The Nuclear Option

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

“I like your scar.”

The dark elf, Lenexa, looked at me quizzically as he scratched the southern tip of ashen tissue that began below his left cheekbone and traveled up his thin face in a V, one path going over his left eye (hidden as it were by a leather patch), the other crossing the bridge of his sharp nose and coming to a rest above his right eyebrow. His trimmed fingernail brushed the scar the wrong way, and it began to peel slightly before he pressed it back down to his flesh.

“You can tell it's fake?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I've spent the majority of my life in circles that required some cosmetic magic to remain undetected. Makes you pretty good at spotting fake scars and such after a while.”

Lenexa shrugged and sat back in his chair. “Well, hopefully none of the filth that we passed on our way here have eyes as sharp as yours.”

The Aleraran and I were seated in a small alcove off to the side in Ettermire's little bright spot, The Bottomless Pit. All sorts of shady clientele walked in and out of this cramped, poorly-lit, smelly, rancid dive. They would get their drinks, conduct whatever secret business they had, go check out the fights downstairs for a bit, and leave cussing and bloodied after they bet on the wrong fighter and tried to take their money back from the wrong asshole.

I eyeballed one guy with a very real set of scars across his chin and lip walk past, his arms full of mugs of ale. “I doubt they even know we exist,” I said to Lenexa as I took a sip of my own drink. Dwarven Forge, to be exact. A brew so potent that two pints could put down just about anything with a pulse. Unless you're like me, and your body can process alcohol faster than it takes for the bitter taste to disappear from your tongue.

I set my half-emptied drink down on the table. “So, how about we get down to business? Would you mind telling me what you're after?”

Lenexa shifted uncomfortably, several strands of black hair falling out from underneath his equally dark hood and across his face. Whatever he was about to ask, it wasn't something he was going to do lightly.

“At the request of the ki--“ The elf caught himself, and dropped his voice into a whisper. “At the request of my employer, I wish to commission you to create a set of weapons.”

He crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. “As you might be aware of our history, it is one of war with our former brothers, the Raiaerans.”

I waved him off, miserable enough that he decided it was necessary to drag me to this dump in the first place. “I've read enough books to know of the struggles between your two nations. Skip it.”

The dark elf's eyes flashed with annoyance, but it quickly faded as he nodded. “Very well. My employer has heard of your various crafts through certain channels, and while he is reluctant to reach out to you, several within his close council feel that it was necessary in order to avenge our ancestors of the wrongs that the so-called high elves committed against us all those years ago.”

So, whispers of my name and the plague I unleashed on Eiskalt had even made its way to the ebony halls of Dra'khaitan. I leaned forward in kind and jabbed a gloved finger at Lenexa. “If he's heard of me, then your employer is aware of what kind of dangers he faces by contacting me, right?”

He nodded solemnly. “We have considered other options, but none of them suited the kind of campaign he seeks to carry out.”

It was my turn to drop my voice to barely above a whisper. “I'm not saying I won't take a job, but I am a war criminal. If the man you work for were to be caught consorting with me the consequences would be disastrous--not just for him, but for your entire people.”

Lenexa held my gaze tightly. “We are aware of the risks, and we have prepared enough fail-safes and precautionary measures to guarantee that our relationship will remain unknown by anyone other than myself, my employer, and you.”

“For Alerar's sake,” I said as I reached for my drink once more, “I hope so.”

I took a swig of the Forge. “Now, tell me about these weapons.”

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The dark elf produced a piece of charcoal and a small square of paper from a coat pocket and set them on the table. Hunched over his work, he deftly drew a neat Y that covered the majority of the paper, with a small line through the stalk of the letter. It took me a few seconds, but I recognized the Y as the triplet mountain ranges that separated Alerar from Raiaera and Salvar. The little line? Niadath Pass, where the Alerarans staged their previous invasion campaigns.

“I'm not at liberty to discuss our plans in detail,” Lenexa began, “but I do have the clearance to give you enough information to help you in your task.”

I sat in silence as he continued to scribble down little lines. The shoreline of the Gulf of Scales along Raiaera. The roads that skirt the Dead Lands and lead through the fallen city of Eluriand before curving north to meet the sea. Little circles along the way that denoted refugee settlements and cities that had not fallen to the undead hordes or the dark elf skirmishes that happened during the Corpse War.

Lenexa finished his doodle and put the little black rock back in his pocket before pushing the drawing towards me. He pointed at a few of the noted towns near the shoreline of the Gulf. “Ultimately, what we're looking for from you is a biological weapon that we will deploy at strategic points along the shoreline, where the Raiaerans are focusing their recovery efforts.” His face twisted pointedly at the mention of his rival country's name.

“What we need from you is something that will neutralize their forces while we stage an invasion by sea.”

I raised a gloved finger to cut in. “Define neutralize.”

The elf raised an eyebrow. “I'm sorry?”

“Like, do you want something that lays waste to their resources, their manpower, or both? Do you want everyone dead? Or do you want them laid up in bed for a few weeks? Do you want them with debilitating headaches and explosive diarr--”

“I get it, I get it,” he quickly cut in. “My employer mentioned to me that his only wishes are for you to 'get creative', and that he has full confidence in your abilities to do so.”

I nodded. “Creative. I can certainly do that.” Violently explosive, then, I mused to myself.

My new business partner picked up the piece of paper with the crude map on it, and with a snap of his fingers, it turned to ash. He quickly wiped the burned mess onto the Pit's sticky, dirty floor, where it would blend in perfectly. “If I may make a suggestion,” he added”

“Of course, I'm listening.”

“While my employer may be of a more bloodthirsty sort, I personally believe that a more non-lethal means of dealing with the Raiaerans may be appropriate.”

I cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “Given how much it seems to me that you hate them? You don't want them dead when you reach the docks?”

He shook his head. “No, I believe it makes far more strategic sense to leave them barely alive. When a person dies, they just bury them. Or burn them.” The dark elf leaned in closer. I caught the glint in his eye. “But when you disable a person, they have to be cared for. It's far more taxing on their resources. While those bastards are too busy and tired from taking care of their own and scrambling to find the cause of this latest tragedy to befall them, we will strike.”

From a strategic standpoint, it makes perfect sense. Hells, it was a philosophy that I employed years ago in Eiskalt as an agent of the Crimson Hand. Kill them, and they will fall. Weaken them, and they will fall quicker. And it would have worked, if Lichensith hadn't run off after that Ambrose character.

“Makes sense to me,” I said. “But of course, before I begin work, there is one more matter we should discuss.”

“Your payment, I presume?”

I smiled.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I could have asked for anything I wanted, and I knew Lenexa would get it for me. Piles of gold, a track of land and a manor I could turn into a lab, an airship or two--my mind began to reel with the possibilities. If I were a lesser sort of sociopathic monster, I'd have asked for all three and so much more.

But, what I truly craved was something that seemed far simpler, but its value outstripped everything else.

"I want unlimited and unrestricted access to every part of Ankhas," I said after a pause. "I want every tome, scroll, artifact, and room there open to me, at all times, no questions asked."

Lenexa's face darkened, his sharp features hardening as he thought about what I was asking for. He understood almost immediately, and began shaking his head.

"I don't think that's possible." The dark elf's nose twitched slightly. "I can't give you that."

I wrapped a vine-woven hand around the mug of Forge and brought it up to my lips. "Yes you can. I'm not asking for much."

"You're asking for everything," he spat, his tone harsh and cutting. "More than you even know--more than you can possibly imagine."

Oh, I have a pretty good idea, I thought to myself but opted not to say.

The elf relaxed a bit, and leaned back in his chair and picked up his drink as I set mine down. "My employer would likely never approve such a request. There are sections of Ankhas that are restricted to all but those who have his explicit clearance, and for good reason."

"I'm aware of that," I replied. "And I'd like those doors opened for me."

Lenexa shoot his head dismissively. "It's out of the question."

"I don't think that's for you to decide," I said, pointing a gnarled finger at him. "You're asking me to do something very risky here. Something that could be very dangerous for your employer should anything go wrong with his plans."

The elf's steely gaze narrowed. "Is that a threat?"

"No, I'm just saying that it's only fair that I'm compensated accordingly." A tense, pregnant pause grew between us, broken only by the chaotic din of The Bottomless Pit, whose patrons continued to ignore us while we discussed the fate of two countries. "Full access to Ankhas at all times seems fair, all things considered."

The king's agent sat in silence for several moments, deep in thought, the machinery of his mind churning as he calculated the risk of allowing someone like me into the deepest archives of the world's greatest library against the rewards of what I could do with the knowledge contained within them. What made his decision even harder was the fact that he and the king of Alerar were both aware of what happened in Eiskalt with a few vials and an armful of rats. Lenexa knew that I could be an asset to his country with the entire library open to me, but he was also acutely aware that I could become its greatest enemy.

It was only after several more seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity that he sighed heavily and slumped in his chair. "I will discuss your request with my employer. He may want to speak with you personally about such a thing."

Oh boy, I thought to myself, the edges of my lip curling slightly into the smallest of sneers.

"There's an inn roughly half a mile from the palace called L'V'drin Murrpau," the elf said, switching from tradespeak to his native language with little effort. "I will arrange a room for you there, and be in touch within three days." Lenexa took one last look around the dirty, violent tavern. "Can I trust you to remain there and not speak to anyone about this matter?"

"You have my word," I said truthfully.

"Good," he nodded, "because I can assure you that you would be swiftly dealt with should you break it."

I'd like to see you fucking try, I opened my mouth to say, but opted not to.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

So, as it turns out, it really helps to have the kind of resume that I do: When Lenexa approached King Edar'axa with my request, it was approved almost immediately. The old warmonger was had his sights set a little too narrowly on his next campaign against his sworn enemies to think about it for too long.

That's perfectly fine with me, of course.

As soon as the staff of Ankhas were given the proper documentation and explicit orders signed by the king himself to allow me unrestricted access to every room of the great library, I set about my business of brewing up the kind of weapon that would make the old Regent squeal like a schoolgirl.

I spent hours upon hours browsing the expansive stacks, looking for books that detailed various alchemical mixtures, poisons, and plagues. I remember hearing that Alerar's famous library was the most thorough collection of information in the known world; but holy shit, the stories weren't kidding. I could get lost in here. I almost did, on a couple of occasions. It's like a maze in there. Hallways wind around and double back on each other, weaving between various sections of the library containing information on subjects that you wouldn't even think to wonder about until you saw them. World history, magic, technology, biographies, myths, fiction, the sciences--it was all a seemingly endless blur, an overload of info that would take me lifetimes to fully absorb.

It was nearly midnight before I settled on the first round of tomes that I'd tear through in my quest. The library staff, showing me an extra bit of kindness because of the hour and my apparent friendship with the king (because you'd have to be on good terms with him to get the clearance I have, right?), sent three of the junior members to help me carry my haul back to my room at the inn.

As we stumbled back into L'V'drin Murrpau, we got very odd looks by the three patrons who were still at the bar for last call. Our arms dead from the long walk and the heavy load, and we set them all on one of the many open tables in the dining area. I offered the three Alerarans a round of drinks as thanks, which they politely turned down. With a shrug, I saw them off, and began bringing the books upstairs to my room.

I'm not sure how much time had passed, but I woke with a start when I heard a knock at the door. I had fallen asleep on my bed, still in my black hooded outfit from the day before, my mythril face mask resting on top of my vine-knit hand.

"Just a second," I cried out as a second round of knocking brought me to my senses. I scrambled to put my mask back on before navigating between the pile of books separating me and the door. Opening the thing, I found the King's agent outside in the hallway, dressed in the full regalia of his lofty position.

Lenexa peeked over my shoulder and looked at the stacks that littered the floor. "Long night?" he asked, his a jet black eyebrow arched.

I simply shrugged. "They really need to put up maps in there. A girl could disappear in its depths if she's not careful enough."

"Indeed," the dark elf replied, his ash-gray face hard and unreadable. It didn't take a telepath to know that he was still very apprehensive about me having unrestricted access to everything inside Ankhas. He took a deep breath before continuing, "You know, we can give you a private apartment inside Valshath d’ Isto, as well as a laboratory in which you can work and develop your--" he caught himself at the last moment, option to let his thought die rather than finish it, lest the wrong person be within earshot.

Valshath d’ Isto. The Dark Palace. The home of the rulers of the most advanced nation in the world. A towering obsidian spire that oozes steam and ash, but also innovation and wonder. Some of the greatest minds in Alerar are invited to work and explore within its blackened halls, and I was being invited to join them. I felt a tingling sensation deep in my chest, a small weight of excitement mixed with foreboding.

Lenexa instead motioned over my shoulder to the messy bed and worn oak desk and chair that decorated the sparse inn room. "They would certainly give you more space and tools to work with as opposed to this."

And they'd allow you to keep an eye on my every move, no doubt, I thought. But, as cozy and adequate as this space was for my needs, I couldn't turn down the agent's offer.

"Of course, that would be very nice," I said, my shattered but warm smile hidden behind a layer of mythril.

"Perfect," came his reply. "I will send some men this afternoon to help escort you and your research to where you will be staying. In the meantime, is there anything else you will need?"

I thought about that for a good, hard second. With access to a lab, I could get my hands on just about anything I'd need--except, of course, for test subjects.

I motioned for him to come into the room, and shut the door behind him. "By any chance, do you happen to have any Raiaerans locked up in your jails? Anyone from some of the border outposts you guys raided? Anyone that wouldn't be missed?"

Lenexa's mouth opened to speak, but quickly shut again.

I pressed on, my voice barely above a whisper. "If I'm going to develop this, I'm going to need subjects to experiment on. But, if these weapons are going to be effective, I will need Raiaerans to make sure that I get things just right." I motioned towards a pile of books to my right, one of which was a treatise on the difference between Raiaeran Elf and Aleraran Elf biology. "The millennia that have passed since your kind left their homeland have made you a hardier folk, one more reliant on your instincts and stubbornness than your distant ancestors. They've made you more resistant to certain things, and you've shed most of the magical energy that courses through the veins of the Raiaerans. That's why I need them as test subjects; I'd have asked for a few of your own who are lined up for the noose, but what is effective on your kind might be shrugged off by your enemies."

The agent thought to himself for several moments. I waited in patient silence while he mulled over my request, and the ethics of it. I knew it was a terrible thing to ask of him--but it was a pivotal part of the process. If I was going to properly develop the weapon that King Edar'axa commissioned, then I would need to make sure everything was perfect. Whatever morals he might have could be set aside for the time being.

After a few seconds Lenexa nodded, agreeing with my points. "I will send word to the border region when we get you set up in your laboratory. I can have the prisoners delivered to you in five days."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I won't bore you with the heavy details of what happened in the days leading up to the first experiments. Needless to say, I don't have the time nor the inclination to go down the laundry list of little things that we did to prepare for these all-important tests.

All I will say is that it didn't take long for me to decide what I was going to employ in the weapon.

After a day or two of browsing various texts and tomes, I settled upon a combination of diseases to use. The first was my own tried-and-true brand of plague, the very same stuff that killed thousands of people in Eiskalt; it was single-minded and incredibly effective at weakening its victims and, as previous campaigns have proven, is wondrous in its ability to grind things to a halt as the epidemic spread throughout the infected area. Seeing as Eiskalt is still having trouble controlling outbreaks even almost two years after the initial attack at my hands, even with the assistance of the Ixian Knights and other humanitarian groups from around the world, I'd have to say that it's a great place to start. The disease itself was proven rather difficult to treat, a constantly mutating pathogen that would have a cure one week that would be obsolete the next. If it works, you use it.

Another disease I would be adding to the mix was a virus that the Alerarans called Faer Elggur--translated from their tongue, Magic Killer. Uninspired, I know, but they've always been more about function than form. Essentially, what this virus does is it feeds off the magical energy that naturally courses through the body of every living thing. The stronger the connection between the two, the worse the disease gets--for example, a casual beginner dabbling in pyromancy with get a nasty cough and a high fever, while an archmage who has practiced his entire life will find their organs shutting down faster than they can heal themselves. Considering the rather healthy bond that they have with magical energies, the damage it would wreak would be considerable. There's a whole list of delightful things that Faer Elggur can do to its host, and they vary enough that it could take the Raiaerans a lot of time to pin down their exact cause.

I also have a cocktail of other things that I'm going to add in, just to keep them all guessing and extend the time that the Alerarans have to successfully stage their invasion. This isn't very scientific or professional, but a lot of it came down to me going to the Alchemists' Guild, seeing what the ol' Blue Hoods had in their frozen stores, and going "oh, that looks nice".

And so, having picked out the plagues that would be unleashed on the Raiaerans, several alchemists were hard at work cultivating the viruses for later use while I set about thinking of how exactly we were going to deliver them.

Of course, I immediately thought of rats. They worked wonders for the Crimson Hand's campaign, so why wouldn't they work here too?

The only problem was that I had no idea what kind of timetable Edar'axa was on. Was he going to pull the trigger on the invasion the second I handed the weapons to him? Was he going to play the waiting game and strike at the most opportune moment? If that was the case, then perhaps rats wouldn't be the best idea. I discovered on Eiskalt that rats are pretty resistant to my own plague, which is what made them excellent carriers in the first place. However, over the long term, they still succumbed to its effects, which would make them a poor choice if the king decided against a sudden strike.

Which led me to think that an airborne method of dispersal would be great. Something that could hold a charge or capsule of deadly viruses and propel it into the air through a mist or fog, or be dropped into water sources and food stores in order to contaminate their supplies--the latter of which would be far less effective. However, with this method, it would allow Edar'axa to strike at his leisure, as the potential outbreaks could be contained within their capsules for longer periods of time.

Well, I could also just give him both rats and mist bombs, and let him decide for himself. The rats would keep as long as they weren't injected with the diseases anyway, so that would give him the best of both worlds to work with.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The prisoners were still one day away from Ettermire, and there was nothing more for me to do to prepare for the experiments with the Blue Hoods taking care of replicating the viruses.

And so, I set out in the early morning to Ankhas for another round of research; this time for schematics for the dispersal bombs.

It took me a while to make my way through the twisted stacks and hallways of the great library to get to the section I was looking for. I was thankful that I demanded full access to the entire building, because I was stopped several times by librarians the deeper I got in. Turns out that they won't let just anybody into the engineering and artificing archives to learn how to make a bomb.

This time, I was prepared--I brought a lunch with me. A small wall of books was set up on a table in a dark, oil lamp-lit corner of a dusty study room as I sat there, munching on a simple turkey sandwich, canteen of water nearby. The books I picked out today were all pretty technical in their description. I suppose that anyone who would normally come to this corner of the archives would already know their stuff, and didn't need their hand held throughout the process. The only difference between myself and the others being that their knowledge came with years and years of study, while mine cost me my right arm and years of servitude to a variety of demons both literal and metaphorical.

The book I was currently looking at detailed misting systems, generally used for filling the houses of nobility with sweet-smelling perfumes to block out the industrial stink that permeates throughout the rest of Ettermire. I was certain that I could modify the specs just a little bit to mist a highly-concentrated dose of solution to cover a wider area, that way it would be more effective for Alerar's needs.

I set the book aside and reached for a treatise on effective water delivery methods when I heard the first of the whispers.

"Come..."

A chill crept down my spine. The voice was soft and alluring, but at the same time, felt like nails against a chalkboard inside my skull.

"Who's there?" I held my breath for several seconds, waiting in utter silence for an answer, but none came.

I relaxed a little bit, deciding that it was just my mind playing tricks on me. And then the voice whispered again.

"Come, chosen."

If I had any hair on the back of my neck, it would've been on edge. "Show yourself," I shouted, my voice echoing softly off the wooden walls of the reading chamber.

No answer.

I rose from my chair, my briar-knit hands clenching and unclenching, a slow creeping dread coming over me. What the hell was that voice? Where was it coming from? And what the fuck did it mean by chosen?

I'm nobody's chosen. I walk my own path, now. My life is mine to live, not anybody else's.

"Come, and allow me to open your eyes."

"Fuck off," I spat venomously. Vines erupted from my wrists and snaked towards the floor, digging themselves into the hard stone. I closed my eyes, dead set on finding the source of this voice. Taking a deep breath, I allowed myself to join with the world once again. Flickering lights appeared in my mind's eye, each and every one a source of life in the space around me. I could see the patrons, the librarians, the spiders and rodents who lived in the walls, the bats that made the roof their daytime home, and even the cat that the elf at the front desk kept as a pet.

The signs of life grew fewer the deeper down into Ankhas I looked. Scholars who held lofty positions in the three Guilds and the kingsmen who watched their every move. Several trusted members of staff who were tasked with guarding the more dangerous and restricted areas of the library. And then--

--Oh, gods--

--A rush of dark energy hit me full force, and I fell to one knee. I grit my teeth against the power that reached out to me. It was like nothing I had ever felt before.

The signature was pure black and full of malice, and it was coming from the deepest levels of the library.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I immediately ripped my vines out of the floor and retracted them back into my arms. The sensation left my body almost immediately, leaving behind the lingering kiss of dark energy that was slow to fade.

It was here.

The rumors were true.

It's really here.

They really do have it.

I blinked. Once, twice, three times. I couldn't believe the conclusions I was jumping too--but I had no other choice.

I heard the stories. About the Aleraran advance into Raiaera during the Corpse War. About how their campaign took them deep into their ancient homeland, and as they were advancing they ran up against a splinter group of zombified forces controlled by one of the lesser Dread Lords. They barely succeeded in destroying him, and took their spoils back to a base camp; one item in particular was immediately escorted back to Ettermire, to be locked away forever.

And it's right here.

Lenexa's apprehension and the swift change of his attitude towards me. The multiple levels of clearance and secrecy within Ankhas. The voice I heard, calling me chosen.

All of the pieces fell into place.

I had to find it.

I had to see it for myself.

Leaving my lunch and books where they were--nobody was going to touch them this deep into the archives--I threw the door to the study open and hurried down the corridors leading deeper and deeper into the library. I wove around the odd patron and librarian, getting more than a few odd looks along the way, but I didn't care.

I had to find it.

Several times, the voice returned. "Come, chosen. Free me from my bonds. Learn from me. Know your destiny." I did my best to ignore its honeyed yet grating tone as I picked up my pace, but it continued to

Further and further I went, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the great library. I hurriedly flashed my card to the librarians who stopped me at each new level, and blew past them whenever they opened the doors leading to the next set of archives. I was passing artifacts of infinite value, scrolls and tomes containing knowledge from long-lost civilizations, and hundreds of other things that would normally stop me in my tracks and beg me to discover their untold secrets.

"Come," the voice pleaded once more.

I didn't know where I was going, but I knew exactly where to go. I don't know how much time passed in the archives, but I found myself at a dead end hallway. The faint light of the series of lamps that illuminated the lower areas of Ankhas barely reached here, but it was enough for me to notice something very peculiar about the wall I faced. The mortar that held the stones of the wall together was fresher; it was a lighter shade of gray than that of the walls to the left and right of me. This wall had been recently constructed--but how long ago? Days? Weeks? Years?

"Come, chosen."

I wanted to curse the voice in my head. I wanted to scream at it and tell it to leave me alone. But the words refused to form, sticking in my throat and leaving me unable to breathe.

An incredible, oppressive weight began to press on my chest. My thoughts began to swirl around in my head, unable to piece themselves together and allow me to act. I stood frozen at the end of that dark hallway, my breath shallow, my eyes unfocused. Involuntarily, tendrils of plant matter extended from my wrists and rooted themselves into the masonry before me.

I was greeted with a wave of the same dark energy that overloading my senses previously, which pulled back and molded itself shape of a man--but not quite a man. It was humanoid in form, and forced onto its knees on the cold, damp floor with its arms stretched out. It was bound to something, I could guess that much. Its back was hunched over and deformed, and an incredible weight was placed on it. It sat there, barely moving, on the other side of the wall.

It's here.

They have it.

They have it.

Taking a deep breath, I felt compelled to dig in further, to crack the masonry with the strength of my vines and tear down the wall. I could feel the soul shards of a dead Forgotten One coming to life inside me, filling me with a malicious warmth that mixed with the dark energies of the being on the other side of the wall. My head pounded with a growing intensity. My knees began to weaken and shake. My eyes burned. Everything was fire.

They have it.

It must be mine.

I'm the... I'm the chosen. I'm their chosen.

I will have what is mine.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

A sudden crash and a scream that echoed around the corner quickly snapped me back to reality. A raspy breath escaped my throat as I regained control of my senses. I violently tore my vines away from the wall, ripping small chunks of masonry out with them as they withdrew into my arms. I stumbled away from the wall, frightened, shaking, and confused.

What the hell was that? What was that feeling? I had never felt anything so dark before in my entire life. Not when I was dealing with Lichensith, not when I was serving Podë...

Who was that? Who was speaking to me just then?

They called me chosen. I am not a chosen.

My destiny is mine, and mine alone...

--mine... it will be mine--

--NO!!!

Before I knew it, I broke out into a full run, my steps echoing against the stone hallways as I escaped the dead end. Instinct had completely taken over. I knew I had to get out of the lower archives of Ankhas, and I had to do it now. I was halfway back to the staircase when I nearly tripped over a lithe little creature in dark, earthen robes hunched over a pile of books scattered across the floor.

"H-hey--!"

I ignored her cry as I leaped over her, racing to get back upstairs and away from this place as quick as possible.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Sleep didn't come easily that night. I spent hours tossing and turning restlessly, a cold sweat dripping down my body. What sleep I did get was plagued with nightmares.

Each time I shut my eyes, I could see the killing fields of Raiaera. I could see the razed countryside, dripping with corruption and the shambling, tattered corpses of the damned. The pillaged cities, smoke and screams pouring from their ruins. My gaze always turned towards a towering obsidian building, a construct seemingly built of pure hatred and anger. I would always see a man, dressed entirely in black armor made of leather and dragon scale, his face covered by a silver mask. He would reach up slowly with a gloved hand and remove the mask. But the face behind it... It was my own face--my human face, from before I was turned into... into what I am now. My piercing blue eyes. My thin, birdlike features. My lips, twisted in a cruel smile.

And then I would wake up, a horrified scream caught in my throat.


- - - - - - -

"Are you alright, Miss Freebird?" The Alchemist, an elderly man with wrinkled gray skin who had to be pushing 400 asked.

No.

"Yes," I said, my voice sounding completely foreign and distant. "Just a rough night, that's all."

The Blue Hood paused for a moment before nodding, setting down a tray of vials and sterilized syringes on the polished metal table next to me. One of the vials contained a purple serum that contained a mutated, less lethal strain of my personal plague. A second vial contained a cloudy liquid, the words Faer Elggur--Magic Killer--written on the label. The other four were clear and contained various other diseases which I started to have a feeling weren't going to be necessary for the finished product--as I continued my studies on Raiaeran elf biology, I learned that as soon as their connections to the natural magic of the world was severed by the Faer Elggur, their immune systems essentially shut down and allowed everything from their natural environment in to ravage them. But still, it never hurts to have too much data.

I just had to push the memory of yesterday out of my head long enough to collect it.

Comfortable beds had been wheeled into the well-lit room in advance. The sheets were fresh, the pillows fluffy, and thick leather straps hanging at the sides to keep the subjects from escaping. There were four of us in the room; myself, and three from the Alchemists' Guild who were only told that we were testing a few experimental vaccines. We were all dressed in pristine white clothing--shirts, pants, and coats, all of which were uniform in design. Rather than a hood to cover my briarheart features, I opted to wrap my head in gauze, leaving my four glowing amber eyes and the plant matter surrounding them uncovered so I could see, then I slapped a surgical mask over my mouth (lest I frighten everyone with my sharpened teeth--my assistants were unnerved enough by my eyes as it is).

Right on schedule, there was a knock on the door. Several officers from the Aleraran army escorted in the Raiaeran prisoners that were shipped in from the border regions. Each of the five were shackled together, their hands bound, their ankles locked up to prevent them from escaping. They were dressed in tattered rags of uniform design, but outside of that and the fact that they looked a little gaunt from their treatment while locked up, I paid no attention to their features.

I thanked the officers for bringing them in, and asked them to strap them into the beds while I began preparing the injections. I could hear the curses and protests of the subjects as they were tied down, begging to know why they were brought here instead of freed to return home and be with their families. With practiced skill, I filled five needles with Faer Elggur, then filled another one with my own plague, and the other four with the remaining diseases I picked out for the experiment. The point, I decided, was to discover two or three pathogens that worked best with Magic Killer without actually killing the infected. The Alerarans were looking to disable, not destroy.

After the subjects were properly restrained, I had my assistants begin prepping them for their injections. The faint odor of alcohol filled the air as tattered shirt sleeves were rolled up and the insides of elbows wiped down and disinfected. I could hear their struggling against their bonds, and was quietly surprised they still had the strength to fight after all this time.

No--I can't start sympathizing with them. They are subjects. If the Alerarans thought of them as less than people, then for the sake of my task I had to as well.

I took a deep breath, and then set about my task. The experiment would be simple enough: Each of the test subjects would get a shot of Magic Killer to reduce their magical resistances, then a shot of a different pathogen. Over the next week or so, they would be monitored twenty-four hours a day, with each turn in health documented. The subjects that provided the best results for what I was looking for would be experimented upon further, while the others were... dealt with accordingly.

The first subject proved to be very interesting. Almost as soon as he was injected with the first virus, he turned a ghostly shade of gold, and shuddered. He opened his mouth to gasp or cry out or something; and I noticed that his tongue had been cut out. I did not have the prison's records handy, but immediately guessed that he used to be a powerful spellcaster--otherwise, why remove the tongue? I read that those who had strong ties to the magic of the world were hit the hardest by Faer Elggur, but I never could have imagined that the effects were this immediate. I made a mental note to speak with the Alchemists assigned to me about creating a strain that was slower to act.

The second subject proved to be no problem as well. There were no immediate effects of note, so I moved on.

It was the third subject that was the problem. When I reached for their arm, they fought me with every ounce of energy they could muster. They shook around in the bed, they screamed at me, cursed, and resisted to the best of their ability. With a gloved hand, I reached up and latched onto their jaw, squeezing it shut.

Holding the needle up to their face, I hissed, "This is either going in your arm or your eye. Makes no difference to me."

"lle will caela mani naa lle," the subject spat back through clenched teeth, his eyes burning with newfound life.

My vision darkened. For a brief moment, I found myself back at the darkened dead end deep in Ankhas, reaching out for the object beyond the wall.

I clenched his jaw tighter with my briar-knit hand, pushing the elf's head back against the pillow. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," he said in heavily accented Tradespeak. "You will get what is yours, monster."

I will have what is mine.

Amber light flared up in my vision, and an uncontrollable anger overtook me. "NO!"

I drew up the syringe and jammed it into the subject's neck. The need hit the bone of their spine and hooked, tearing through more muscle and flesh. His screams traveled throughout every hall and floor of Valshath d’ Isto.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Several days passed without further incident. The experiments continued along, as the condition of the subjects worsened more or less as I predicted. Patient 1, the Raiaeran without the tongue, went into shock on the second night; but he was quickly treated for it. I suspected that it was his body's stronger reaction to the Magic Killer virus that caused it. I'd have to follow up on that further.

On the fourth day, Lenexa requested that I meet him for lunch to discuss the process with him. Apparently, he had some news that he felt important to share with me.

We had lunch in his quarters within the palace. They were suitably spacious and lavishly decorated. In the living room, he had two plush sofas placed across from one another before a fireplace, a small mahogany coffee table between them. Various display cabinets and bookshelves lined the wall, their shelves filled with knick knacks collected from his travels. Mounted on the wall was a beautiful piece of hardware, a mythril sword with a jewel-encrusted hilt polished to a brilliant sheen. He would tell me later that it was a gift to him from the late Queen Vorathi as a reward for his service to the country. What kind of service, he would not say.

We sat down on opposite couches, while a chambermaid left to retrieve our food. He was dressed in earthen casualware, while I was back in my black hooded shirt and facemask. We each held a tumbler of whisky in our hands, both refusing to take the first sip until the other had one.

"Thank you for the invitation," I said to break the silence. "It's nice to escape my work once in a while. I trust you know that all too well."

The dark elf nodded solemnly. "Naturally. Ours are very different lines of work, but both very busy nonetheless. Has everything been to your satisfaction? Our workspaces? Equipment? Have the guildmembers assigned to you done everything you've asked?"

I sloshed the amber liquid around in the glass a bit. "Yes, yes, everything has been wonderful, thank you. It's a lot better than what was made available to me in Salvar and Corone."

Lenexa brought his glass up to his lips and looked at me over the rim. "I find it surprising that a mind like yours thought it best to work in those countries, rather than come here sooner."

Vines rustled as I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, my path in life led my elsewhere... as you're probably aware." The king's agent no doubt did thorough research on my past when the decision was made to hire me. My work with the Crimson Hand and other organizations made for a impressive, if not incredibly dark resume.

My host nodded, and took another sip of his drink before setting it down on a ceramic coaster. "I've been reading the reports the Alchemists submit at the end of each day. It seems that your research is progressing nicely."

I nodded. "As of right now, I'm quite impressed with how Faer Elggur is working with the other viruses to get the desired effects. One of the subjects died last night, though. They weren't terribly affected by the Faer Elggur, but the second pathogen we introduced to their system took advantage of their lowered immune system and progressed past the point where they could be treated."

The ashen-skinned agent hummed to himself for a moment. "Perfect," he said.

I cocked an eyebrow. "'Perfect'? Not really. You said you wanted the weapons to disable and distract, not to destroy the Raiaerans."

Lenexa's voice was steady and sure. "I said that's how I'd prefer things, but ultimately it is up to the king to decide. We met yesterday, and he informed me that he plans on moving shortly. Possibly within a month or so. He wanted me to inform you to wrap up your experiments as quick as possible and begin production on the weapons themselves."

Stop my experiments? I felt a familiar anger simmering in the pit of my stomach. "But I still have so much to learn--the plagues, their potential long-term effects on the environment, how to treat the various combinations of--"

"It wasn't my call, Miss Freebird," he interrupted. "If it were up to me, I'd give you an entire year to complete your research. But it isn't. I'm just relaying to you the king's orders."

His gaze briefly fluttered down to my clenched fists.

"Listen. Considering that his majesty granted your request for access to Ankhas and has given you near-infinite resources to work with, the least you can do is oblige his whims. I'm sorry, I really am, but..." His voice trailed off.

I took a deep breath and exhaled. I closed my eyes. I forced the anger back down into the pits of my soul. I took another breath. "It's okay, it's fine. I just..." I shook my head. "Don't worry, I can do it."

"Thank you. I'm sorry to put upon you like this, Miss Freebird." Lenexa shifted his weight on the overstuffed couch. "Have you devised a delivery method yet?"

"Yes. A simple misting device. I drew the schematics up days ago."

"Excellent. Send them along to the Artificers' Guild headquarters, and I will see to it that they begin producing enough of them for the campaign. Tell the Alchemists under your control to prepare whatever you need them to."

A knock at the door that I barely heard.

"Ah," Lenexa's face brightened up. "Lunch is here."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I took my time returning to the monitoring area after lunch, stopping off at my palace apartments along the way to pick up a few things.

I really shouldn't be this upset that my experiments were being cut short. I mean, they didn't hire me to fill tomes with knowledge; they needed me to create a devastating weapon to use against their enemies, and they needed it faster than I had anticipated. I simply got lost in my research, and wasn't moving as quick as they'd like.

The king didn't want anything fancy. He wanted something quick and dirty to exploit, something to create an opening for his forces and nothing more.

It seemed that he didn't care for the possible strategic openings that my works could give him. Edar'axa was simply looking to get revenge for his ancestors. Blood for ancient blood.

If he wanted to take the brute force route, then I would give him brute force. I just wish that he wouldn't have waited this long to tell me, wasting my valuable time when I could have been in the depths of Ankhas, searching for--no... No, not down there. Anywhere but there.

Two Alchemists who were on their shifts in the examination room looked up from their work as I violently threw the doors open. Neither of the two dark elves jumped from my sudden outburst, or had any sort of reaction really as I stormed up to them.

"The experiments have been cancelled," I growled, my eyes flickering in anger behind my mythril mask. The two Alerarans looked at each other in confusion. I nearly knocked one of them over as I shoved a handful of scrolls into his arms. "Take these to the Artificers' Guild, and have them start producing what's drawn up to my exact specifications. We need two thousand of them by the month's end. You--" I pointed at my other assistant, "--tell the others you worked with in the lab that we need more of the viruses cultivated. Each of the five we injected into the experimental subjects here. We need enough to fill two thousand cartridges as specified here--" I shoved the other stack of papers into her hands. "How much of each pathogen that is required is listed in the notes."

They looked at each other for a brief moment, confusion plainly written on their faces.

"What about them," the one on the left asked, nodding towards the subjects bound to their beds.

"Go," I snapped at them, pointing towards the open door leading back into the palace. The two guildsmen quickly left the room, leaving me by myself.

Deep breath, exhale, I told myself. Deep breath, exhale. It'll be okay. It doesn't matter what the king wants now, you have access to Ankhas. You will have what is yours, chosen.

The words lingered on the edges of my mind as I screamed. "Leave me alone! I am not your chosen!" My cries echoed off the white walls of the sterilized room. A small metal table flew through the air, crashing against the wall and sending the examination instruments that were previously on it scattering across the floor. The legs of the four beds that still held their subjects shook and rattled against the floor as they struggled to protect themselves from my outburst.

The red anger that clouded my mind quickly faded after a second table hit the opposite wall. My breath was ragged, and my head was pounding. I stood still and silent for several seconds, trying to regain my senses. I could feel four pairs of unfocused eyes staring at me, full of fear.

Slowly, I reached into my pocket and produced a small glass vial with a clear liquid and a syringe. Wordlessly, I approached the first bed. It was the Raiaeran who went into shock. I took a good look at him for the first time since he arrived. His health was failing, but his features still contained a strong light that desperately fought the contagion that wracked his body. His eyes were a deep emerald green, but the whites were clouding over. Two weeks worth of salt and pepper beard circled his full lips. Twin scars lined his right cheek, just above the bone. For a moment, I wondered what kind of life he lived before the Alerarans sacked the outpost he was in. What had he seen in his travels? Who had he met? What did he know? Was he stationed at the outpost when the Alerarans attacked? Or was he at the wrong place at the wrong time, an unfortunate victim of circumstance?

I popped the protective cap off the needle and drew out a small amount of the vial's contents. The elf's eyes locked with mine, and he did not look away as I gently inserted the syringe into his arm and pushed the plunger. His strong eyes fluttered for a brief moment, then unfocused and closed as he let out a soft sigh.

He was dead before I reached the next bed.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The horrible dreams returned that night.

I found myself again on the rolling plains of Raiaera. The only word that could be used to describe anything was "death". The earth itself had died below my feet, cracked and barren and stained with the blood of thousands upon thousands. Their corpses were scattered about in various states of decay. Not even the crows who circled overhead in the stormy sky dared to land out of fear that they would be next. The threat of heavy downpours did nothing to abate the stench of decay from overloading my senses. As I covered my nose with my arm to try and block the odor out, I could make out movement in the distance.

Whatever it was, it was closing in fast--a shambling mass of shadows, which slowly morphed into an army of the undead as it drew near. The thundering sound of boots and the hooves of horses echoed across the field, kicking up a massive cloud of dust in their wake.

Without thinking, I turned and ran. I ran as fast as I could, away from the approaching army. My feet were swift, but not swift enough as the cacophony drew closer and closer.

I turned around in time to see the head of the army bearing down on me; a monstrous figure clad in black armor, a tattered cape billowing in his wake. In his right hand, a bastard sword. The bloodied blade was raised above him, and before I could react he brought the weapon down.

I screamed, clutched at my neck, and closed my eyes. My body fell to the hard ground--but it wasn't the barren wastes of the Raiaeran countryside; rather, it was the ruins of an old city. Buildings were toppled, the streets riddled with rubble. The stench of death mixed with the acrid smoke of fires that burned in the ruins. Before me, half a mile or so in the distance, stood and unmistakable relic of the Corpse War--Xem'Zund's Obsidian Spire.

I felt compelled to draw closer to it. Step by shaky step, I made my way down the war-torn streets towards the ominous structure. I climbed over the remnants of fallen structures and the skeletons of the elves who used to live here as I made my approach.

Every fiber of my being screamed in unison to turn around, to not go inside that building. To wake up, abandon the weapons project, leave behind the horrible thing in the lowest archives of Ankhas and return to my home in Concordia. Every single cell of my body wanted nothing more but to run away, but I could only walk closer and closer to the Spire.

"Come closer, child."

I closed my eyes for a brief second, and opened them again. This time I was no longer in the ruined streets of a Raiaeran city, but inside the necromancer's lair. I stood, alone, in a circular chamber. Everything was pitch black, save for the numerous torches that illuminated the room, the light glinting off the sharpened edges of the furniture and the polished surfaces of the wall.

A table sat in the middle of the room, nothing on it save for a closed book. I felt my curiosity guide me closer to it. My footsteps echoed softly as I slowly moved towards the book. Shadows danced across the dark leather cover. Dark energy emanating from the tome kissed my senses, and I was momentarily repulsed before its allure pulled me back in.

I wondered what was in the book. I wondered if it contained knowledge that I sought.

--Wait, no. I wanted nothing to do with it. I am not their chosen. I am nobody's chosen.

My brair-knit hand hovered over the thick cover. A warmth ignited in my chest, slowly consuming my body, commanding me to open the book. My mind repeatedly shrieked at me not to, but my motions were not my own. A cold sweat formed on my forehead, and my temples pounded. I placed my hand on the book, and thumbed the side of the front cover. I slowly began to open the book.

Behind me, a heavy pair of blackened oak doors swung open, and heavy footsteps resonated throughout the chamber. I turned to see who the intruder was, and found myself face to face with a towering, thick figure clad entirely in black leather and dragon scale armor. A featureless mask crafted of polished silver covered their face. I could see the glowing amber reflection of my eyes in it.

Xem'zund.

We stood in silence for several seconds that stretched into an eternity before the Forgotten One reached up with a gloved hand and removed his mask. Unlike my previous dreams, this time he wore the face of the mercenary who was rumored to have slain him at the end of the Corpse War. His hair was gray and slicked back with a thick gel. His eyes were a fierce shade of crimson, and his gaze could've burned a hole right through you. His skin was tanned and marked with several scars.

The necromancer produced a cigarette from his sleeve and lit it with a snap of his fingers. He took a heavy drag on it, and casually exhaled a cloud of cancerous smoke in my face while looking me up and down.

"So, you're the one she picked out, eh?"

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I opened my mouth to object at being called chosen, but decided against it. There was no point. Not with him. "Yes," I said instead.

The necromancer grunted and walked past me towards the table where the mysterious book lay. I turned to face him. "But why are you here? I know this is a dream--I know this isn't real." I took a step towards him. "You're dead."

"Am I, now?" Xem'Zund half laughed, half snorted. "Look at Raiaera. My hordes still walk. My disease continues to spread and corrupt. Those pitiful elves continue to cower in fear at the mere mention of my name. I'm just as dead as she is." He gestured at me with the glowing cherry of his cigarette. The shards of Podë's soul that rested in my body warmed at their mention, reminding me of that fateful afternoon in the Red Forest.

The imposing figure stood on one side of the table and rested his gloved hands on its polished edges. The smoke dangled from the corner of his mouth and he continued to glare at me. "And now, I understand that you discovered a little something of mine that I seemed to have misplaced?"

The book in Ankhas.

"Yes," I said, tentatively.

Xem'Zund grunted, and shifted the cigarette to the other corner of his mouth. He inhaled deeply and blew out a thick cloud of smoke through his nose. "Interesting." He rose to his full height, roughly a head and a half above me. Flickering flames from the torches that lined the circular chamber danced off the scales of his armor. "And you haven't laid hands on it yet."

"I haven't had the time, really."

"A bullshit excuse, and you know it."

A litany of retorts built up in my throat, but got caught on the edge of my tongue. In a fashion, I suppose he was right. I have had all the time in the world to sneak out of the palace and into the library, to tear down the wall that hid away the book, and take what is mine--

I shook my head furiously. No, it wasn't mine. It isn't mine. I am not their chosen.

Xem'Zund arched a silver eyebrow. "What's the matter, kid?"

My head was swimming. I slowly backed away from the table. "No. I can't. I can't take the book."

The necromancer laughed. "Of course you can! It's sitting right there! Nobody's going to stop you!"

I shook my head furiously. "No, I can't--"

"Nobody can stop you," he roared, shaking the entire room with the sound of his voice. The lights along the wall flickered for a moment, seemingly cowering in fear of the Forgotten One's outburst. I stood there, still and silent. Not exactly afraid, but the hair on the back of my neck would be standing on end if I had any.

Xem'Zund took another drag off his cigarette and exhaled deeply. "You're pretty shitty at this whole 'destiny' thing, aren't you."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

"I don't believe in destiny," I said flatly. "Even if I did, it would be mine alone to shape--not yours, not hers."

The necromancer shook his head, finished his cigarette, and put it out on the plates on the back of his glove before setting the butt on the table. "Yeah, see; you're wrong there." Xem'Zund walked around the edge of the table, drawing closer and closer to me. I tried not to flinch at his presence, but found myself taking two steps back. "Podë's had eyes on you since you were born. Not exactly a 'stars have aligned perfectly' sort of thing, as she told me, but you were the best option available."

I opened my mouth to speak, but with lightning quick reflexes he reached up with a thick hand and latched onto my jaw and squeezed. A sharp pain ripped through my head, and my words quickly turned to muffled cries.

"Shut the fuck up and just listen for a goddamn minute, will you?" The Forgotten One's crimson gaze hardened. "Do you honestly think your life has just been a series of shitty events, one after the other? All the hardships you've endured? It was all arranged by Podë to prepare you for the plans she had."

Xem'Zund shoved me back. I stumbled to the floor, my eyes burning, my jaw aching. "Everything from the beginning," he continued, his voice low and threatening. "Your shitty family. The ambush that forced them to exile you. Falling in with the Crimson Hands. The plague in Eiskalt. Your abduction at the hands of the Briarheart cult. The last bits of your literal humanity burned away at the stake. It was all arranged by her--"

"--No--" I whispered, a twisting, fiery anger building in my gut.

"--Even her death and what you believe to be her betrayal of you in Lindqualmë was all by her design."

"Fuck you--"

"All in order to shape you into the heir she needed." The necromancer thought for a moment. "Nah; we needed, actually."

"I'm nobody's heir," I spat out, rising to my feet. My fists were clenched tightly, my knuckles ready to explode. The inferno in my chest was growing, slowly and steadily. I wanted nothing more than to cave the Forgotten One's skull in with a storm of vines.

Xem'Zund slid another cigarette out of his sleeve and lit it. "Keep telling yourself that, kid." He let the end of it rest on his lips, breathed in deeply, and exhaled a cloud of smoke that quickly dissipated into the air. The scent of tobacco filled my nostrils, nearly making me gag.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

He considered his words for a moment, rolling the smoke from one corner of his mouth to the other a couple times. "Alright, since you're being so fucking dense, let's approach this from a different angle--"

I had had enough of this. A primal scream crashed against the walls of the chamber as I exploded towards the necromancer. I felt the darkness of Podë fill me with her hate and spite, her red magic seeping into the vines of my arms as I reached for him. I threw my entire weight into Xem'Zund, catching him off-guard and toppling him to the polished stone floor.

The Forgotten One was quick enough to grab my wrists with his gloved hands as I tried to latch onto the scarred flesh of his face. He locked eyes with me, his lips twisted into a vicious smile. "Funny, innit? You're dead set on rejecting the gifts we have for you, but you're so quick to use them."

He planted a heavy boot on my chest, and with a swift motion, violently tossed me over head. I came to a crashing halt on the floor, and was up in an instant. I leaped at him as he rose to his feet, shifting around the many shards of Cillu glass I kept in my body and sprouted several sharp blades of sorts between my knuckles. I would have jammed several pieces of glass into his throat had he not caught me with a vicious right hook across my jaw. Bone cracked, vines burst, an electric pain wracked my skull. This time I stayed down.

"Are you done yet," Xem'Zund casually asked as he crouched down next to me on the floor. The only thing I could do was nod while my body quickly worked to re-knit the shattered bones of my mouth.

"Good. Now, got a question for you. Why are you in Alerar?"

I thought about it for several seconds while my jaw was made whole again. Once I could speak, I said the only thing that made sense to me. "Because I was contracted to make a bioweapon for the Aleraran government."

"Okay," Xem'zund nodded, "but why are you here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you take the job? Think about it for a second--" The necromancer reached over to where his cigarette lay on the floor, still lit, and picked it up. "You hate what you did in Eiskalt. You beat yourself up for it all the time. Right?"

I already knew the answer to that question, but I could never tell anyone. It made me feel disgusting. It made me feel like a monster.

"Right," I said instead.

The necromancer grunted, taking a drag on the smoke. "And yet, here you are. Now, answer me: Why?"

It was the stories. The rumors, the whispers on the wind, that Alerar was hiding something in the depths of Ankhas. Something forbidden; something that could never again see the light of day out of fear of what could happen if it fell into the wrong hands. I told him as much.

He subconsciously swiped at his graying hair, strands of which were knocked out of place during our scuffle. "And you knew just what to ask for when the subject of your payment came up, didn't you? You could have asked for anything--riches, protection from the world you're so scared of, the resources to continue your experiments in peace and comfort. But all you wanted was to be able to explore the library undisturbed. Because you knew what it was down there.

"Because it was calling for you."

I didn't respond. I didn't need to. Xem'Zund was right. I wanted that book more than anything in the world.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

He finished off the cigarette, exhaled a massive cloud of gray smoke into the air, and pitched the butt over his shoulder. It landed perfectly on the table in the center of the room, coming to a stop inches from the first one. "Now, let's think about the other side here for a second. Lenexa was pretty quick to try and talk you out of requesting access to every part of the library, right? And yet, King Edar'axa was incredibly quick to grant your request. Why do you think that is?"

I wracked my brain for several seconds, but couldn't think of a logical reason why. "So I could have every tool available for my job?" The words rung hollow in my skull. I was really grasping at straws.

"No," the necromancer said, his face darkening. "They know who you are. They know your past. They know what you unleashed in Eiskalt, they know that you were in Lindqualmë when news of Podë's death traveled across the world. They knew you were burned at the stake twice for your crimes, and that you still survived. They know who you are, where you came from, what you've done, and what you're capable of doing."

I slowly rose up from the floor, sitting on my knees while he spoke. "What are you getting at?"

"Lenexa turned awfully cold towards you after he relayed the news that your request was granted, didn't he? And your experiments were cut short the moment they realized you had something that could kill. Why do you think that is?"

The thought of my work having the brakes slapped onto it still angered me, mostly because I couldn't imagine why they would do that.

Xem'Zund leaned in, his stone-hewn gaze inches from mine. "Because they plan on betraying you."

I felt my face go pale. A giant weight formed in my stomach, a feeling of dread that slowly grew bigger and bigger with each passing moment.

"They know why you're here, what you want in the depths of that library. They knew there was only one way they could get you to cooperate, and they were willing to take that risk. King Edar'axa wanted you simply because you are a known quantity. They're well aware of the death grip you have on that frozen hunk of rock, and they want to use you for their own gain." The Forgotten One lowered himself onto the floor, sitting on his knees to be level with me. "They plan on using your weapons on the Raiaerans, and then they use you as a scapegoat to take the blame off them. The whole world knows who you are, so nobody will question it. They will offer you up to the High Bard Council as a gesture of good will, while they secretly gather their forces to attack."

He drew out a third smoke, and pointed it at me before lighting it. "They had the means to make weapons themselves. You saw their laboratories, their samples of diseases from around the world. Why do you think they picked you? Why else would they be so quick to give you everything you asked for?"

The more he spoke, the more he made sense. The Alerarans were setting me up only to stab me in the back. There was no other explanation. It wasn't possible.

They knew. They knew everything. They knew about the book, about how badly I wanted it the moment I asked for access to the archives. They knew they could use that fact to manipulate me into doing their work, and that it gave them a convenient out for when their backs were against the wall.

I wanted to scream. I wanted their blood. I wanted to watch them, broken and corrupted, begging for mercy that would never come.

Lenexa. Edar'axa.

All of them.

The amber light of my eyes flared as I slammed my fists against the stone floor of the Spire. A maelstrom of anger and hate swirled inside my head as I pictured how I would kill each of them.

Xem'Zund laid a hand on my shoulder, a friendly gesture from one monster to another. "I'm not telling you anything you don't already know for yourself, kid."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I immediately came to in my apartments within Valshath d’ Isto, my breath ragged, a cold sweat coating my entire body. I could hear the stillness of the night through the open window interrupted by the sound of industry that choked Ettermire. The lights of midnight activity cast a soft amber glow on everything in my room. I laid there for several minutes, not a single muscle moving, only one thought going through my mind:

I will have what is mine.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

In less than ten minutes, I was out the front gates of the palace and on the streets of Ettermire. The guards warned me that it wasn't exactly safe at night as they shut the giant iron grates behind me.

"Nothing I can't handle," I muttered as I set one foot in front of the other down the dirty city streets.

The one thing that always amazed me about the city was that it truly never slept. All around me, people ran on a twenty-four hour schedule. Most businesses may have closed at reasonable hours, but all of the craftsmen? All of the alchemists? The engineers? The tinkerers? The thinkers? The do-ers? They were still up, they were still doing work, they were still striving to make both coin and a difference in the world. Gunpowder weaponry was being put together in a factory two blocks over. Half a mile away, construction on another airship was underway. Somewhere behind me, another workshop still was putting together the finishing touches on a new generation of steam engines.

It was a world that, deep down, I desperately wanted to be a part of.

Maybe in a different life, I could be. But not this one.

I continued to walk towards Ankhas in silence, nothing but the faint grinding of machinery and hissing of steam in my ears and thick smog against my skin. Electric streetlights lit each cobblestone street as I made one turn after another, the path memorized. It didn't take long before I reached my destination.

The library never closed. There was no justifiable reason for it to: Scholars, guildsmen, government officials, foreigners, and commoners all gathered in its halls long after the sun set. By now, the staff was used to the sight of my mask and the amber glow of my eyes, so I was nodded in and allowed to explore the stacks.

Down I went, one staircase after another. Deeper and deeper, further and further into the grand library's depths.

I had only been there once before, but I remembered each twist and turn. The path was illuminated by the soft burning of lamps, seemingly arranged to lead me to where I had to be.

I will have what is mine. There was nobody in all of Alerar who could stop me.

Seconds stretched into minutes stretched into seemingly hours as I stood there, staring at the wall in the dead end. I didn't need to dig my vines into the floor to know that on the other side of the stone and mortar sat the book I followed the rumors to find. I could feel its dark energy seeping through the cracks. I could hear the whispers of arcane, forbidden knowledge from between its pages.

I will have what is mine.

Stretching out my hands, I closed my eyes. Four thick vines grew from my wrists and snaked through the air until they reached the wall. The faint sound of grinding rippled through the hallway as they rooted themselves into the masonwork, finding purchase in the porous surface of the mortar and splitting it apart.

I felt an evil energy welling up in my chest. She was calling me. She was begging for me to break through the wall. I fell into that dark place I hated so much, and allowed her magic to fill me once more. My briar-knit arms turned a deep crimson hue, which was almost black in the poor lighting of the archives. The Forgotten One Podë's laughter echoed in my skull as the cracking and popping of the stonework grew louder and more frequent. Moments later, the wall simultaneously exploded and imploded in a massive cloud of dust and debris. Where the wall once stood, a net of ruilserk vines extended from my own vines.

I immediately pulled myself away from her influence. The deadly ruilserk withdrew back into my hands. By now, my breath was ragged and barely audible over the final crumbling of cracked bricks rolling past me in the hallway. I took a deep breath. And another. And another still.

There it was.

It was all mine.

They had it, and now it is mine.

In the middle of the freshly opened room knelt a bloated, disfigured, hunched over corpse that reeked of the dead. I had to cover my nose with my sleeve to try and block out the horrid stench. A metal skullcap was fixed to the top of its flabby head, covering the creature's eyes and ears. Its mouth was sewn shut with a rusty iron cable. Its arm were stretched out, chained to the wall with thick steel links.

And strapped to its back with thick leather straps was the thing I sought.

Its cover was an amalgamation of leather taken from the skin taken from the living, each square inch a different flesh tone. Gray, gold, tan, bronze, black, even scale. It was several hundred pages thick, and was about as big as the abomination's torso. The edges of the book were frayed and falling apart after centuries--no, millennia of use. Between its covers, I would find the work of the most powerful necromancer to ever walk the earth.

It truly was one of Xem'Zund's hand-written tomes. And it was right here, ready for me to add its works to my own.

A wave of dread mixed with pure euphoria overcame me, threatening to drown me. Here it was; the thing I worked so hard for, the thing that I have traded the lives of countless Raiaerans for, the thing that those damn dark elves used to manipulate me, thinking that I would never get my hands on.

I took one step towards the book, and the creature came to sudden life. Even with its mouth shut, it began to scream and holler in joy. It pulled on its chains, desperately trying to free itself from its prison. It must have known that its new master had come to set it free, to take it away from its bonds, to absorb and use the knowledge that it protected.

"shE Is hErE," it cried out, its voice like nails inside my head. Even without full use of its mouth, I could hear it loud and clear. "hE sAId yOU wOuLd cOmE And frEE mE frOm thE dArk OnEs!"

I reached up with a briar-knit hand and caressed the poor thing's cheek. It turned its slovenly, flabby, melting flesh towards my outstretched grasp and rubbed its greasy face all over it, like a cat would mark its territory. It felt squishier than it had any right to. My lip curled involuntarily in disgust.

It giggled fervently the entire time. "shE Is hEre, mAstEr! shE Is hErE tO frEE yOUr fAIthfUl sErvAnt, yEs shE Is!"

I stood up and climbed through the web of iron that bound it to the floor while it continued to laugh and ramble. I wanted to see the book. I had to see the book. Slowly, I reached out for the book, and when I was mere inches away I suddenly hesitated--the creature began to shriek horribly, filling the room with demonic wails that echoed off my very soul.

"hE Is hErE! hE Is hErE!"

"Who's here," I shouted out over the cacophony.

"hE Is hErE!"

"Fucking who?" The screeching from the creature's sewn-up mouth was growing unbearable. "Is it Xem--"

A brilliant flash of light filled the corridor, and the unmistakable bang of gunfire echoed through the archives.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The crystallized shard of Podë's soul that I kept wrapped up in my chest screamed to life and weaved its spell just in the nick of time. A brilliant crimson flash illuminated the room, and the bullet collided full force against the protective shell of dark energy that enveloped me. I was protected from the shot, but the impact pushed me backwards against the far wall of the small chamber.

I snarled as the magical shell dissipated. Who the fuck was down here? How had they followed me without me knowing?

It didn't matter. I was going to end them.

Another round of gunfire exploded from the hallway. Another burst of red magic deflected the blow, but this time I was ready for it. I threw myself at the intruder, leaping off the back of the cowering creature chained to the wall. A bloodcurdling scream echoed off the walls of the chamber. I shifted around sharp shards of glass in my arms until four lengths grew from between my gnarled fingers like translucent claws.

Whoever it was in the hallway fired off a third shot, which missed wildly. The fourth one caught me square in the shoulder. My eyes burned from the flare of ignited gunpowder. Its unique, acrid odor filled my nostrils. A wave of agony ripped up and down my left arm and chest. I grit my teeth against the pain--I couldn't let it stop me. I couldn't let anything stop me.

I was mere feet away from the figure masked in darkness when I lashed out at him with my good arm. They were quick; but not quick enough. Sharpened edges of Cillu glass caught their cheek. The man--for it was clearly one now--grunted as he stepped aside. I heard the distinct click of him pulling back the hammer of his firearm for another go at me.

A flurry of vines grew from my arm, wrapping around the pistol as well as his hand and elbow. Without much effort, I was able to twist the gun around in his hand and position his arm so the hot iron of the muzzle was pressed against his temple.

"Point that thing where it'll do you some actual good," I hissed.

My left arm protested as I grabbed the stranger by the neck and dragged him into the light of the secret chamber where the tome was held. A sudden shock of familiarity struck my brain as the shadows danced off the dark elf's features.

"Huh," I remarked, my amber eyes flaring momentarily. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Get your dirty hands off me," growled the king's agent, Lenexa.

"I'm afraid not." A vine slithered into the trigger guard of his revolver, slowly pressing down on his finger until it was millimeters away from firing. "Let's skip the banter and get to the point, shall we? Mind telling me what you're doing down here?"

The agent spat something at me in Alerian. A curse, probably. I brought a balled fist up to his face and shattered his thin, bird-like nose. His knees buckled and his normally strong, authoritative voice cracked into a whimper as blood began oozing from his nostrils.

"Let's try this again, motherfucker." I flicked the barrel of his gun with the edge of a gnarl finger. "What are you doing down here?"

Fear and anger sparkled in the dark elf's eyes as he realized that no matter what he did, he was defeated. He took a deep, shaky breath, his tongue kissing drops of blood that collected on his lips. "I was sent to eliminate you."

"No shit," I said, exasperated. "I want to know why."

Lenexa took a deep breath to compose himself. He straightened up, putting on an aura of bravery in spite of his looming death. "Because you are of no further use to the empire, and our plans call for you to to be neutralized to ensure that they will go smoothly."

I tightened my grip on his throat. The agent's face tightened, a snarled gasp rasping from his lips. "Of course they do. But, there's more to it than that. There always is. And you're going to tell me."

He struggled against my vice-like grip for several seconds until I pressed the tip of his gun deeper into his skull. We locked eyes for what seemed like ages, a silent battle of wills taking place in the depths of the grand library. Eventually, he relented. With a heavy sigh, the agent started spilling his guts. "We didn't expect you to find the book so quickly."

Xem'Zund's hand-written tome, chained to the back of the slovenly, misshapen creature that whimpered and babbled to itself mere feet away.

"We had a suspicion that you were aware of its presence once you asked for unlimited access to Ankhas. I tried to argue that you should not be granted it, but his majesty was so set on employing you that he ignored my advice. I tried not to worry about it, convincing myself that you wouldn't find the book so soon. But you did, and now here we are."

A powerful darkness seeped into my words. "Nobody can keep a secret from me for too long."

Lenexa breathed deeply and raggedly, ignoring the blood that continued to ooze out of his broken nose. "Which is why we decided to pull the plug on your project the moment you developed something useful. We knew that as soon as we stopped you, you would make your move. We watched you for so long; we know how you operate, how you act on your desires. We knew that you would have gone after the book sooner or later."

My four glowing eyes narrowed. "Then why did you keep it here instead of steal it away yourself?"

He nodded towards it. "Look at that vile creature. Do you think it would be that easy moving it around at any time of day? Do you think that we had the capabilities to transport it anywhere without being noticed? The smell alone would have raised the attentions of everyone in Ettermire."

I nodded slightly. A fair point, I reckon.

"And now", the agent continued, "it appears that everyone has gotten what they wanted. We have your weapons, and you have the necromancer's book. But, I could not let you leave here with that accursed thing. You would be too much of a liability. Too much of a risk to let live. Our plan has to go perfectly to succeed, and your continued presence--book or no--is a giant question mark at the end of the paragraph."

"I have no reason to interfere with your king's plans to invade Raiaera. As you said, I got what I wanted, and so did he. If he leaves me alone, I will return the favor."

The elf smiled sadly. "That's not the plan I was referring to. This goes far deeper than you could possibly imagine." A tear formed in the corner of his darkened eye. "And I have failed them."

He squeezed the trigger. Gunfire echoed in my ears, and bright fire filled my eyes. A thick spray of blood and gray matter smeared against the wall behind him as his body fall to the cold floor of the archives.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Somewhere in Ettermire, where nobody would find them, where nothing would interrupt them, a small group of figures gathered around a round of drinks and piles of documents. Burning the midnight oil, they checked and double-checked items, made calculations, and compared notes. Together, these men and women would decide the fate of Alerar.

"He's late," a feminine voice grumbled.

"He'll arrive soon enough," another calmly stated.

A third voice, deep and gravely, spoke up. "What is taking him so long, anyway?"

"It's not like the task should have been too difficult for him," the female voice added.

A series of raps at the door, in a specific combination, caused all conversation in the chamber to cease. Recognizing the pattern, a thinner, older dark elf rose from his seat to open the door. He welcomed the hooded figure in with a wide gesture.

"It's about time!"

"Where have you been?"

"What news do you have?"

Without preamble, the figure approached the one empty chair around the giant table and sat down. He remained, head down, his gaze fixated on the corner of a sheet of paper that lay in front of him. "I have grave news, friends. She has the book."

A soft murmur grew around the table, but the man in the hood raised a hand to silence them. It was speckled with dry blood.

"She is also aware of the plan."

A mixture of panic and anger overtook everyone present. The figure stood.

"Well--that's a lie. She only knows parts of it." He pulled back is hood, revealing the distant gaze of Lenexa, a portion of the right side of his head missing. Where skin and hair gave way to bone and blood, thick strands of oily-blue mycelium grew, weaving a web of undeath across portions of his face.

"It's hard to piece together a wonderful scheme such as yours when half of the memories are smeared across the wall."

Panic and anger turned to fear as the elves beheld their brother. He was most certainly dead; the blood caked on his skin and clothing, the growing stench of decay, the listless and unfocused look in his cloudy eyes. Gasps and screams and gagging noises rose over the sudden confusion, threatening to drown out Lenexa as he began speaking.

"I have a message from the Briarheart," he said, his tone commanding, his words fierce. "You all have what you wanted from her, and she has what she wanted from Alerar. If you fucks are as smart as you believe yourselves to be, you will leave it at that. She doesn't care what you do with her plague devices or who you aim them at; and if you leave her alone, she will do nothing to stop you. But, if you even so much as think about implicating her in your efforts or lay any of the blame for your actions on her, you will not live long enough to regret it. She has your names, she knows where you meet, she knows where youwe live. She can and will destroy us anytime, anywhere. But whether or not we--well, you, really--all perish by her hand will be decided by our actions alone."

A dozen set of horrified eyes were glued to him. Mouths all agape, they were too scared to speak, let alone think.

"Message ends."

[Philomel]

Name of Judgement: The Nuclear Option (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?30695-The-Nuclear-Option)
Judgement Type: Condescended Rubric
Name of Participant: BlackAndBlueEyes

Judgement Commentary:

Plot: 23

The story was enticing at first, then got more and more gripping as time went on. One just simply wanted to know what was the beast in the library, and why Madison was “the chosen”. Where it could have just been about building the weapon you added an extra element and did it all within excellent pacing also.

Setting could have been expanded upon, it was mentioned here and there, and the reader does get the sense of certain things – such as the large size of the library – but in the strength of the other elements here it was a little unused. I would encourage more use of scents, how the light works in the different areas of the castle etc.

The change from the experimentation to becoming face to face with Xem’Zund is a great one, changing the tone. You manage to continue the pace of the story well, using shorter paragraphs were needed. It could be said it is hard to determine some parts of the plot, such as the fact that the thing she desired was a book and not some other artefact, but answers as to why she was there etc were answered. The part with the revelation about Pode having guided Madison’s whole misfortunes in order to lead her to become a carrier for her soul, and possibly more, does seem somewhat rushed and not hinted at beforehand, which is something of an opportunity missed to add foreshadowing.

Overall, however, a really good story with a dramatic – though very confusing in some way – ending that hints at further adventures.

Character: 24

In terms of personality there is a wealth of information and insights that you give to the piece, from the initial desire of Madison to see the library, to the nearing sympathies she has for the subjects in post 9. There is a definite change in her mind-set through the story, from simple intrigue through to genuine fear at the creature in the library, to being severely disappointed that her testing has to be cut short in posts 10-11.

In terms of persona and communication the internal struggles of Madison are particularly powerful, with the section from post 11 following:
-
Deep breath, exhale, I told myself. Deep breath, exhale. It'll be okay. It doesn't matter what the king wants now, you have access to Ankhas. You will have what is yours, chosen.

The words lingered on the edges of my mind as I screamed. "Leave me alone! I am not your chosen!"
-
The internal monologue, which occurs also naturally as part of the first person speech, leads well in demonstrating the struggles. This piece is very much about Madison and her personal feelings and journey when faced with making a weapon of mass destruction (though, rightfully with her general attitude she thinks little of it), dealing with the morality on an interesting scale. There are some things that are perhaps missing, such as a real development of the sympathy that you hint at in post 9, it could have been intriguing to have her consider this more. Tone does change along with the general mood as it swings from Xem’Zund to the final scene, and a genuine fear from Madison, and one can really see her struggles in not wanting to be the ultimate heir of the Forgotten One’s powers.

All in all I would say that communication was your weakest point here. Action was described well and had within it understandable occurrences. Communication on the other hand was lesser used. It served more as an informational tool, whereas there seems to be a key that you missed a trick, when you could have had, for instance, the prisoner’s speak and thus encourage more sympathy. The parts with the monster at the end and his changing letters is strong, however, and helps with overall character.


Writing: 22

Mechanically speaking you use correct punctuation and sentence structure where needed, with the only seen spelling mistake being “need” presumably instead of needle, at the end of post. It is rare to see such well written almost flawless work – though saying that more encouragement is placed here to develop use of more unusual punctuation (semi-colon etc).

Clarity is only an issue regarding the confusion over what Madison is. All in all the reader can get that she is to be a vessel for the Forgotten Ones, though this is never explicitly said or vaguely said. The plot, however, is very clear, with the scene changes greatly written and the progression of the story excellent. This was the sort of story one didn’t get lost in.

Lastly in terms of technique it can be said you have a strong grasp of what the English language is and how to use it. Despite the fact you could use more linguistic techniques (metaphor, similie etc), the emotions of the piece are conveyed in the general strong description you use – such as of the prisoner who is killed first at the end of post 11. Your shorter sentences and the playing with structure in post 16 works particularly well with building tension and this is something you should definitely continue to use and develop:
-
I wanted to scream. I wanted their blood. I wanted to watch them, broken and corrupted, begging for mercy that would never come.

Lenexa. Edar'axa.

All of them.
-
Wildcard: 7

Wildcard goes to an enticing story that connects both to the past (Pode) and to the future (possible emalgumation of more Forgotten Ones’ powers) which is always great for any reader. Neither is the piece too long or too short, but just the right length to read easy and OMG I WANT TO READ MORE.

Also I loved that really short post. Was so like DUN DUN DUN.

Overall Score: 76/100

Rewards
BABE: (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?3431-BlackAndBlueEyes)
2435 EXP
304 GP

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

All rewards have been added!

This thread has been nominated for a Judge's Choice. A decision is pending and we will be in touch once a final decision has been made.

[Rayleigh]

Congratulations, BlackAndBlueEyes! This story has been awarded a Judges Choice!

You've earned an additional 500 EXP, and a special badge.

Well done!