Ok, so book 2 of Dan's Shoppe is now out, it took forever to get out due to me moving and not having access to my pc, so sorry for the wait. but here it is, also thanks in advance for any purchases, they help me out a great deal the link is in the author's note above.

thanks again for the read.

Markious

Also since they cant decide if they want to make it so that chapters must be 500 words long or not(Seeing as about half the time I post something like this it gives me that error and the other half not so much) imma give you a little preview of an upcoming novel to pad out the word content.

So here, have the first chapter of Farseer, which as it stands is over 5,000 words long.

enjoy.

[https://i.imgur.com/rRJCEBK.jpg]

CHAPTER 1

Each step sucked at the black ironclad boots as he walked along the side of the road leading towards god knows what forgotten hamlet lay in this direction. The direction didn't matter, not even the destination, the only thing that mattered was the continuous movement, the tradition of momentum that continued to move him even as he felt his legs burn. Light rain fell, covering the robes and black iron armor. Crimson robes swirled about him in the wind, creating a light dusting that clung onto his shoulder and melted with his body heat, running down his back and freezing once again, creating silver rivulets of water that froze in time as they ran down him.

Each step sucked at the ironclad boots, a desperate attempt to stop his momentum, and one that had no chance of overwhelming him, not now and not ever. Each swing of his arms brought forth a clatter as the loose plates of black iron and leather ran from his elbow to his fingertips swung, clattering against each other. A finger of the wind blew the red cowl he had covering his head off of his face, revealing the stoic face of a man in his mid twenties, his red hair and beard streaked with white, a feature that would be strange on a man in his twenties, or rather a feature that would be strange on any man at the age of twenty that was normal.

This man, he was not normal, everything about him said this was the truth, from his sharp blue eyes to the scar that carved his face from scalp to chin on the right side of his face. The two swords that were strapped to his hip, the dagger at the small of his back, the robes that swirled about him, and the look on his face, or rather the lack of a look on his face.

It was blank, as all men like his were, it had lead to many stories, some good and useful, others bad and worthless and a whole mess in between that fit neither of these categories, for better or worse.

The swords were not the only thing bouncing at his hip, there was also a strange black helm, full faced and angled down into a sharp beak like protrusion, like that of a raven. It was one of the defining features that marked him as part of the company of the raven, though that was not what the common people called his order.

Carrion crows.

That was the name whispered by people outside his order when they saw him and his ilk and thought they couldn't hear them. They could, but paid the commons no heed, they were below heeding.

The name however was not inaccurate, they were often found near battlefields, and it was likely as not they would be drenched in the gore of war.

No one ever said it to their faces.

The countryside passed by slowly as he methodically trod along, snowy forest slightly giving way as he neared the town. The people here were simple, woodcutters, farmers, ranchers, but that was not the reason a town had sprung up here, the reason for this was because a lord or lady had built their home here.

If it could even be called a house however was up for debate.

The household of this person of noble heritage was more like a keep than a house, sitting atop the highest hill in the vicinity, it was surrounded by four high stone walls that crested at around 25 feet. The entire outer wall structure running almost 40 lance lengths on each side, and the stone keep in the center standing proudly over that, boasting a not so modest 50 plus rooms for people of royal personage, and stained glass windows that made the churches of most towns weep at the unfairness of it all.

It even had an iron portcullis.

Though, no moat, seeing as it was perched atop such a high hill there was no practical need for it.

Above this portcullis flew a flag that fluttered in the wind of the high walls. He had no idea what color they flew, not from the distance but because he couldn't see the colors. And that was neither because he was colorblind or anything else.

Or at least not a normal type of colorblind.

Most colorblind men would still see some color, but for him the entire world was black white and grey, with the exception of two colors.

Brown and blue.

The only two he had left.

Once he had been able to see each and every color, each and every shade of each and every color, but it was the cost of his art. And now he had only two colors left, and when those both went as he was sure was going to happen, he would be left with no colors, and then no light, or no dark, he really didn't know which would go first, or last rather, it was different for each practitioner of the art.

But it was a part of him, it had been a part of who he was and after all these years, he had come to terms with his lot in life, all there was to it was to see as much of the world he could before all his colors were lost, before all his light was taken from his eyes.

Before the darkness was his world.

As he walked into the town he felt each and every eye on him, and though he knew they were no threat he marked them all in his mind, assessing how to put them down as quickly as possible. It was an old habit, one that had served him well for all of his adult life and a majority of his youth, and it was not one that he would let go of.

He heard the murmur, feeling glad at it, even as he felt berated at it. So long as they were talking about him they wouldn't be attacking him. The time to truly be worried was when they stopped talking about him, that was when he had to be on guard. They whispered in hushed tones about him, remarking at the armor and robes he wore, the swords strapped to his waist, and the impassive look on his face.

Mage.

That was the word they used. It really wasn't true, mages used their own spirits and skills to achieve magic. And he was not a sorcerer, they used other means, harnessing the energy from life.

He was a warlock, more specifically he was a seer, one of the rarest order of the magi that used his arcane arts to see the future.

He was a farseer.

But neither he nor any other farseer could control their powers, the farsight came and went as it pleased, and only revealed what it wanted when it wanted, often revealing scenes out of context, and confused by chance and circumstances. And every time it came it took with it something.

The price of such sight was sight itself.

As a farseer warlock his ability to cast spells was greatly diminished, meaning his magic ability didn't leave a small radius of his body, this in itself was a great limiting factor to what spells he could use without self harm.

Hence the swords.

It no longer bothered him, in fact not much bothered him, as he walked down the muddy road he angled up to the wooden platform that formed a sidewalk people quickly fled out of his way, avoiding his eyes, as if they were worried he might enthrall their minds just by looking him in the eyes. That didn't matter either, it used to, but it didn't any longer.

Not much mattered.

Blue and brown.

His last colors.

He made his way through the parting mobs, aware dimly that as soon as he passed through an area the crowd would close again behind him, it would seem as though the entire town had come down to see him. Oh well, these people didn't get much in the way of excitement he supposed.

He turned, ushing open an inn’s door, leaving behind his new trailing honor guard in the street as he entered. A barmaid rushed up to him and started to speak. “Welcome si-” the words choked and died in her throat as she took the man standing in front of her in, her mind catching up with her mouth that had by reflex started to speak. She was a pretty woman, in her early thirties and with only a few lines near her eyes, the start of the crow’s feet that would at one day overtake her face.

But not today.

“Table, food, bed for the night, how much?” he asked, his voice gruff even to his own ears, this was what, the third time he had spoken in the last month? No wonder the sound was gruff, anyone's would be after that length of disuse.

“A-acc,” the barmaid swallowed, and took a deep breath before trying again. “Accompanied or alone m'lord.” Ah, so not just a barmaid then. He looked at her, his face still an impassive mask.

“Alone.” he said, and watched as the relief flashed visibly across his eyes.

“V-very good sir, the cost will be fifteen copper Tarns sir.” she said, and without another word he fished a small leather bag he had tucked somewhere in his armored robe and counted out the coin, and dropped them into the woman’s palm, who was taking great care not to touch him, even through his armored gloves. She lead him to a small booth at the back of the inn away from the rest of the customers, and quickly returned with a mug that was filled with a warm beer, well, it wasn't warm so much as lukewarm. The food that came with it was simple but good, consisting of roast chicken, bread, boiled eggs and cheeses. Pulling off his gloves he looked at the scars on his palms swirling complex patterns with pink flesh like they had been freshly opened, the people called them the Demon’s touch.

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He ate with a slow deleteriousness, avoiding meeting the gaze of the patrons and the proprietor and employees of this establishment. A younger barmaid idled over nervously and replaced his tankard of beer and offered him a weak little smile, there was curiosity and a slight hint of seductiveness in that smile, he looked over at her and was about to smile back when she recoiled at the sight of his face, or rather the sight of the massive scar that gouged a trench in his face. She quickly excused herself and left. He sighed and went back to drinking his beer.

‘Poor poor Kazzilar, poor poor Kazz, scaring away all the blushing maidens with your war scars.’ a voice echoed in his head, it was that of a husky seductress, one who often seemed both like an older sister and a temptress to him at different times.

The voice of the demon in his head.

Every person who could cast magic was in contact with demons one way or another. Mages bound souls and spirits and lesser demons to their wills, sorcerers traded items in set contracts with them, and Warlocks like himself, well they allowed the demon to take up residence in their body, essentially allowing the demon to remain in this world for far longer than they naturally could and allowing them to interact with people through him and to see things they would have never experienced before, in exchange for allowing the human host to use the demon’s powers.

This demon and human had been working together for the last 10 years, since he was a young boy stricken by grief and anger at the unjust loss of his parents. He felt the rage rising, still cold in his belly even after all these years and- he shook his head a gulped down another drink of the lukewarm beer, banishing those memories from his head.

‘What do you care,’ he thought, knowing his thoughts would be heard by the demoness. ‘You are a female, I thought you liked men anyway.’ The voice in his head laughed.

‘Are you saying you would become ho-’

‘No,’ he thought in a stern voice but was only replied by frantic laughter that echoed in his head.

‘Dear sweet Kazz,’ her voice said, shifting from the seductress to the elder sister. ‘I have finished my end of the bargain, as have you. When you contracted me it was to kill the man that murdered your family and to get revenge for your lost life and parents, I have done this have I not?’

‘Yes,’ he answered.

‘My contract is complete, but I find myself reluctant to leave, I feel I still have a duty to do, even if it was not expressed in our contract.’ If other warlocks knew about the fact that his contract was up and the demon was still possessing him they would kill him in an instant, as a non contracted demon could do anything to the host, and through the host wreak untold havoc on the world.

‘There is nothing more I require,’ he said, and that was true, though he found himself not wanting her to go, she had been there through every moment of the past ten years, unwaveringly loyal, though whether that was due to the contract or her own volition he didn't know.

‘But there is more you require, you lost your parents when you were thirteen Kazz. They would have raised you into being a fine young man I have no doubt, but they were not there, so it fell to me. I did my best but I am not human, there are things I do not know, things I wish to tell you but do not know how to broach the subject. You being twenty three and unwed is the biggest failure of mine, one I intend to rectify before I leave.’

He snorted, and looked around the room, everyone was eyeing him warily and was well away from him. ‘You do realise you are part of the reason that is so correct?’

‘No I am not.’

‘No one will approach me because of my being a warlock, it frightens them, and those brave enough to approach take one look at this ugly mug and run away.’

‘You are not ugly.’ she said, her voice growing hard.

‘Oh then why oh great demoness in my head does every maiden blanch and run at the sight of my face?’ he asked, his thoughts adopting a sneer even in his own head.

‘Your face is beautiful, from your eyes to your hair to your lips and even that scar that runs down it, you are a handsome man, those that run away simply are not brave enough to see past the scar, not wise enough.’

‘Krissa was-’ he started but her sharp hiss cut him off.

‘That wench didn't care for you, she simply wanted a warlock for her court so she could show you off to the rest of her little ladies and lords, you would be a plaything. There was no love there, trust me.‘ Kazz didn't argue, there was no point, they had this debate a hundred or a thousand times over, and it never changed. ‘I will find you a good wi-’ she stopped talking, the world growing dark and the people moving about slowing to a crawl.

The interior of the room he was in faded away, and in a burst of colors, colors he had not seen in years a vision lay out before him.

In front of him was a beautiful woman, her looks placed her in her late teens or early twenties, with layered golden brown hair atop her head in a traditional royal style of high court dress. Her face was small and tender, still that of a maiden’s but her form was that of a woman that had just recently grown into her figure, all curves and lines that caught both the light and the eye. She opened her eyes, and looked at him, smiling and looking at him through those long lashes that barred her beautiful sapphire eyes. As she smiled her cheeks creased into dimples, each of which fascinated him.

She reached her hand out for him, her forearm garbed in a lace glove that matched the rest of her white and yellow dress, which swirled around her like it had a mind of its own. Without knowing why he also reached for her, but he couldn't quite make it, straining with all his might, in an ungodly effort he pushed himself forward and clasped her hand. He watched as her smile deepened, and behind her events played out, many were confused, others clear, there was a wedding, there was running.

One in particular stood out more than others however, he focused on it, he was crouched over her, hands on either side of her head, and blood dripping down onto her dress, she looked at him in shock and horror, unable to move as he lay there, barely able to hold himself up on his hands and knees to shield her, she shook her head and a single tear tracked down her face, she mouthed four words, unable to say them.

No, please don't go…

He smiled at her, blood leaking from between his teeth and then everything went black.

As it did the vision faded, and he found himself back at the inn.

He looked down at the table, and watched as the color drained from the wood, removing the brown from the world, leaving him in a cold grey world where only blue shone. The brown seeped out, like it was being slowly poured down a drain, rushing out of sight. Looking around he noticed patches of blue that he didn't remember being there before, so bright, so clear, highlighted so much in the monotony of this world.

His last color.

‘Well then.’ He sighed, and there was a several moment gap of silence. ‘Well then Lilim, seems like you have your work cut out for you, it would seem that I am destined to marry royalty.’

‘So it would seem.’ Lilim said back, neither of them mentioned the death at the end of the vision, it was not worth mentioning, after all they had lived with death as a constant companion for over ten years now. ‘This, this will take some doing, you will require much refinement...’ He nodded with a rueful smile and stood up, waving for one of the server girls to show him to his room. Once there he made a spell that killed all the bugs in the bed, and plopped down into the thin straw mattress, and as soon as his head hit the pillow he felt a tugging on his consciousness.

‘Not tonight Lily,’ he muttered, calling her by her pet name, a name that she had at first scoffed at but then had taken a liking to.

‘Yes tonight,’ she said, back in her seductive tones, ‘consider it a bachelor party, who knows how many more times I will get to do this before you're all married and what not...’ he thought of resisting her, but he knew it was a futile effort. With a sigh he allowed her to pull him down into himself, his mind being pulled into the deepest part of his being.

He found himself standing before a beautiful woman with red hair and eyes, and blood red lips to match. Her back sprouted two black raven wings, and she wore absolutely nothing except a thin red ribbon that cascaded down her figure, hugging all the right curves as it wove itself around her.

The twin mounds on her chest were of a perfect size and shape, capped with blood red nipples that stood out against her porcelain skin. How long had it been since he had seen the color red?

At least four years, if one didn't count things like this, where in his mind he could see any and every color. The loss of red had made the killing seem distant, not real anymore without the vivid paint of life that should flow through every living creature.

She sauntered over to him, her impossibly wide hips swaying back and forth with a hypnotizing rhythm. And with a single hand she pushed him back into a lying position. With a dark smile across her blood red lips she slipped him inside of her.

Perhaps Lily was the wrong name for her, it seemed too gentle, too unaggressive, not passionate enough. And Lily was all of those things to a fault. As she slid home and a pleased vacant expression passed over her face, he remembered the first time she had done this, he had been what, fourteen at the time?

Awkward could not even begin to describe how he had been.

She had to lead him, guide him, tell him exactly what to do, and he had finished up much too quickly, the memory brought a smile to his face and as his eyes refocused he found Lily was smiling as well.

“You have indeed grown since then, in more ways than one, I remember when you almost begged me to be dragged down here at any spare moment you got.” She smiled, starting to move her hips, rising and falling in a complex pattern of short movements and long ones that stressed him in all the right places and ways.

“I am a lot wiser now, I know that if I were to indulge in my wishes and wants neither of us would leave here until we both faded away into the next world.” He said, placing his hands on her hips, sliding them down the familiar curves to her thighs.

“Indeed,” she said huskily as she leaned forward, her perfect breasts swaying above his head, the white flesh and dark red nipples. “Soon you will be married and we will not be able to be as such, I plan on spending as much time here without having us wither away as possible before that,” she purred, and as he reached for her chest arched her back pulling away from him, so he couldn't reach her though she was still moving.

“I don't want you to leave,” he blurted out, and she froze in place for a moment, before laughing and returning to her motions.

“That my dear is just the sex talking,” she said, with a laugh that sounded a little melancholy.

“No I-” he started but she placed a finger on his lips and shushed him softly.

“We will discuss this latter, but not now, please.” she added pleadingly to him, he simply nodded and moved his hands from his position on her hips to around behind her to her rear. She started to move more aggressively, a hungry look in her eyes. As she did he slipped his hand lower until he found what he was seeking. With a single finger he plunged deep into her other entrance. She squeaked and stopped moving, frozen entirely in place and her lower lips tightened around him almost painfully. He didn't allow her to recuperate from the surprise attack, he quickly started moving his hips, driving himself in and out of her, with an aggression that drove all the thought out of her head and left behind only a panting animalistic lust. As he thrust he felt her tremble, and hooked another finger into her, this time causing her to scream and collapse against his chest, not able to sit up straight anymore, as he attempted to see if two objects could occupy the same space.

The two of them reached the same conclusion at the same time, each panting and dazed for a while. That was until she sat up and looked at him reproachfully. “I told you I don't want things in there,” she said crossly. He for his part smiled triumphantly, it had been years since he had last held the upper hand in such situations against her.

“That was a most interesting reaction, we will have to explore that more...” he laughed.

“As if, now if you would remove your fingers from my backside before I rip them off,” she said with a slightly serious growl. He complied, and allowed her to do as she pleased for the rest of the night, content with his small victory.

The sun rose and with it Kazz opened his eyes, feeling like he had no more than a minute of sleep, and that might have been the truth, he had no way of knowing. Fighting the urge to fall back into bed he pulled on the heavy ironclad boots and gauntlets and after belting his items back onto his waist walked down the creaking stairs to the entrance, nodding to the innkeeper that was at this moment pointedly avoiding his gaze. He walked out the door feeling the brisk spring air on his face, still tinged with the cold snow that had fallen, the air stung against him, and he smiled besides himself, looking around the town now that the light of the day was illuminating it, not casting it into shadows. The ruts and footprints of the day before in the mud that was this town’s road had frozen, leaving perilous miniature mountain ridges that would fade as the sun rose and heated their brown caps.

No not brown.

He looked at them, and noticed like everything else it had no color, it was a simple grey now. The only color that he could see was the blue, and perhaps it was the lack of other colors, or perhaps it was just the way the color was, and he had never noticed it, the blue sang with a beautiful hymn of color, resonating with every string and chord of his body. As he stood there he felt a tug on his armored robes looking back after tearing his eyes off of the sky and its beautiful blue he looked back to see a small girl tugging on him, she looked somewhat timid, passersby watched in horror as he turned to regard the girl and froze, not knowing what to do in this situation.

She was a small country girl, one of the many that ran around a town like this, and she looked to be around 8 to 10 years old, she smiled up at him, revealing white teeth, something only youth could have, and spoke to him, as though he was no more scary than a stray dog that had lopped into the town.

“Hey mister everyone says you can do magic is that true? Older sister says there is no such thing as magic, but I don't believe her, what does she know?” he looked at the little girl, and smiled. He held up one finger, a universal signal for the other party to wait. And he pulled off his armored gloves, revealing the skin to the cold of the environment. He cupped one palm like a cylinder and then placed the other over the top of it like a lid, covering the thumb and forefinger, concentrating he started a spell that he had learned many many years ago, it was called blood glass and was designed to make last defence weapons to save a life, but to get good enough at it you had to be able to craft it finely and quickly so as a youth he had practiced it to a fault.

Focusing he closed his eyes, allowing the blood to weep out of the scars on his palm and he shaped it, compressing it and willing it to become something else, slowly it took the shape of what he wanted and soon he had cupped in his hand a small rose flower made from the blood glass, and quickly a stem followed, he pulled his hand away and in that hand was a rose and stem that was a foot long, and covered in blood, he grabbed his flask and ran the cold water over the bloody rose and revealed a shining crystalline rose, made from a slightly reddish glass, bowing on one knee he presented the flower to the girl, who took it with reverent eyes and bounced with joy. “Ha! This will prove that stuck up cow that magic exists.” Smiling he turned her around and gave her a pat on the small of her back to send her along, off she scampered, taking her new prize to no doubt show her sister and friends.

“A good show,” a woman’s voice said behind him. Kazz didn't look up to see who it was, he simply went on with washing the blood off of his hands and replacing the gauntlets about his hands and forearms. Then and only then did he turn around to see who was speaking.

A woman wearing a mechanist’s garb which consisted of leathers and denims dyed tan or brown, Kazz could not tell anymore. Mechanists were not the most friendly he had found, they created all kinds of contraptions from mechanist’s lights to strange weapons that were like crossbows but without the actual bow part, Kazz had never had a chance to figure out how those weapons threw their projectiles, which were small rounded balls that penetrated even hardened steel, let alone his black iron cuirass.

Worst of all however was the fact that they did not believe in magic, and they were teaching anyone that would listen that it was all fake, and that anyone casting magic was a fraud. Hence the hatred and disgust when she had called his magic a “Nice show.”

“How can I help you lady mechanic?” he asked, with a courteous half bow to her. The woman was quite attractive, with shoulder length hair pulled back unceremoniously, and piercing eyes of the darkest deepest blue he had ever seen. She was also flanked by three royal knights in full plate steel.

It was the woman from his vision, she was not wearing the royal gowns, or had her hair in the flowing ringlets but he was sure, there was no way to mistake those eyes. The question now was why was she here acting like a Mechanist?

“You are summoned to the Ducal castle, there are those that would like to speak with you,” she spat at him, and then added ”Though I do not know why, I have told them many times magicians are frauds,” in a much lower voice, but not low enough for him to not hear it.

Perhaps that was her intent.

Interesting, very interesting, this was the first time he was meeting his future wife, and she was pretending to be someone else, or perhaps the other her, the royal her was the fraud. Kazz took a deep breath, closing his eyes to calm himself as he swallowed his pride and then opened them to look at the mechanist who was staring at him with open revulsion.

“It would be my honor Lady Mechanist,” he said, he smiled as he bowed in a courtly manner.