“That first night after I’d been Chosen was the worst of it fer sure,” Winifred half-mumbled the words, as she idly stabbed her fork into the meat pie and watched the rush of steam that burst out of the pie’s golden-brown crust. “I did nae even ken what was going on. The last thing I could remember was fighting for ma life against Sykes’ fucking bodyguard, then all of a sudden, I was in the sky.”
She couldn’t resist the small shiver that ran through her at the memory. “It was so much colder than I’d ever imagined, being that high above the city. Dangling in the air with nothing but a slab of stone to rest on.”
“I felt my damn heart stop in my chest, and I’m bloody thankful my body seized in fear. Just thinking of that drop…”
“The only thing worse was realizing the only thing holding me steady was some nightmare monstrosity come to life. Or unlife. You know what I mean.” Winifred punctuated her statement with a growl of annoyance.
She could still remember the shock and fear in her gut as she’d locked eyes with her kidnapper’s Elven features, and taken in the powerful gargoyle body she was draped across like a sack of potatoes.
Frankly, Winifred hadn’t even known who, or what, had apparently kidnapped her. As far as she was concerned, the Tomb-Makers were mostly Wraiths or Skeletal Guards.
Not misbegotten chimeras of flesh and rock. No, she hadn’t had a clue what was going on in the slightest.
“No amount of courage prepares ye to be staring down some fooking monstrosity out of nowhere, I’ll tell ye that.” Winifred spat to the side, as she recalled how she’d screamed in fear. ‘I near pissed meself, but who the Hells would nae have?’
Seated at the table with her companions, safely tucked out of sight from any Tomb-Makers, and Winifred could still feel the fear from that moment.
It didn’t help that even the tavern full of drunken louts would only slow the Skeletal Guardsmen down for a mere moment, if they really wanted to get ahold of her again.
The brawler was pulled from her morose silence when Zacharias knocked a ring against the table. “Please, it’s a bit of altitude!” The Halfling said derisively as he rolled his eyes. “I’ll have you know I used to love scaling buildings as a kid. It can’t be -that- different.”
“Must you always be such an idiot!” Came Skrakch’s scathing rebuke, the Ratling’s whiskered face twisted into a snarl. “Going a few stories up isn’t the same as actually flying, you fool.”
“Aye, remind me next time we get the chance to dangle ye from somewhere high and see how ye fair,” Winifred snorted as she shook her head, before she continued her tale.
“Well, it was nae long before I passed out again, whether because of ma wounds or ma newly Chosen stature.”
“When I next awoke, I was back indoors. Clearly I’d been dropped off somewhere, but I had nae a single bloody clue where I was.”
“The room itself was… bare. Nay, more like… sterile?” Winifred continued, her eyes focusing on something out of sight as she tried to remember the moment.
“It reminded me of a funeral room, all white sheets and nae colour. It was cramped too, only a dozen or so feet in length and height.”
The drab featureless walls had been rather daunting to take in at the time, and Winifred hadn’t been able to find a way out of the room, with no doors or windows in sight.
With nothing but time as she sought a way to escape her confines, her mind had twisted on itself, wandered and wondered through memories she’d long thought forgotten.
Had the walls actually been closing in on her? Or had it just been her own mind trying to fool her? It seemed nonsensical in hindsight, but she’d felt trapped. Like a caged animal, locked away and out of sight.
She’d recalled the last time she’d seen such a sterile, cold room. It had been at her Uncle Hamish’s manor house, the old man having had kicked the bucket and she’d been led into his bedroom by her mother to say her goodbyes.
In life, Uncle Hamish had been a mean giant of a man. Broad shoulders, broad face, broad bloody everything. His flame red hair and beard had been his crowning glory, proof of his noble heritage.
The man was, in hindsight, a drunkard. Liking the finest whiskey money could buy and drinking it to excess. It made the man mean as a rabid Lionbear and just as dangerous. So his death hadn’t been something Winifred had cared too deeply about.
Uncle Hamish had been laid out on his bed on pristine white sheets, surrounded by white lilies. She’d stared at his strange, waxy face so different to when he was living, and listened to her mother’s soft cries. She’d been merely five years old at the time but sometimes, in her dreams, that same dead pale face would come visit her even now.
‘It was the quiet that really got tae me though. I’d been so used tae the thrum of the city, that being without it…’
The sounds of the busy tavern began to fade into the background as the Chosen felt herself falling deeper into her memory.
“They’d left me in me bloodied leather, thank the Gods Above and Below. Dinnae ken I’d have reacted well tae being stripped, let me tell ye.” She took a sip of ale as her companions focused on her words, the revelry of the tavern around them contrasting their silence.
“I could nae tell ye if I was left in that wee room, that bloody cell, for hours or days but I was going mad in there by meself.”
“All I wanted was for something tae break the monotony, but once someone finally did…”
She trailed off, remembering the moment… it was still so visceral to her and yet, especially with her missing arm, she wasn’t willing to show that to her companions.
The wee Halfling, and probably the Ratling too, would jump at the chance to use it against her should the need arise.
“Never show your opponent yer weaknesses, Lassie!”
“Who!?” Skrakch only just managed to keep from yelling in consternation at the lull in Winifred’s words, the Ratling slamming a fist onto the inn’s table and knocking bits of peanut shells onto the floor. “Was it a human, or a bloody Undead! Maybe it was a-“
Skrakch was suddenly cut off as Zacharias’ smacked the Iskrin upside the head, the Halfling let out a half-laugh, half-sneer as he shook his head. “Shut your gob, Squeakers. Let the poor wench talk.”
Ignoring the duo’s antics, Winifred just continued her tale. “Actually, it was a bit of both I’d say. The… man who came tae check on me was almost mundane looking, really. Bit of an ugly wee lad if yer askin’.”
“He was dressed well enough, in such an impressive swirl of red silk that I’d say he had more grace than any Nobleman I’d been forced tae chat with before. He even had this perfectly pleated cravat that…” The Brawler cut off with a quick cough, her cheeks momentarily flushing pink. The wearer of the clothes certainly wasn’t a prize pig but the clothes themselves? Things of beauty.
But she wasn’t interested in clothes. 'Obviously.'
Before any of her companions could remark on her last comment, Winifred barreled onwards with her story.
“Listen, the point is, the man was well dressed. He even had a rather impressive collection of jewelry on his fingers. The size o’ them gems, ye’d have been drooling Wee Man.”
“But one look at him and ye could tell he was nae right. Was nae some mere mortal richie from the residential area. Pale as a ghost, with pointed teeth to boot. All the finery in the world couldn’t hide the look in his eyes, looking at me like I was food.”
‘It was like staring at a wolf in the guise of a man,’ Winifred could still feel the fear that had blossomed in her chest that day. ‘One second I was adjusting to waking up in some bloody crypt, the next I was staring down a… a bloody Demon.’
‘I did nae even see him enter the room, he just appeared. Staring at me with such unnatural stillness from within my arms reach. It was like a corpse had wandered into sight from the depths of the Abyss itself.’
Winifred stabbed her fork down into her meat pie before taking a bite out of it, trying to shake off the memory as she listened to the tavern crowd around her as they cheered the arrival of a minstrel, here to entertain the drunken louts.
“So, naturally I told the bloke off. Ripped him a new one, for daring tae touch a sleeping woman of ma clear virtue.” Winifred continued, until Zacharias started laughing uproariously. “What? I’ll have ye know I gave him whatfore!”
“Please Winnie, you’re all talk love! I bet you near pissed your knickers at the sight of him.” Zacharias could barely speak as the laughter bubbled out of him as he slapped the tabletop for effect.
As Winifred glared at the Halfling, Meekknuckle finally piped up with a comment. “Me confused. Was he human? Or spooky-Undead-human?”
Scratching at his chin for a moment, Meek thought of another important question to ask. “Wait, why all spooky Undead be human? Where all Undead Goblins! Or Rat peoples. Not fair, not let me be Undead.”
“Actually, there’s a good reason for that!” Skrakch chimed in, sitting up more adroitly as the little prick prepared himself for another of his long winded, boring lectures. “400 years ago, the Tomb-Makers did supposedly let-“
‘Well, that was easy enough tae distract them.’ Winifred thought to herself as she resisted her own urge to laugh easily tuning out the Ratling’s grating voice as he webt off on another one of his impromptu history lessons. ‘If I’m lucky, they will nae even remember tae keep pestering me, for awhile at least.’
Still… just thinking about that day was enough for the meat pie she was eating to taste like ash in her mouth.
‘What I was saying was true enough, Gods Below strike me dead if it weren’t.’
Winifred shuddered as she remembered the way the pale creature had looked at her, as if she wasn’t even a person. Even her Mother and her fellow acolytes had never looked at her like that before. Like she was a commodity of sorts…
Stolen story; please report.
‘Just a pile of meat, waiting tae be ripped apart.’
‘I did nae say a word tae him, no, you dinnae try tae talk with something like that. I threw myself at him, and the monster did nae even budge! I smashed ma fist into his face, and all it earned me was a damn near broken hand.’ She crammed in another mouthful of pie, hoping the familiar meat and rich gravy would do something to the cold pit of her stomach.
‘He just stared at me around my aching hand, blood red eyes looking into ma damn soul. Just thinking about it…’ Winifred could feel still feel the chill, even with the tavern warm enough to be uncomfortable heated by the sheer mass of folks inside the rickety walls.
…innie? Winnie, don’t bloody ignore me.” Zacharias voice cut through her memories, leaving the pit fighter to glare at the Halfling. “Listen, best get talking before Old Squeakeroo starts trying to bore us all to death again.”
Ignoring Skrakch’s cry of annoyance, Winifred was just happy to move on from the moment. “Well, turned out it was all a bloody misunderstanding, and the Tomb-Makers just wanted tae make sure I would nae hurt any of their precious citizens alright?” She lied through her teeth, already feeling done with this damnable conversation.
The next few seconds were spent in complete silence as Zacharias and Skrakch marvelled at the sheer gall of such a bald-faced lie, but the killing blow went to Meekknuckle as the small Goblin rested a bony hand on Winifred’s arm.
“Me not sure that true, Winnie. Maybe, you just tell important bits of story?” Meek asked as he beamed a calming smile up at her. The damn wee creature had seen through her easily. Never a good sign.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, Winifred did what came naturally to her in moments like this. Grabbing her tankard of ale, she drowned her momentary feelings of embarrassment with alcohol before wiping away the frothy remains on her lips.
“Fine, Fine. The damned thing was another Chosen. But nae like me, or even like that bloody Ghast. Nae, I was but a pup before him. He never talked tae me, just grabbed me by the throat and dragged me to where I was needed.”
“That first night, he just attacked me. Over and over again, he’d throw me across what I quickly realized was ma cell.” Winifred’s voice fell, a small quiver in her words. “He did nae even use a weapon, he never even bothered tae make a fist. He just lifted a single pale finger, and tossed me about like I was bloody paper.”
“And I threw everything I had at him. Ma training with Blackmaul, ma tricks I picked up in the pits. I used ma Mana until I puked blood, and he never had tae use more than a finger to deflect ma attacks.”
“For the first time since I was a little girl, I was helpless.”
Winifred choked down a lump in her throat, staring down at the table. Zacharias and Skrakch were the two worst people in her life to be baring her soul to and yet, here she was. Maybe it was a momentary weakness due to Kristoff’s pain receding brew? If she was to be asked, that would certainly be the reason she’d give anyway.
“Even after I gave up on attacking him, he’d just keep poking me. Prodding me. Looking at me like I was some kind of defective toy.”
“I dinnae even remember the first time I ended up using ma Pact against him. I did nae realize what I was doing until ma fist moved so much faster than it should have. I punched him harder than I could ever throw a fist before, and all I achieved was forcing him to catch my punch with the flat of his palm.”
“That’s when he was finally done with me. I never saw that particular Tomb-Maker again, but… the way I was just a joke tae him.” Winifred growled out the words, blinking back tears as she cracked her knuckles together. “I swore I’d get stronger. So strong that I could break that prick’s finger. Rip it off his fist and force it down his gullet.”
“That’s why I wanted tae fight that Chosen in the Arena. I need tae get stronger, I need…” She let her voice trail off again, as the table fell into silence.
It was after nearly a minute before Zacharias broke the silence.
“You know, my Pa used to take a belt to me.” The thief offered up in a casual tone, as if just recounting a fun little anecdote. “Just went to town with it, and the man was a retired blacksmith too. Had a mean wrist on him, by the Gods. One whack from him and you’d be feeling it for hours let me tell you!”
“I’d spend most weeks limping, all throughout my childhood.” Zacharias shook his head as if the thought amused him, grabbing his own tankard and running his finger around the rim. “Nothing I could do about it though, the man was just bigger than me. Stronger, faster, Hells, I was a kid!”
“But eventually I got older and got wiser. Me old man was always going to be stronger than me, but he still slept. Still got hammered on booze, and fell into a stupor. So one night I choked him to death with his own belt.”
Zacharias’ grin pulled his scars taut on his face, and for a moment Winifred thought the look rather suited him. “Still one of my treasured memories that. Talk about poetic fucking justice. So if you want someone or something killed, we’re the men you need in your corner. Eh, Squeaks?”
The Ratling was tapping his lip in thought, mumbling to himself.
“Pale, rich, powerful as all Hells. Sounds like a vampire to me. Probably just need to load up on garlic or something… Hrm? Oh, my first kill was my supposed Master.” He added when Zach gave him a nudge.
“A human noble, with all the brains that entailed, no offense Winnie. And me just a lowly Iskrin, barely a servant. Didn’t stop me from watching as he burnt alive though, did it?” Skrakch finished by grinning so wide Winifred could see nearly the full length of his yellowed, oversized two front teeth.
Meekknuckle spoke up next, the Goblin keeping it short and simple.
“If Pale human Undead, it easy for Meek. Just go ‘Zap-Zap’ with magic, and he go down.” He explained with an easy shrug.
“Meek happy to make Undead stay dead, for a friend.” The Goblin mused, rubbing at his chin before turning a considering look towards Winifred. “After all, friends help friends make annoying people dead. Winnie help me if Meek need people made deaded, right?”
Before Winifred could answer the Goblin’s offhanded remark about blatant murder, Skrakch let out a shrill laugh.
“Who the Hells would you want to have murdered Meekknuckle, you don’t know more than ten people in Dray’Mel to begin with.” Skrakch mocked. “Unless you think we’ll help you kill a cousin or something. Did Quickfingers steal your prized possession, a linen rag with only three holes in it? Hahaha.”
“Bloody rich coming from you, Squeaks.” Zacharias butted in. “You wear the same leather outfit for weeks on end and don’t exactly keep it clean.”
“At least I bathe regularly, you disgusting halfwit. We can all smell your filthy-“
As her trio of companions began arguing over each other, Winifred couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her.
Truthfully, the idea of the three of them standing up to her tormentor was a nice thought, but if even she had trouble, they were next to useless.
‘Too bad none of them could help with the real issue.’
———————-
As terrifying as the ‘Pale Man’ had been, he’d been a physical creature. Something stronger than her, sure, but something she could fight. Something she could punch.
It was what came after she’d tapped into her Pact that truly terrified her.
‘I could barely breathe at that point, the sheer exhaustion that weighed me down was overwhelming.’
‘Maybe if I was still fresh, I’d have noticed that ma tormentor had finally left me, or that ma wee cell had finally opened up to reveal a stairway.’
‘But nae, the first thing I noticed was the shift in the air. The sudden breeze on ma skin. The worst part had been the glimmer of hope that I’d felt at the sensation. It felt like… freedom.’
One of the cell wall was simply gone, with a new hallway leading into a winding stairway of jagged obsidian-wrought stone.
The tunnel walls themselves were made from the same blackened material, the only difference being the occasional torches dotting the walls.
Only the nearest of the torches were lit, but Winifred welcomed even the smallest bits of light.
Even as she blearily stared upwards, she couldn’t see the end of the unchanging ascent, but anything was better than being locked in the dark, all alone.
The flickering spectral flames lit her way ahead and so Winifred began the long climb. Her first step brought fresh torment as the rough edges sliced into her bare feet but she barely noticed the sensation of her blood being spilled.
Her entire body ached with each step, her calves burning as she moved ever onwards. An hour into her climb, and her balance began to shift, her feet slipping on the now slick steps.
'Worse though was the air itself.’
‘The books I’d read as a child said that air grew scarcer as ye went higher, but that was nae the case for me. Nae, the air was becoming thick, practically a damned roiling smog that refused tae enter ma lungs.’
It was a fresh form of torment, but Winifred couldn’t help but be relieved. Anything was better than being struck again and again without recourse.
‘At least with this, I’m in control.’
Her blood ran down the tower’s steps as she climbed, step by step, the dripping blood making the blackened stone slick and unsteady.
Mentally exhausted, Winifred climbed with a sheer determination that surprised her, her body refusing to drop to the building pressure.
So focused on her ascent, she nearly ran directly into the first obstacle in her path.
Looming above her was an ornately carved door, wide enough for five men to cross comfortably.
A part of her was elated, the part of her that had refused to bend to her new circumstances, but she found herself staring at the door in front of her.
Even as she struggled to pull her attention elsewhere, Winifred could see a spreading web of gold cross against the stone door’s surface.
Her mind traced the delicate lines etched in gold, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of the dizzying pattern.
Instead, she could feel a strange attraction towards the door handle, urging her onwards. Just through the door and she’d be free.
Free from all her struggles, free from the curse of life. Winifred stepped up to the door and shoved it open, her tired arms burning from the strain.
The massive stone slabs barely budged, until she called on the power within her.
Break…
The sound of the doors crashing against the tower walls wasn’t worth registering to Winifred as she stepped into the long dead remnants of a garden, nor did she notice the chilling bite of the wind on her exposed flesh.
‘The smell of rotten flesh was stronger than ever in my nose, but I was finally free. I’d climbed tae the very top of Dray’Mel, standing atop the spire that had loomed above me ma entire life.’
The entire garden couldn’t have been more than a few dozen feet in length, but Winifred gravitated to the nearest edge and stared downwards.
The whole city was spread out before her, as the wind whipped her hair wildly about. Winifred could make out the Outer Walls and the hundreds of Tomb-Makers who patrolled the city limits like a swarm of ants marching in an orderly line.
In all directions, she could see the broken desert that surrounded the city, and the thick fumes of miasma that poured out from the city.
All originating from behind her.
Turning to follow the potent Necromantic Mana that choked down her lungs, Winifred looked past the desiccated bits of foliage and broken stone floor to take in the twisted statue that dominated the entire area.
‘It was glorious, in a twisted way, a monument tae death and rebirth. I felt the statue’s Mana reaching out towards my chest, ma Core both drinking deep of the miasma that seemed born from the abhorrent monstrosities form, and rebelling at the sickly sweet scent of death in the air.’
‘The statue depicted a man, dressed in once resplendent robes as he cast his arms towards the heavens in defiance. His face was morphed in glee and terror in equal measures as the flesh sloughed off its bones, before regrowing in a matter of moments.’
‘Every inch of its entire body was locked in a perpetual cycle of death and decay, balanced out by powerful regrowth and purity. Neither aspect seemed to outweigh the other, the constant mingling perverting both into something profoundly… wrong.”
‘But it wasn’t until I locked eyes with the monstrous figure that I truly realized what I was looking at. Where the statue’s eyes should have rested, only burnt out sockets peered back at me, but I could feel the pressure of its gaze.’
“Greetings, little sister.”
The words reverberated in her skull, sounding both as the rasping of a dying man and the crying of a newborn.
The weight of the statue’s attention pressed down on Winifred, even though the statue itself remained perfectly still.
Darkness began to cloud Winifred’s vision as she felt her body drop bonelessly to the garden floors, though her eyes remained fixed on the statue’s perpetually rotting visage.
The last thing Winifred heard before she fell unconscious was the statue’s pervasive voice as it rang out with cold disinterest.
“The time has come. She must be ready.”