The old Blackwell home was filled with clutters of unorganized papers and parchments. Dust clung to them and filled the air with a stale scent. The entry room connected to what could presumably be the dining room which connected to what was presumably the kitchen. Aside from a dividing wall between the kitchen and dining room, it appeared that there was only one other room in the entirety of the house. The brother's room, I assume, thought Luna.

The home, if it could be called that, was bare of any of the traditional furnishings. No chairs, no drawers or cabinets. In their place were a series of cracked or broken weapons that lay along the walls. Swords, bows, shields and even massive hammers of various sizes and quality cluttered around the home. In the corners of the home were cobwebs, filled with the remains of the insects unlucky enough to come into contact with them. From within, Luna could clearly see the night stars shining through the various holes in the flat roof. The only light coming from a single lantern sitting in the center of the home.

"So your brother chooses to live like this?" asked Luna, taking a step further into the home and noting how the floorboards felt ready to give, A kreek! crying into the night with each step she took.

"Well, as I said, he hardly stays here," began Graham, entering behind her. "So it's more of a boarding house than a home."

"Hmm," was all she replied. As they spoke, the door from the other room began to groan. Soon, the door opened and Paul Blackwell stepped out, carrying a somewhat large bag upon his left shoulder.

"Ah, there you two are!" Paul bellowed out. "Been waiting all night for ya. Weren't sneaking off for a bit of alone time, were you?" he asked with a somewhat suggestive tone. Luna did her best to mask her annoyance.

Upon realizing his joke had fallen flat, Paul continued. "Well, anyways, I've been getting some stuff together that I'm pretty sure you'll need. Supplies, healing balm, a few guide books to pass the time. Popped by your house and got a few spare clothes, although I recommend you stop by Quadra, if you get the chance. Closest tailor nearby and could make you something a bit more comfortable."

As he lowered the bag, his eyes appeared to drawn to the strange axe Graham held. "Ah, Peter finished the Wyrmscale Axe, did he?"

This drew Luna's attention. "I'm sorry, Wyrmscale, was it?"

"Ah, you didn't tell her, Graham?" replied Paul, who now saw that his brother was just as confused as Luna. "Ah, okay. So, a bit of a story there. Our father was a bit of a sailor back in the day. Before either of us was born, even. And, allegedly, on one of his seafaring journeys, he swore that he and his crew encountered a Wyrm. I imagine you know what a Wyrm is, miss?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me," answered Luna with a hint of impatience.

"Well," continued Paul. "Wyrms are nasty, legless creatures. Similar to serpents, although, being the warped progeny of dragons, they are also massive in size and vicious towards man. And while they hold nowhere near as much power as a dragon, they are quite dangerous in that they hold the power to shift their shape. Now, he never explained exactly how it happened, but somehow, our father managed to take one of the beast's scales.

"When our parents came to this village, our father tried to convince Peter the smith to make a powerful weapon from this scale. But the mayor would have none of it. Claimed that smithing weapons would only bring the 'wrong kind of element' to the town."

While continuing his story, Paul reached out for the axe his brother held. "Thankfully, with news that the Empire was sending down someone to the town, I was able to convince him to finally allow it."

Now holding the axe handle at its ends, Paul went on. "Now I thought, since Wyrms can shapeshift and the like, maybe a weapon could do the same. So I asked Pete to look into it and..."

Paul then twisted the handle in two opposite directions, the runes on the handle now aligning to form a single line. As they did, the runes along the axe began to glow a bright red. The axe handle then began to shrink in length, now only fitting within Paul's left hand. The panels on the side of the axe head slid forward, covering the blade entirely and now resembling more of a carpenter's hammer.

"There we are," said Paul, handing the miniature axe back to Graham. "Give it a try."

Graham took the now miniature axe and appeared to having a much easier time with it. "It's even lighter than my lumber axe!" he mused. He began passing it from one hand to the next. "But if the axe could change like this, why didn't Peter tell us?"

"Was probably steamed he wasn't gonna get paid for it," Paul answered. "He was gonna charge me 3000 gold pieces for it, so I doubt it cost him more than 1000." Luna took note of this, as she was quite certain the Emperor's Treasury should hear of this.

"Keep it in your belt," Paul explained. "On your offhand side. Give it a good twist and it'll pop back to that weapon before. Oh, and be careful where you do that. The weapon's compressing, not disappearing, so it can still slice something fierce. And don't go waving it about everywhere. Some towns around here have strict rules about weapons being brandished."

"We'll keep that in mind," said Luna as Graham put the weapon within his belt. "Now, Mr. Blackwell, I presume you have somewhere I can have a moment of privacy."

At this question, Paul lost a bit of his bravado. "Well..." he replied tepidly. "I suppose you could use my room. Although, keep in mind that I haven't had a chance to--"

"That will work fine," she interjected, pulling out an odd, crystalline orb from her robe. The orb appeared to be chipped and jagged across the surface, a crooked gold spreading along the orb from the bottom, like cracks along an egg.

"Ah, a projection orb!" exclaimed Paul. "Met someone in Starbend that had one a' those! You gotta see this, Graham. See, you gotta wait 'til nighttime, then the orb--"

Before Paul could finish his explanation, Luna walked past the both of them into Paul's room. The room was even more bare than the rest of the home, holding only a single mattress resting on the floor, along with a pile of aging clothes in a corner. Next to the doorway was a shelf with various books and manuals on subjects of weapon handling and monster biology. The dust along them suggested that it had been quite a time since any of them had been read.

As Luna moved to close the door, she turned and spoke to the two men waiting in the doorway. "I'm going to communicate with someone. While I do this, I'll be vulnerable to attack."

As she explained, she began holding the scratched and jagged orb in between each of her hands. "This is important. No matter what happens, you MUST not interrupt the communication. If you try to make contact with me while I use this tool, my mind may be lost in the rift between the Realms and I may never return. Do you understand?"

The two men wordlessly nodded, then Luna, satisfied, closed the door.

Finally alone, Luna allowed her mind to process what she'd heard. Something Paul said had nagged at her mind. When our parents came to this village. They weren't natives. Why come here specifically? It's possible they weren't involved and simply came here by coincidence. But, the Domina taught us that nothing of Morningstar's plans can be considered coincidence.

As she thought, Luna knelt down along the wooden floor of the room. The smell of old sweat filled her nostrils, but she did her best to ignore it as she tried to concentrate on the orb within her fingers. From the other room, she could hear Paul's voice loudly bellow "A Skullraider?!" The thin walls of the room doing little to dampen his voice. Their conversation continued, but soon, her focus rendered them mute. The projecting orb now began to glow slightly, signaling that Luna was now capable of making a connection.

With her mind clear and organized, Luna placed the tips of her fingers along the gold cracks of the orb. Once contact was made, the orb's glow grew more powerful, now radiant. As the orb's glow filled the room, the area around Luna began to disappear, the wooden home she knelt in crumbling away like sand in the wind. Her mind was gone.

----

Graham stood with his brother, Paul in front of the now closed door.

"She seems a bit steamed," quipped Paul. "What's gotten under her skirt?"

"I'm not sure," responded Graham.

"Ah, come off, now. I saw you two at the fight this morning," Paul said, with a slight nudge of his elbow into his older brother's side.

"You did? But how?"

"Eh, you get in enough sword fights, you learn how to see from the back of your head. And I surely saw the two of you being rather sweet with each other. Madam was clinging to your arm as if she was likely to be washed away."

Graham felt heat upon his face once more, remembering the excitement and passion of having met Luna earlier that day. Then, a tinge of sadness upon realizing how brief the moment had been and how she appeared uninterested in continuing it.

"Doesn't surprise me," Paul continued, with a open hand resting upon his chin, as if to frame his face. "Haven't met a woman yet that can resist the old Blackwell charm. So what happened? Your gaze wandered a bit? Hand crept a little too low? Come, now. Tell me."

Graham sighed and found his eyes naturally focusing on the floor before him. "Everything changed once she read that declaration. She realized I was the one she's meant to guide to the Capital and she seems to bear quite a grudge against this Ethan Morningstar fellow."

"Ah, him," replied Paul, who soon found himself walking along the empty room. "That was...news to you, right? Mum and dad never mentioned...?"

"You know how they were. They never wanted to talk about what happened before they came here."

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"The most I ever got out of them was that Wyrm story," continued Paul. "And I think it was only because they knew they had to tell us something about their past."

"You know, somedays, someone from out of town will stop me and say, 'oh, you look just like your old man, y'know?' and i just listen to them tell me a story I've never heard of a man I've never known."

Paul and Graham stood in the room silently, the flickering of the lantern's flame the only sound.

Paul, now on the other side of the room, crouched down before a pile of various books and papers, his hands reaching withing. "Y'know, when I thought it was gonna be me leaving, I started looking through all this junk I've collected and I found a few things."

Paul walked back to Graham's side and handed him an old frame with a painting within. The painting showed a younger Graham and Paul alongside their parents, Joseph and Abigail. The man resembled Paul and Graham equally, sharing their night black hair. Even holding Paul's facial features and Graham's wide frame. Their mother, while having rich brown hair that neither Paul nor Graham inherited, shared her shorter physique with Paul and her bright green eyes and her softer, round features with Graham. The two adults were portrayed with bright, beaming grins upon their faces, huddled together, while the two boys seemed rather upset and had to be held in place.

"I remember this," said Graham. "That painter fellow came to town and needed a place to stay. Mum and dad let him bunk here and he made this as a thank you."

"Yeah, and you wouldn't hold still for it," Paul responded. "I gave you a little tap. Then, you walloped me and knocked out one of my teeth."

"Well...it was a baby tooth. You would've lost it anyways! And it was not a little tap."

"Was so," replied Paul, who quickly gave a light punch along Graham's arm. "Like that."

"No, it was more like THIS!" Graham said, returning the punch along his brother's arm, although fairly harsher.

"Aye! Careful now, big brother," said Paul with a warning finger pointed in Graham's face. "Don't start something you aren't ready to finish." Paul glaring at Graham, who returned the harsh gaze. Then, after a moment, the two brothers burst out laughing.

"Ah, but I'm gonna miss you, Graham," said Paul, the last of the laughter leaving his voice. "I figured you'd most likely miss us, so I thought you should take this to remember us by. And I also found this."

Paul reached behind himself and pulled out the other object he'd found in the pile. A small, thin leather-bound book, lined with gold colored metal and clasped with a chambered, cylindrical lock in the center. Along the lock were four dials, each with a series of strange symbols along them.

"Mum's old journal!" Graham exclaimed. "She wrote every day in this."

"Aye, but we could never get the damn thing opened. After she...well, after that, I brought it along with me on adventures, hoping I could find someone who knew how to unlock it. But the damned thing's sealed with magick. Too powerful for anyone nearby to undo. I figured, maybe someone at the capital might know something so..."

Paul handed the book to Graham, who gently reached out his hand for it. His fingers crept along the leather material and felt the cold of the metal lock upon his palm. This is all we have left of her, he thought. He took one last look at the journal and the portrait before placing them within his bag.

"Well," Paul said, "I suppose this is the last we'll see of each other for now." He extended out a hand to Graham. "Good luck to you, brother."

Graham reached out, but rather than take his brother's hand, he pulled Paul closer to him into a hug. Initially, Paul appeared stunned by the hug, but soon Graham felt him hug back. Their chests pressed against one another for a few moments longer, then the two separated.

"Well, just make sure you don't run off without saying goodbye," spoke Paul. "And, while you're gone, make sure to patch up things between you and the Lady Luna. I don't know her too well, but this morning, I saw you happier than I've seen you in ages, so she must be a good 'un.""

Graham felt a smile along his face and silently nodded. "And be careful out there. I've never been as far as the Capital, but I've been on the Golden Road plenty of times. All sorts of nasty beasts and bastards there. And if it's a daemon, watch your back."

At the mention of daemons, Graham thought back to the moment earlier that morning, an event that he'd done his best not to remember. "Paul, can I ask you something?"

"Well, you just did, didn't you?"

"No, something serious. Have you ever heard of a daemon with massive wings and...a second mouth?"

"A Skullraider?!" Paul bellowed, a frightened look upon his face. Graham, shocked, jumped back and almost dropped the bag now resting on his shoulder. "Did you see a skullraider?!"

"No!" Graham shouted back, somewhat frightened. "I mean, I'm not sure. I saw something."

"Graham, tell me exactly what you saw."

----

Jesse Whitedawn stumbled along the empty street of Brightshade. His footsteps were staggered and lacked rhythm. In his hands was a half-empty bottle of elven wine, the name lost to him in this particular moment. Dumb fat bastard, he thought.

He'd been walking and drinking alone for quite a while now. Ever since they called off the big celebration for the Blackwell boy, in fact. Stupid fat bitch gave us the wrong name. With the knowledge that it would not be the Blackwell boy well known and regarded across the town, but instead the one that mostly kept to himself, the town felt little need to continue with the celebration, the one Jesse had been waiting for all week.

An older citizen of Brightshade, Jesse had struggled ever since an accident at the lumber mill had taken one of his eyes. Being a woodcutter all his life, the injury both hindered his vision and left him with bouts of crippling headaches. It was not long before he found himself without a job and, with no other skills to offer, found himself without a home. The industry town did little to aid those who could not pull their own weight and Jesse was forced to begging traveling adventurers for a few gold coins or scraps of food to make his way.

The word of the celebration seemed like a godsend to him, a day where even a beggar like him could forget his troubles. So, when the Herald's declaration finished and the town found itself with little to celebrate, Jesse found it difficult to simply return to his daily routine. After trying and failing to convince the townspeople to continue on with the celebration, he quietly took a bottle of elven wine and made his way back to the streets of Brightshade.

Jesse scratched at his curly beard, peppered with grey and black and continued walking along the street. Gonna give those two a piece of my mind. When he'd begun drinking, he had no goal in mind. Simply to dull his mind from the boredom of living in such an uneventful town and the aching of his old joints. Then, he found himself walking along the street. No idea how, but again he had no goal. Simply felt like walkin', is all. It was surely mere coincidence that he found himself walking toward the fat Blackwell boy's home. And it surely had to be pure luck that he happened to be doing so once everyone else in the town was asleep. Surely.

Soon, he stood before the Blackwell boy's home. Tugging at his tattered tunic and feeling slightly hot, he took another gulp of the wine bottle. Looking through the window, he saw a light on in the stone home. He saw shapes moving within the home, but felt the edges of his vision blurring. Gotta hurry 'fore I'm too drunk to stand.

Jesse put a hand to the door and pushed it open. Trying his hardest not to stumble or fall over, he quietly walked into the home. A narrow hallway within led him to a bedroom door. From within, he heard voices speaking. One voice, speaking English, but the other an odd language he'd never heard before.

"Nya fetii kiae!"

"He wrote them all down. Some are...unfamiliar, but the others match with the scripture."

"Ah fetkiti, nue tanei!"

"He thinks them dreams, but he does see. I think it may truly be him."

Jesse didn't understand any of it, but he felt a rage in his fist and a fire in his belly and knew they'd fade if he waited one moment longer. With a fury, he kicked open the bedroom door, ready to attack the first fool he saw.

The first fool he saw appeared to be a giant, a massive mountain of a man whose physique suggested he was chiseled from stone. His indigo cloak hung across his shoulders as he sat along a bed, his hood obscuring his face, currently frozen in shock. The man held a book of sorts in his hands, made up of loose parchment. Jesse might've been afraid of the man had he not noticed the man's companion appeared to be made out of rags.

The creature was tall, with black leathery skin and small eyes. Like stars in the night sky. Its mouth circular and lined with protruding teeth. Jesse recognized it from the stories of the adventures from the inn. A skullraider. The one that'll burrow into your head and-- Before he could finish the thought, he saw a black warped tentacle shoot out from the creature's robe and felt it wrap around his own throat. As he grabbed at the tentacle, the creature lifted him from the ground and pulled him closer into the room.

The giant man remained seated, Jesse being held up to his eye level. He put the book to his side and looked directly into Jesse's eyes. "Well, hello there. I'm sure you can see this is a...rather tense situation here. It would be best to answer honestly to our questions." The man spoke with a gentle, calming tone. No trace of anger or malice.

"Ah cihi fretuni komonii!" the skullraider bellowed, but the man held up a hand to calm him.

"Let's start by building trust. My name is Levi. And you are?"

Jesse opened his mouth to scream, but felt the beast's tentacle press harder against his throat. The meaning was clear. After a moment, he managed to spit out "Jesse."

"Jesse," said Levi. "That's a good name. It means 'Lord exists'. Did you know that?"

Jesse, struggling to breathe, remained silent.

"I suppose you wouldn't. Most people don't know the meaning of their own names. It's a tragedy, really. Names are the most important parts of our identity. They're a way of expressing what those before us hoped to offer the world. And I think we were destined to meet today, Jesse.

"Because, you see, I think the Lord does exist. In fact, I think He's closer than ever. You see, we came here today to find someone. A...friend of ours. Graham Blackwell. From what my associate here told me, this is his home. I presume that's why you're here as well."

Jesse felt the tentacle around his neck loosen, a sign he felt was assuring. Until he saw that another, thicker tentacle with a sphincter-like end appear out from under the beast's robe.

"Well, he's not here and we can't exactly go around asking for him."

The sphincter-like tentacle opened wide as a gooey, toothy membrane stretched out of it.

"So I'm only going to ask you once."

The toothy membrane rested atop Jesse's head. His hands reached out in a panic to rip away at the membrane, but his hands merely slipped along its viscous surface.

"Please, Jesse, for all of us. Do you know where else Graham Blackwell could be?"

"Y-YES!!" Jesse screamed, feeling hot tears streaming down his face. "I KNOW! I KNOW EXACTLY WHERE HE MUST BE!! I'LL TELL YOU!!"

Levi lowered his head, then muttered, "i'm...sorry to hear that."

With a snap of his fingers, the skullraider's membrane began to crawl along Jesse's head, wrapping tightly around it. "NO! NO! I SAID I'D TELL--" His voice was abruptly cut off as the membrane formed a seal over his mouth, muffling his screams.

"I'm sorry, Jesse. But no one can know that we were here. And you said you knew where he was. If you didn't, we may have been able to give you a clean death. But..."

Jesse screamed and howled, his screams vibrating against the membrane. He clawed at the gooey flesh trapping his head, his nails full of chunks of fetid flesh. From the top, he felt an odd piercing sensation, like a needle poking the crown of his head. Then, a bit of pressure. Then...

"AAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Jesse's muffled screams threatened to shake the entire home. His body thrashed and fought for freedom, almost attempting to rip his head from his own body. From within, he could feel the creature's tentacle writhing around his skull. Cracking through bone, the tentacle began to pierce through the brain. At its end, the tentacle splintered off into several barbed slivers that dug into the brain tissue. The tentacle then began to pull the brain out through the small crack left behind. Jesse's screams now sounded warped and cracked as his vocal chords strained from overuse. A gurgling noise echoed within the membrane. Then, a loud KRAK! Sound came from his skull and all of Jesse's movements ceased.

Then, blackness. Jesse could see nothing. After a moment, Jesse found himself capable of seeing again, from outside of his own body. Still within it, but also somehow without. He felt no more pain. No more fear. In fact, he felt...nothing.

He could also see that the man, Levi, was now on his knees. The man reached out and grabbed Jesse's hands, as if pleading. "Jesse, if you can still hear me, I need you to understand that what you've sacrificed here today is more important than you could ever realize." Levi's voice was shaky and panicked. "If we succeed here today, you and so many others will be brought back, in a cleansed paradise. Do you understand?" he asked, tears filling his eyes.

"Yes, I understand." said a voice eerily similar to his. The voice came from the skullraider, but it also came from Jesse. "I'm more than happy to help you. Your cause is now mine."

"Thank you," replied Levi. "You don't know what this means to me."

"Oh, but I do," replied skullraider-Jesse. "The daemon knows, so now I do as well. And now, we will find the Blackwell boy at his old home. We'll capture him just as we captured Jesse. And we will join his mind with ours."