The five men sat around the long table, their faces cast in shadows. A small fire burned in the heart at one end of the room. It was a depressingly bare and empty room. It was void of decor and objects. But it was the meeting place that had been designated and all five men now sat restlessly. They’d been here nearly an hour but the man who had summoned them here had not arrived yet. And then he did.

Akar, the leader of the wretched group entered into the room, the door creaking shut slowly behind him. He took a seat, leaning forward and his eyes glinting with malice. “Our master, the great Basidin, has a task for us,” he rasped. A few men eyed each other nervously. Their leader spoke as though it was another routine job, but they had never met before. None of them knew each other’s names. “The time has come to spread his dominion across this wretched land.” The others stirred, sensing the power in Akar’s words. He was bald, but his face had a greenish, sickly tint to it. Deep scars etched intricate carvings into his face.

Basidin had promised them everything their blackened hearts desired - wealth, women, power. Things that the men seated around the table could never dream of. Festal Crowe brought a hand to his own scarred face, feeling the rough, charred flesh that had been burned in an incident when he was nine years old. He looked like a monster and had been ostracized ever since. But now, prizes awaited him. Women awaited him, Basidin had promised.

Akar continued, “We ride at dawn. Basidin has gifted us with his most fearsome creations.” He gestured to the shadowy corners of the room. Festal Crowe nearly screamed. The rest of the group also became startled in their seats. Had they been in the room the whole time? Two Cropkillers emerged, their decaying forms barely held together by tattered flesh. The men eyed the undead beasts fearfully at first, but it quickly turned into a lusty hunger. Fed Moltec imagined the wrongs he would right with those beasts if he made it out of this mission. He had been promised whatever provisions, beasts, and men he needed to take down the leadership of his hometown. He hadn’t expected beasts of this variety…he didn’t know these fantastical beasts had even existed.

Then, a Veracifer materialized, its swirling eyes and twisting tongue lolling around crazily. The Veracifers sent a chill through the room. The men averted their gaze, knowing the creature’s deadly power. “We leave no survivors in our wake,” Akar announced. “Basidin’s will shall be done.”

The men nodded, besides Festal Crowe who spoke up with uncertainty. “What about Windem’s own people? Are we to kill them?”

“I didn’t misspeak,” snarled Akar in Festal’s direction. “Basidin’s will be done.”

The men nodded, their souls already corrupted by the dark promise of Basidin’s power. They had each already ruined their lives in some form or another, but this was a chance to move past that failure. To be rewarded for their filth, for their vileness, for their mistakes…they would bring ruin and despair to all who stood in their path. As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, the five servants of Basidin rode out, the Cropkillers and Veracifer in their wake. A wave of unnatural darkness seemed to spread from their very presence, blotting out the warmth of the sun. The land trembled, sensing the evil that had been unleashed.

The five servants of Basidin rode hard, the Cropkillers and Veracifer keeping with unnatural speed. A thick cloud of dread hung in the air, tainting the land they passed through. People shied from the streets, shutting their doors and locking the bolts. Squirrels and deer scurried to their places among the woods. Birds ceased their chirping and insects simply blackened to a crisp and died from the stench and dread of the Cropkiller horses.

As they neared a small farming village, Akar raised a gloved hand. “There,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “The man we seek.” The others followed his gaze to a lone figure standing amidst the fields, his shoulders slumped in defeat. It was Kael Voryn, a deserter of the Denderrikan army. He had deserted the group during the migration from Sesten to Feynram. Dalko had known, but he did not take any action to stop him. He didn’t need dead weight in the group.

Kael’s heart had grown cold, filled with bitterness and a thirst for vengeance. Dalko had ripped him from his home in Denderrika, knocking on his door and stealing him from his family to serve in a cause he didn’t believe in. Kael had refused initially, and that’s when the torture had started. Dalko had given him up to that evil lady, Asherin--Kael was pretty sure that’s what her name had been. And Kenton too. Those were his cronies, Asherin and Kenton. He looked down at his scarred arms. His palms and fingertips had been burned as well. He no longer had feeling in his arms and hands. He couldn’t taste either. They had burned his mouth with scalding hot water. But that had only been after he’d threatened to kill Dalko, which evidently didn’t bode well with his henchmen, Asherin and Kenton.

Akar spurred his horse forward, the others trailing behind. The Cropkillers snorted, their rotten nostrils flaring as they sensed the fertile land. The Veracifer glided silently, its empty sockets fixed on Kael. As Akar approached, Kael turned, his eyes widening in surprise. But there was also a glimmer of something else. A spark of dark curiosity filled Kael with mix between fear and rage--a deep, suppressed rage that burned with hot flame. “Who are you?” Kael demanded. His hand instinctively moved to the sword at his hip. His first thought was that Dalko had sent these men to kill him. Akar smiled, a twisted, humorless expression. “We are the servants of Basidin, the one true master. We have a proposition for you, Kael Voryn.” Kael’s brow furrowed, but he did not draw his weapon. Maybe he wasn’t sent by Dalko.

The Cropkillers had begun to encroach on the fields, their presence withering the crops that Kael had just worked so hard to plant and nurture.

“Basidin has seen the darkness in your heart,” Akar continued, his voice low like a peel of thunder. Somehow, Kael found it to be compelling. “He knows of your thirst for vengeance, for power. Your hatred of the Denderrikans runs deep, and Basidin likes that very much. Join us, Kael, and all that you seek will be yours.” Kael’s eyes narrowed as he considered the offer. The Veracifer drifted closer, and he felt a shiver of unease. He knew Dalko had kept a Veracifer in his camp back at the compound.

Kael felt a temptation, a lure from this man Akar that he could not deny. “What must I do?” Kael asked. He scratched at the scars on his arms until they bled. It was a bad habit of his. His voice was barely above a whisper.

Akar’s smile widened. “Embrace the darkness, Kael Voryn, and you will find that it is not darkness at all but rather, it is…light.” Akar smiled triumphantly, menacingly. “Become our leader, and together we will bring ruin to all who stand in our way.” Kael hesitated for only a moment longer, then nodded. What about the people here that I’ve found? Thought Kael. He had come to like this rural community of farmers. Screw it, I don’t need them. This was only temporary anyways until I found something…something better. And here it is…

The last vestiges of his morality crumbled, replaced by a cold, calculating hunger for power. He was fed up with being tossed around like a resource by those above him. “I am yours, Basidin,” Kael declared, his voice ringing with twisted conviction. A surge of hateful adrenaline coursed through him like a lightning bolt. The five servants of Basidin had found their leader, the most wicked among them. And with Kael Voryn at their head, they would unleash devastation upon the land that would be spoken of for generations to come.

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If my family must suffer alone at the hands of Dalko, then this land will falter and decay into ruins at my hands…at Basidin’s hands. My oh my, yes--this will be lovely. Kael was rubbing his burned hands together with a twisted, corrupted look spread across his face. Festal Crowe shivered. Fed Moltec turned his face from Kael, feeling a darkness that was worse than Akar’s.

As Kael Voryn pledged his allegiance to the servants of Basidin, Akar produced a small, ornate object from the folds of his cloak. “To seal your bond with Basidin, you must take this token and wear it always,” Akar said, his voice low and commanding. Kael took the object, his fingers enclosing around the cold metal. It was a pendant that was shaped into a gnarled, twisted tree. At the center of the pendant was a single, glowing red gem that seemed to pulse with an unholy energy. “This is the Mark of Basidin,” Akar explained. “You are now bound to your master’s will. As long as you wear it, Basidin will know you. All of you,” Akar’s last words chilled Kael. His mouth went dry and his throat started to close up with fear. Yet, there was a growing sense of power and terrible purpose which had clutched at Kael. Without hesitation, Kael clasped the pendant around his neck, letting it come to rest against his chest. The red gem seemed to flare to life, casting an eerie glow across his features. Kael felt the mutilated skin along his arms flare into hot, searing pain and then fade away just as quickly.

“I am his,” Kael declared, his voice reverent now. “Basidin’s servant, forever.” The other men nodded in approval, each of them already wearing a similar pendant. None glowed as hot and as bright as Kael’s did though. They were now bound to Basidin, their wills utterly and completely subsumed by the dark power that emanated from the twisted tree-like symbols. The group turned and continued on their path of destruction. Without a word, Kael’s mind set itself upon the task at hand--his commands came directly to him from Basidin by way of the token which hung from his pendant.

The crooked men travelled onwards without needing a word to unite them in their purpose. The moved at a casual pace with Akar and Kael riding the Cropkillers and Fed Moltec leading the Veracifer on with a noose around its neck. Festal Crowe threw a bag over its face. “Not worth risking it,” Festal said.

The Servants of Basidin came to the top of a ridge that overlooked a deep and swooping valley below. The charred remains of a small town was smoldering in the distance. Kael wrinkled his nose at the acrid stench of death that hung heavy in the air. Festal coughed. Akar tilted his head, twisting his jaw at the rancid smell. Breen Slate, one of the quieter servants of the group, tilted his head back and laughed. Marsh Geral, a stout man who was missing an eye, smiled widely. He had three teeth and one unibrow that spread greasily above his eye.

As they descended the crest and drew closer, the full extent of the destruction became clear. Blackened buildings, broken and looted. Lifeless bodies strewn haphazardly across the streets, their vacant eyes staring into the abyss. Akar reined in his Cropkiller, his gaze sweeping over the scene.

“It appears the Lord Commander got here before us,” murmured Akar, a hint of begrudging respect was reflected in his tone. Kael gave Akar a sideways glance, lifting an eyebrow. Akar took no notice.

“Lord Commander?” asked Kael.

Before Akar could respond, a dark figure emerged from the shadows, seeming to materialize from the very smoke and ash. His features were hidden beneath an helm with spikes that jutted out in every which direction. Blood and bits of flesh dripped from the ends of the spikes. Kael shivered. This figure gave off some feeling that was hard for Kael to understand. It felt like something was pushing on him, weighing him down. He had never felt so uneasy in his life. Akar immediately dismounted, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. The others followed suit. Kael hesitated, then did the same. He descended slowly to his good knee (the other one had been bashed pretty badly years ago and it had never been the same) and slowly lowered his head. Sweat was dripping from his face, even though it wasn’t warm. He felt his body shake with fear.

When the man spoke, his voice was a deep, rumbling crack that reminded Kael of a sharp, cutting whip that just slashed through the air.

“Rise, Servants of Basidin.” As the men rose, the figure removed his spiked helm, revealing a face that struck a chord of recognition with Kael. He had seen this man before. It dawned on him a moment later. This was the Lord Commander of King Tarren’s armies. The man that was leading the war against the Denderrikans. He had heard Dalko speak of this man in his secret councils with the other Ascendians and with his close advisors.

The man had chiseled features, piercing dark eyes, and a voice that carried an unmistakable authority. “I am Elric Drakonstone, Lord Commander of King Tarren’s armies.” Kael let his mouth fall agape. Then closed it, straightening his posture and narrowing his eyes.

Akar inclined his head respectfully, “Lord Drakonstone. We have come to offer our services to Basidin’s cause.” Akar slowly pulled his pendent out from beneath his garb, revealing the token of a dead, twisted tree with a red gem in the middle. The others did the same, and Elric gave an audible grunt at the sight of the pendents.

Drakonstone’s gaze settled on Kael, and the former Denderrikan soldier felt a wave of dread wash over him. Elric’s eyes bore into his soul, searching for any hint of weakness or deception. “And who is this?” Drakonstone asked, his tone laced with suspicion.

“This is Kael Voryn, our new leader,” Akar replied, gesturing to Kael. “He has pledged his allegiance to Basidin and bears the Mark.” Kael swallowed hard, felt the weight of Drakonstone’s cold stare. He’s searching me, testing me…

Elric Drakonstone studied Kael for a long, tense moment, then a thin smile spread across his lips. “Welcome, Kael Voryn,” he said. His face was dripping with dark amusement and villainy. Kael would make an excellent addition to Basidin’s cause. This must be the one Basidin had shown me, thought Elric to himself. If he was correct, then Kael would prove to be a very worthy servant indeed. “Let us see if you are worthy of Basidin’s service.” The Cropkillers snorted restlessly, their rotting forms drawing ever closer to Elric Drakonstone. They were drawn to his aura--could smell the villainy dripping from his soul.

Drakonstone turned his gaze to Kael. He had a sword in his hand, which he now slung over his shoulder, pacing around the group slowly. He’s enjoying this, thought Kael. “If you encounter a man by the name of Tristan Blackthorn,” began Drakonstone, his gaze centered on Kael. “You are to capture him and bring him to me. If he’s too dangerous, kill him. He’s Denderrika’s biggest weapon.”

Kael felt a chill run down his spine. Blackthorn was a name he knew. Who didn’t? But Gareth Blackthorn had died years ago. But that first name sounded too familiar…where did he--but then it dawned on him. Dalko had found a boy named Tristan…even brought him to their compound right before they took over Sesten. Kael had left shortly after the takeover. Kael felt conflicted for a short moment, but the feeling quickly left. He felt something warm pressing against his chest. His hand went slowly to the pendent hanging around his neck. The Mark of Basidin began to burn. Kael’s flesh started to melt away and he yanked the necklace from its place against his body. He held it in his hand, its temperature dying away. The red gem in the center of the pendent glowed a bright red and Kael could feel its power. Basidin’s power. Kael knew there was no turning back. Not now.

Kael nodded his head, his voice laced with bitter resolve. The faces of his family who he had been forced to leave flashed through his mind. His family--all of whom were still across the vast seas in Denderrika. “It will be done, Lord Drakonstone.” The fate of Denderrika hung in the balance amidst the war, and Basidin’s servants planned to do whatever it took to ensure its downfall.

Kael smiled a wicked grin, turning in a wide circle to view the faces of servants who now answered to him. He was their new leader. “We serve Basidin. He rewards us. Let’s go.”

Only Elric remained, tending to a row of women he had kept for himself after ransacking and burning the town to the ground. They murmured anxiously with cloth stuffed in their mouths and hands tied to a feeding trough.

As the group ascended back up the steep valley and to the top of the ridge, Akar spoke up. “Master Kael, where do we go from here?”

Kael reined his Cropkiller to the top of the ridge, its breath coming out of its nostrils in small tendrils of black smoke. “The Denderrikans have a strong hold on the lands to the South. We pin them back, suffocate them.”

Festal harrumphed. Marsh rubbed his hands together. Breen’s gravelly voiced chimed in now. “How do we suffocate them? We don’t have an army.”

“We don’t need an army,” replied Kael, patting the man of his rotting horse. “We’ve got everything we need right here.”