In a secluded tavern near the Thorned Rose barracks of Blutmark, a outpost town near the borders of the wildlands. It was a place where lower-ranking officers could drink in peace, away from their superiors, yet close enough to return to duty quickly. The officers here were bored, frustrated, and low on coin, their ambitions stifled by the Unholy Alliance’s current emphasis on trade and stability rather than warfare and expansion. They craved battle, glorious raiding, not bureaucracy and patrols.
Entering the dimly lit tavern, Shade once again had disguised himself, this time as a mid-ranking officer from a distant legion. His eyes scanned the room until they fell on a small group of disillusioned captains huddled in the corner, muttering over their tankards. He approached their table, his presence looming but not interrupting the atmosphere.
The group eyed him warily, but Shade spoke before they could react. “I’ve heard talk,” he began, his voice calm but filled with intent. “talk of men who seek glory. Men who are tired of seeing their strength wasted on peacekeeping for merchants who grow fat from stacking papers.”
One of the captains, a grizzled veteran with a scar running across his cheek, narrowed his eyes. “And what do you know about glory, stranger?”
Shade smiled, his form subtly shifting to display insignias of far-off campaigns, showing just enough experience to capture their interest. “what I know? what I know is that the Unholy Alliance has grown complacent, fat even, gorging itself on profits off trade, but to what end? what is gained from petty luxurious imports that don up the merchants, the generals, the guildmasters. This luxury and false comfort is a rot, which has seeped into alliance and has turned it into nothing but a draugr, wandering on doing tasks without purpose. "
The officers looked on, somewhat in agreement, but wondering what point he would arrive at.
"I know of a time when the Darklands would decide the fate of the other lands, I know of a time where great battles were fought with real stakes, i know there are men like you who would rather see the battlefield than guard shipments for a meager pay, I know the frustration in your hearts, but I also know the cure to it, I know the reason you became what you became, and that this, no this life is not it."
The veteran leaned forward, intrigued but cautious. “Then what do you propose comrade?”
Shade leaned in closer, lowering his voice so that only the captains could hear. “There are pieces being moved within the Alliance, ready for a great revolution. But they need men like you—men who can lead armies and bring the fight to our enemies again. I can promise you something better than guard duty. There’s a storm brewing, and I’d hate for you to be on the wrong side of it, and miss all the fun and spoils.”
The captains exchanged glances, their expressions hardening with interest and eventually a smile with glee. The promise of battle and the potential for advancement tugged at their desires. They wanted more than the petty jobs the Alliance currently offered, and Shade had just lit the spark that could push them into action.
“But to ensure succes, they will need a few good officers,” Shade continued, “you can make this happen. You’ll have your glory. The question is—are you in for it?”
After a tense pause, the veteran grinned darkly. “We’re in.”
With a firm full arm handshake the veteran captain sealed the deal.
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In a smoke-filled den, named the totenwinkel, deep within the underbelly of Svartik. The Fixers’ Guild managed a small hosting here for all sorts of needs. Cutthroats, thieves, and assassins made their deals over dark corners, ready to take on any contract for the right price. Shade was well-known within the guild, but his recent absence had left many wondering about his bussiness.
As he entered, a group of his former colleagues glanced up, recognizing him immediately. Among them was Skǫrner, a seasoned assassin with quick hands and quicker wit. He stood, arms crossed, waiting for Shade to speak.
“You’ve been off the grid,” Skǫrner said, his tone casual but with an underlying edge. “What's the reason for disappearing, Shade.”
Shade smirked, taking a seat across from the assassin. “I’ve been busy—planning something bigger than just contracts. I’ve got a job for you and the others. A real score.”
The others leaned in, their interest piqued at the mention of coin. In the Fixers' Guild, money always spoke louder than loyalty.
“Go on then,” Skǫrner said, his mood changed though still arching an eyebrow.
Shade spread his hands, his voice cool and confident. “We’ve been wasting our talents running petty jobs, stealing for artisans and pawnshops, killing for merchants and other political rabble, and scraping by spying on one faction for another as the guilds barely pay us what we’re worth. I’m offering a bigger cut—more than any contract you’ve seen. There’s a shift coming, and the new Unholy Alliance is going to need more… independent contractors.”
The air fell silent, smoke was held in, Shade spread his hands, his voice cool and confident. “We’ve been wasting our talents running petty jobs, stealing for merchants and guilds who barely pay us what we’re worth. I’m offering a bigger cut—more than any contract you’ve seen. There’s a shift coming, and the Unholy Alliance is going to need more… independent contractors."
The air fell silent, smoke was held in for a second, as though everyone had to process what he just said.
“What kind of job?” a Fixer asked, twirling a dagger in her hand.
“lots of... changes in public positions, wealth transfers, a general shake up of the trade sector, and some jobs regarding external assets we can seize and control in the future. And trust me, there’ll be enough going on for all of us to make a fortune.”
Skǫrner leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with greed. “How do we know you’re not just stringing us along?”
Shade’s smirk deepened. “Because I know exactly what you want, Skǫrner. Coin. Something which I don't need, and I’m offering a hell of a lot more of it than anything you’ll get from a guild that sees you as expendable.”
The room went silent for a moment as the Fixers weighed their options. Skǫrner finally nodded. “I'm in. But ill gut you if I don't get my money.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Shade stood, his shadowy form once again blending into the dim light. “Pleasure doing Business as always.”
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Shade lingered in the Totenwinkel den for a while, savoring the smoky, dimly lit atmosphere as the adrenaline of sealing the deal with Skǫrner and the other Fixers began to wear off. He swirled the dark liquid in his tankard, his favorite drink Ashenroot liquor, leaning back satisfied. The gears of his plan were starting to move, and soon enough, the Unholy Alliance would feel the revolt he had engineered, but he wondered if he should recruit a few more forces, perhaps the Beastmasters would be up for it?
Just as he took another sip and started drifting away in thought, a figure approached his table. The air around the figure felt... off. Shade recognized the subtle aura of magic before he even saw the dark robes lined with runic warding spells, and the facepaint embalmed with hexes. The man was tall, gaunt, with pale skin and deep-set eyes that gleamed with an unnatural sharpness. His presence was understated, but the rune lined dark robes and facepaint marked him as one of the Umbral Society.
The messenger’s voice was calm and measured, his eyes never leaving Shade's. “The Master requests your presence.”
Shade looked up, his hollow eyes sinking onto him and setting his tankard down. “Does he now?”
The messenger didn’t flinch, in fact he didn't seem to have a will of his own at all, like he was undead. “He has... he requires a discussion. I was sent to bring you to him.”
Shade leaned back, his hollow eyes softening as he looks up. “And what’s in it for me?”
"I do not know, You are being summoned, I will bring you to him, it would be unwise to not do so” the messenger said, though politely, not leaving much room to negotiate.
The shift in tone caught Shade’s attention. It wasn’t often that anyone from the Umbral Society engaged with others to begin with, to then do so so pressingly was telling that a rejection would not be accepted. For this Mage to do so meant that this meeting wasn’t just a simple matter of exchanging information—it was important. Shade smirked and stood, his shadowy form drifting slightly as he moved toward the door.
“Lead the way.”
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The messenger led Shade out of the den, his silent form gliding through the winding alleyways of Svartik. The further they walked beyond the last torches and watchtowers of the port city’s perimeter, the thicker the air became, as though filled with choking magical energy. The swamp lands grew more and more restrictive with greenery.
The silence between the messenger and Shade was thick, but Shade could feel the unseen forces around him—spirits, perhaps, or the weight of centuries of magic that clung to the old stones and trees. They passed through several sections where large menhirs functioned as gates, each one guarded by figures dressed in dark robes marked with the eerie face paint of the Umbral Society. None spoke as Shade and the messenger moved past.
Eventually, they arrived at a tall, ancient structure. The building was covered in thick ivy, its stonework cracked and weathered by time, but it exuded a palpable aura of power. The massive stone slab door, covered in arcane symbols, opened silently at the messenger’s touch, and they stepped inside.
The chamber within was bathed in a cold blue light, the air thick with the scent of incense and something darker—like the smell of damp earth freshly turned for graves. Strange artifacts lined the walls, shimmering faintly as if half tethered to this world and half to another. Shade glanced at them but could not understand much of the relics, which seemed to be from forgotten ages and many infused with some strange magic.
At the far end of the room, standing by an altar surrounded by glowing runes, was Vaidvėlis. His tall figure, draped in flowing robes embroidered with intricate symbols, appeared to pulse with energy. His long, silver hair hung loosely over his shoulders, and his pale face, set with sharp white eyes, turned toward Shade the moment he entered.
“Shade, is it?” Vaidvėlis greeted, his voice low yet echoing unnaturally through the chamber, as if carried on the breath of something ancient. “You’ve taken steps that have stirred the currents of power within the Alliance. And I sense all currents.”
Shade stopped a few paces away from the altar, his eyes locked onto the old mage's piercing gaze. “So you’ve been watching, but for what? I take it this isn’t just a social call from a lonely old man.”
Vaidvėlis tilted his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. “You understand then. I have little interest in the petty and pathetic politics of the Unholy Alliance, but I do care about what your actions will create—a disruption, a fracture in the fabric of the current order. And within that fracture, there will be opportunities. Opportunities that men like you and I are uniquely suited to take advantage of.”
Shade smirked. “So, you are at the very least not here to be an enemy. Then what do you propose for the both of us?”
The old mage's eyes gleamed, reflecting the ghostly blue light that filled the chamber. He stepped closer, the runes on the floor flaring briefly as his presence intensified. “I am offering a partnership. You wish to break the stagnant order of the Alliance, to sow chaos and seize control. I seek something different but methodologically similar. My actual goals lie beyond mere political power, but it appears I do require some help from the political to achieve them.”
He gestured toward a large, weathered map spread across a stone table beside him. Strange symbols marked various locations across the Darklands and the Western Wildlands. “Look here. There are relics, artifacts of immense potential, buried in lands forgotten or sealed away. The old Alliance didn’t care for them and ignored my pleas. Although I have been successful in obtaining most from the Darklands on my own, my efforts in the Wildlands have been entirely unsuccessful. But if there were, let’s say, a change in the politics of the Darklands regarding these territories, then these treasures could become accessible to me.” He stated with suggestive happiness.
Shade approached the stone table, his eyes scanning the symbols etched into the map. He could feel the weight of ancient magic radiating from it, like a whisper from the past beckoning him. “And what exactly are you offering me in return for this... partnership?”
Vaidvėlis stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, though it carried with it a dark intensity. “Power, beyond what some militants and cutthroats could offer you—an army of loyal, unquestioning magicians armed with arcane powers that this world does not yet know of. Together, we can shape the future of the Darklands, and in doing so, you will have control over the creative chaos you unleash. You’ll have more than just an army of disillusioned soldiers and cutthroats at your back to pillage petty settlements—you’ll have the forces of the arcane at your command to conquer vast territories and perhaps establish an empire.”
Shade’s eyes flicked up, meeting Vaidvėlis’s gaze. The mage wasn’t offering him a mere alliance—he was offering a way to secure his place at the head of a coming storm that could envelop this world. To be more than just a catalyst for destruction and change, but to shape it into the exact form he wanted. He could feel the weight of the offer settling over him, but his experienced roguish mind remained skeptical, as always.
“And what is the poison in this drink?” Shade asked, his tone still light, but his gaze sharp.
Vaidvėlis’s smile returned, cold and knowing. “Only that we both succeed. You ensure the chaos and the places to strike, and I ensure the means to control it and shape it. And when the dust settles, the Unholy Alliance will be reborn—not as the petty entity it has become, but as something stronger. A new order, one that can fulfill my needs and yours as well.”
Shade held his gaze for a long moment, weighing his options. Vaidvėlis was powerful, that much was clear. And his ambitions, while lofty, aligned closely with Shade’s own desires to reshape the Darklands. But even as he considered the offer, Shade knew that in the end, he would have to ensure that he remained in control.
Finally, he nodded. “You’ve got my attention, Mage. Tell me with whom I'm partnering up then.”
Vaidvėlis’s smile widened, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his features. “Good. Vaidvėlis the Spiritmancer is the name. There will be much to do, and soon. For now, prepare yourself, and I will be waiting to aid you. Trust that I will come.”
Shade turned to leave, the weight of the Spiritmancer’s words heavy in his mind. He knew he had just made a dangerous pact, but he also knew that the game had just truly started.