ libraries, everything Kholaeros taught William was fresh and new. While there was nothing in his repertoire that could be considered even remotely current, the depth of insight that Kholaeros had on the Sillonian’s spirit magic was quite educational. After only a few days William had learned the basics of the knowledge that had driven Kal’Necroth mad with power, the very same knowledge that had allowed the sorcerer to forge William into the creature that he was.

There were the destruction spirits and creation spirits that he was intimately familiar with, generally used either to break down or fortify buildings and equipment as appropriate. It was almost unprecedented to bind them to living flesh however, as the destruction spirits degraded the host too fast and the creation spirits inevitably destroyed their host by constantly growing and warping them like a cancer. It was possible to balance the effect out by combining the two, William knew from personal experience, but it was considered a blasphemy to the Sillonians as it would make a creature that was extremely volatile and difficult to control.

William had laughed at that.

But there were other spirits more suitable for binding to flesh. Beast spirits, for example, were used almost exclusively on creatures to create warriors for the Sillonian armies. Skraal were hairy, orc-like beastmen who were typically used as shock troops, while the serpentine Xaansha had been leaders and magical assistants.

Finally, there were elemental spirits that bridged the two, able to be bound to flesh but just as useful when bound to objects. The giants of the Stormwall Range in had originally fashioned in this manner, binding stone elemental spirits to men. And many of the Sillonian’s finest weapons and armor had been imbued with elemental spirits of fire or earth.

And yet, with all the things that William had learned, the question he most wanted answers to still eluded him.

Where he could find Kal’Necroth?

A high pitched, horrified scream roused William from the reverie into which he had sunk over the last three days. It was not the first sound of the festivities to have managed to penetrate the recesses in which William had secluded himself, but this was the most visceral.

“Something’s wrong,” William said, bolting upright. His muscles were cramped and stiff from the long hours he had spent crouched in the dim basement, but they were soon overcome by the regenerative nature of his body.

”What of it?” Kholaeros replied. ”You are not beholden to them. Have you not told me how they rightfully fear and despise you?”

There was truth to Kholaeros’ words, a truth that resonated with weight in William’s mind. Wasn’t he was the villain in the stories that Amran parents told their children to make them behave? Wasn’t he the evil that pervaded their most sacred stories? Why should a dark legend care about what happened to those who feared and loathed him?

“No,” William hissed defiance at the thought. If he was to seek redemption, to truly make a change in his life, then it would have to start here. By the time his mind had been made William was already up and moving. The screams were much clearer outside, screams of pain and terror as intimately familiar to William as his own skin. He didn’t know what fate had befallen Morrow Point, but whatever it was, it canvassed the entire town. Morrow Point was under attack, and from the sounds of it, it was a massacre.

[Revenant]

Bodies lined the streets of Morrow Point like discarded rag dolls. All of the garish festival colors that had clashed so much on William’s arrival were now neatly tied together by the same splashes of visceral crimson. A trio of buildings along the wharf, warehouses from the look of them, were already fully engulfed in a moving wall of flame that was threatening to spread beyond control. And throughout the tumultuous din of all the chaos, William could see feral, bestial things running amok.

The creatures bore long claws and thick, shaggy hides, brining to mind the Skraal that Kholaeros had described. From what he understood though, the tribal creatures were rarely seen outside the remote and desolate prairie lands where they had been driven to. The sentinels of House Mathias were nothing less than meticulous in their culling of any Skraal bands that managed to break free from their prison. Barring that fact and the fact that the Skraal’s breeding grounds were hundreds of miles away, the creatures had somehow managed to find their way to Morrow Point.

But regardless of where these Skraal had come from, they proved to be just as apt at savagery as their kin from the desolate pains were. They were savage things that existed for no other purpose than to spread death to whatever wasn’t like them, and dozens of them tore through the streets, looking for their next hint of warm prey.

William figured that he could occupy that role pretty effectively.

“Here,” he yelled, pulling his battle axe from his belt and unslinging his shield. “Come over here you bastards.” His shouts grabbed the attention of a half a dozen Skraal almost instantly and the creatures nearly climbed over each other to get at him.

By the time the first Skraal managed to get to William, it was already covered in scratches and blood courtesy of its comrades. The beastman’s grasping claws but the air in front of William longingly, but the warrior danced lightly around their reach and struck out with a backhand swing which severed the creature’s spine just below the shoulders. It fell heavily to the ground without so much as a whimper, the gift of its mad dash to be the first rewarding its fervor in full.

The remaining Skraal came in close behind, heedless of the fate of their companion. Each creature bore enough muscle and fury to drop a charging ox, but all their power meant nothing when they couldn’t bring it effectively to bear. Seeing how viciously the Skraal clawed and fought each other just for a chance at his flesh, William easily outmaneuvered the feral creatures, quick footwork turning their frantic struggles against one another. Two of the remaining creatures lunged towards him at the same time, crashing into one another as William slipped out from under their talons, forcing the remaining Skrall to circle around the thrashing pile. Two quick chops from his axe left the earth-bound creatures still and lifeless at William’s feet, and removed another threat from the streets of Morrow Point.

Stepping up into the seething mass that the remaining Skraal had become, William took two gouging blows across the face of his shield before using the wooden ram to send a knot of the creatures down to meet the same fate as their comrades. The last beastman backed slightly away, its eyes showing conflicting fear mixed in with the savage rage which controlled it. Deciding that this was one opponent that was beyond him, the Skraal whimpered slightly and turned to flee, only to catch the biting edge of William’s axe in the back. Six beastmen dead, William grinned, but more were pouring through the streets with each passing moment. While he would have loved to have taken some time to gloat over the corpses at his feet and to examine them a bit more fully, there was still a rash of delightful, bloody work at hand.

Without further hesitation, William slid through the streets like death’s spectre. Everywhere he moved he found another knot of Skraal savagely tearing at the fabric of Morrow Point, and everywhere he moved away from left another group of dead beastman in the gutters. It was too easy a thing for a man who had once hunted giants and demons, and whoever had unleashed the Skraal on Morrow Point obviously hadn’t planned on such a man being there. And the longer William fought, the more he found that he was not alone. Other warriors flocked to his side in defense of Morrow Point, rallying around the foreigner with the flowing cloak and heavy axe to retake their streets. Even so, it took Morrow Point’s defenders nearly an hour to route the remaining Skraal, and William’s followers were certainly not without their own casualties.

And when it was all over the people flocked into the streets around William to cheer him. Though he never intended it as such, the Demon of Amra found that he had become the hero of Morrow Point.

[Revenant]

Hours passed as Morrow Point picked the pieces of itself up, figuratively and quite literally. William helped as much as anyone, though the chorus of gratitude that he received everywhere in town he went certainly slowed his progress down a bit. The warehouse fire had spread fast and had burned an entire section of the dock to the waterline, but even the speed of the fire’s spread along the dry, cracked timbers was no match for how quickly the news spread about Morrow Point’s foreign savior. By the time that the cleanup crew’s work was over and the sun was sinking into the horizon William would have had a hard time believing there was a soul in all of Amra who hadn’t heard of his deeds and made it a point to seek him out for congratulations.

Still, the celebrations were somewhat bittersweet. William recognized Serros the puppeteer’s body amongst the dead, along with the body of the Maiden Fair’s boatswain and half her crew. Sadly, even to William, the cold body of the priest Balthius had also been found among those who had sought shelter from the Skraal in Morrow Point’s church. To the old priest’s credit, he had been found with a weapon in hand, using his body as a shield against the church’s monstrous invaders. No final tally was made but the dead easily numbered in the hundreds, bolstered only by the sheer press of bodies that the festival had brought to town. There were more weeping individuals to be found in the streets than those with dry eyes; more than a few lost children stranded and alone in a cold, uncaring world. It was enough to move even William’s hardened heart. It was the end of Swallow’s Festival and the psychopomps had their work cut out for them.

To be the center of a whirlwind of such joy and misery was an odd feeling for William, and to say that being in such a spotlight was uncomfortable for a man used to being reviled was an understatement. Fortunately, William was well practiced in maintaining the façade of humanity that he wore and bore the added interest with grace and skill. By the time the sun fell, the savior had received more than a few invitations to dinner, amongst other things. Wisely, he had begged off of all the private encounters and had settled on being regaled at a bar called The Muckfish.

The Muckfish had been aptly named after the long, tubelike sea creature residing in a tank that dominated a sizable portion of the tavern’s back wall. A fat purse of silver hung suspended over the muckfish’s tank, and from what the menagerie of drunken revelers around William led him to believe, the muckfish, affectionately named Hattie, would produce a viscous slime when irritated. For every coin a daring soul put on the line, they were given a chance to drink a flagon of water from Hattie’s tank in the hopes of claiming the entire purse. A dozen coins were added to the bag while William watched, the participants having nothing but vomit stains to show for all their bravado.

“Is this what a hero’s life is all about?” William wondered, listening to the crowd cheer as another young man dropped a coin in Hattie’s purse. There was an ugly, sorrowful undercurrent to the jovial atmosphere present in The Muckfish, and it had swept William up in its current. No amount of merriment could get him to forget the cold, pallid faces of Balthius, Serros, and the crew of the Maiden Fair, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that their deaths were somehow his fault. He knew it was a silly notion dredged up by the remnants of guilt over past sins that refused to go away, but he had met all those people, had talked and interacted with them. And now they were dead. Was everything around him doomed to the same fate just by being unfortunate enough to be associated with him in some way?

Another flask of some alcoholic concoction was thrust into William’s hand and he didn’t refuse it. Alcohol didn’t have much effect on a regenerating creature with molten fire flowing in his veins, but the physical act of drinking occupied his mind enough to give him some release from his brooding thoughts. The urge rose within in, awakened by the day’s events rather than sated, and he was forced, not for the first time since coming to The Muckfish, to question whether it was wise to have chosen a crowded place of merriment to spent the evening.

Knowing that the evening could only get worse, William began to formulate an excuse to depart the tavern. All he could think of was something shallow and petty, a lie which would convince no one but would still give him the freedom to slip back to Graul’s cabin without being seen. But before his inelegant plan could be set to motion, a ragged man burst through the front door all panicked and breathing heavy.

“The church,” he gasped out. All eyes turned towards the errant intruder, a low hum of horrid expectation filling the sudden silence that pervaded The Muckfish.

“Yes,” a voice in the crowd urged, breaking the silence.

“The church has been attacked.”

A wave of frightened murmurs washed over the crowd, accompanied by wails of grief and the sounds of weapons being drawn. “Is it the beasts?” A woman’s voice cried out in terror. “To arms,” another yelled.

“I - I don’t know,” the messenger whined, “all I know is the guards are dead and the place has been ransacked.”

William caught more than one pair of eyes looking expectantly in his direction. “Please,” a voice near to him whispered.

Sighing, William pushed his way through the crowd, though he managed to do so with little difficulty. He pulled up in front of the frightened messenger, the nearness of Morrow Point’s savior being enough to calm the man’s frayed nerves.

“Lead me,” he said.

[Revenant]

Morrow Point’s temple looked more like a slaughterhouse than a holy site. Dozens of people had apparently sought refuge in Leon’s embrace when the skraal had attacked, but the stony confines of their salvation had turned out to be nothing more than a death sentence. Seeing so much flesh packed into so small a space had proven too tempting for the bestial creatures and once the temple’s meager line of defenders had been overrun there had been nothing to stop the skraal from their gruesome business. Those who had followed William from The Muckfish blanched at the horrific scene. Of course they had all heard of the slaughter from their cozy perches at the tavern, but there was a distinct difference between hearing of tragedy and actually seeing its effects firsthand. Unsurprisingly, William was one of the few men who failed to blanch as he walked through the church.

Amid the ruination that filled the temple there was a distinctly fresh scent of violence and fear. Bright splashes of cooling crimson lay imposed over older, drier ones from the day’s earlier raid. Bodies, some in more than one piece, lay under the mess, their stiff meat layed crudely at rest until something more permanent could be arranged. William spotted the bodies of Caas and Bryson from the Maiden Fair along with a dozen other of the ship’s sailors. They had apparently been too far inland to make it back to their ship when the assault had started and had followed the rest of the sheep into the temple, ripe for the slaughter.

“Should have listened to your own advise,” William whispered, kneeling down to close Caas’ eyes. It was a gesture of understanding, nothing more, but it was misconstrued as tenderness by the bystanders who keenly watched his every move.

“A friend of yours?” one of the locals asked.

“No,” William replied, looking back and forth down the row of bodies.

“Serves them right,” the man continued, turning his head to spew a contemptuous wad of spit.

Attention piqued, William turned his head, still in his squat, and eyed the local with a cocked eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Damned outsiders,” another local chimed in. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they had something to do with this.”

William nodded his head back towards the corpses of the ship’s crew. “I’m sure they would be. These men were nothing more than merchants. They’d have come and gone within a day if the festival hadn’t been going on. And I came on that ship too. You saying I had something to do with this?”

The bluster fell away from the men and they shuffled about nervously. There was safety in laying one’s fears on the doorsteps of those who couldn’t argue their innocence. It was another entirely to do so to someone you were only minutes before lauding as a hero.

“Thought not,” William grunted and then turned his attention over to the shaking group of people who had been witness to the second skraal invasion. “This is where they came in again?” William asked, once again taking stock of the fresh bloodshed.

No reply came to his question from the fear stricken cadre of survivors. Annoyed, William turned on them and harshly repeated his question. The survivors looked back and forth amongst one another, broken spirited and unsure exactly who was to be their leader.

“Y-yes,” a timid, shaking man finally stepped forward.

William eyed the man up and down, sizing him. “Don’t shake so much man, haven’t you heard yet? I can kill half a dozen of these things with one swing if what I’ve heard about me at the bar is true. Come on now, you’re safe. Relax a bit and tell me your name.”

“Roald,” the man said, still nervous but visibly relaxing. William nodded, a friendly gesture despite the grim set on his face.

“Alright Roald, were you here when the beasts came back.”

“Yeah,” he said, pointing a shivering finger towards one of the shadowy backrooms. “We thought they were all dead and were trying to collect all the dead from earlier when we saw them. I watched them come in out of the garden and tear up Joseri and Timmus before anyone could react. The others ran for help but there were only a few of them and they didn’t follow. They just rooted through the bodies until they found Father Balthius’, grabbed it, and left.”

“They took the priest?” William blinked, shocked. He had thought that the skraal had come again to attack, not to retrieve the body of a fallen holy man.

“That’s right,” Roald nodded.

“Interesting,” William mused as he stood upright, fully stretching out with a soft groan. “Well then,” he looked to the locals who had followed him, “let’s go find your priest.”