Conrad Whilluf Wale had been born and raised in one of the smaller communities on the far eastern side of Katal. There, born to a guardsman and his apothecary wife he had been given the best education and training the couple could offer. Despite their status as commoners, it was not insignificant. He had spent time in his youth as a guardsman with his father, serving his beloved homeland in its defense against the smaller kingdoms to the east that looked on at Katal in jealousy and scorn. Why wouldn’t they? Katal had enjoyed prosperous peace within its borders for generations and it’s culture of law and order was one to be proud of.
Wale was knighted around the age of thirty, selected from many to serve his nation in the honorable role of Justicar. He had been bestowed with an Aspect, the Aspect of Order. As a roving bringer of order, he was a judge, a jury, and an executioner at times. It was a role he never truly learned to savor like many of his peers. It was supposed to be a humble duty, a necessary evil to ensure the prosperity of a Kingdom so beloved by its people. By extension, the Justicars were equally loved by those law-abiding citizens that by their concession to the divine right of the King, gave the Justicars their power. Yet even Wale knew that not everything was as it seemed. He had met out justice to thieves and rogues just as he had passed down his judgments upon barons and minor lords.
He was not without his share of enemies, yet he had always figured he had one ally in the Kingdom he could count on. A patriot as proud and as honorable as himself. Bertrand Otel, Count of the Balthin Region, had been a friend and sometimes confidant. They had their differences on occasion-Bertrand had his hand in some of the darker parts of society. He had claimed up and down that his purpose was to reign in what was an immutable part of life among people. “Crime could never be extinguished, but it could be curtailed”, that was what the Count had always told him. Together they had become an unlikely pair that had seen to the ascent of the Balthin Region as one of the most powerful counties in Katal.
The betrayal had come as a painful shock. He should have expected that the Count was capable of treachery, but he had always figured it would be for those deserving of such a thing. Conrad had served with distinction and had in his last mission come to the Balthin Green Sea in search of a spy sent by an Azar Warlord. Apparently, the woman had come under the pretext of peace but his friend had learned through his own agents that the woman was anything but. It was an attempt by this mysterious warlord to lure Katal into a false sense of security and prevent what could be the rise of a new King of the Azar. Conrad believed him. Conrad came, he found the woman, and when she had thrown herself at the soon-to-be doomed orcish settlers of that settlement he had put her to death.
He had no quarrel with the settlers, if anything he had pitied them. Even in his departure, he had warned them of the horrors that prowled the night of the forest and that like all that came before them, their settlement would be consumed by the trees themselves one day. The old elder had simply informed him that they would take care of themselves and there was little to worry for. He was so strangely confident that Conrad had taken him at his word. He had left in peace and embarked on his journey east, to home, to Katal. Yet as they entered their second day of travel he had been betrayed. The mercenaries hired by the Count to travel with him had turned on him in his sleep. Only his honed senses had saved his life and it was only after slaying the first did he manage to get a weapon to use to defend himself.
Conrad leaned back against the tree and let out a sigh. Saved his life may have been too soon of a thing to say. The mercenaries were strong and had not gone down without a fight. His wounds were terrible and he was far away from home. Without a healer and with his body crippled as it was he wondered if he would even survive the night. He had already begun to feel a fever coming on as the wolves of the forest howled in the distance. Would it be they that finished the job? Or would nightfall and the monsters themselves do the work? He thought about the Count and his machinations, wondering if the woman he had slain had truly been an enemy or a person pushed to desperation by the Count’s will. Conrad knew that he was the second attempt by the Count to slay the woman. What if she had been telling the truth?
Regardless, the woman was dead and he had been cast aside. Used up and left to die alone in the wilderness. He mourned for his homeland in those moments. Praying to the gods for continued peace for his people. It was all he could do as his life’s blood seeped from his injuries. He thought about opportunities he had missed, love lost, a family he could have had, quiet life in the country would have been nice. Yet his greater love was for Katal and its people and his greatest fear was that in aiding Count Otel’s ascent, he had created a monster.
The snap of a twig drew him out of his quiet reminiscing and he looked up to see a figure enter the clearing where the bodies lay strewn about. A dozen mercenary corpses and the fallen form of his stallion, Ekart. The figure paused before the sight of the slaughter and stared at him through the growing gloom. It was huge, nearly two heads taller than Conrad himself. Its eyes burned with a quiet fury that seemed to conceal a hidden terror. Its body was jet black and covered in matted fur that dripped with an ooze that smelled of ground-oil. Conrad narrowed his eyes when he spotted the strange glow coming from the center of its chest.
“What are you, monster, that you’ve come to see me like this?” Conrad croaked, reaching for the weapon at his side.
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The creature canted its head to the right and stepped out of the shadows. It was more horrific than he had first thought, its head was the skull of some great beast that had been cracked open to reveal several more eyes than was natural. It had long, spindly arms that ended in terrible claws. There was a word for horrors like this in the church-tongue of Katal. ‘Akosma’ or ‘Unspeakables’. A creature of chaos incarnate and the opposite of everything that Katal was supposed to stand for. It approached him with slow, limping strides and canted its head to the left, leaning in to get into his face. It reeked. Strangely enough, though it showed no signs of hostility.
He glanced again at its chest and he realized what was different about this creature. It bore terrible injuries of its own. Golden blood was seeping from wounds that looked as if a titanic wolf had ripped into it’s chest with powerful jaws. The creature opened its mouth and a low rasp came forth, fetid breath curdling Conrad’s stomach. The aged and seasoned knight tried to turn his head away but felt the creature’s hand snap out and grasp his chin. A shock went through his body as images began to pour into his mind. He saw a place beneath the ground and a terrible monster hanging from the ceiling. Beneath it, two women fought for their lives, one was the Azar he had slain. The other was like a dark goddess, white as snow and bearing horns like a devil. The two fought with everything they had, protected one another, and slew the nightmare.
The visions turned to follow the two women. To lurk in the shadows of the settlement as the pale woman changed her appearance into that of the Azar and wrapped her arms around the real one. He saw himself, slaying the pale woman in disguise and he felt a cold lump fill his stomach. He had not even killed the correct person! The Azar woman yet lived. The visions continued and he was flooded with confusion, there was the pale woman again! She stood with the Azar and an Orc, allies, friends, and comrades. They stood before the monster, fought it off and it fled into the shadows. It then was faced by a mighty wolf that loomed over them with the presence of a god. The creature had barely escaped with the wounds it had received.
I am not ready to die. I wish to know. Wish to be.
The voice startled Conrad. He looked up at the creature as it rose to its full height.
You are not ready to die. You wish to understand. Desire vengeance. Truth.
Conrad swallowed, feeling the fever growing thicker in his mind. He shook it off and narrowed his eyes at the beast, “Not at the cost of my own soul.”
You would die at the cost of your homeland, then? You must slay the monster you created.
Conrad felt his skin go cold and he stared daggers at the creature, “How dare you invade my thoughts, beast!”
Akos. Akos is a good name.
“I do not care.”
Yes, you do. Live. Become one with me. We will share. You will become strong. I will experience life. A deal, a pact.
Conrad paused, his expression growing a bit softer. “Is that all you want? To live out a life? No matter what it is?”
Yes. I do not wish to slip back into the madness. I am myself.
“Will it change me?” He asked hesitantly.
Yes.
“Finally, some honesty,” Conrad laughed, “And from a walking nightmare.”
Conrad’s laugh turned into a rough cough and he shuddered, feeling numbness come to his limbs. He thought again about his homeland, about what it would take to protect it from someone as powerful as the Count. He had fallen to just a few mercenaries. He needed to become stronger, mighty if he was to do anything about what had been done to him and what could be done to his home. He needed to know the truth about the Azar woman and her mysterious ally. He needed to live. This was his chance, his one opportunity, all he had to do was sacrifice everything he stood for to live and become something more than he had ever been before.
He swallowed, “You have a deal.”
Then we are one and the same.
The creature reached into its own chest and tore forth something that glowed with the heat of a furnace, gold blood leaked from the object. The creature collapsed, its outstretched hand holding its own still-beating heart in offering. Conrad reached for it and took the heart in his hand, feeling the blood soak into his skin. Then the pain came, a pain that was followed by darkness.
—
Conrad woke amidst a lake of death. Corpses surrounded him, the fallen mercenaries. He stared at them with scorn as he drew himself to his feet, feeling renewed strength flow through his veins. He sniffed the air and could catch even the faintest scent of mana nearby. He knew where the wolves were, knew where the wightlings were. His wightlings. Their minds wreathed in fear and chaos. He reached out to them, calling with his own thoughts, and felt them resonate with him. They screamed into his mind and he silenced them with a single command. He demanded order, calm, and restraint. He demanded that they come to him and obey. They complied, coming in droves as he searched the sea of strange memories for something he knew was there but couldn’t remember.
A stone. A powerful stone lay hidden in the Orcish settlement. He needed that stone. He would have that stone. Then he would find the pale woman and he would have his answers. She would give him strength. She had given the Azar woman strength. She had been stronger than when she had fought the Bound One, so why not him? He would take it from her if he had to.
The first shambling Wightlings stumbled into the scene of death and he turned to them. They snarled and rasped but lowered their heads in submission. He raised his head high and looked down at them before drawing in the first deep breath of his new life; “I am Conrad Akos. Hear me, and obey.”