“What’s that bastard's plight anyway? Scout here. Scout there. Scout around the fortress. Scout through a forest in the pitch black and cover your legs with ivy and ticks. I’ll scout my sword through his innards if he orders me with that tone again.”
“Would you quit your bitching? Be glad you’re getting paid and fed for this. Could be stuck in Maria and left to quest across the continent. Stuck with jolly farmers killing themselves to earn a few meager coins that couldn’t even pay for a room at an inn.”
The two of them laughed as they walked the thin animal trail. Surrounded by thick oaks and covered by undergrowth, the two Vultures tripped over the taut rope.
“Now!” Ryder exclaimed. The four ambushers pounced on the patrol. They’re faces were buried into the dirt while blades entered each exposed piece of flesh. For armor that consisted of thick tree bark and cloth, it was easy and swift. Their blood painted the foliage as their corpses were pillaged by Ryder and Salzar. Like a tree, their wood armor was stripped of them and donned by a new owner.
“Good eye for knowing this was a patrol path,” Olbif said. The orc was nearly invisible, as black as a shadow with the faint white of his tusks protruding from his face paint. Him and the sea elf, Funmah, pushed forward to the north. Salzar and Ryder followed close behind, all with arrows resting between their fingers.
Moving from tree to tree, Sumrall’s fortress of Elimor stood proud. Mossy stone and vines decorated the outside walls that archers stood upon. It was a flat field between the fortress walls and the forest. Burning torches flickered throughout the short grass, impossible to sneak forward without being spotted by the archers.
“Any more ideas?” Funmah said. Her black mask hid her sly smile but her vibrant turquoise eyes were enough to express with.
Ryder gazed at the bright field and the guards upon the ramparts. A closed gate acted as the only entrance on the northern side, although climbing vines to get over the walls crossed his mind, the troubling part was how to cross.
“Salzar and I both look enough like them. We can sneak in.”
“And what about us?” Olbif asked.
“We’ll clear the guards up top for you to cross the field,” Ryder said.
“We will!?” Salzar hissed.
Ryder chuckled, “You’re Glorious! You can handle a couple of guards.”
“Listen hayseed, I’m not immortal.”
“No, but you don’t need to be to distract some guards.”
The scale-beast sighed, “Lead with that first. Thought you meant slaying all of them.”
Still a possibility, Ryder thought. Him and Salzar, dressed in dark robes and bark armor, took off their yellow rags, and walked up to the gate. Nerves shook through both of them as they crossed the field. But in Ryder’s mind, this nest of scum would not be organized or trained well enough to thwart an attack from the inside. A few guards above instinctually looked down below but none ever drew an arrow or gave a second glance at the hooded figures walking through the field.
Approaching the closed gate, a small guardhouse stood beside it. One sleepy scavenger sat inside, throwing a palm full of dice over and over in boredom. The two walked over and knocked on his window.
“Damn you two walk quick. Go tell Captain Cock to send the next shift,” he snickered. The freckle-faced boy left his seat to unbar the gate from the inside and waited for them to enter the fortress before sealing it again.
The Vulture hatchling yawned and peered at the emerald green eyes and scaly flesh of Salzar. When the scale-beast knew the boy's furrowed brow was a sign of trouble, he shoved him back into his guardhouse.
The two adventurers wrestled with the guardsman, trying to pull a dagger and swiftly end him. Salzar’s eyes turned a pale white when the boy pushed them off and ran for the outside. A light blue arcane wall blocked the exit.
“Sound the bell! Sound the bell!” he screamed. But his voice never made it atop the walls. Skewered and pierced by deceivers, his corpse was shoved into the corner and the magic barrier dissipated.
Ryder and Salzar left the guard hut and gazed upon the dozens of wagons and carriages in front of them and the giant manor that loomed over the courtyard. Each cart varied in design and decor, stolen from owners no longer alive to miss them. The horses were in a fenced area, grazing upon loose bits of hay upon solid dirt.
Beside the duo were steps to reach the ramparts, four archers stood idle, looking at the surrounding woods. Ryder knew it would be risky to trot up there and start attacking them. No cover and the fact that anyone could peer into the courtyard and see them fighting and then ring the alarm crossed Ryder’s mind. Salzar was thankful that the young adventurer decided to sneak by the wagons instead.
They crouched behind an ornate carriage. Painted entirely in purple with a gold trim and white wheels, Ryder had an idea that involved one of the lanterns.
“What are you doing with that?” Salzar asked.
“Distracting them,” he said. Ryder spilled the oil onto the hand-stitched leather and fur upholstery, and scraped his fire starter. Sparks flew from the flint and caught fire in an instant. Ryder shut the doors and the warm orange glow of the flames shone through the glass inside. While Ryder and Salzar crouched between the wagons, it wasn’t until the horses started whinnying that the guards became alert.
They rushed down the stairs to put out the fire with trough water. Unguarded, the orc and sea elf crossed the field. They met with Ryder and Salzar and discussed how to slay the guards.
“We’ll surround them and let loose while they’re distracted,” Funmah said.
“Salzar, are you able to cast another wall if one tries to run?” Ryder asked.
“Aye,” he said, flicking his forked tongue.
The four of them surrounded the distracted guardsmen. Taking cover behind wagons, fence posts, and stairs. They all fired arrows simultaneously. One guard fell in the first barrage. Two fell wounded. The fourth started to run. Arrows chased behind the Vulture, following after him as he scurried to the manor. He climbed three steps. His torso climbed a fourth. And his legs fell to the bottom. Cut in half by Salzar’s conjured wall, the scavenger died instantly.
Olbif and Ryder cut down the wounded guards with ease and dragged their bodies into the smoldering carriage. Besides the pool of gore on the steps to the manor and the smoking carriage, it was relatively inconspicuous that any attackers were present. Luckily for them it was night, and all that was left to do was to clip the wings of the Vultures.
Funmah gazed at the great bell tower as the rest of the crew regrouped. “Remember what Catwood said. We’ll split up and slay this ‘Sumrall’ figure. We’ll see these looters and highwaymen disband and turn on one another once we show them his head separated from his neck. Don’t give the signal until then, clear?”
The three nodded and separated from one another. Each took their own side of the manor to locate and dispatch the treasurer. Ryder took the north end. Surrounded by more courtyards with flower beds and grape vines, he creeped inside.
Ryder’s ears pulsated with each heartbeat as he crouched low into the entranceway. He waited for any sound or voice but heard none. Must all be asleep. Easy enough. Find a room fit for that bastard advisor and slit his throat, he thought.
He slowly but casually walked the house. It was well lit with torches in sconces along the walls and candles adorning the tables. Ryder kept a thumb on the dagger in his belt when he peeked into the dark rooms. He couldn’t tell where or what he was looking for but none seemed to match what Sumrall would surround himself with.
Ryder came to a small indoor staircase fit with iron railings that went up and down. He took a few steps downstairs and the smell of old wood and the scent of sweet grapes filled his nostrils. Who’d sleep in a wine cellar? He walked up the stairs and looked to the second story, as he reached the ground floor landing, a Vulture rounded the corner and bumped into him.
His shining steel sallet helmet met Ryder’s head. The adventurer instinctively gripped his blade but acted against unsheathing it. The scavenger was more armored than any he saw before. Either pilfered from a corpse or purchased with a dead man’s coins, the Vulture was dazzled with steel.
“Jumpy are you?” the man laughed. “Best be wary of any ghosts or goblins roaming about.”
Ryder wryly chuckled and took a few steps up the stairs.
“Where are you off to?” the man asked.
The boy’s throat tightened itself, wrapping in on itself and piercing like a vine of thorns until he uttered the truth. “I’m off to see Sumrall.”
The man was taken aback, “Sumrall? Heard he was in a meeting all day and no one seen him at all today. Thought everyone knew that.”
Ryder nervously laughed again, “Right, I forgot.” He walked down the steps and walked down some random hallway. Hoping the man wouldn’t follow or think any more of the interaction. The boys took a heavy breath as he rounded the corner. He thought of returning to the man and jamming his blade in his spine but it was too risky.
Keep moving. Complete the quest. Keep moving. Complete the quest.
“Keep those lanterns low!” Typhus hissed.
Stuck at Catwood’s camp while his childhood companion was off to ‘scout ahead’ made Durge’s stomach twist and turn into itself. He could only hammer in enough stakes and be on the lookout for patrols for so long before he escaped. Typhus saw him leave to piss in the northern edge of the woods, but he never saw the young adventurer return.
Durge followed the thin animal trails that paralleled the fortress. While maneuvering through the dark forest, he tripped over two near-naked corpses stacked atop one another. Covered with branches, the forest began to swallow them into the earth.
Ahead was the open field, decorated with torches that proudly lit the ancient fortress. But no guards were present. The ever-looming thought of invisible sentries atop the walls crept into Durge’s hollow mind. But if any were present, they would have found themselves gazing upon a bush on two legs creeping through the bright field. Covered in loose branches that were draped over his armor and stuck into his chest plate, the oaf made his way to the open gate.
Fresh blood streamed down the guardhouse window, only confirming to Durge that he was on the right trail. The smoking carriage housing four more scavengers and the pools of gore upon the steps made it all the more obvious that Ryder and the three other scouts were here.
The trickiest part for Durge was where to go next. The stables in front of him, the gardens to the north, the forges to the west, or the grand marbled entrance to the south. Each path felt promising to Durge, but once inside the manor, he could not care where he started. All he knew was that his stomach was rumbling and the gardens looked promising.
Durge’s mouth stained blue and red with the carnage of blueberries and sour grapes. A wretched pile of stems and seeds lay at his feet. The crimson maw of his helmet turned purple as he put it back on with dyed hands. With a full belly and the garden destroyed, he entered the manor.
He slammed the door open with his hammer in hand. Before him was the Vulture decorated in steel. He jumped and pulled his sword before he gazed at the crimson wolf and began to laugh.
“Damn you gave me a fright! That’s quite some steel. And what’s with the blue? It doesn’t match the—” The head of the war hammer slammed into the side of his sallet.
Dented and dazed, the man held his sword in front of him to block the barrage of strikes. He stumbled and dodged as many as he could before he fell over a table behind him. Durge battered the guard’s chest plate and crunched the Vulture's sallet into his skull. Blood poured from the scavenger's visor and down his neck, matching the red rug below.
A loud bang echoed down the hall Ryder walked. A large oak door, halfway open, presented a tall and armored orc. He was surrounded by dozens of other scavengers coming in and out of the storage keep. After dropping off stolen riches, it was marked in a ledger the orc held.
“Where the fuck are the patrols!?” he bellowed. “They missed their reports again!” The orc snatched the arm of a younger Vulture member, bright-eyes and rosy features adorned him as he quivered at the threats given from his commander. “You and the rest of you lousy lot go find bring those patrols back to me! Or the gods above will hear the lashings I give each of you!”
The young boy and the rest of the crew inside the keep swiftly left. Ryder could hear the orc huffing through his large tusks. He’ll recognize I’m not part of the guild. I must go back, Ryder thought. As he stepped back softly, the floorboards beneath let out a creaking sound. And the huffing of the orc stopped.
The storage keep door squeaked open. Ryder tensed his entire body. But an empty hall awaited the Vulture commander. No deceiver dressed in bark and robes. No young copper-ranked adventurer at his door. Only the sight of a small glass vial rolling away on the ground. He bent to pick up the vial, curious of its origin and its contents.
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Ryder pulled the dagger from his belt. It was the only thing he could do while frozen in fear and praying for the quality of Rhena’s potions as the orc stood not a step away from him. It was disorienting for him to do anything. He held the blade out in front of him but could see no arms. He would’ve found more comfort if he closed his eyes but he could feel himself fading back into reality.
The light of the candle touched his phantom hands. The steel of the dagger reflected the warm glow and caught the orc’s gaze. Ryder slashed at the commander’s face. His limbs were like specters that guided the blade across the orc’s eyes, nose, and tusks. Ryder fell atop him and stopped piercing the Vulture once he noticed the stains of crimson ichor paint his hands.
“Sir? Sir! We’ve found the—” The young scavenger stared at the blood-covered assassin. He trembled with an agape maw before he took one step back.
“Wait!” Ryder exclaimed.
The boy ran back through the storage keep ,and the barracks between, screaming of the intruder in the fortress. The low muttering through awaking highwaymen turned into the scrambling of metal and footsteps when the bell began to ring.
The clattering of steel surrounded Ryder. He ran back to the garden but heavy stomps neared close. He stood behind the corner, ready to rush the incoming guard and escape quickly. When the guard neared, Ryder didn’t expect for him to have white heater shield. His blade stuck into it before he saw the familiar crimson wolf.
“How’d you get here!?”
“I told you I was sneaky!” Durge said.
The bell continued to ring and the footfalls of guards resonated off the walls.
Durge groaned, “Always flawless, Sir Scholar!”
“Might not have been the signal Catwood was hoping for! We have to get out of here!”
Smoldering ash from braziers or candle wax, Ryder threw all that he could at the swarm of Vultures. He picked the walls and furniture clean of the main entranceway. Durge left the great touchmark of Irid on every scavenger that dared to clash with him. A symbol of a hand and hammer imprinted on the caved-in chest plate of a wounded guardsman.
They fought their way up the stairs to the bell tower above. The incessant ringing of the bell continued while the sounds of a battle came from outside. The guilds crashed into one another, surrounding the fortress in a field of combat.
Durge climbed the narrow spiral staircase; his gauntlets scraped against the stone as he met the young bell-ringer. He pulled his shortsword and struck at Durge’s shield twice before he felt his backside press against the wooden guardrail. The last vision of his world was the crimson fangs of the armored adventurer as he pushed him, falling 50 steps to the earth below.
The crimson wolf breathed a misty sigh from his maw. He took off his helmet and gazed at the battle below. The crowds pressed as close as they could get, exchanging sword swipes and slashes. Archers rained arrows from the sidelines. Mages turned the area into a prism of color. Whites, blues, and the flaming balls of orange fire neared ever-closer to Durge. Eventually, one of the great balls of fire struck the tower. The stone cracked beneath, and the bell fell from its rope.
“Fucking mages!” he exclaimed. Durge rushed down the crumbling tower, scraping more of the dwarven craft as he went down stairs. A cloud of dust and debris filled through the open roof. The battle still raged on.
Ryder left for the garden courtyard. He let loose his arrows at the mages and archers that fired from above. He stopped when he was tackled to the ground by a familiar sea elf. Funmah tried to dig the tip of an arrow into the noble’s neck but Ryder’s grasp held her still.
“I’m with you guys!” he pleaded.
“You lying bandit! Just die already!” Adrenaline or the fury of battle took hold of her. Even though her sparkling purple eyes peered into Ryder’s, she did not see her fellow companion.
“I swear by the Family!”
“And now you use the god’s names in your lies! You deserve nothing but death!”
Ryder’s arms shook violently as the arrow drew closer. “I have a yellow rag in my pocket! Just let me show you!”
“And you pilfer from our corpses too! You lie, scum! We’d never let a filthy copper-rank into our guild!” The arrow’s tip entered the layers of skin but was let go before it entered any further into his neck. Durge charged his shield into the bewitched sea elf, throwing her to the ground. He put his hammer under her chin and threatened to slay her.
Once she saw the yellow feather plume sway in the moonlight her expression changed. Filled with confusion and apologies, she left the duo and escaped the besieged manor. Through the oceans of combat and the piles of bodies, Catwood continued the fight.
The guild leader charged ahead to the front with his greatsword. One-handed, he cut through the Vulture’s like butter. Like a dancer in a ballroom, he dodged every sword slash gracefully. He saw the familiar molten orange glow appear on the scavenger’s weapons while he fought. Enchanted by the same mage who disabled him.
The enchanter saw the fury in Catwood’s eyes. They pushed and amplified any Vulture member in front of them to give themselves more distance between the relentless guild leader. But it was not enough. Catwood skewered the mage through. He raised his sword to the heavens as he screamed to the stars above.
When he dropped the wizard at his feet to pool upon the cobble, he looked up to a loaded crossbow from the second-story balcony. A stone elf pulled the trigger. And the bolt entered his chest.
Ryder and Durge saw the guild leader disappear in the mosh of steel, and the stone elf above backed into their room. The duo sprinted up the stairs. Over crumbled stone. And the corpses beneath.
Large and regal were the only words that could describe the upstairs of the manor. Not a speck of dust settled upon the gold cressets that basked the room in a yellow glow. Pelts of fur adorned the floor and animal heads covered the walls. Deer, elk, lynxes, birds, and bears stared at Ryder and Durge as they swept through the rooms.
Ryder stopped at a set of double doors at the end of a hallway. He pressed his ear against the wood and the crackles of fire could be heard. “He must be in here.” He nocked an arrow while Durge held his shield high before kicking it open. Splinters flew through the air as Sumrall and three familiar elves sat calmly around a table.
An arrow stuck into the side of the stone elf’s chair. All three of them stood furiously from the table, unsheathing swords and aiming crossbows. Sumrall slapped a firm hand against the wood and gestured the elves to sit down with a multi-ringed finger. They reluctantly did so as the pair of adventurers stood in the doorway, confused and ready to begin the battle once again.
“You may put the arrow back in your quiver, Heir of Locria,” Sumrall said. His orange hair matched the crackling fire across the room while his belly barely fit the turquoise surcoat he wore.
Ryder’s eyes flickered across every detail of the room but his gaze constantly drew to the head of a red dragon that loomed above the advisor. Sharp white teeth decorated the inside of the dragon’s maw while its piercing amber eyes watched over the meeting room.
“Gorgeous, isn’t she?” Sumrall said. “Purchased from a nasty merchant in Sundoff and carried all the way here just to collect dust without a proper audience. A sad life I myself could relate to… or perhaps even yourself, Count Lovell.”
Ryder, bewildered as he was, couldn’t stop staring at the dragon. It was the first he had even seen that were not illustrations nor illusions.
“Why are they here!?” Durge shouted, pointing his hammer toward the elves. The wood elf grinned his teeth in a wide smile and kept unclenching and clenching his blade.
“They’re under my command, Mr. Wulfum. No need to fret.”
“Why are you here?” Ryder asked, already knowing the truth. You’re a Vulture. But why and how long have you been working with them? Why did you torture Kincaid? No wonder you weren’t found dead in Locria. Thoughts and questions spun in the noble boy’s mind as Sumrall finished shoveling sweetened apples into his mouth.
He put a cloth over his mouth and pointed to the chairs with his two-pronged fork, “Please, sit. I’ll tell all.”
Durge looked at Ryder as he put the arrow back into his quiver and cautiously stepped to the table. The shield-bearer followed without removing his hand off his hammer and his eyes off the elves. All five of them sat in silence as the battle raged on outside. Through the timber walls they could hear the scrapes of metal and screams of men. Ryder looked behind him and gazed at the dwindling fire. Logs crumbled to ash and embers rose to the dragon’s nares.
The advisor set the fork down with a clink against the plate and wiped his mouth with a crimson napkin. “What was my craft in Locria?” he asked.
“You were a treasurer.”
Sumrall stifled his laugh, “You are mistaken. I did far more than plan and organize your mother’s funds. I made coins appear and disappear. Like an illusionist with his tricks, I snapped my fingers and gold would appear in front of Lady Locria. Whatever she desired, whatever she wished. A pale mare for Queen Melody? New ships for the Emperor? Her gifts, her accomplishments, her legacy could not have been made without me! Now her and your harbors have turned to dust and I must seek new avenues of profit.”
Ryder narrowed his brow, “By hiring Vultures?”
Sumrall laughed, “By creating them! I’ve banded guilds from here to the edges of Moevohr! Free from your mother’s chains, I can funnel as much coinage into my own vault as I please. No more smearing the inks from the books or forging seals. This continent is ripe for harvest. And these wars were made to profit.” The treasurer grinned to himself as he looked up and gazed into the dragon’s mouth. “Join me, Ryder.”
The boy bit down on his tongue harder and harder with every word Sumrall spoke. He dared to not look over at the three smug elves across the table from him. Utter disdain for humans filled their crooked smiles. “Why? Why Kincaid? Why Locria of all places?” A tear began to well while the feeling of a vine of thorns began to strangle his throat.
Sumrall rolled his eyes. “Do you think Locria would last for an eternity, boy!? That mutt turned his snout away from my dealings before but now he acts noble for an ash-ridden cause. He dared to hunt me down and he failed to do so. But you haven’t, Ryder. I knew you’d accept Fike’s invitation on the quest I commissioned. It’s bad for business to have cursed corpses roam the land you’d use to become richer than Pallingratz… and to test your mettle of course.”
All of them sat in silence, listening to the sounds of arrows flying through the air and the bodies falling upon the cobblestone outside. It was pitch black through the large windows, it was like the bottom of the sea with faint flashes of light casted from arcane spells.
“What else do you wish for me to offer you, Ryder? A monument for Lady Locria? Your filthy companion to join us? You may keep adventuring if you wish to do so, all I need is your name attached with mine. Imagine the tales they will tell of the heir of Locria who rose from the ashes! Which one of your mother’s advisors could offer you the world like I can? That drunkard, Hopkyns? He’s preoccupied struggling with the elves in the southern reaches of Jaabor and too busy asking for my gold,” he scoffed. “Your name has power, Count Lovell, but you don’t have the sails that I provide to wade you through this ocean of chaos that will soon reach every part of Palladium.”
Sumrall leaned back in his chair with his palms presented. A hefty coin purse held in his left and a point to the three elves on his right. “Do not make me threaten you.”
Durge leaned over to Ryder, “I’ll always follow your lead, Rye,” he whispered.
And all it costs is killing the innocent. He’d use my name to prop himself up and then dispose of me when he wishes, Ryder thought. The advisor’s words felt like needles in his ears. Temptation of gold and glory would have enticed the Count if he had cared for the treasures offered by Locria; besides the name it shared with his mother, he was ready for it all to fall to ash and be swept away by the storms of spring. And like the flowers that would bloom after, he rose from his chair.
“You’re scum,” Ryder said, pulling his sword from his sheathe.
Sumrall sighed and shrugged, “Well… You were meant to have been killed that day along with poor Lady Locria. But I suppose every job eventually gets resolved.” He clenched his right fist and a loud ka-thunk came from the stone elf. The crossbow bolt’s head pierced through Durge’s shield as he held it in front of Ryder.
The wood elf’s sword stuck into the wooden table as he slashed at the duo opposite of him. Splinters flew in the air as Durge slammed his war hammer into the wood elf’s arm, breaking the table and the arm in the process. Ryder clashed steel with the arcane sea elf, her eyes were a dull white like pearls in sand. The stone elf reloaded their crossbow with a steel goat’s foot lever while Sumrall sat in his chair, using his plate as a shield to cower behind when sword slashes neared too close.
With their blade gone, and arm immobile, it was easy for Durge to crash his hammer into the elf repeatedly until he crumbled to the floor. A pool of red and black ichor spilled from the elf’s mouth, and before Durge could send him to Faewendral with a final swing, a spray of blood and poison spewed from him that covered his reaper’s face. Blood of the elf dripped from Durge’s weapon as toxin sizzled on his helmet.
The gaze of the stone elf changed to the noble’s filthy companion. Ryder noticed and slashed the crossbow from the elf’s hand while still avoiding sword strikes from the teal-skin across from him. A fury sprung over the stone elf as they tackled the shield-bearer. Dagger in hand from a concealed sheathe, they jammed the blade into Durge’s ribs.
Between the anguish bellows from Durge and the gnashing of teeth from the stone elf he wrestled with, a crashing sound from the door startled them both. Catwood stood in the entrance, dripping with crimson under his green cloak like the blood moons of the fae realm. Towering above the stone elf, he kicked them off of Durge and peered at the three elves.
Dodging the crazed swings from the guild leader, the stone elf narrowly avoided being chopped in half when rolling over the table. The hardy oak decreased in even more value as Catwood chopped through it, but to no avail. Broken glass mixed with the shards of wood as the stone elf leapt through the window, landing in the abyss below.
The last two left living, Sumrall and the sea elf, fled to the far side of the table.
She reloaded her own small crossbow and fired it into the heart of Catwood. But as the bolt bounced off the flat steel of the greatsword, he spun his entire body into the swing of his blade. He chopped through flesh and bone as the sea elf’s head separated from her body in one stroke. Her head rolled along the debris-covered ground and her eyes turned black.
“Wait! Wait! Wait! Catwood, we can come to an agreement!” The tip of the blade balanced on the rolls of Sumrall’s tunic, inching into his threads. “I’ll disband all of the Vulture guilds!” The cold from the sharp steel pressed against his warm flesh. “By the Family, Catwood! Ryder! Stop him!” he yelled. The elf lunged the sword with all of his remaining strength through the treasurer and the chair he sat upon.
He held the sword skewered through him, his eyes frantic as bubbling blood filled his mouth and stained his goatee. Incoherent gurgles and yelps sounded from Sumrall as he looked upon Ryder. The heir picked up the stone elf’s loaded crossbow and fired it at the advisor’s head. The bolt in his forehead forever made him gaze into the red dragon’s mouth; he was swallowed by an endless blackness while amber eyes received his soul.
Ryder checked for the stone elf who escaped out the window. The breeze that sang the end of a battle flowed through the room, breathing life into the smoldering embers of the fireplace. The Verdure Guild had slain or routed the Vulture’s of the fortress, but with heavy casualties.
“Ryder! We need a potion here!” Durge exclaimed.
Catwood laid on the floor, wheezing and clutching his sword with his hand. The Potion-Giver swiftly poured the health flask and vial into his the guild leader’s mouth, but the arrows and wounds had consumed him. The potions ensured he left the mortal realm without pain in the end, but his quest was complete. The Vulture’s of the south were slain, and one of the betrayers of Locria would never deceive again.
Durge chugged the last health vial and wrapped his wounds while Ryder stared at the corpses before him. The gold rug and dark wood floor had soaked with blood and dripped to the floor below. The young hayseeds looked upon their companion. Ryder felt grateful to have worked with the Glorious adventurer but somber to see it end so soon. Durge nestled the sword under Catwood’s arm and closed his eyes.
Not long after, Typhus, Olbif, and Salzar entered the ornate meeting room. Their eyes drew to the dragon on the wall but remained on their fallen guild leader.
“Too many have fallen. Without him… there’s no guild left,” Typhus said.
Salzar’s voice turned raspy and his scales turned dull, “We can’t leave him and the others to rot in this crumbling fortress.”
The five of them carried his body and his sword to a remote part of the northern forest. Durge and Ryder began to dig while more fallen companions were gathered by the other survivors. The duo worked in silence under the half-moon, burying their minds in the process.
The noble and the oaf gazed at the dazzling stars, soon dissipated by the morning twilight. A beautiful shift in hue from blue to purple to red to orange spanned the horizon. The golden sun had risen. Ryder and Durge sat near the graves of the many; they were covered in fresh soil with standing swords marking their graves.
“Does that adventuring book of yours tell of what to do after seeking revenge?” Durge asked with a mouthful of food.
“Nay,” Ryder sighed. “I read it through plenty of times, but I fear I grow bored of reading someone else’s tales of glory.”
“Perhaps we should create our own.”
“But how? More quests?” Ryder asked.
“And our vengeance for Locria. Sumrall was not your only advisor, Rye.”
Ryder sighed, “I know. Four more are out there that left us for death. He mentioned Hopkyns was in Jaabor.”
Durge sat up and stretched, engulfing himself in the rays of light. “Best get to it then."