Runner

At the age of eight, Runner's world was shattered. His family was taken from him and murdered by the kingdom of Taighaneth. The ruthless queen, however, had a peculiar code of conduct: she did not allow the killing of children. Instead, she ordered their capture and relocation to the farms or training grounds, where they would be molded into loyal soldiers of her realm.

Before the tragic upheaval, Runner's father had begun to train him in their unique family style of swordsmanship. Despite his young age, Runner grasped the basics of this ancient art. After the loss of his family, he clung to the memories of these lessons, determined to keep his father's teachings alive. Though his training was incomplete, he persisted, blending the techniques he had learned with the more formalized sword and shield style of Taighaneth's soldiers.

Runner became proficient in his new environment's standard weapons and tactics as he grew. Yet, he felt a deep connection to the two-handed sword, the weapon his father had wielded with such skill. To Runner, choosing this weapon was an act of rebellion, a way to honor his father's memory and resist the forces trying to erase his past.

He honed his skills in secret, practicing the fluid, powerful movements his father had begun teaching him. The two-handed sword felt like an extension of himself, a reminder of his lost family, and a symbol of his defiance. Each swing and parry was a silent tribute to the life he had lost and a pledge never to forget where he came from.

Runner's mixed style of combat, combining the grace of his father's teachings with the disciplined brutality of Taighaneth's soldiers, made him a formidable warrior. Through every battle, he carried the spirit of his family, using the two-handed sword as a beacon of his unyielding resistance against the kingdom that had torn his life apart.

Runner's family hailed from the once-proud kingdom of Whispeneth, ruled by the twin monarchs Murmuro and Sursuro, the only children of Wispein, the black dragon. Whispeneth, a land of strength and rich heritage was destroyed twelve years before Runner became a squire to Knight Ivan Krauss. Wispein's sister, Taigha, the silver dragon, ruled the neighboring kingdom of Taighaneth, where Runner's family met their tragic end.

Runner's path to knighthood took him to Fairfon, a place notorious for being overrun with zombies. His task was to survive there for a week, a seemingly impossible feat designed to cull the undesirables of the order. Among the four other squires, Runner was the only one from Whispeneth, a secret he guarded closely. Only his knight master, Ivan Krauss, knew of his true heritage. Runner suspected Ivan had sent him to Fairfon, hoping he would not survive.

As Runner slowly exited the zombie-infested city, these thoughts weighed heavily on his mind. Determined to return to the capital and complete his training, he planned to become a knight and seek out a barony to join. In the old days, knight champions protected barons once they felt the pull of the gather. Nowadays, they preserved the baron's lands or governed a city within their domain. Becoming a barony champion was the highest rank one could achieve without noble lineage, and Runner was determined to reach this esteemed position. It was not just about the rank; it was about proving his worth and honoring the legacy of Whispeneth.

He finally reached the edge of the city. The guards showed him the road and then returned to their post. Runner began to walk down the road, moving slower than usual. He didn't want to make it home just yet. He hoped that Zavet would catch up, thinking they would also use this road. But as night fell, his hope dwindled. He needed camping gear or food. The guards had taken everything when they first captured him. He had his sword, but it wouldn't help him catch food or hunt. "Good thing I walked. I conserved some energy," he said to himself.

At this rate, it would take him two weeks to get home. He knew of a small village about a day's walk from Fairfon that might offer him a meal. If he resumed walking, he would arrive around noon. For now, he found a tree just off the road, put his back to it, and faced away from the road. Sleep found him fast.

The night was cool, and the rustling of leaves provided a comforting backdrop to his thoughts. He dreamed of Whispeneth, his father's lessons, and the two-handed sword that had become his symbol of defiance. His journey had been long and arduous, but his spirit remained unbroken.

When dawn broke, he woke with the resolve to push forward. The village was his first goal, a small oasis of hope in his long journey. As he walked, he kept an eye out for anything he could use to his advantage. He knew survival was about physical strength, cunning, and adaptability.

By midday, he could see the outlines of the village in the distance. The sight gave him energy, and he quickened his pace. The villagers were kind, and they recognized the weariness in his eyes. They offered him a warm meal and a place to rest. Grateful, Runner accepted their hospitality, knowing that this brief respite would help him gather his strength for the journey ahead.

He does not dream that night. He sleeps hard and feels rejuvenated except for the creeping hunger. He had some bread the morning and a good amount of jerky the night before. The guards gave them water before the fight with Zavet, so he wasn't yet parched but knew he needed something to hold water. After this village, it would be a seven-day walk to the next town, and he didn't know what he would do for food on that journey. He would buy some dried meats and bread if he had any coin.

Runner makes his way to the village. The road is barren of travelers and overgrown. When he sees a band of men approaching, he gives them a wide berth. They aren’t knights or soldiers, so he assumes they might be necromancers. However, they look more like bandits. There would be no reason for bandits to be on this road, so as he passes them, he readies his sword. The men notice and continue walking, giving him only a glance as they pass. He sees them look at his arms and face, then remembers he probably looks rough, with his skin hanging and his tabard and clothes covered in dried blood. He bursts out laughing when he realizes he looks undead. They must have thought he was a necromancer’s creation.

He gets off the road, looking for a creek or river to wash up, remove the dead skin, and heal himself again. It should be enough healing to make his wounds look like fresh scars. It takes him only a short time to find a creek. He removes his clothes and tries to get some of the blood off. He knows he won't be able to clean it all, but at least he can get the dirt and other filth off. He hangs his clothes on some branches in the sun, then looks for a large rock or stump to rest his arms on so he can cut the loose skin off.

Using his sword, he cuts the dead skin away. It does not cut easily since the blade is dull and has not been sharpened. It takes some time, but he gets it all off and heals the wounds enough to look passable as a living person. He laughs at how ridiculous he must look. He relaxes in the water until his clothes are dry, listening to the birds and finding a new appreciation for living. He swims for an hour and even finds a few frogs and a turtle he could eat. He makes a fire using a stick and dry bark, which takes him twenty minutes and some blisters to get going. He kills the frogs as quickly as possible to minimize their suffering, then stares at the turtle as he cooks them.

"Damn, I can't eat you, buddy," he says out loud, then puts the turtle back where he found it. After eating and getting dressed, he returns to the road and goes to the village.

Runner starts to run as he sees smoke in the distance. There is a reason his name is Runner. He is swift and can run for a long while before stopping. He runs a mile in about four minutes and can maintain that speed for about six miles before slowing down. But right now, he runs as hard as possible, covering one hundred yards in about twelve seconds. As he gets closer, he sees dead bodies everywhere and some undead roaming around. Several buildings are on fire. He screams, falling to his knees, and grabs his hair, now blond since he washed the dirt out. Clutching his sword, he prepares for the undead. He stands, reaching a calm from which most men would run. "If I had not walked and slept last night, I would have saved these people," he tells himself.

The undead are lesser-ranked, posing no real threat to him. He dispatches them quickly, searching for survivors but knowing those men would not have left any. He scavenges for supplies and finds a bow with arrows, food, a whetstone, and a travel pack with water skins. He also collects about fifty coins in small denominations. Gathering everything he thinks he'll need, he places the bodies and undead in a house that had yet to burn, stacking wood before setting it on fire. He says a prayer, "Please take these souls, Azrail, guide them to your world of death."

With that, he gets back on the road, fighting the urge to run back and kill those men. He even turns around a few times, calculating if he could catch up before they reach Fairfon, but he decides it's impossible.

Runner walks at his usual pace this time. He stops at another creek before the sun goes down, making camp and tying some string to an arrow to try bow fishing. It’s challenging, but he persists. As he attempts to shoot a fish, he hears a familiar voice.

"Hi Runner, you catch fish weird," Zavet says with a smile. Runner turns quickly to see Zavet and Talich. Zavet is now dressed in more than just a tunic. He wears a long black battle skirt, almost like an ankle-length kilt. His tunic is now long-sleeved and dark grey with green runes on the sleeves. He also has black studded leather armor with a black hood. Runner smiles at them.

"They didn’t make you undead?" he jokes, but not entirely.

Talich chuckles, "That would be a waste."

Zavet jumps into the water and starts catching fish with his mouth, throwing them onto the land near Runner's camp. As Zavet fishes, Runner and the big man, Talich, converse.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?" Runner begins.

"What is on your mind?" Talich replies.

Runner glances at Zavet. "He is not like the others. Why are they interested in him?"

"A few months ago, he was a normal lizard about six inches long. He lived in a grove not far from Fairfon. When the master absorbed the magic from his world as it was reduced to raw necromantic energy, it couldn't be held by just one vessel. Mah'nethotep released it into the grove. Somehow, the magic caused Zavet to grow and transform into what we see now," Talich explains.

Runner stares with a curious look. "They think he absorbed all that magic from the Forgotten?"

Talich smiles at the name Runner uses. "Strangely, the master cannot control him as he does the undead and other necromancers," he answers, watching Zavet float like a crocodile and laughing.

The trio eats fish together. Zavet eats his raw while Runner and Talich cook theirs. As they eat, Talich asks, "Do you want to know about your surname, Ghostfast?"

Runner declines. "No. I know Wispeneth was known for using necromancy as a tool. With my last name, I know my family was not just commoners. I know my father was some kind of knight."

Talich smiles, respecting his decision. "If you ever want to know from someone who called him a friend, let me know."

Runner looks at Talich. "You knew my father?"

Talich meets Runner's gaze. "I was his knight master."

Runner tilts his head. "So, he was a dark knight. I thought as much. Was he a good man?"

Talich shrugs. "He was not bad, not greedy or angry. However, I'll add that he was a terrible knight—a better blacksmith."

Runner processes this information in silence, feeling a mix of emotions. Knowing his father was a knight confirmed some suspicions, but the revelation that he was a better blacksmith than a knight intrigued him.

Talich laughs as he takes his black and blue mace and hands it to Runner. "See the forger stamp on the pommel? It is engraved with TG."

Runner examines the mace, noticing the intricate design and the distinct stamp. "It was a gift from your father for my seventieth birthday. Thaine made it for me."

Runner's curiosity deepens. "What kind of metal is this?"

"Arcane meteoric iron. It heightens spells cast by the wielder," Talich answers, watching as Runner's face transitions through various expressions before settling on one of genuine impression.

Talich laughs as Runner hands the mace back. Runner stands and lays on his bedding. "I'll be heading to bed now. Thank you, Tal. I have always been told how bad my family was. You opened my eyes."

Sleep eludes Runner throughout the night. He can't stop thinking about everything he's learned. He's in a dilemma; he's always been told that all who use necromancy are evil. But he has always known his father was kind, and now, meeting Zavet and Talich, he finds himself questioning what he has been taught. They seem like good people. Only time will tell, he thinks to himself.

The following day, they return to the road before sunrise. It's a quiet few days of walking. Zavet insists on hunting and brings back giant snails and grubworms. "Runner, I got us some bugs. These guys have bowls on their backs. They are nice because they give you a bowl to eat them out of."

Runner blinks at Zavet and looks down at the snail. "I... uh... don't eat that kind of stuff."

Zavet persists, "We can cook them. They will be good."

Runner laughs, shaking his head. "I think I will get my food on my own."

Talich laughs at both of them, then adds, "Humans don't eat bugs, Zavet."

Zavet replies, "But what about that big bug we ate together the first time we met?"

Talich smiles, trying not to crack up. "That was a fairy. Not a bug. I'll eat a fairy."

Runner gives Talich a disgusted expression. "Well, I was starting to like you."

Talich shrugs. "It was near Zavet's home, and she was going to die anyway after eating the tainted berries."

Zavet nods, rubbing his belly. "Yeah, she was good. I wouldn't mind eating her again."

Runner and Talich lose it, laughing so hard they must stop walking and hold onto a tree. Zavet stands there, confused, not understanding what was so funny.

They make camp before the sun goes down. Talich hands some jerky to Zavet, who thoughtfully looks at the meat. "Next time I see a fairy, I'll take its wings and do whatever they did to make this."

Runner sighs, realizing Zavet does not understand the laws. He decides to explain them to him. "So in this kingdom, we have laws, which are guidelines about what is considered an act of evil. Breaking these laws can get you in trouble. For instance, killing anything with a conscience is bad and breaks the law."

Zavet tilts his head, not understanding. "Conscience?"

Runner replies, "It means someone who can talk or is smarter than an animal."

Zavet nods, beginning to understand. Runner continues, "Taking things that do not belong to you is called stealing and is also bad."

Zavet nods again, comprehending this concept. Talich adds, "But if someone tries to hurt you, defend yourself."

Runner nods in agreement. "Of course. Always defend yourself."

After their talk, they sit around the fire and make small talk. Runner asks Zavet what it was like being a little lizard.

Zavet explains, "Thinking was different. You thought of doing stuff rather than with words. All I would think about was bugs and wanting to find more."

Runner thinks to himself that it must have been a simple life. "What about your parents?"

Zavet reflects on his colony: "My whole family was like my mom and dad. We all helped find bugs to eat. We all slept on each other to stay warm."

Runner realizes something, "Did the others grow like you?"

Zavet nods, starting to miss them. "I grew more, but yes, they are like me." Zavet lays down and lets out a breath.

Runner is about to say something else, but Talich puts his hand on Runner's arm and shakes his head. "Let's go to bed," Talich tells Runner.

That night, Zavet finds himself walking through the forest where his journey started. He thought it was him, but he was not in control. He can see parts of his body—it’s a black lizard man like him, but some bones are exposed. A strange new voice fills Zavet's mind.

"Who are you?" The voice sounds like someone gargling glass.

Zavet hesitates to answer and, with a small voice, says, "I am Zavet. Who are you?"

The voice was silent for a long time as it walked. But as it reached the edge of Fairfon, it began to speak. "I have been known by many names," it intoned its voice, a chilling whisper that seemed to seep into the very stones of the road. "Undeath, The Forgotten, The Outside." The figure halted just outside the city and turned around, revealing a pair of eyes that glowed with an unnatural light. “Iscariot,” it said slowly, echoing with a sense of finality.

Zavet awoke with a start, the creature's voice still reverberating in his mind. The camp was still dark, the others deeply asleep. He sat up, his heart pounding, and decided to calm his nerves by practicing his magic. His hands moved in familiar patterns, weaving spells that shimmered in the predawn gloom. It was a soothing routine, one that helped him regain his composure.

As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, the others started to stir. Zavet remained quiet, his thoughts consumed by the strange and unsettling dream. He could not shake the feeling that it was more than just a dream; it was some kind of warning or premonition.

Around midday, the trio moved through the dense forest, the underbrush crunching softly underfoot. Runner, constantly vigilant, suddenly raised a fist to head height, palm facing forward, and the military signal was to stop. Talich, ever alert, immediately readied his mace, eyes scanning the trees for any sign of danger. Zavet, lost in his thoughts about Iscariot, didn’t react as quickly.

A sudden volley of arrows sliced through the air with a deadly hiss. Zavet barely had time to register the threat before several arrows struck him in the chest, the force of the impact sending him crashing to the ground. He lay there, unmoving, blood spreading in a dark pool beneath him.

"Help Zavet!" the runner yells to Talich before taking off toward the source of the arrows. He runs through the forest, dodging trees, and spots a group of bandits of mixed races. Two bandits rushed toward him, unprepared for a slender, blue-eyed human charging at them. They fumble with their swords, but the Runner is on them before they can react. He decapitates the first target swiftly. He then rushes the second bandit, an orc, pinning him against a tree.

Runner notices a knife on the orc’s chest, pulls it out of its sheath, and starts stabbing rapidly. The orc pushes Runner off and draws his short sword. Runner, holding his sword in one hand and the knife in the other, backsteps to create distance. The orc attacks, but Runner sidesteps and thrusts his sword into the orc’s heel, then slides behind him and jams the knife below the skull, severing the spine. The orc dies silently.

The runner continues searching for more bandits but finds none. He returns to the road, catching up with the remaining bandits. Talich stands ready, a wall of green transparent magic blocking their path. The bandits crash into the wall and fall, clutching their faces. The runner swiftly dispatches them, killing each one without hesitation.

"Eight in total," Runner mutters, searching the bandits and finding about ten gold coins. "Nice. These guys had about a year's worth of what I got from the military."

A voice startles Runner. "Ouch, crappy pay," says a man with an accent Runner recognizes from the southern part of Taighaneth. He turns to see a man in a reddish-brown kilt with black smoke emanating from his left eye.

Runner readies his sword. The man raises his hands. "I mean no harm. I just saw you chase these men. They would attack anyone they saw. No preparation at all."

A runner doesn’t lower his sword. "Who are you?"

The man bows slightly. "Red of the river. My friends call me Red."

Runner lowers his sword slightly. "I’m Runner."

Red smiles, smoke rolling from his eye. The smoke envelops him and then dissipates. Red is gone.

Runner steps onto the road, looking behind him. "Did y'all see that guy? With the smoke coming out of his eye?"

Talich and Zavet both reply, "No."

The trio continues to walk until night falls, then they make camp. They decide against making a fire, worried they might be in bandit territory. They sit in the dark, whispering when they talk. They eat more jerky and drink the rest of their water. Runner asks Talich if he has ever heard of fire coming from someone's eyes.

"Hmm, fire? Most lesser imbuing of magic into a living being has similar effects. If fire came from just above the eyes, it would be a fire augment; some rare could be realms such as shadow or light. I've never seen either of those, so I could not tell you what they look like. But there is a way to mask them, such as myself. I have a necro augment that makes the undead see me as one of them. It also allows me to be healed by necromancy but makes life magic hurt me."

The runner listens as Talich talks, not interrupting. The runner sighs, looking down, knowing they must part ways when they get to the city. Part of his knight code does not allow him to consort with necromancers. It teaches him not to allow a necromancer to live. This whole journey has him rethinking his ideas of being a knight.

"Will you teach me the way of the dark knight?" Runner asks, catching Talich off guard.

Talich pauses, "I will not say no to a Ghostface. But I will ask you to wait. I plan on creating a new order but would like a proper place to train my knights."

Runner exhales deeply, not looking forward to leaving his current order right before he gets knighted.

Meanwhile, Zavet sleeps early, hoping to have another dream of Iscariot. The dream begins when Iscariot arrives at the little village outside Fairfon.

"Hello, Zavet," Iscariot greets.

"Hi, Iscariot. Oh, we were there just five days ago," Zavet replies.

Iscariot finds the village graveyard. The ground shakes slightly as he steps twenty feet away from a grave. "I am exploring this village."

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Hands start clawing out from the graves. Undead begin to climb out of every grave.

"Oh wow. You didn’t even need to say the incantation," Zavet says, impressed.

Iscariot looks around, trying to understand what Zavet is talking about. "The undead that came out of the ground," Zavet clarifies.

Iscariot lets out a sound of understanding: "Ah, yes. I use incantations but don't need one to raise the dead." He turns to show Zavet the thousands of undead roaming the village.

"Woah. That's a lot. Can you control them?" Zavet asks.

"I can, but with some limitations?" Iscariot replies.

"Talich said there are a lot of spells. Maybe there is one to get better control of the undead, a spell to give them Consciousness," Zavet offers excitedly.

Iscariot thinks, "Hmm, that would be most useful."

"Oh, I can hear your thoughts. That is new," Zavet says, realizing his newfound ability.

Iscariot smiles, knowing that it will be even more helpful.

Zavet wakes up after the other two have already risen. "Morning," Runner greets him. Talich offers a smile and a friendly nod. Zavet turns to Runner. "Morning."

Talich yawns as he stretches and then looks at both of them. "Before we get to the kingdom's capital, I want to review a few things with you, Zavet. You probably know most of this already, Runner, but Zavet has never been to a big city like Nuri'Fon."

Zavet walks over to Talich, giving him his full attention.

"We'll start with the city names, Nuri'Fon and Ffair'Fon," Talich begins. "Both cities are named after two ancient figures who were at war with one another. The red dragon Nuri and a bronze elf named Ta-Ffairnutwati were once bitter enemies. This conflict is what we call the First Dragon War. We've had three dragon wars: the first involved only elves and dragons—three dragons against five bronze elves.

"The city we call Ffair'Fon was named after Ta-Ffairnutwati. 'Fon' was a term used to refer to the capital of a kingdom during the Second Dragon War. But back to the first war—the only casualties were Ta-Ffairnutwati and Tiagha the First. The war started because Ta-Ffairnutwati's body was discovered, and the elves believed it was the dragons who killed her. Later, it was proven that a fight with the dragon Nuri led to her death.

"Wispen, the black dragon, was close to Ta-Ffairnutwati and told Mah’nethotep about her death. That's how the First Dragon War started. This was before necromancy was created. After a long war, Wispen killed Tiagha, and the war ended soon after. The cities were made in honor of these figures. Nuri went on to rule over Nuri'Fon, and Mah’nethotep ruled over Ffair'Fon.

"Understanding this history is crucial, Zavet, especially when we navigate these cities and their cultures," Talich concludes, looking at Zavet with a severe expression. "Now, let's get ready to move on."

"At some point, necromancy was created. Mah’nethotep was trying to develop magic to bring someone back from the dead, and that's how the first undead came to be," Talich explained.

Runner chimed in, “Nuri never elaborated on why he did it. Nuri was killed in the third war by the heroes of old. One of Nuri's descendants rebelled against the kingdom and took it over; that's the family that has the throne now. The people wanted a king that would age and one day die. Ever since then, the kingdom has evolved with technology, such as airships and higher levels of magic.”

Talich nodded. “That's right. That's all for now—I don't want to overwhelm him with history.” He began digging through his belongings.

Talich held a small grimoire for his spells. As he looked through it, he had an idea. "Zavet can't read!" he suddenly realized. The runner looked over to Talich as they walked. "He will need to learn to read and write," Talich chuckled. Yeah, that is important if one is going to learn magic."

Zavet looked at both of them, confused but staying silent. Seeing Zavet's face, Talich explained, "There are a lot of spells, each one with different incantations and instructions on what to do with the magic itself. So, people find it convenient to have a grimoire for their spells. There are too many spells for anyone to remember all of them. So you write them in your grimoire."

Runner looks to Talich. "The guards kept mine," he says with disappointment.

Talich raises an eyebrow. "The Black Order is not the same as when I led them. If you didn't know that already," he says.

Runner replies sarcastically, "What!!?"

Talich half-smiles. "I'll teach you one more spell for now. Once you two get your grimoires, I'll teach you more. I'll even let you borrow my rituals if you prove trustworthy."

Zavet looks to Talich and needs help understanding. "What is a ritual?"

Talich answers, "A ritual is a more complicated spell that requires preparation, time, and unique ingredients."

They continue to walk as Talich teaches them a protection spell. "This next spell stops you from dying, but it only works once before the spell is consumed," he explains. Talich forms a sphere of green fog in his hands. He flattens it to his height, then walks through it as he recites the incantation: "Bathe me in your darkness, protect me from that which harms me." The fog wraps around him, forming a protective layer. Before dissipating, the fog takes the shape of armor made of bone.

Zavet and Runner try replicating the spell but can't get the fog into armor. The necromantic magic hurts Runner as he steps into it. Talich quickly instructs them, "Don't walk into the magic. Instead, form it around you."

Zavet frowns in concentration, focusing on shaping the fog around him as Talich did. He struggles, the fog dispersing each time he attempts to control it. Runner winces from the lingering pain but tries again, this time with more caution. The green fog swirls around them both, but it remains unstable.

"Focus on the intent behind the words," Talich advises. "Necromancy is as much about willpower as it is about the incantation. Visualize the armor forming around you, protecting you."

Zavet takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and imagines the protective bone armor enveloping him. He murmurs the incantation, feeling the fog respond to his will. The fog thickens around him this time, taking a more defined shape. Runner, watching Zavet, does the same, and though the fog still stings slightly, it starts to mold into a semblance of armor.

"Good," Talich nods approvingly. "You're getting there. It takes practice and focus. Remember, necromancy is a demanding art, but with dedication, you'll master it."

They continue walking, with Talich providing guidance and tips as Zavet and Runner practice the spell. The morning air is filled with the muttering of incantations and the faint, eerie glow of necromantic fog.

It takes both Runner and Zavet the rest of the day to learn how to shape magic on a large scale. By the time evening falls, they have finally managed to master the technique. As the sun sets, they find a river to camp next to. Runner identifies it as the river that the barony from the south uses to travel between their home city and the capital.

That night, Zavet has the idea to use magic to create a net. He carefully forms the magical construct, casting it into the water to catch fish for dinner. As he pulls in a haul of wriggling fish, Talich, growing accustomed to Zavet's resourcefulness, just laughs and shakes his head in amusement.

After they eat, Runner looks to Zavet. "Would you like to spar?"

Zavet smiles and nods. "Yeah, that means practicing fighting without hurting each other, right?"

Runner stands and heads to the woods to find suitable sticks for practice. Returning with two sturdy branches, he tosses a thick vine to Zavet. "Okay, so when we land a hit, you must stop and state that you’ve been hit."

Zavet listens carefully and nods in understanding. Runner explains that the match will start once he gets about ten steps away and says, "Fight." Zavet nods again, gripping the vine and preparing himself.

Runner takes his position, taking a ready stance about ten steps away from Zavet. He yells, "Fight," and the two clash.

The practice begins with cautious strikes and blocks, each testing the other's defenses. Runner moves with agility and precision, while Zavet, despite his inexperience, shows natural talent and quick reflexes. Their sticks thud against each other, the sound echoing through the night.

After a few moments, Zavet lands a solid hit on Runner's shoulder. "Hit!" Runner calls out, stopping the fight momentarily.

"Good one," Runner says, smiling. They reset and continue.

As they spar, the pace intensifies. Zavet surprises Runner with his quick adaptation, landing several more hits. Runner, determined to push Zavet further, increases his speed and power. The night air fills with the sound of their exertion and the crack of wood against wood.

Eventually, both are breathing heavily, sweat pouring down their faces. Their strikes grow more forceful, and their determination pushes them past the point of restraint. They beat each other bloody, each refusing to yield.

Finally, Talich intervenes. "Enough!" he commands, stepping between them. "You're both pushing too hard."

Runner and Zavet lower their makeshift weapons, panting and bruised. Despite the intensity, they share a look of mutual respect.

"You're a quick learner, Zavet," Runner says, wiping blood from his lip.

"Thanks," Zavet replies, wincing as he touches a fresh bruise. "You're a tough opponent."

They sit by the fire, tending to their injuries and reflecting on the day's lessons. Their camaraderie strengthens, forged through shared struggle and the harsh reality of their journey. As the night deepens, they fall asleep, ready to face whatever challenges await them in the days to come.

The two fight until they are covered in sweat and blood. All of the wounds are minor and do not warrant healing. They rinse off in the river and then go to bed. Talich, on the other hand, lays down and reads through his grimoire but falls asleep with it open. That night, Zavet does not dream of Iscariot.

In the following days, they continue on their path, encountering only minor inconveniences, such as a band of goblins trying to rob them. They handle these with ease, making steady progress toward their destination. They decide to split up when they are about a day away from the capital. Runner needs to report to his knight master barracks, while Talich and Zavet need to find a room to rent.

Runner waves goodbye and tells them they will meet again one day. "But for now, I need to tell my knight master what happened and what's happening in Ffair'Fon," he says. Talich nods, knowing this was part of his master's plan, and lets Runner go. Runner takes off at a run, reaching the capital a few hours earlier than the other two.

As Runner ventures into the vibrant capital of Tiaghaneth, he is immediately overwhelmed by the powerful aroma that fills the bustling city. Nuri'Fon, named after one of the three original dragons, sprawls out before him, its streets alive with the hustle and bustle of the people. The grand castle of the imposing queen stands proudly at the heart of the city, a clear testament to Nuri'Fon's significance in the realm.

The streets are a maze of activity, with merchants lining the sides, each clamoring for attention. Runner navigates through the crowd, the air thick with the scents of exotic spices, freshly baked bread, and the metallic tang of worked steel. Street vendors shout their wares, displaying what they claim to be ancient artifacts adorned with the names of dragons, illustrious knights, and legendary wizards, all in an attempt to fetch high prices.

Runner pauses occasionally to examine the goods, his eyes scanning over intricately crafted jewelry, ornate weapons, and colorful fabrics. The merchants' voices blend into a cacophony, each trying to outdo the other in their sales pitches.

"Handcrafted by the finest artisans, sir! This sword once belonged to a dragon slayer!" one merchant exclaims, holding up a gleaming blade.

"Ancient relics from the First Dragon War! Genuine and priceless!" another cries, waving a collection of dusty scrolls.

Despite the chaos, Runner remains focused on his mission. He makes his way through the crowded streets, his destination clear. The knight master barracks are near the castle, and Runner knows the importance of promptly delivering his report.

As he approaches the barracks, the marketplace noise fades, replaced by the disciplined atmosphere of the knightly quarters. Guards in shining armor stand at attention, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. Runner is greeted with nods of recognition and respect as he enters the barracks.

Inside, the barracks are a hive of activity. Knights and squires go about their duties, cleaning weapons, tending to armor, and practicing drills. Runner heads to his knight master's quarters, where he finds the master poring over maps and reports.

"Runner," the knight master greets him, looking up from his work. "Report."

Runner stands at attention and begins to recount the events in Ffair'Fon, detailing everything he witnessed and learned. The knight master listens intently, occasionally asking questions for clarification. When Runner finishes, the knight master nods thoughtfully.

"Good work, Runner. This information is crucial. We must remain vigilant. You did well to return quickly."

Runner feels pride and relief at his master's words. He is dismissed and instructed to rest and prepare for further assignments. As he leaves the knight master's quarters, Runner feels renewed purpose.

Meanwhile, Talich and Zavet enter Nuri'Fon, marveling at the vibrant city around them. They find an inn to stay in, planning their next steps as they navigate the bustling capital. The journey has been long, but their adventure is far from over.

Despite the prevalence of counterfeit goods, Nuri'Fon boasted potent magical items crafted by mages of unparalleled skill. Beyond its commerce, the city also captivated visitors with its culinary offerings. Renowned food stalls and taverns dotted its streets, enticing passersby with a diverse array of delectable fares. Aromas of roasted meats, spiced stews, and sweet pastries filled the air, mingling with the scents of exotic herbs and magical elixirs.

Yet, what intrigued Runner most were the intersections where the four baronies convened. Here, amidst the delicate dance of diplomacy, trade negotiations, and the occasional duel, the baronies perpetually teetered on the precipice of conflict as they vied for dominance and power. It was a place where alliances were forged and broken, and the balance of power in Tiaghaneth was constantly in flux.

As Runner approached the imposing walls of the queen's castle, he couldn't shake off the feeling of urgency. The barracks of his knight master, Ivan Krauss, stood nearby, a tangible reminder of the responsibilities that came with his allegiance to the Morning Glory order. The castle loomed over the city, its towers piercing the sky, symbolizing the kingdom's strength and the queen's authority.

Upon entering the training yard, Runner spotted Ivan Krauss, a figure of authority and strict discipline. Ivan's tall, slender frame was adorned in a blue gambeson and brown trousers, starkly contrasting the colorful flowers adorning the knights of the Morning Glory. His presence commanded respect and attention, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

In a show of respect, Runner dropped to one knee, placing a fist over his heart as he addressed his knight master. "Sir Ivan, I have returned with news from Ffair'Fon."

Ivan turned his piercing gaze on Runner, nodding in acknowledgment. "Rise, Runner. What have you learned?"

Runner stood and began his report, detailing the events in Ffair'Fon with precision and clarity. He spoke of the goblin skirmishes, the progress in their training, and the rumors of unrest brewing in the baronies. Ivan listened intently, his expression unreadable, occasionally nodding or asking for clarification.

"Sir, there's also news of necromantic activities linked to Mah’nethotep," Runner added, noting the tightening of Ivan's jaw at the mention. "We've encountered signs of necromancy being used to disrupt the peace, likely orchestrated by forces loyal to Mah’nethotep."

Ivan's eyes narrowed. "This is grave news, Runner. The resurgence of necromancy threatens the stability of our kingdom. We must be vigilant and prepare for the worst. Your information is invaluable. You've done well."

Runner felt a surge of pride at his master's praise. "Thank you, Sir Ivan. What are your orders?"

Ivan pondered for a moment, his eyes distant. "Rest and recuperate. Your journey has been long, and you will need strength for what lies ahead. Tomorrow, we will discuss our next course of action. The Morning Glory must be ready to act swiftly and decisively."

Runner nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and anticipation. He was dismissed with a wave of Ivan's hand, and he left the training yard, his mind racing with the implications of what he had learned and what his master had said.

Meanwhile, Talich and Zavet entered Nuri'Fon, marveling at the vibrant city. The bustling streets, filled with merchants, artisans, and travelers, seemed to pulse with life and energy. They found an inn to stay in, a cozy place with a warm hearth and friendly staff. As they settled into their room, Talich began to plan for the coming days, knowing their journey was far from over.

The journey had been long, but their adventure was just beginning. The capital city held many secrets and challenges; together, they would face whatever came their way.

"Lord Ivan, I have returned with dire news," Runner announced, his voice weighted with the burden of his revelation. The training yard, usually a place of discipline and focus, seemed to hold its breath at his words.

Ivan's response was laced with annoyance as he inquired, "Oh, only you returned?" His tone was sharp, his expression of impatience as he folded his arms over his chest.

Unperturbed by Ivan's dismissive tone, Runner maintained his composure, standing tall despite the weariness etched into his features. "Yes, lord. Right now, I believe you should gather the barons and the queen, for the lords of necromancy have set foot in the prime. The Forgotten has fallen, and all the undead have amassed in Ffair'Fon."

Ivan fixed Runner with a skeptical gaze, his eyes narrowing as he leaned closer. "How can you still live in Ffair'Fon when necromancers have infiltrated it?" His voice was low and dangerous, dripping with doubt and suspicion.

Frustration simmered beneath the surface as Runner retorted, his tone rising slightly with the intensity of his emotions. "They slaughtered my companions, forcing us to face one of their champions. Impressively, the champion spared my life, swayed by my skill and determination. Mah'Nethotep himself granted me mercy." He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he recalled the harrowing events. "It was not a mercy born of kindness, but of calculation. He saw something in me, something he could use."

Ivan's eyes flickered with a mix of anger and concern. "And why should I believe this tale, Runner? Why should I trust that their power did not corrupt you?"

Runner met Ivan's gaze unflinchingly. "Because I stand here before you, with no mark of necromancy upon me. Because I bring this warning not out of fear but out of duty to our order and kingdom. The necromancers seek to sow chaos and destruction. They aim to undermine the very fabric of our society. We must act swiftly and decisively."

Ivan's mischievous smile did little to soothe Runner's rising aggravation. "Do you truly expect me to believe such a tale? Why should I not have you executed for consorting with necromancers?"

Runner respectfully appealed to Ivan, struggling to contain his anger, "My lord, I firmly believe that the necromancers are plotting something. If you choose to punish me for uncovering this information, I accept it. However, I have already warned others, and they will not look favorably upon your decision to silence me. The barons already view the Morning Glory as mere knights, barely outranking the town guardians—"

Before Runner could finish, Ivan's swift kick to his chest sent him sprawling onto his back, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs. As Runner attempted to rise, another brutal blow left him reeling. Ivan's fists and boots rained down on him, each strike more vicious than the last.

"You insolent fool!" Ivan snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. "You dare undermine our order? You dare to question my authority?"

Runner's vision blurred as he struggled to stay conscious, each blow sending waves of pain through his battered body. He tried to shield himself, but Ivan's relentless assault left him no respite. Blood trickled down his face, and his limbs felt like lead, barely responsive to his desperate attempts to defend himself.

Ivan's onslaught finally ceased, leaving Runner a swollen, bloody mess on the ground. Ivan straightened, breathing heavily, and turned to address the knights in the courtyard. "Tie him to one of the wooden training dummies. Use him to teach the recruits the vital areas. Only have him healed when he faints. Continue this until the tournament starts."

The knights moved quickly, their expressions a mix of pity and resolve as they grabbed Runner and dragged him to a training dummy. They tied him securely, ensuring he was upright and exposed. His breath came in ragged gasps, pain radiating from every part of his body.

"Lord, the tournament is in four days. Would you like to have him taken down at night?" one of the knights asked, hesitant but dutiful.

"Yes," Ivan replied coldly, glancing over his shoulder as he walked toward the barracks. "Bring him to his bed at night and tie him back up in the morning."

As the day wore on, the recruits were brought to the courtyard, their eyes widening in shock at the sight of Runner tied to the dummy. Under the harsh supervision of their trainers, they were instructed to practice strikes on the vital points, and each hit elicited a muffled groan from Runner. His body, already bruised and battered, became a living target for their training.

Runner's mind drifted in and out of consciousness, the pain blurring the edges of his awareness.

Meanwhile, Talich and Zavet had found their way to a cozy inn, a welcome respite from their long journey. The inn's common room was filled with patrons' laughter and chatter, mugs clinking, and the mouthwatering aroma of hearty food, creating a welcoming atmosphere. They settled into their room, grateful for the warmth and comfort it provided.

Talich spread a map on the small table, tracing their route with his finger. "We need to be cautious," he advised Zavet. This city is full of opportunities but also dangers. Stick close, and we'll navigate it together."

Zavet nodded, absorbing his mentor's words. He felt a mix of excitement and apprehension about the days to come. The capital city held many secrets and challenges; together, they would face whatever came their way.

As they drifted off to sleep, the day's events playing through their minds, they knew their journey was far from over. The vast and bustling city of Nuri'Fon awaited them with its intricate web of politics, commerce, and magic. Talich and Zavet knew that their presence here was just a tiny part of a much larger story unfolding in Tiaghaneth, and they were ready to play their roles in it.

The following day, a gathering of knights encircled Runner, and among them stood Hal Perez, known as The Cleric of Morning Glory. Hal was easily recognizable with his gleaming sword and impeccably pressed tabard. Runner knew that as a cleric of the knighthood, Hal was instrumental in teaching the knights the art of healing magic. The cleric's solemn duty was to tend to the recruits' wounds and ailments during dangerous missions. With a formal bow, Hal greeted Runner, his expression betraying signs of weariness.

"Hello, Runner," Hal began with a tired sigh. "We've managed to spare you from the punishment, but you must leave the order. Ivan insists you must align with a barony by the festival's conclusion or face the unwelcome prospect of laboring in the farms. We pleaded with Master Ivan, and this was the best compromise we could secure. However, there's a silver lining. He will grant you full knighthood if you successfully align with a barony."

Upon hearing this, Runner lowered his head, fully aware of the daunting challenges ahead, especially considering his humble origins in Wispeineth.

Determined to prove himself, Runner left the city to find a place to train his two-handed weapon fighting style. Before he left, he purchased an axe, camping supplies, a bow, and arrows. He traveled a few miles outside the city to find a secluded, quiet area suitable for training. There, he set up his camp and cleared out a quarter acre of land, fashioning it into a makeshift training ground.

Runner set up multiple wooden training dummies, their crude forms standing as silent witnesses to his resolve. Hearing of his plight, some of the squires from The Morning Glory came out to help him set up. They carried wood, dug holes, and positioned the dummies, their camaraderie a comforting reminder of the brotherhood he was leaving behind.

On the first day, a few of the squires stayed and trained with him, their presence a silent encouragement. Hal, ever supportive, brought Runner a bag of goods containing information about the plants in the area and their common uses. Runner found solace in Hal's gesture, his interest piqued by the possibilities in the realm of alchemy. He began to dabble in the art, specifically focusing on creating poisons.

As days went by, Runner's training intensified. He practiced relentlessly, his sword becoming an extension of his will. His muscles grew stronger, and his strikes were more precise. The wooden dummies bore the brunt of his determination, splintering under the force of his blows.

In the evenings, Runner turned his attention to alchemy. The knowledge Hal had provided proved invaluable. Runner collected herbs and plants from the surrounding area, experimenting with different combinations. He crafted poisons that could paralyze, disorient, or even kill, each concoction a testament to his growing skill.

Runner woke up before dawn, the day before the tournament. He meticulously worked on his footwork, perfecting his upward attack, each swing of his practice weapon slicing through the early morning air with precision. The forest around him was still, the quiet only broken by the rhythmic sounds of his training.

As he focused on his drills, the sounds of talking and footsteps reached his ears. Not recognizing the voices, Runner swiftly grabbed his bow and nocked an arrow. “Hello,” he called out, loud enough for the approaching figures to hear him.

“Is that Runner?” a voice responded from the trees. Runner drew the bowstring tight and aimed toward the source of the voice. “Who's asking?” he demanded.

Another voice, this one from above, answered. “It's Red, Red of the river. Do you remember me?” The runner dropped to one knee, aiming his bow upward, and saw the man with black smoke curling from his left eye sitting casually on a branch. Four other men emerged from the woods, two wielding swords and the other two armed with crossbows.

“What brings you here, Red?” Runner asked, his voice steady.

Red lifted his arms and fell backward off the branch, flipping midair to land gracefully on his feet. “We were just curious. Our base camp is about a ten-minute walk from here. One of our scouts reported seeing the man who killed our recruits make a camp nearby. So we came to investigate.”

“If I am on your land, I apologize, and I will relocate,” Runner said, lowering his bow. Red shrugged and gestured for his bandits to lower their weapons. The four men complied, retreating into the forest and disappearing.

Red turned back to Runner. “I have been watching you. I saw the way your knight order treated you. I wanted to extend an offer to you. Would you be willing to join my little band of misfits?”

Runner rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “You understand I am a knight, right? Why would I join you?”

Red smiled and nodded. “Well, because every one of us shares a bit of history. We are all from the kingdom of Wisperneth. I ran away from the farms and found others like me, tired of being mistreated for something out of our control.”

Runner shook his head, weary of people bringing up his past. “Look, Red, I am not interested in becoming a bandit. I have no desire to rob or kill people.”

Red began to walk away but paused to correct Runner. “I respect your decision, but I would like to clarify something. We may seem like bandits, but we only rob and kill those who deserve it. We do our research before starting a job. That day on the road, we had just finished cleaning up a caravan we had taken out. It was full of our people. They were being taken to the farms. We enlisted them.”

Runner looked down, remembering the encounter. “Is life on the farms truly that bad?”

Red let out a bitter laugh and scratched his head. “We are worked to the bone, barely fed, and beaten when not performing to their standards. The farmers have their way with the women, sometimes even forcing us to watch. Once every male is old enough, they castrate them so they cannot get the women pregnant. They force the women to carry their babies to make a new generation of workers, slowly breeding out our bloodline.”

Runner sighed in understanding. “Soldiers are given a tonic to ensure we are sterile. They only do this if we are in the kingdom. They don't care if we are outside the kingdom. It's put in our food and drinks while we train. I have seen someone react to it. The healer said it was closing up his throat. My knight master slit his throat and told us we had no choice. Castration is not an option for soldiers as it takes the fight out of them. Death or the farms are the only options for us.”

Red spat on the ground, hearing the soldiers also had a rough time. “I hate this kingdom. I will leave you be, but I won't forget you. If you ever need something or work, I'll pay you twenty-five gold per job done.”

Runner’s mind started racing. That was more gold than he had earned in two years in the army and three years in the knighthood. “I, uh, damn, that's a lot of gold. Do you have a job lined up now?”

Red laughed. “Yes, I do. We need info. If you could get it for us, we will pay five on delivery and twenty when proven true.”

Runner nodded and started digging out something to write on. Red told him, “We heard rumors of The Forgotten being destroyed. We would like to know what happened.”

Runner recounted everything he knew, and Red paid him five gold. “In the future, if your info continues to be true and you supply it promptly, we will pay all of it upfront.” Red tossed him a magic compass. “I placed a small magnet on your sword the last time we met, and that's how I found you today.” Red picked up Runner's sword and removed the little magnet. “I will keep this magnet near the woods and our camp. If you need more work, use the compass to find us and look at the trees.” Red tossed a black cloth with a blue footprint in the center. “Welcome to The River Foot.”

Runner looked at the favor and placed it in his pocket. When he looked up, Red was gone, leaving only a wisp of smoke. “Damn it, I did not ask him about his eye,” he muttered to himself.

He went back to training until nightfall. The next day, he packed up his camp and traveled to the city to enter the tournament. On his way there, he picked poisonous plants and carefully coated his blade with the toxic substance. The weight of his new knowledge and alliances sat heavily on his shoulders, but he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.