“I smell that which belongs to us,” the gray skinned horned woman at the front spoke. Her lanky, dark finger extended, pointing at Dave. “You! You hold that which is ours! Give it back!”

“And what if I don’t?” Dave asked.

“Then we take it by force,” the Huntsmaw leader pulled out a long, rusty blade from her raggedy cloak. The ten others pulled out similar shoddy-looking weapons.

“You’ll have to go through all of us,” Terri shot back. Her Vitalix Kitlix shined with green sparks, sitting between her antlers.

“Yeah,” Dumpich voiced. His Vitalix rushed down his arm and warped into the shape of a green, crystalline rapier, which made him resemble a French musketeer.

Leon reached into his leather bag, his fingers holding a bottle of some kind of powder.

“Three healers, a maid, a smith… and one of us… defending a mere Level Six Iron Adventurer?” the Huntsman leader asked. “You might be able to strike some of us down and delay us… but we will not stop even if you slay us. We will take each of you out when your back is turned. You shall never know a moment of peace. Not until we take back what belongs to us!”

Dave stepped forward, standing at the edge of the ward. He unleashed his absolute Charisma radiance, which had been amplified by the handshake of Cedez to make him seem like he was a Highborn from the capital.

As the invisible Charisma pulse struck the Hutsmaws, their blue eyes grew wide.

“Drop your weapons and bow!” he ordered, pushing his voice through the Charisma wave.

A few of the lanky figures fell to their knees, succumbing to his words, their rusty knives and arbalests falling. The leader only swayed slightly, her blue eyes glazing over.

Remicra’s hammer swung through the air with a thrumming hum, obliterating her head with a crunch. As her headless body fell forward, Dave reached out, pulled the body of the Huntsmaw leader into the ward and absorbed the discordant soul shards from within.

The other Hutsmaws attacked, slamming into the shimmering barrier. Dumpich’s rapier struck one of them, igniting with green. The stabbed Huntsmaw fell, her muscles paralyzed. Green lightning struck from Terri’s Vitalix, disabling another Hutsmaw. A bottle of powder detonated against another, bringing her down. A dark chain from Cedez bound the other. Hyrei slashed another attacker with a windsword.

Dave spun the ward control dial on his wrist. The lighthouse hummed ominously and then a deafening, blinding lightning struck from an old rune above the entrance, frying the remaining Huntsmaws. They fell, thrashing and flailing onto the grass, clawed hands opening and closing.

Dumpich moved forward, stabbing each in the chest with his Kitlix rapier, stilling them.

Dave reached out to each of them, devouring their souls. Beneath his hands, the gray-skinned creatures crumbled and fell apart into dust and spilling shadows.

In another few minutes, the meadow was clear of attackers and Dave’s bracelets flashed with [37.4851] overall soul bits.

“Is that all of them?” He asked, looking at the gradually descending hillside and edge of town below.

“Maybe, but I wouldn’t count on it,” Cedez replied. “You should stay inside the ward until your Charisma runs out, just to be on the safe side.”

“Can do,” Dave said.

“I’ll call Murdoc to get the snail here,” Hyrei said. “That’ll up our defense.”

“Sure,” Cedez nodded. “In the meanwhile, we can all help with cleaning the smithy.”

----------------------------------------

Thalass watched from the rooftop via a Farcast orb as eleven Huntsmaw idiots fell.

Her two trusted Champions stood by her side, staring at the images projected by the orb.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“We should break her before she gets any stronger,” Knight Jorsh commented. “She is gathering allies. Accelerate me, so that I can…”

“No,” Thalass said. “Even if I make you move faster than sound for a day, they’re hiding behind an arcane ward of unknown power level armed with a Thunderstrike Rune. We will observe. Study, understand what she is doing, find weaknesses in her plot. If the shared dream is to be believed, that ginger-haired human is a Necromancer.”

“A Necromancer?! That’s only more reason to act,” Knight Laternia said. “What happens if he starts to build an army of corpses like Kells did?”

“Patience, my darling,” Thalass hissed at her impatient minion, smacking her head with an armored, gemstone encrusted wrist. “We will take action when the time is right and only through the hands of others. It is unwise to stick your head out. That would only get it chopped off and your soul sucked out. If he starts raising corpses, we will direct the City Watch to capture him and then take him from a holding cell. Every action has a consequence, every act has a counter to it. Killing Astra will do nothing. We absolutely must capture the Necromancer alive…”

“To what end?” Jorsh inquired.

“He’s the perfect weapon to put down the other Crown seekers… permanently,” Thalass explained. “A hired Mentalist or a Dreamancer should be able to overwrite what he is, to make him obey my cause instead of Astra’s. We’ll need to locate and bind one to my cause before we act. I want a full dossier on each of Astra's new minions before then, especially the Necromancer. I want to know what he desires and what he hates. Learn as much as you can. Learn how strong he is. Do not reveal who you’re working for, do not act without foresight. Be as silent as a mouse and as focused as a hawk.”

“Your will is my command, my lady.” Jorsh bowed.

“Very well,” Laternia acquiesced with a sigh. “I shall monitor all of them and see what I can discover.”

----------------------------------------

Brief flashes of desire to feast on stolen magic danced in Dave’s head as the memories of the Huntsmaws slowly dissolved in the depths of his psyche. By the time he fully came back to Dave-ness, he found himself being led up the stairwell to the upstairs loft.

The wooden door slammed shut behind them.

A clawed hand, covered in pearlescent scales, was wrapped around his own fingers.

"Sit," she gestured to a bench in front of a round stained glass window. "You look like you're about to fall over."

“Am not,” He said, but complied, sinking into the bench. Remicra pulled up a wooden chair and sat in front of the ex-programmer, staring at him.

“You look… lost,” she said.

“Just a bit of… Vexirium,” Dave replied as Healy pawed his head, kneading away the alien feelings of madness and hunger out of his thoughts.

“You’re losing yourself to your skill?” She looked at him with a worried expression.

“It’s fine. Just give me a few minutes to sort out what’s me and what isn’t.”

The dragoness frowned.

Dave’s eyes slowly wandered about the space.

Despite his somewhat mentally disoriented state, he couldn't help but notice how the room seemed to reflect Remicra's personality. Sunlight streaming through the circular, gothic window cast intricate patterns across worn wooden floorboards and thick support beams. The space was surprisingly tidy and cozy, with a modest bed topped by a handmade quilt in one corner. A simple wooden table stood nearby, bearing marks of expert craftsmanship.

What caught his attention most were the wall decorations - detailed wood carvings depicting dragons in various acts of destruction, laying waste to armies and cities.

“Your work?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Remicra nodded, following his gaze. "I made them during my first year here. Before Princess broke my claws for 'wasting time on frivolous activities.' Thanks for all the food you brought me last time, by the way. The usual fare Overseer Princess brings me is the cheapest, nearly rotting stuff.”

She paused. “I have to admit, you played the role of vengeful noble in front of her perfectly. Where'd you learn to act like that?"

"It was mostly amplified Charisma… But, would you believe me if I said I used to play Dungeons & Dragons?" Dave grinned.

"What?" Remicra asked with a confused look.

"It's a… tabletop game where you pretend to be different characters - warriors, wizards, dragons, that sort of thing," he explained. "Lari and I used to play it with our other friends. We'd spend hours around a table, drinking beer, rolling dice, telling imaginary, wild stories..."

"You... pretended to be dragons?" Remicra's scales shifted to a curious gold. "Why would humans want to do that?"

"Because dragons are awesome?" Dave grinned.

Remicra raised an eyebrow.

"My world didn't have magic," Dave explained. "No dragons. No dungeons. If I think about it..." Dave trailed off, his expression darkening slightly. "This world is like someone took all our fantasy stories and twisted them into something utterly horrible."

"From what you told me so far, your world sounds... peaceful," Remicra commented, her scales shifting to a contemplative blue.

"It had its own problems," Dave shrugged. "Just different ones. No magic collars or soul-eating necromancers, but plenty of other ways people found to hurt each other."

"Like what?" Remicra asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Well, we had these things called corporations - kind of like the Guilds here, but bigger and more impersonal. They'd slowly work people to death in different ways, with contracts, deadlines and boring meetings instead of collars."

"Uh-huh. Sounds awful," Remicra commented.