Prologue

Guild Hall of the Steel Brotherhood, The realm of Eon

Varyon Risen, apprentice guardian of the steel brotherhood guild stood alone against the approaching shadows. At his back were the guild’s last remaining survivors... a smith, a tailor, an aspiring runecrafter and an alchemist weary with age. Each of them were guild members by trade, though none were fit for combat... well, none except him, and he was but a lowly apprentice.

Their odds were not good.

Varyon steadied himself in the doorway of the storage hall where they’d hidden, fists raised in a fighting pose. He silently cursed himself, wishing he’d foregone hand to hand combat and begun his weapon training earlier. Now all of the weaponmasters were dead and he only had his own martial skill to rely on, to fend off the approaching assassins in black.

“Young Varyon, please... leave us to our fate,” the old alchemist said, his voice soft and frail. “There is no reason for you to throw your life away.”

“Enough of that talk,” Varyon snapped back, his long black hair flying into his face with the turn of his head. “I will not leave you to die. You are all that remains of the steel brotherhood. I will not abandon-“

Suddenly, Varyon’s words were cut short by a pair of footsteps outside the door. Everyone in the room collectively held their breath, praying to Bahamut that the intruders would move on, that they would ignore the simple wooden door at the end of the storage hall. If they perished, then there would be no one left to account for the massacre of their guild.

Silence lingered in the air like an ominous force, as if it were a prelude to the danger that awaited behind the door. It took Varyon a moment to realize that he hadn’t resumed breathing, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.

Suddenly, a blast of dark energy tore through the door, leaving splinters scattered of wood about Varyon’s feet. The others screamed and clutched at one another, but the apprentice guardian stood firm, fighting off the wave of fear that had begun to creep into his soul.

In the doorway emerged two figures clad entirely in black, splatters of blood strewn across their tunics and thin silver blades held tightly in their hands. The intruders carefully entered the room, torchlight gleaming off their weapons.

“Leave them alone,” Varyon pleaded, his body shaking inside his thin suit of mail. “They’re innocent!”

“Ah, but your guild elders were not...” one of the men replied, his voice cryptic.

“Must the entire guild pay for their mistakes?” Varyon replied, his voice cracking as he spoke. He thought it ridiculous that so many should have to pay for the mistakes of the few, mistakes that he wasn’t even fully aware of.

One of the assassins chuckled. “After you take your last breath... there will be no guild.”

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Without hesitation, the man in black lunged forward, thrusting his blade at Varyon’s heart. Varyon’s instincts kicked in and he sidestepped the blow before lunging in himself, latching his hands onto his attacker’s wrist before launching a headbutt into the man’s face. As the man recoiled, Varyon ripped the blade out of his attacker’s hand and held it high, falling into a defensive posture.

The other assassin let out a laugh. “Well done, little one... well done. Finally, someone in this guild is showing a little heart. Pity that it’s too little, too late.”

Black energy began to envelop the assassin as he spoke, covering him in a thin, translucent cloak of darkness... his spirit aura. He looked less like a human now and more like a beast born of shadow.

Suddenly, the second assassin began his assault, striking out with his blade at an angle. Varyon stepped forth to parry, but the man’s enhanced strike proved far too powerful to defend. Blades clashed and the assassin’s weapon forced itself past Varyon’s defenses before piercing his armor and plunging directly into his chest.

“N-no,” Varyon choked out as blood began to pool in the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t die... not like this. His final breath would not only be his own but that of the guilds... a brotherhood that had existed for centuries!

“I’m afraid so, little one,” the assassin replied, quietly watching Varyon writhe on the end of his blade. His spirit aura began to fade, barely visible as tiny tendrils of shadow danced across his arms.

Feeling a sudden surge of rage, Varyon forced himself farther onto the sword and jabbed his stolen blade forward, piercing his killer’s eye with its tip. He knew it was a hopeless effort, but if he was going to die then dammit, he’d die fighting!

The assassin roared in pain before withdrawing his weapon and slashing Varyon across the face, sniffing out the last bit of life that remained in the young apprentice. Nursing his injury, the man spat in the young guardian’s direction, content with letting the fool bleed out on the floor. Varyon writhed and convulsed on the floor, but death came for him rather quickly… perhaps an act of mercy from the gods. For in his cold dead eyes reflected a sight that would’ve broken him... the sight of his comrades cowering as the assassin raised his blade and unleashed his wrath.

****

Moments later, the pair of assassins stood at the center of the old storage hall, the air thick with the stench of death. Bodies and blood lay strewn about the floor, the final victims of the once mighty steel brotherhood... a guild that was no more.

As the assassins gathered their tools and wiped them clean, a third figure entered the room. He moved silently as he made his way to the assassins, his boots gliding above the blood and carnage that lay littered about. This newcomer towered over the others with a commanding presence, his very aura permeating the air with fear. Dressed in robes darker than night, he surveyed the carnage behind the guise of his hood with eyes that swirled like living shadow.

“It is done then?” the man said, his voice commanding and deep.

Both assassins quickly dropped to a knee as one of them uttered, “Yes, my lord.

“Though not without a cost, it seems,” the man continued. A pale hand emerged from the his hood and caressed the assassin’s heavily damaged eye.

“It is... nothing,” the assassin replied, dipping his head shamefully. However, the hooded man appeared quite interested.

“Who did this to you?”

With remorse,, the assassin pointed to the corpse of Varyon Risen. “That one, my lord. He proved to have a bit more... fight in him than the others.”

Slowly and methodically the hooded man approached Varyon’s corpse, his shadowy eyes inspecting the body with morbid curiosity. A flicker of dark energy emerged from the man’s hand as leaned down, placing a hand on Varyon’s chest. After several seconds of deliberation, he finally uttered “Take this one,” a vile grin forming beneath the guise of his hood. “And ensure his body isn’t harmed any further.”

One of the assassins grew brave enough to give him a curious look. “Shall we see this corpse to the necromancer, my lord?”

“No,” he calmly replied. “Take his body to my chambers... I believe he will serve as a perfect candidate… for the undying wraith.”