Moving on, the pair searched through old inns, the worst brothels the city had to offer and gambling dens no better than a nest of vipers. All of them without the infamous Redhand.

All the while Tillian kept pace at Kaspia's side without complaint as the night went on. She was grateful for that, to have the droopy eared boy at her back, although the small elf's somehow heavy footsteps seemed to echo throughout the cobbled alleys they still assured her she was not alone. Tillian, a thin, droopy eared and thin boy who had saved her as the hideout fell, who had nursed her back to health with a valuable elixir and sat by her side until she got better. A friend who followed her into the night. What would they do if the Redhand had stolen away, leaving them behind to fend for themselves, to start over from the very bottom of the cruel hierarchy that governed the slums?

The pair trudged forward at a slow pace, their eyes darting around every corner and crevice in search of Redhand, Beoria, Silvertongue and the others. As they snuck from shadow to shadow, every noise felt magnified, each footstep and creak amplified as if warning them not to venture further, to go back and hide like rats scurrying from the cat.

Hours passed and boredom eventually set in. Boredom, the bane of vigilance. Immersed in her own musings, Kaspia failed to recognize what should have been obvious in the alley. Had she been more observant, she might have noticed that the atmosphere eerily still, that the walls were high and unusually smooth, that the curve of the allay limited her line of vision, that this particular allay was ideal for trapping someone and preventing them from escaping. She should have chosen another path

“Well, well,” a rough voice said as a figure stepped out of the shadows of the alleyway. “What do we have here? How lucky you found us, these alleys can be a dangerous place late at night,” the man continued, his eyes glinting in the pale light of the night sky. “Such a young lady and her little friend, how fortunate indeed.”

Stumbling to a halt mid-step, heart caught in her chest Kaspia tried to hide her shock as Tillian bumped into her back.

“You'd better hand over anything of value right now,” the man in front of her commanded as he tapped the palm of his hand with a thick wooden club, “We might let you go without much of a fuss if you do.”

“Dunauri!” She was a fool, how could she have walked into such an obvious trap. “Cover my back, there might be more of them,” she whispered, hoping that Tillian was astute enough to listen.

Before the boy could respond however, another voice rang clear in the night, this time from the darkness behind them. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? A clever girl, I see.”

A woman stepped into view and Kaspia felt Tillian tense up behind her, his back pressing into hers. The woman's silky smooth voice filled their ears as she tried to persuade them to give up their possessions without a fight. “Maybe we should be nice to the girl? Just give us what we want and all will be well!”

Kaspia clenched her fists as she felt Tillian's nervous shuffle behind her, the boy covering her back just like she had asked him too. Then, the man before her took a step in her direction and Kaspia moved away a bit until she felt herself pressed against the smooth cold wall of a building, broken plaster falling like fine rain.

Her mind flooded with memories, memories of a time long ago, trapped like a rat, hunted and the memories made it hard for her to breathe for a moment. Then something snapped as she called on the vile, hungry power deep within her. Her skin bubbled with welts that moved, like maggots burrowed around and a veil lowered itself over her eyes.

Who were these two to challenge her? Such a pathetic display. The surge of power burned away every vestige of fear or hesitation from her mind and it felt as if she was coming out from under water for air.

Taking a deep breath, she rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck before turning to glare back at the man who dared to challenge her. A maniacal laugh bubbling up her throat at the sight of weakness in front of her.

“Is… what is… madness?” the man clumsily stumbled on the words, obviously shaken by her sudden transformation.

Boom, boom, boom, her heart beat like a drum, each thud followed by a wave of power that echoed throughout the alley. Enough power to split her skull wide open, a thumping beat loud enough to wake the dead. A whisper dripping with nectar, a siren song, tempting truths it told her, said that the world was hers for the taking.

“Go on, let me in, let me fill your soul and grant you the power you deserve.”

Her heart was in her throat, her muscles ready to rip apart in a shower of blood.

Firandur Shoemender hadn’t eaten in days. He was hungry, excruciatingly so, and rightfully he cursed his bad fortune. He had arrived in Valium two weeks prior, together with a group of refugees after they had abandoned their small town high in the foothills of the Shield mountains. After years of more or less constant struggle and countless letters sent to the local baron, all filled with pleas for aid, the rifts had finally become too much. One by one the farmers were driven off the land by encroaching beasts emerging from the deepest pits from oblivion. Food had already become a problem when the hunters, the town's last reliable source of food, had stopped coming back one day.

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Firandur didn’t know if they had taken their things and left or if the monsters outside the village walls had finally gotten to them but when talk started of gathering up every man able to hold a weapon and have them march into the biggest rift to try and close it that was enough for him, thank you very much.

Firandur would never consider himself a coward, it was just that, well, he wasn’t a martial man. He was a cobbler for Gods' sake. What did he know of fighting? He could understand having the village militia do it, and maybe some of the younger men who did nothing but dig in the dirt outside the walls anyway. But him with a sword or spear in hand, that was just unreasonable. So, since he didn’t have a family or anything else keeping him in the village he had joined up with a few like minded folk and left. Sure, they had gotten quite a few ugly looks on their way out and the militia captain had tried to stop them but since no one was willing to shed blood over the matter they had been able to leave.

The small group left their old lives behind and had been traveling together as a small caravan through heavy rains when they met their first major hurdle. The river had been fat, overflowing with spring rain, giving them no choice but to leave their wagons behind and cross the river by rope at a shallow point. Firandur had only managed to bring a bag, bursting at the seams and full of the tools of his trade. In a somber mood the group, now without draft animals, had traveled on through thick woodlands down from the hinterlands near the Shield mountains, following the Gray rivers tributaries until, finally, they reached this cesspool of a city called Valium.

Now he stood here staring into two eyes filled with murderous intent, what was up with the girl? At first she had looked soft, a tempting target to relieve of some easy coin, and now he didn't know what to think. The grip on the cudgel in his hands felt slick.

Firandur never meant her and the small elven boy at her side any harm, he just needed a little coin for food, a bed and maybe some new clothes. He had tried going to the city magistrates and asked, with great humility, for a small stipend, just until he got a shop up and running. Every place needed a cobbler as good as him, Valium should be honored. When they turned him down, he had visited the temples but the Broken Pantheon had been deaf to his plights. Finally he had tried begging but since the city was crammed full of filthy refugees no one wanted to give more than a penny.

“It was all so unfair,” Firandur thought to himself in pity.

Finally, it was Shannarre, a weasel of a woman who had come to Valium with him, that convinced him that relieving some other unfortunates in the alleys would solve all of their problems.

“Easy coin, the city folk are soft, decadent,” she had said.

So here he was, trying to sound tough while staring at a frightened boy and the bloody young woman that accompanied him. She had no business seeing him right into the eyes. Her gaze radiated a desperate hunger, like he was a mouse and she a cat toying with him. He was so transfixed by her gaze that he didn’t even notice when she pulled out a long dagger.

Where had the girl that was supposed to be in front of him gone? He swore she grew larger by the moment, rivaling a knight in stature, towering like a mountain, looking down on him with eyes of hunger.

“Attack her you clumsy fool, now!” Shannarre yelled from the other side of the allay.

Kaspia ducked the first wild swing aimed at her head, letting the cudgel fly wide. Taking a leap forward she got in close enough to smell the stench of the man. Close was where the dagger in her hand excelled, it was where the hunger inside her told her to be.

The stinking man's cudgel came racing back in a backhand swing before she knew it but Kaspia was inside his weapon able to parry his arm with her elbow. The cudgel ripped from the man's hand and Kaspia saw his stupid face as she let go of the last part of her sanity, the power inside her consuming it before she knew it. She stabbed the inside of his arm, the one no longer holding a weapon, close to the shoulder and then punched the stinking fool's gut as he let out a scream in pain. He broke like a twig, bending over, an anguished streak across his face. It was glorious!

She swung onto the weak man's back and started hitting the back of his head with her fist, her dagger forgotten in his arm. Kaspia didn’t even hear his screams for mercy as she beat the defeated man with righteous fury.

“Mother, father, brother, watch my glory!” Kaspia's roared at the night sky.

Suddenly she was ripped out of her rage by a forceful yank, pulling her off the man she had been fighting. Kaspias' blood boiled as looked for her new foe. Fists held high, ready to pounce on the boy before her. Ready to tear him apart!

“Wait!”

“No,” she thought, her mind reasserting itself through mists in her mind. Hadn’t the other assailant been an older woman? Confused, she put her hands on her knees and forced herself to breathe ragged breaths. In and out, in and out. Clarity returned as she let go of her desperate rage filled hunger for carnage.

Tillian stood in front of her and she noticed he had taken several steps back from where he had yanked her away from the man. When she looked him in his eyes, she could see water pooling, fear evident on the boy's face.

“Mother, father, brother. I swore to grow strong but what have I become?” The thought was one she had ignored for a long time. The power that lingered inside her, was it even the strength she sought, would her family even recognize her?

Tillian's eyes darted back and forth over the dark allay. “Kaspia, we need to go now.”

Kaspia knew she had let the bullying monster in her take over completely this time. It was dangerous, it left her without control, more a savage animal than an elf. The hunger intoxicating yet frightening, she had no mind of her own, instead her heart filled with rage and fear.

Still shaken she rushed over to the man she’d fought and pulled out her knife. The older woman was nowhere to be seen. Good, the crone knew what was best for her.

As she grabbed Tillian's arm and ran away, she could hear the man on the ground, his pitiful whimper echoing through the alleyway. It stayed with her long after the whimpering sound had faded in the distance.