The Traveler in "The Assassin of The Spider Queen" (solo)

Kurtz stood in the meadow, his sword drawn. He stared at the animated piles of bone that lumbered towards him, the shook of seeing them appear causing him to hesitate. If he wasn’t quick enough, the skeletons would easily rip him apart, he knew. He braced his legs and prepared to lung forward as he had been taught.

In an instant he sprang into motion, his body’s forward momentum carrying his sword completely through the spine of the first one before it could counter-attack. Without stopping, he then turned his body and brought the blade of his sword straight down through the shoulder of the next monster, knocking it down. Before the next movement in the series, the third skeleton brought it’s cold, clawed hand up and shot it at the former stable boys throat. Instead of grabbing it in a choke hold, it continued forward, the force knocking Kurtz off his feet, sputtering to the ground ten feet away.

As soon as it’s foe was on the ground the skeleton froze, and then began to seemingly melt into a pile of dust, sinking into the ground. “Too Slow Slave, Perform The Steps Again.” A dark, charismatic voice pealed. “How many times*hack* do we…have to do this?” Kurtz said, picking himself off the ground, clutching his throat as he coughed. “Until It Is Perfect. Without The Proper Motivation, You Can’t Call Upon Our Power Without Shutting Down, Slave. So You Must Make Up For Your Lack Of Magic With Physical Prowess. As You Also Lack In This, We Will Have To Teach You Through Harsh Methods. Our Traitorous Children Will Have Noticed That We Have Left Our Tomb, The Seal On Our Phylactory, The Coffin Holding The Remains Of Our Mortal Form, Broken By You.” The image of a jeweled skull flew into view.

“My Wayward Charges Will Try And Stop You From Gaining Strength And Power, And So Will Send Their Minions Against Us, Unwilling To Risk Their Own Safety By Destroying You In Person And Exposing Themselves To One Of The Other Factions. As You Are Now, Even Their Pawns Will Provide Sufficient In Exterminating You, Slave. Now, Perform The Steps Again.” The skull of Namenth’Al winked out of existence once more, signaling that the conversation was now over. The three skeletal beings rose once again from the ground in the same positions as before.

Three months prior, Kurtz had been kidnapped by a trio of brigands, forced to sacrifice and suffer through deadly traps in order to allow the bandits through safely. Upon reaching what they had all thought was a treasure room, Kurtz had been mortally wounded by a skeleton disguised as Namenth’al, one of the most powerful necromancers to exist. Upon destroying the monster, the surviving brigand set off the last trap, the treasure actually being a slime-like creature that could disguise itself. Rather than allow the slime to devour him, Kurtz chose to fall down a garbage chute, finding the true tomb of the Lich at the bottom. Upon releasing the spirit of the Necromancer, Kurtz became infused with a portion of the beings own magic, at the cost of only truly being half alive. Drawing on the powers of the lich too often caused Kurtz to enter a lethargic state, where his emotions and will to move diminished, called The Torpor.

Kurtz sighed, unwilling to push the matter further and readied himself in the same charging stance. The pain from the training was intense, his body aching from the hours of repeating the same motions. He saw the value in the spirits words truly, but the speed at which the ArchLich demanded success was daunting.

Upon the next repetition of the form, the boy was once more knocked to the ground on the third swing again. “Disappointing. Your Movements Slow, Slave. In A True Battle, You Would Be Dead Dozens Of Times Over. That Is Unacceptable. We Shall Have To Ponder On How To Correct This.”

“A Break would be a good start, I’ve been out here for hours. My joints are on fire, I’m hungry, thirsty, and sorely need to rest.” Kurtz said once again picking himself off the ground, dusting the dirt and soil off his rear. He inspected his blade to make sure it hadn’t been damaged from the heavy use.

“Bah! Food? Water? Sleep? These Very Things Are The Reasons I Began My Pursuit Of The Arts. You Slept Last Night, Ate Two Days Ago, These Are Not Enough? You Need To Pursue A Mortal Victim, Slave. Drain Them Of Their Life And Soul, Feed The Void Inside Yourself. That Will Allow You To Disregard Such Nuisances. You Are Not Homely, Woo A Maid, Feed While She Sleeps.”

The thought of killing an innocent person just to make himself more powerful was too ghastly to contemplate. He was steadfast in his decision to rot as a vegetable before taking the life of an innocent person, unwilling to abuse the second chance he’d been given after nearly dying in the tomb.

“I’m not going to lure some poor girl to her death just so I can have lunch. We’re just going to have to slow down on the training so I can properly rest between sessions.” Kurtz with mirthless demeanor. He rubbed the gurgling beast he had in place of a stomach, and began to walk in the direction of the village he’d been staying in.

In the dark depths of her stagnant and decrepit lair, a pallid woman with long black hair, fair complexion and a set of too black eyes sat on a throne made of bone covered in thousands of strands of white thread. Around her throat, she wore a black choker inset with a single blood red sphere. She bowed her head in contemplation, and the sphere at her throat began to glow a bright red, filling the cavernous room she sat in. In her hand she held several rune inscribed bones, without opening her eyes, she tossed them into the air in front of her.

The runes clattered to the floor, the symbols on their surfaces glowed with the same red light as the sphere. “Inconclusive. They must be using the power of The Master to block my scrying.” She purred, her voice melodic and seductive. She held a slender, clawed hand out and snapped one time sharply.

The goblins had called her “Nar’Skekah”, The Devourer, before fleeing their warrens. The human natives of the warm jungles above prayed to her as “The Night Queen”. She’s gained many names over the ages, and with them came followers waiting to bask in her beauty and grace, she reveled in their mix of fear and adoration. She was duplicitous by nature, and while she enjoyed the privilege and stature of being worshipped as a god, she also enjoyed the rush of fear and terror when she left her lair to hunt herself.

Following the snap, a tall, lithe figure appeared next the throne, head bowed in supplication. He spoke with a voice steeped in awe and worship, as only true zealots can. “Praise be to you, oh Night Queen. Out of fear for you does the sun set each day as you wake. You, who are the mother of darkness and shadow, whom even the light cannot escape. In three strides you can circle the world, and by your whim do all who live continue to do so. Praise be to Shekah, mightiest of all the gods.”

“I have heard what you have said and find it all true.” Said Shekah, her voice tinged with the boredom of dogma and expected responses. “I task you with a holy mission Quassek. You, who are my most skilled and cunning child, find which of my brothers opened the Living Tomb. Once you find them, return to me.” She said, her voice dripping honey, dragging a lone claw seductively up the neck of her servant, leaving his bulging neck muscles with a hair-thin line of blood. “Do not be discovered, Quassek, even should you fail, you must not be captured at any cost.”

The man grunted acceptance, unfazed by either the pain of the scratch or the tone of seduction used by his god. She waved her hand, dismissing him as she would a dog. In an instant the man vanished back into the shadows. He was her best, she knew, and she would need her best if she was going to break The Oath and spy on her brothers. Although, she though, one of them had broken it first by taking The Master’s Phylactory. Each of them had agreed to divide his power equally, though not all could be taken.

Breaking The Oath they each swore, stating that the Living Tomb would be left alone, untouched by any of them, and that none would interfere with the plans of the others, was a death sentence. The remaining Disciples would quickly turn and destroy the upstart before they took too much power to be stopped. Each plotted ways to destroy their rivals without being caught however, and two had already fallen over the eons through plots and deceit, their assailants never being discovered.

The one who opened the Tomb was most likely the one who’d destroyed the Lizard and the Snake, expecting that the power they’d stolen enough to save them from the reprisals of the other 4. The punishment would be swift, and the one who destroyed the overreaching rival would be rewarded with even more power. “Time to do what I do best…Well, second best,” She thought to herself with a coy smile, she began making plans and counterplans to entrap and ensnare her prey.

The village of Homllet was truly just a small collection of huts gathered around a small central square, farmhouses spreading out for many miles behind them. The only inn for travelers to stay and rest was a small, wooden building with three guest rooms on the top floor, a small kitchen used for the preparation of evening meals, and a large dining room full of tables and chairs. The Warm Hearth Inn did far more business serving meals and ale to the locals than it did renting it’s rooms.

Kurtz sat in the dining room, stirring his spoon through a bowl of warm stew, freshly made from the local ingredients, deep in thought. He’d been contemplating his choices, and not for the first time, wishing desperately that he’d stayed with his adoptive parents instead of insisting on experiencing the world when his term of servitude had ended.

After an hour of staring somberly into the stew in front of him, the serving girl who went by the name Sarah walked past his table, collected the mostly empty mug of ale, and replaced it with a fresh one. Kurtz looked up from his stupor, the young girl giving him sultry wink and walked away with a smile. “There Slave! She Shows Romantic Interest! It Would Be Simple To Feed On Her. You May Even Find It Enjoyable.” Kurtz began to redden in the face, partly from embarrassment but mostly from anger. Placing his spoon on the table, he walked out of the tavern, needing some fresh air. Sometimes he found the skull useful and interesting to talk to, but mostly, it just kept pushing and prodding, moving it’s own agenda forward.

“To What Place Do We Head, Slave? If You Are Feeling Sufficiently Restful, We Would Be Best Served Practicing More, Lest We Fall Victim To The Predations Of My Children.” The skull chided him, as the stable boy walked to simply clear his head. “I just need some time to think.” Kurtz said through gritted teeth, attempting in vain to outrun the spirit.

The pair made it back to the clearing at the prodding of the necromancer, and once again Kurtz drew his simple iron blade, approaching the stance. When the spirit raised the skeletons once more, Kurtz allowed his frustration to pour out during the exercise, the dark bags under his eyes becoming sunken, his skin beginning to look aged and stretched. The first two foes fell just as before, but when the third came up to strike, Kurtz blade came up from the lower position, cleaving the monster in half, his sword carrying a black sheen that had not been present before.

The boy stood in a fierce pose, not exalting in his success but instead staring at the remains of the skeletons, watching black veins slowly creep into the bones from the source of the inflicted wounds, until suddenly they collapsed back into dust. He breathed deeply, allowing his anger and frustration to vent. Slowly, as the shadows of clouds flew in front of the sun, his skin returned to it’s normal complexion, his face looking haggard, but not unnaturally so.
The Skull of Namenth’al floated in the air in front of him, not breaking the silence of the moment. Kurtz studied his sword, watching the black sheen fade over time.

“Well Done Slave.” The husky voice of the skull intoned. “Channeling Motivation Allows You Use Of Your Own Strength, Instead Of Relying Solely On Ours. Imagine That Feeling With An Ambition That Filled Your Every Waking Thought, That Is The True Power Of The Lich.” The skull bobbed in place, as close to smiling as a skull without a bottom jaw or lips could. “We Would Advise You Not To Use Us As The Source Of Anger, However. Our Continued Existence Is Tied, The Fate Of One Is The Fate Of Both.”

Kurtz looked at the skull incredulously, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Did you goad me this entire time, constantly telling me to kill innocent people, pushing me for endless hours of physical exhaustion, just to teach me a lesson? We could have accomplished it in any number of other ways than causing my this much physical and mental stress.”

The skull stopped moving in space at the words of the stable boy. “Perhaps So. In Doing This However, We Have Condensed Many Topics Into The Same Span Of Time. You Have Gained Physical Prowess And Become Adequate With A Blade. You Have Learned The Different Sources Of Power For Our Kind, And How To Overcome Their Weaknesses, Cruel As The Methods May Seem. You Have Also Gained Working Knowledge On How To Channel And Grow Your Own Powers, Continuing To Do So Is Essential In Becoming Stronger As A Lich. Do Not Assume We Have Not Factored The Most Expedient And Effective Path To Your Training Slave. We Have Taught Many Students, Those That Did Not Flourish Quickly Did Not Survive.”

Kurtz thought deeply for a moment, the words of the specter taking him back a moment. He’d underestimated the ghost, thinking that the methods of such a creature would be ill suited to him. He had to keep in mind that this being had been so powerful that it nearly dominated the world once, and his advice would be worth hearing, even if it was out of date and tinged with nihilism. Kurtz would just have to filter everything the skull said.

“I apologize for misjudging you. I beg your forgiveness.” Kurtz said, giving the skull the ceremony and flourish he knew it craved. “Worry Not Slave. A King Has No Need Of Apologies From His Subjects, Nor Their Thanks. He Is Above All Such Petty Concerns.” The necromancer said in a pleased voice that he didn’t even try to hide.

The sun had began to set, tinging the sky a bright, brilliant orange fading to a deep red toward the horizon. Fireflies and lightning bugs began to glow in the shadows of the woods that circles the clearing. The air began to cool as a pleasant breeze began to blow though the trees, completing the picturesque scene. Though Kurtz could appreciate the aesthetic, he found the prospect of getting a decent night’s sleep much more appealing. For the last time of the day, he turned and began to walk back to the town, surprised the see a thick plume of black and blue smoke coming from the same direction.

Kurtz raced towards Homlett, trying to find the source of the dark column rising over the tops of the trees. As he reached the flattened path that began the rough street of the town, he could see several of the small wood and thatch buildings ablaze with roaring fire. The bodies of several inhabitants littered the streets, their families crying over the bodies. Woman and children had taken to putting out the fires by passing buckets of water back and forth from the local well in the center of the town square. Kurtz could here the shouts of the men towards the center of the town, their cries being those of engaged battle.

The stable boy raced over towards the center, finding the men holding off several strange creatures with pitchforks and hoes, many of the villagers having numerous cuts and gashes. The beasts were multi-limbed creatures, their heads resembled boars, long snouts and tusks jutting out from a mouth filled with fangs, their bodies, long and sleek like a cat’s with spines as long as a man’s thumb, and each had 3 pairs of legs that ended in wicked claws. The farmers had no experience in fighting such creatures, their makeshift weapons unable to find purchase on the lithe beasts.

Kurtz took his sword out, attempting to help, though he had no real fighting experience on a live target either. The closest beast put it’s nose to the air at his approach, taking three large whiffs before letting out a deep growl. The farmer who’d tried to keep it at bay took the action as a sign of distraction, trying to take advantage of the situation and lunged at it with a makeshift spear. The creature easily dodged the clumsy blow, jumping on the back of the overextended farmer, raking huge furrows of blood as it kicked off and over with its large claws.

The beast was within striking distance instantly, the spines on its back standing on end as it prepared to strike. The endless practice with the skeletons had prepared him to dodge straightforward attacks. Kurtz entered the low stance he’d practiced, the muscles of his legs tensing, his eyes locking with those of the strange multi-limbed boar creature. In an instant he charged forward, the beast doing the same out of reflex, he sidestepped and brought his sword through the side of the creature, narrowly avoiding the strike, just as the skull taught him. The dog-like yelp of the creature brought the attention of the other beasts, the wound turning black as the flesh around it began to rot.

Kurtz, his skin once again shrunken, brought his now black blade forward, his stance low once again, ready to charge. He struck three more beasts, dealing each a light blow as he passed them, the wounds crackling as the rot spread in dark, black lines. The infection caused the beasts to slow, giving the villagers with their makeshift weapons enough time to finish them off.

His chest heaved from the intensity and activity, sweat pouring as he faced the last monster. A shrill whistle sounded as the pair began to face off, in an instant, the boar-thing began to run wide, it’s circuit taking it not towards the villagers or Kurtz, but away to the cover of the forests. Unwilling to let it go, the stable boy charged forward, his desperate and wild swing nicking the thing in the flank. After a few moments, it was gone, it’s shape lost in the shadows of the encroaching night.

He sheathed his blade, the black light fading as it left his hands. He turned the men, seeing any needed his help. One by one, as they got a better look at him, they all gasped and raised their weapons at him. His face still holding the taunt skin and black eyes of a ghoul, they refused to let him come close. One of the largest men, without so much as a word tried to charge him with a pitchfork before he could say anything.

Hurt shot through his heart, for he had never harmed these people but in fact, he had helped them fight off beasts they had no hope of beating on their own. The rest of the group began to close in on him, and leaving him little choice, he ran. The blaze of the burning buildings lit up behind him as he fled, the shadows playing in front of him, laughing specters jeering at his freakishness.

Hour after hour he ran, long after his features returned to normal. Once he stopped, miles away from the village, he attempted to get his mind under control as his emotions spilled out. The people of the village looked at him as if he were a monster, even though he’d helped them save the town.

“You Now See The Dark Truth Of Our Kind Slave. We Give Up Our Humanity For Power, Some Willingly, Others After Being Shunned By Others. Even If You Wish To Help Them, You Will Never Again Be One Of Them.” Namenth’Al said. The spirit had elected to remain silent, not wishing to cause more panic in the young man.

“Damn you Ghost, you and this curse.” Kurtz snarled through clenched teeth. After a few moments of silence, he spoke, “What were those things? I’ve never seen beasts like that from around these woods. And what caused those fires? It’s too much of a coincidence that two events like that happened at the same time.”
“A Type Of Tracking Animal, We Think, Used For Hunting In Dense Jungles. We Seem To Remember Using Their Sense Of Smell To Great Effect, Using Them To Find The Remains Of A Long Dead Dragon Down To The South.” The skull said wistfully, as if it were a pleasant childhood memory. “As For The Fire, It Was Likely Used As A Distraction, Allowing Someone To Look For Something While The Town Was Preoccupied.”
“What would have warranted the attention? I didn’t notice the town having much of anything worth burning down houses and killing for. It seems like too much effort to simply rob somebody.” The young man said to the skull.
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The deft hands of the Assassin stroked the dying animal lovingly until the light of life left it’s eyes. His hands moved to the leg of the animal, black and fetid with rotting flesh. His pets had tracked the scent of the one who’d opened the tomb from the seared flesh left on the pull-ring that opened the door to the Living Tomb. The fact that living flesh was found had been a surprise, as the Masters had other means to open the door, and any undead would have been destroyed by the attempt.

Several humans had found their way inside, most had died in the treasure room to the traps left by the Masters. One it seemed, made it’s way into the lower crypt, taking the remains buried with in. The thief’s trail had led to the small town, only a few days away from the Living Tomb. The Goddess would have a hard time believing that the tomb had been violated by mortals, even more so that one survived the traps and escaped with the Corpse God’s body.

He’d set small fire to several of the local houses, allowing the panic to distract the townsfolk while his pets were able to search for the thief and the body. The Mistress had told him to return as soon as he found which rival had broken into the tomb, but if the perpetrator was a mortal, he’d dispatch them and return to his Queen with the prize. He was surprised to find that only one of his trackers returned to him, dying from a necrotic poison of some sort.

After the beasts were taken care of the, the men returned to putting the fires out, leaving the scene of the battle free to investigate. In the shadows of the burning huts, he was able to see that a set of tracks ran off into the woods, clearly his quarry was cunning enough to guess that he was being tracked. Unfortunately, the assassin had been performing his sacred duties for decades, and no man could elude him. He followed the trail of the thief more deftly that his pets ever could have.

Quassek reveled in the thought of returning to his Goddess with the prize he knew she craved more than anything else. The praise from her would be great, he knew, and he’d be willing to sacrifice anything in order to grant her that joy. He had traveled the forest for hours, following the trail that the thief had left, broken twigs snapped underfoot, footprints in soft mud, scraps of cloth snagged by branches. Clearly the thief had been running in a blind panic, knowing that some dark force was hunting him.

Quassek loved the sense of dominance hunting a wary target gave him, knowing that no matter how far they fled, how hard they fought, he’d be able to overtake them. The Spider Queen had blessed Quassek with a number of abilities, granting him increased strength and endurance, enhanced senses and an increased life span, allowing him the honor of serving Her for many more lifetimes than a normal man. He endeavored to serve her fully, completely committed to the dogma of her divinity.

The trail began to become increasingly fresh, meaning his target had begun to slow in his flight. As he began to close in on his target, he produced a crossbow from his back, the perfect tool to dispatch an unknown foe. He began to knock a bolt into the action, carefully pulling the string tight. The ground under him had grown rocky, the terrain turning into rolling hills creating rises and dips.

Eventually, the figure he’d been tracking came into view, his senses telling him that target was a youth with a pale complexion and middling build. He paused when he didn’t see a pack or a bag, the body of the Corpse God didn’t appear to be with him. The assassin began to wonder if the body had in fact been left in the town, figuring the only way to know would be to ask the boy directly. He lifted his crossbow and took careful aim of the boy’s leg.

Pain wracked through Kurtz leg as the tip of a large steal arrow protruded from his thigh. Screaming despite himself, he fell to the ground unable to keep himself steady. The shock had been great, as no sound had come from any of the surrounding woods. Panic set in as he tried to scramble away from his current position, in case another bolt would be shot.

A large man walked towards Kurtz, His face hidden by a cowl. The look of the figure in the shadow of the full moon reminded Kurtz of the large, broad man named Carter, who kidnapped him and used him to trigger the booby traps of the tomb. Fear set in as the memory of the cruel encounter flashed through his mind, causing him to stop in place.


“We must have words, little thief, for you have offended God, and must be punished. Let us palaver, and surely even one such as you can find redemption.” His words sounding the confident sermon of a preacher.

The young boy trembled as the larger man came closer, his strides denoting confidence and strength. He reached on of his large hands and picked Kurtz up by the throat, his grip tight, but not painfully so. His other hand went to the head of the bolt that had pierced Kurtz’ thigh, and with a sharp motion, twisted the arrow hard, sending rivulets of blood and shots of pain.

The stable boy screamed, his voice echoing through the dense wood. “Cry out oh sinner. For She is judgement absolute. Any who offend the Night Queen will feel her wrath, swift and sure. She is night and shadow, fear and anguish. Those who trespass against her will know the most agonizing of deaths.” He bellowed, giving the arrow another twist. “Where is the prize you have stolen, little thief? If you tell me, I shall end this quickly, your crime forgiven by the Goddess, surely. If you intend to resist, I can leave you in a death that will take days, even though you’ll beg for death in the first few seconds.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Kurtz said through his teeth, balancing himself on his good leg as to not suffocate. “I haven’t stolen anything! Let me down!” He fumbled at the arm holding his throat in a vain attempt to free himself, producing no results for his efforts. The arm of the man seemed as hard as iron, his nails seeming to skate off of his skin like glass.

“I know you have violated the sacred tomb, boy. You and your friends attempting to steal the secrets of the Masters. You alone survived correct? I counted three bodies and four sets of footprints.” Quassek said. “You left with the remains of the Corpse God, as they were not in the lower tomb where they should have been sealed. My Goddess wishes for them, and I will deliver. The only question that remains is how much pain must I inflict before you tell me.”

Kurtz paled, the fact that this man knew about the tomb could only mean that he was sent by one of the Disciples, most likely his Goddess and these Masters he kept mentioning. The doom foretold by Namenth’Al was coming to pass, and Kurtz felt like there was nothing he could do to stop it. “Slave, Wake Up! We Have Not Spent This Time Training You To Lose Without Attempting To Fight.” The voice of the ghost rang through his head. “This Man Is Strong, But You Have True Mastery Over Death, Use It, Dolt!”

Feeling for the feeling of emptiness, the deep void in his spirit that connected him and Namenth’Al, he allowed the numbing feeling to fill him. Once full, He extended the feeling towards the man holding him by the throat. Suddenly, a bolt of black lightning arced from Kurtz to the man, causing him to release and knocked him backwards into a tree, the force causing the trunk to crack and splinter.

The success of the attack granted Kurtz some much needed confidence, reminding him that he was no longer the powerless boy from the tomb. He was able to gain the force of will to snap the head off of the arrow, and pull the shaft out of his thigh. The blood that poured from the leg was intense, causing a light-headed sensation. He took his shirt and ripped strips off, wrapping the wound as best he could. He figured that he had a better chance of fighting off an infection from dirty cloth that he did of surviving blood loss.

Thinking he was safe, he began to turn to the skull and speak, only to hear the sound of the man getting up from the pile of splinters that had been created around him. His shirt has a circular hole burned through the middle, where the bolt had caught him, and the skin underneath was blood red with charred and smoking flesh. Kurtz could see the veins of the man, the blood having boiled in his body in angry red lines, coating him.

No longer was the confidence of the self-assured zealot, the man seemed to barely stand. The anger in his eyes was fierce as he slowly shuffled towards Kurtz. Hate filled the assassin, never in decades of service had he ever been hurt so badly. The damage caused by the blast may be permanent he knew, he’d seen lightning strikes deal nerve damage before, and if that was the case, his fickle Goddess may discard him, not allowing a weak cripple to serve her. His limbs responded slowly, but sheer determination caused them to move through the searing pain that wracked his body. Even if it killed him, Quassak would end this boy.

Unable to fully stand, Kurtz couldn't take his usual stance, forced to brace himself weakly with his sword out. The pair stared at each other over the distance, the crippled assassin shuffling along the ground, the maimed boy awaiting him to continue the fight. When the assassin covered the distance, he rushed at Kurtz, the boy swinging the sword.

The force of the swing was weak, Kurtz unable to get any true strength behind it due to the weakness of his leg. The blade skidded across the toughed skin of the assassin, allowing the larger man to pull the boys wrist, disarming him and sending the blade soaring of into the shadows of the forest. The large man then slammed his other fist into the boy’s exposed torso, the force also weakened from the large mans weakened muscles.

The strength of the blow was enough to take Kurtz’ leg out from under him, sending him to the ground. Quassek still held his wrist in one hand and used his other to send another blow into the boy’s face. Blood poured from Kurtz’ now broken nose, the pain nearly blinding him. In a moment of desperation, he reached to his belt and fumbled for his knife. Unsheathing it, he took on his half lich aspect, his eyes turning pitch black against his now sickly white skin. Stabbing the blackened blade of the knife into the exposed arm that held his wrist caused the necrotic energy to seep into the wound like a poison, black lines of death slowly crept into cut. The damage wasn’t much, but the pain and realization of what happened was enough to cause the man to pause in his assault.

His vision turning red as the pain mixed with anger and hate, Kurtz felt an immense hunger coming from deep inside. The void that he drew his power from, the point of connection between himself and Namenth’al, desired to be filled. The all-consuming need for life took over Kurtz’ mind. Latching onto the man by the arm that held him, Kurtz drew in the very soul of the man, feeding it to the darkness inside of him. The longer he held, the stronger the half lich became. The pain from his beating and the hole from the arrow closed, allowing Kurtz to stand.

Conversely, the assassin screamed in pain as the undead monster held him in a death grip. Frantically using the last of his fading strength to try and pull the creature’s fingers off of him, Quassak could feel his scorched body die as the lich sucked his very soul out from him. In his ragged pursuit, he assumed the boy just another thief like the ones who’d died in the tomb, never assuming that the same power of his god could also dwell inside any but the Masters. His vision went black, his screams continuing long after his body stopped moving, until all was still.

The being of rage and instinct known once known as Kurtz held on to the corpse of the assassin, refusing to give up it’s meal until every last shred of life had been taken. The being of morals and reason had been discarded, replaced by an animal who’s only goal was blind obedience to the void inside itself, and fullfilment of its base desires.

Minutes passed, the monster slowly giving ground to the boy, allowing the mind to take control over instinct with glacial speed. The hardest part was Kurtz having to deal with the simple fact that being a monster felt good, there were no were no worries or concerns and the feeling of power and dominance felt safe. Having to carry the burdens of intellect and reason, conscious and consciousness, the stable boy overtook the lich, pushing the monster back into the void.
Waking up to the scene of holding white knuckled hands, fingertips deep in the arm of a dead man, the intense feeling of grief overtook him. Killing a man was one thing, especially in self-defense, but to steal the very soul of one was a completely abominable act. What scared Kurtz even more was a sense of satisfaction from somewhere with in himself. For neither the first or the last time, Kurtz felt utterly alien to the world in which he lived.
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Shekah sat on her throne, the crimson light of her gem pulsating along with the runes she cast. Her assassin had failed her, choosing to fight instead of scout. Her eyes burned dark with rage at having been disobeyed. She cast her eyes towards the runes with a deep scowl, the divinations proving too general to be used to determine his opponent.

Dredging Quassek’s soul would be the best source of information in this situation, but his body was a continent away, and calling a ghost without a piece of its body was a monumental task, even for her. She sat on her throne, her dark claws clicking on the bone as she mentally went through the preparations for such a ritual, the energy it would take, and various other factors that would need to be taken into account. The hardest part was trying to conceal it so her rivals couldn’t feel the magic being performed, she didn’t want them being able to fight her for the traitor’s identity and then beat her to them.

She called to her servants, commanding them to clean the floor of the cavern, freeing the space she would need in order perform her brand of necromancy. She stood from her throne of bone and silk, striding to the cleared floor. She snapped her fingers sharply, mentally compelling a slave to come forth. The frail old man walked towards her, trembling the entire way. He laid on the floor, his mouth moving in silent prayer as the Necromancer pulled a wicked kris from her belt. Closing her eyes and chanting, the red gem at her throat began to glow.

Suddenly she opened her eyes and drove the blade into the man, his screams echoing through the cave. She began to parse through various organs, stopping every once and a while to examine on particular or another before moving on. The ritual she sought to perform would take many special ingredients she did not possess, but the act of keeping it secret could only be done with a very special gem that would have to be sought out by her personally.
The augury told her that the gem was in the trove of a large griffon, nesting in the deserts. She was the only one who could take such a beast out, and if she was being honest, would likely tax even one such as her. Still, such a hunt would be invigorating.

She stood up, giving numerous orders to her followers. amid the gore and offal of the augury, she began to undress, the black silk robe falling from her pale shoulders as she unhitched the belt keep it closed. Her long, slender form began to grow in the darkness of the cave, enlarging as parts stretched and malformed. After mere moments, a gigantic spider stood where a pale woman once had, its black and white carapace shining in the dim torchlight.

Thread Title: The Traveler in "The Assassin of The Spider Queen"
Judgement Type: Basic Rewards including Stonevale 1.5x


DreamCatcher receives:

1337 EXP
180 GP


Rewards to be added momentarily.

Rewards Added