Guildmaster Konrad Roark read the letter a second time. Then a third. Struggling to grasp the contents within. Every iota of his being wanted to reject the letter, searching for some way to invalidate the dire missive and finding none. Captain Dorian had hand delivered the letter, leaving Konrad no avenue to discredit it. An invasion of flying ships had claimed Fallbrook. Earmarking Langdon as the next city along the invasion's natural path.

Nearly four decades as an adventurer, two of which as a Guildmaster, had taught Konrad many hard lessons. More often than he cared to admit, the implausible was possible; Oceans of blood a mile underground, creatures that spoke without words, and gods were all things he had seen with his own eyes. Still, the account of flying ships filled with undead strained his imagination.

Undead were the some of the most mana dependent constructs in existence. A powerful necromancer would struggle to empower a single skeleton per day. Often electing to prepare the bones with runes and rituals to allow mana to flow more efficiently. The thought of thousands of undead dropping from flying ships represented a paradigm shift in warfare.

These invaders have been building up for decades, maybe even centuries. Thought Konrad, shivering at the thought of another Pantheon invasion.

Temporary animation would require necromancers to be on those ships. Bah, it still means they have discovered means of controlling the undead that we cannot fathom. Or… They are undead themselves. Immortals who found the secret of evolution. Thought Konrad.

A shiver ran down his spine at the concept. It made sense. Levitation and flight magicks existed. Mana intensive spells that could be used to lift a warship. But the MP costs would be unconscionable.

“Not enough mana stones on the continent! Even if there were, we would be broke in an hour. What god forsaken kingdom would construct twelve of those money pits?” Grumbled Konrad, appalled by the idea of wasting good coin.

He glanced across his desk, checking the far corner where he kept a candle burning. Enchanted stones illuminated his office, but that candle was a memento, a painful reminder that time wasted was money lost. Now the candle was nothing more than a small puddle of wax. Cold and opaque in the soft light. A groan escaped his lips, there was no excuse for him to be working through the night.

Kendra would be fast asleep by now, one more night spent alone. Time for bed, he thought. Unfastening the buttons on his shirt. Hopefully Kendra would be in a forgiving mood. There will be plenty of time tomorrow to do…

To do what?

His guild currently numbered less than a dozen members. Including himself. As impressive as a dozen level forty’s were, they could not stand against twelve hundred undead. Konrad was the only one who could even count that high. The guild treasury had already been exhausted. Migrated to other more active guilds with promissory notes. Any magical weapons or armor had been deployed. Invested into the hands of capable adventurers who could wield the artifacts to harvest the dungeons.

“Twelve against twelve hundred. Ha, i’ve never been so fu-” Began Konrad.

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting his deadly thoughts. His brow wrinkled in concern. Night had fallen several hours ago and after news of Fallbrook a curfew was in effect. Anyone caught on the streets would be subjected to a punishment of five lashes.

Konrad frowned. It could be refugees from Fallbrook, or another nearby town. He could not think of anything more foolish than traveling in the dark. Dungeon creatures often snuck out of their labyrinths and hunted the night. Seeking XP or food from new prey.

Bandits or refugees. Tis a coin toss that ain't worth the coin. Thought Konrad. Reaching under his desk he retrieved a sword, followed by the enchanted shield he kept there for unwelcome surprises.

Another knock sounded. Louder and more insistent than the first. Konrad activated the shield’s magic, feeling a familiar sense of protection as it surrounded him in an invisible envelope of power. The next three hits would be negated, an insurance policy he had liberated from a forgotten dungeon.

Striding from his office he made his way into the guild’s main hall. Careful not to disturb any of the tables. Though that was hardly a challenge since the tables were pushed against the walls with their chairs stored on top of them. A pang of sorrow slashed open his heart. His guild hall should have been full of adventurers drinking or playing cards after a successful delve.

Yet here it was, as empty as a undug grave. This is how it had been ever since one of the Leviathans smashed the local dungeon.

Without a dungeon to ply their trade his adventurers were out of work. Gold, magical items, and valuable XP came from the dungeons. Without a dungeon, adventurers were nothing more than mercenaries, sellswords with morals.

Fallbrook’s recent siege and evacuation only sweetened the pot for adventurers trying to skip town. Giving them a perfect excuse to avoid fighting humans by transfering to another guild. Killing monsters was one thing, but killing another human being was still considered murder by most adventurers. Not that he could blame them, he would have done the same in a heartbeat.

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Three loud knocks pounded at the door, forceful enough to shake dust from the rafters.

“What kind of backwater guild is asleep at this hour! Open this door before I blast it to splinters!” Called a voice Konrad had not heard in years.

He slid the tip of his sword into the mail slot. Opening the slit so he could speak and be heard.

“This door was imported from the empire of Polhemus, I doubt you could afford to replace it you old codger.” Taunted Konrad.

“Wood is like friendship, where it started doesn’t matter once the rot sets in.” Retorted the voice.

Konrad knew that mocking tone all too well. It had gotten him into more fights than he could count, including a particularly notable incident with Duke Menalaus. Sheathing his sword, he unlocked the door. Lifting the plank and yanking open the door.

Two figures stood in front of him, veiled in the darkness of midnight. A gemstone set atop the lead figure’s staff illuminated the pair, casting wan light across their fronts. Both wore cloaks with the hoods up to conceal their faces. One figure stood in front of the other, marked as an elderly man by the long gray beard and his ancient boots. Two hilts poked out of his cloak, one on his right hip, the other on his left hip, hinting at his life as a dual wielder. He leaned on a staff covered in arcane sigils.

Behind him stood a slip of a girl. Almost a foot shorter than her companion with hips wide enough to swell her cloak. A simple steel hilt could be seen on her left hip. Though her hands were limp at her side and her head hung low, as if she lacked the will to fight.

“Friendship is golden! But gold is only as valuable as what it can buy.” Challenged Konrad.

The old man pulled back his hood, revealing a weathered face with several prominent scars running across it.

“A friend who can be bought could never be my kin.” Answered the old man.

“Haha, any friend who requires your coin is what I call an employee! As for family, I never would have met Kendra without my wealth, nor would she have married a pauper. You would know that if you had attended our wedding.” Retorted Konrad.

“A family built on greed? It would be better for me not to attend such a union.”

“Greed you say? I call it security! I’ll never go back to eating roots or sleeping in the bushes. Nor would I wish that on any child of mine. Wouldn’t you agree, miss?” Asked Konrad, directing his question to the quietest member of the group.

She whispered something inaudible and shifted behind the dual swordsman. Who smiled and extended his hand. Konrad took it, shaking it once before pulling the shorter man into a bear hug.

“I’m sorry Konrad! I would have cleared a hundred dungeons to be at your wedding, but alas, the king ordered me across the sea. Word of your engagement did not reach me until well after your wedding. A thousand apologies are not enough.”

“His majesty attended the wedding in your stead. Can you believe that? His royal highness at my wedding! Ha! Caused quite the uproar, though who am I to complain after the wagon full of presents he brought with him. Come in, come in!” Chuckled Konrad, waving both figures into his guild.

The girl followed the old man, hanging on his coat tails like a toddler. Once they were inside he deftly locked and barred the door. After the plank of wood thumped into place the old man spoke, his words carrying the business of kings.

“We need to talk. Of oracles and visions from the pantheon. Tonight, before the sun rises.” Said the old man.

Konrad met his comment with a scowl, knowing better than to protest. When the divine swordsman Nestor Quade said he needed a word, even the High King Agamemnon would clear his schedule. Walking past his old friend Konrad crossed the guild hall, opening his office door and beckoning for the pair to join him. They were quick to follow, entering the room quickly.

“Apologies Nestor, I’ll do anything I can to help, but… Ah, well… there is no way to sugarcoat this. The guild you once knew is no more. We are abandoning Langdon, a single diviner is all I can offer you concerning visionaries.” Grumbled Konrad, distracting his former party member with pleasantries.

Nestor Quade offered no response, instead he waved the girl towards an empty chair. Waiting until she had found her seat before he sat down on the chair beside her. Konrad gave the girl a once over as she removed her hood and opened her cloak. Noting her red rimmed eyes and blotchy complexion. All her flaws vanished as she removed her hood, stunning orange hair bracketed her face, impossibly vibrant in the glow stone illuminated office.

She wilted under his gaze, clutching her knees to her face in an attempt to conceal her sorrows. Gangly limbs did little to shield her, and Konrad frowned as her muddy boots soiled his office chair. An expression that only made her retreat further, wrapping her lanky arms around her knees and rocking backward slightly.

Orange hair and knobby limbs, this girl would pass for a scarecrow if she stood in a field. Though the resemblence is shocking. I wonder if Diana looked this gangly when she was younger.

“Is this your granddaughter Nestor? Must be, she is the spitting image of Diana.” Konrad stroked the stubble on his chin and faced the girl. “Lass, you might feel awkward now, but I'm sure you’ll blossom into a beautiful woman just like she did. Though don’t tell Kendra I said so.” Offered Konrad, giving the girl a conspiratorial smile.

“You know mom?” Interrupted the girl, peeking past her knees.

Konrad’s grin widened. “Know her? Ha! I only spent a decade as her Guildmaster! She was the best archer to retire from my guild, how is she?” He said with a laugh.

Neither of his guests reacted to the question, letting an awkward silence fill the dark office.

Making Konrad wonder how long it had been since he had last seen Diana. She stopped by every now and again, but she retired shortly after becoming pregnant and her visits had become more sporadic. Dwindling into nothing after Dianthus had been founded.

How long ago was that? Ten years? No, this girl was in her teens, Konrad must have met her mother closer to fifteen years ago. Konrad cleared his throat, his exhaustion getting the better of his patience.

“Nestor! You wouldn’t wake me up in the middle of the night just to give me the silent treatment. What’s this really about?” Demanded Konrad.

The ancient Nestor Quade sat hunched in his chair, shoulders leaning forward onto his oak staff. Green eyes shone beneath a heavy brow and the scars on his face were almost as dense as the scars covering Konrad’s.

“I came from Fallbrook. Had an errand to run for the king, nothing interesting, just some political nonsense.” Began Nestor, waving his hand dismissively at Konrad’s questioning eyebrows.

“The city is gone. Claimed by a floating castle. A foreign pantheon.”