Christoph was a bit annoyed that the armory and treasury of the king’s special horde were kept at the room he’s first stumbled into—a room not near his actual study space. It seemed he had a bedroom across the corridor from that treasury, but Christoph had little need for it. He had simply tiptoed through the door to check inside and found nothing special besides spectacular paintings, woven banners and drapes, and a fine mattress upon a carved, wooden frame. The blankets and pillows on this bed were like dropping into a field of grass that lifted you up on the breeze.

Christoph only snuck in for a few moments, believing he’d get in trouble if they saw him, and poked around a bit. He’d fallen on the bed to test it. Never before had he considered that not needing to sleep would be an awful thing. Now that he rested on this bed, he wished his eyes would close and his mind would shut down. That; however, wasn’t going to happen. He could slow the mind and relax, which is what he did. That was all he could do. No dreams would come to him. At least, he had a dark, quiet place to spread out on such a blessed comfort.

His body sprawled out over the blankets. He lifted one hand to watch the claw open and close. Am I going to be able to handle this? They can’t be allowed to run wild in these parts. The empire would be overrun. He compared his duties as king to that of a warden. If they all spread out, lots of villages will be in trouble. I need to check on my parents. The claw opened wide over him.

“My parents!” His booming voice carried throughout the silent abode.

It was an enormous room within The Spire. Fine rugs, tables, dishes, paintings, and all the accoutrements of a spoiled ruler filled the space. There was even a mixture of scents like fruits and spices. Christoph tried to ignore the perfumes and the splendor as he thought back to his family.

“What will they think? I can’t just tell them I’m… I’m…” he rolled over and exhaled with a growl. “What should I do? I have to at least check in on them.”

Set to that task, he finished his momentary rest and moved toward the treasury. One thing got to Christoph about this area of The Spire. There were always two goblins waiting outside whatever door he was currently in; sometimes another creature would substitute for one goblin. They never disturbed him, unless he requested it, but he felt it was rather suffocating as he went about his already nerve-wracking situation.

He used his “Identify” spell a number of times to find something that wasn’t magical or possibly deadly. I can’t go and give them gold if it’s cursed, can I? He tried his best not to make a lot of noise while the goblins were just outside the room. There was plenty of space in this chamber, but he felt it was better to hide his intentions.

“What is this?” He found a number of small circlets carelessly tossed across a round table in the corner. Glancing over four of them, he found none of them to be magically imbued or dangerous. “Some jewelry would be nice. I could even give mom one that she wouldn’t need to sell!” He giggled to himself as he thought of giving his commoner mother a piece of jewelry that even princesses would fight for.

The moment he began to remove these items from the table and place them in a small pouch at his side, there was a flaring of anger in him. His claws felt as if they were frozen solid; the motion of removing something from the horde… it was infuriating.

“No.” He began to take his shaking claws out of the pouch and place them back on the table. “No. I don’t want them.” He fought through the mental anguish; a dragon’s obsession against a man’s will.

One claw flashed to his side, dropped the circlets in, and strapped the pouch shut.

He stood still and exhaled for some time. It wasn’t the idea of removing them. He’d even wanted to embrace them. Since entering the room, the sparkling metals and fascinating trinkets called to him. It was a need to hold and be held by the valuables of the world. He’d believed it just his own greed—ignorant to his own corruptions.

“I just need a few things to,” it almost hurt to say, “give them.” With only a few items in the pouch, some extra gold coins, and one smaller statue made of something shiny, he packed the dragonkin’s avarice behind a mental wall. The desire to provide outweighed the desire to bask.

There were a few weapons next to him he couldn’t help but fancy an outing with. “What do you do?” Utilizing “Identify” on the three items on this one particular rack, he found them to be named (from left to right) West Wind’s Whisper, Drowning Star, and The Simmering Claymore. Bit lackluster on the last one, he thought as he considered their forms and properties.

West Wind’s Whisper is a katana like blade that breathes softly as it’s moved. Carving the space around it, the speed of the blade is increased. The wielder would be able to slash at a much faster pace than with a normal sword of its likeness. A white, wrapped handle stood up from a silvery sheath. A white cord was tied around the protective tube so the user could secure it to their side.

Drowning Star was a large mace that stood naked beside it. A deep black and blue spiraled up the shaft of the metal before the blues and blacks separated into six different, curved edges. These oddly shaped pieces each rose to arch downward, then curved inward to end in an outward tip that stabbed upward. It was a pattern of the black and blues jutting out like sharpened, spikey waves. The enchantment read of the ocean’s might that coursed through it. Every hit of the weapon produces a small wave that follows its momentum. Splashing water over the enemy, drenching their armor and clothes, or possibly drowning them if used properly… this weapon carried the weight of the waves with every blow.

The Simmering Claymore was an exceptionally long blade that rested with the point driven into a small slot on the bottom of the rack. The handle was black metal with brown leather wrapped around it. The hilt was carved upward on either side into a claw-like form. Near the base of the blade were two smaller blades that stuck out to either side. They’d been formed in the metal for defense and maybe a bit of sadism when attacking—these blades were serrated on the bottom with the teeth sticking in different directions.

This blade in particular gripped Christoph’s attention. The others were powerful when used properly—skilled hands make for a far more dangerous weapon. This one; however, was dangerous even for the wielder. Just as with magic, an enchantment could backlash should the user use it incorrectly or, in some rarer cases, not be worthy of an item.

This was one such blade. The fire it contained wasn’t one that would burst outward upon striking the opponent or defending against their attacks. Metal heated itself to an extreme temperature. As though it were a brightly shining stick of lava, the blade would burn what it carved. It used a great amount of energy to remain intact and still melt whatever it might touch. Steel, iron, wood… each would fall victim to the blade if the user could control the heat.

Some would even turn the red light to white, and the metal would be an unstoppable inferno held in one man’s hands. Christoph looked over this relatively normal looking blade, but the magic description of his spell told him it wasn’t something to fool around with. Should you not be able to use it correctly, that heat wouldn’t remain contained.

I can’t remove any more from this room. There was a heat in his chest as he tried to imagine he hadn’t stolen from his own horde. The taking of more items would be too much at that time. He’d tried to imagine it, and the thought made him sick in his undead stomach.

“I guess I’ll check a few things before we get ready to head out.” He moved away from those three weapons, the valuables surrounding them, and all the other trinkets and weapons hidden within. Opening the doors to the halls, the two guarding goblins shifted to the side to allow their master passage.

Christoph moved toward the Sanctum Mortem, and both goblins followed at a lengthy distance to then stand outside the doors of that room. This is troubling. I don’t need a babysitter. That wasn’t what they were doing. He knew that, but it sure felt like their forward facing eyes were actually trying to pry through the large doors and watch him.

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“Maybe I should figure out those locks.” He spoke aloud while examining the grand doors that kept him sealed away from the rest of the Surton Spire’s residents. “Privacy might be worth its weight in gold.” He turned in toward the room and saw one thing out of place.

A new coffin had been laid out on the left side of the room. The metal frame was beautifully constructed of dark gray metals with black trim along the edges. There was that same symbol, the emblem of Lord Gohdin, painted over where the face would be with white. Christoph had moved to it knowing what he’d asked to be done had been completed.

“They do quick work. This looks really nice.” He thought over how odd the sensation of looking down at his own coffin was. It pained his human heart to know what lie inside. The undead side of him thought little of the event; which made the human side all the more agitated. “I already know what’s inside.”

It was meant to relieve him. It did no such thing.

His empty stomach felt heavy in his gut as he reached out to touch the smoothed metal. The contents were surely spoiled and rotten. He’d stared into his own decaying eyes and found both longing and an alien sense of apathy.

“Rest then.” He patted the top of the coffin—unwilling to open it.

Christoph then moved toward the workstations. He gathered up what papers were scattered about and made piles. He did his best to put them together with similar groups; although he was barely able to comprehend what studies truly went together. That’s a job for another day. At least, he’d get the place in a bit more order.

He filled the time until there was a knock on the door. He’d worked through the night to set everything he had in the room into a placement he’d recall.

I’ll figure out what you all do someday. He’d placed the final books back on the shelf when his escorting guards came knocking. Nearly dropping a glass vial at the sudden break in his personal silence, he corrected himself and prepared for the newcomers. Instead, his unruly tail swung wide and toppled one stack of papers which collided with another.

“Enter!” Christoph’s sigh of a command brought the door inward and two men walked in.

Christoph walked around the risen altar. Carefully inspecting the two who stood at attention with their eyes forward, he tried to get a good read on them before getting too close. Both wore black pants, brown belts of some sort of leather, nicely fashioned brown boots, black shirts, and a solid black cloak that was removed so their heads and faces were completely visible.

Christoph cleared his throat as papers still rustled and fell to silence behind him.

On the right, the one closest to Christoph, was a half-elf that stood nearly two-meters tall. He had fine cheekbones and skin that was almost white with a film of copper on top. He had wide eyes with green orbs stuck forward in his head. Silvery hair was pulled back into a ponytail that fell into the hood of his cloak. With his shoulders back, it was obvious that three daggers, per side, lined the leather bandoliers.

The other humanoid was a bit shorter and a bit more rounded. Christoph turned the corner and began walking toward the two—now able to see a browned face that puffed out around the cheeks. It was a woman that was perhaps one and a quarter meters tall. She didn’t seem like much as far as humans go, but then he saw how her eyes moved as though they weren’t connecting with the eyelids above. Her eyes darted over to him for only a second, two black beads, and then shot forward again.

Her lips were pressed into a thin line that looked as if it had lipstick on. Her darker skin was complimented by the color. There was dark hair pulled back behind the ears to fall all around the bulbous neck—swollen like a tree’s trunk. Just the face was plainly visible, but the way the eyes moved was unsettling for Christoph.

Halting before them both, Christoph lifted his snout to look down on both of them. Keep in control. They won’t let me get home unless I take these two. He huffed a bit. Both straightened their backs.

“Tell me your names.” His order was met with a slight bow of both their heads.

“Calzion Dreadleaf.” The half-elf pronounced his name with the pride of his clan.

“Gitma, my Lord.” The smaller woman did not move her lips when she spoke. Her voice was like that of a cicada; a pitch above normal conversation whined as she spoke. Christoph did his best to not clap his hands to his ears and disrespect her. He winced momentarily and nodded.

“You both will accompany me to the village of Rothmire.” The two kept their eyes forward. “Will you follow my commands and give me the space required to,” he almost slipped up and brought it back, “perform my tasks?”

They both nodded.

“Good.” Christoph had to ask. Curiosity is in man’s nature.

“Tell me what you are and how you will guard me.”

“I am a half-elf, Sire. My father’s High Elf blood runs through my veins, and I have been trained in my ancestor’s ways. I will be your shadow, and the shadow shall pierce any that approach without honoring your great name.” He hadn’t mentioned the reason why his father was no longer with the High Elves. That was not important. What was was the absolute devotion he had to the ruler that allowed him within this domain—one of a race that is so often scoffed at.

“I will be in disguise. Please don’t attack those who aren’t aggressive toward us. I’d prefer this to be a peaceful journey.” The claws rose with anxiousness as he listened to the male’s dutiful explanation of cutting any who dare approach his king. It was honorable, but it was also a bit over the top.

“Understood, my Master.” He was a soldier for his king—a willing, living tool. His family had been displaced, and this new nation was the family he saw with strong roots and an unyielding resolve.

“And you?” Christoph glanced down at the second guard he’d been required to take along.

“I will ensure the surroundings and locals are safe for our King.” There was more of a whine that accompanied her words.

“How will you do that? He carries knives, but what is it you possess?” The master’s words made the little creature’s eyes, those black dots, jitter up to meet him for only a moment. Then, they fell back to a submissive gaze forward.

“Smells.” Christoph waited for her to continue, but she stared forward with those tiny pupils as if that were all the answer she needed to give. He shook a bit and shrugged, to which she flinched and continued. “Emotions and intentions create different smells, my Lord. Depending on the winds, I can keep track of every living being within fifty meters. Pheromones are unique, and I never lose my prey.”

Christoph felt extremely uneasy watching those small black dots in a sea of perfect white jostle about. The creature’s flesh, now examining her closer, was definitely some manner of false skin.

Christoph had thought he’d seen the only false human face in The Spire, but there seemed to be a number of creatures that had found ways to interact with the outside world. To keep out of view in the human population would be beneficial, but she was only visibly human from a safe distance. Christoph feared taking her along to the village would mean a few persons looking a bit more closely at newcomers than perhaps in a larger city.

I can’t turn her down or Sashro will make a fuss. I want to get going. I want to go home. “This works for me.” He gave her pudgy face another look over; those darting eyes not even making contact with the mask’s eyelids. “But I do ask you remain out of direct view as often as possible. I fear the villagers will see through the disguise close up.”

“Of course, my Lord. Thank you for the advice and trust.” The eyes didn’t blink either. He’d just noticed how they remained open even when she bowed. The whine of her voice made his ears ring a bit, but he shook it off and pointed.

“We’ll head out immediately. Please, lead the way.”

“To this Rothmire Village, Sire?” Calzion asked with a musical voice.

“Rothmire Village to the south. I have business there.”