Shade Seer

[Bone2pick]

I fell in love with a fantasy character I created for a roleplay. It ended up being a bad fit for me but I'm hoping like hell I'll follow through with crafting and sharing his story here. Some of the material is loosely based on Sincerely Me's RP Welcome To Andarun (https://www.rpnation.com/threads/welcome-to-andarun.90341/), so shoutout to him.


Thanks for checking this out.




O ye, of Little Coin


Charity rarely found its way over to Crows, mostly because it was in such scarce supply back in his homeland. And whenever it did find the sorcerer he had always assumed the generosity to be fraudulent. Surely any gift, even a humble gesture, was nothing more than a setup for the eventual manipulation of its needy recipient.


But today Crows made an exception. Sitting comfortably at a corner table in the Little Coin Tavern, he raised his freshly poured beer and thanked his company, sincerely. The party seated across from him, two young elven rangers, smiled back at Crows' appreciation.


"You earned it for keeping pace with us. I'm still in disbelief," said Adriel.


They were brothers, the other was named Camriel. Crows had met them along the road into town. When the three first crossed paths yesterday evening they kept more than a respectful distance between each other. Different races, different kingdoms, different cultures; it was to be expected. Camriel and Adriel had presumed that they would pull away from the middle-aged stranger as they pushed their way further up the country road. That presumption was firmly challenged the moment Crows hiked past the rangers at sunset.


No human had ever hiked past them, at least that was what they claimed. It wasn't too hard for Crows to believe either, for they were as fleet a foot as any elf he'd encountered. But the forty year old sorcerer was born and raised in a land where the undead would chase you and never tire. You either moved with a purpose through the haunted forests of the Pentavolk or you were ghoul food. That reality was later explained to Adriel and Camriel when the two traveled next to, whom they now consider, quite a remarkable character. The three made the Little Coin Tavern together just ahead of midnight. Before everyone retired to their respective and much desired bedrooms, the brothers insisted that Crows have a drink with them at lunch the following day. And here they all were.


Crows took a long swallow of his beer and then adjusted his ebonite framed eyeglasses. He was in the middle of trying to decide whether or not to offer up false modesty in reply to Adriel when he was conveniently interrupted. On the other side of the room and partially up the staircase that displayed the tavern's reputed quest board, a genteel young lady began to make an announcement.


"If I could have your attention for a moment!"


It didn't take long for the room to settle into silence. Little Coin was a bar and hangout built by adventurers for adventurers, and the regulars here were well accustomed to midday recruitment calls like this one. The idea behind the place was to have a location where sellswords and spells-slingers could get together, brag about their epic conquests, and get exciting new job opportunities pitched their way. It was practically conceived to be some sort of hero and tough-guy hall of fame. In reality the work that passed through here was almost always minor league; which was also a pretty accurate description of the talent of the "muscle" that usually frequented Little Coin. This is what you get when you try and mix campy idealism with an industry that historically favors thieves and thugs. The young woman continued.


"Thank you. I'll be brief. I've come here for help. I'm in urgent need of brave and able-bodied..."


Crows let the rest of the woman's words dim to an inaudible level. She was undeniably distraught, but to her credit she still projected an air of impassioned strength. It was a strength undoubtably built upon naivety, but a strength nonetheless. Crows then snorted slightly with disgust at conceding even the smallest amount of respect for someone who would stoop to using emotional language like "help" and "brave" to hire the likes of him.


So this must be what the driveling pleas for local heroes sounds like. Thought the sorcerer. How very infantile. He was just about to return his attention to his elvish company when he made out the final words of the young lady's motion.


"Any hero or heroine willing to aid me will be rewarded with fifty gold crowns."


Hardly a moment had passed after the offer of gold before the sorcerer gulped down the rest of his beer and stood up from his lunch with the rangers.


"Pardon me fellows, but that's just my price."


Adriel and Camriel grinned wildly at each other before replying back to Crows in unison.


"Good luck."

 

[Grey]

Very nice. Very nice indeed. Instantly engaging, well paced, characterful. A bit... hm, I want to say troperiffic, but it's all used well.


More please/10

 

[Tom-Pen]

I agree with Grey 100%!

 

[SkyGinge]

Wonderfully paced, and great slow reveal of exposition. You give away new details with such masterful flourish as to keep readers engaged and intrigued.


There's some lovely language use in fitting of the genre; 'fleet of foot' is my particular favourite, I think. Some sentences seem needlessly wordy to me however, though you get away with it due to the genre.


There's a few minor grammatical mistakes here and there. Nothing bad enough to ruin the flow, but as a critique I feel like I'd be doing you injustice to not point them out.


Firstly, speech! When ending a piece of dialogue, unless using a question mark or exclamation mark, you always use a comma, and the next word afterwards isn't capitalised. So 'I'm still in disbelief." Said Adriel.' turns to I'm still in disbelief," said Adriel.


Secondly, the title shouldn't have a comma in the middle. Disregarding that, I think there's only one other example of dodgy comma usage, though it alludes me now aparently. More minorly, be careful with youe semi-colons. The first one was fine, but the second would seem more appropriate as a comma to my eyes.


All in all, good stuff, if a little harmlessly tropey as Grey has pointed out.

 

[Bone2pick]

He slipped his untanned hands into a pair of scarred leather gloves and then pulled the oyster grey hood of his cape up and slightly over his face. Crows' appearance was beyond rugged -- he could pass for having just crawled out of his own grave. He decided it would be in good judgement to attempt, even with modest measures, to lessen the effect of his frightful image. If he was back among his own people the idea of making himself look less threatening would never have passed through his mind. But here in the traveler's town of Fairway, dealing with a well-bred and wide-eyed maiden, it was safe to assume one could scare off money.


Walking through the tavern towards his potential future employer Crows smirked as the room filled with the groans of sliding bar chairs. Other patrons were beginning to stir. If you throw out enough chum you'll always draw fish, and fifty gold crowns was a trough-load of chum. Someone had even managed to beat the salty sorcerer to the punch, a dwarf who had the good fortune of sitting closer to the young lady. Crows stopped a respectable distance away to allow them to conduct their business in private.


What little the sorcerer knew of the short folk he respected. They had a reputation for being durable, strong, stubborn, and brave; and Crows didn't have a reason to doubt that. The very specimen ahead of him looked solid enough to get kicked straight through the tavern wall and be little worse off for it. Crows noted the powerful and bulbous shoulder muscles, like the rear flanks of a prize bull, on the squat figure. As if on instinct the dwarf turned partially about and then looked sternly up into the grim face of the man who was busy scrutinizing him. Real confidence was always in the eyes, in the energy of the pupils. It wasn't in a threatening forward brow or at the edges of a snarling mouth, those were merely the expressions of false bravado. But Crows saw that this one had the quiet fire. This dwarf was the genuine article.


The same couldn't be said for the other candidates now falling in line behind Crows. Half a dozen pretenders, weekend warriors, and fight enthusiasts were now shuffling around with puffed out chests waiting for their turn to cash in. They were unworthy.


Crows returned his attention forward just in time to watch the well-mannered girl gingerly cradle the burly dwarf's hand in a moment of heartfelt gratitude. Affection, much more so than violence, could trigger a flinch from the sorcerer. Thankfully his oversized emerald eye-lenses concealed his only physical response, a nearly imperceptible eye twitch.


The dwarf moved on and then it was Crows' turn.


"Madame, I'd like to offer you some rather valuable advice."


She stiffened underneath his voice. It was husky, slippery, and suggestively deviant. She had been expecting something more along the lines of an introduction from the hooded man. Apparently her new company didn't regard pleasantries as being necessary.


"Good day sir, my name is Daedra. And what name may I call you?"


It was her best attempt to shift the nature of the conversation into something more traditional.


"I answer to Crows, you may call me that. Daedra, I happen to be an expert in a rare and useful arcane discipline. I'm here to inform you that I'll be available for your...adventure."


Daedra nodded while doing her best to keep her eyes from roaming rudely over the sorcerer. She then forced a smile onto her lips with the intention of speaking again, but she never got the chance.


"My advice is to not throw your money away, at least not on the unskilled lot waiting behind me. If you desire success then do use professionals. The dwarf is an exception to the others, I'd wager he has value."


Daedra's eyes darted around the gathered crowd in confusion. Who could know all of this? How could she be certain any of it was true? She needed to probe further.


"You underestimate them or you overestimate yourself."


With the smallest of efforts Crows shook his cloaked head.


"I'd be dead by now if I made a habit of doing either of those."


She clasped her hands tightly together in front of her dress while she wrestled with the moment. Her gut then tied into a knot as she came to the alarming realization that she believed every word the sorcerer had spoken. Daedra needed this man.


"Will you come back here at sunset so that we can further discuss this?"


"I will."


And with those words she exhaled a breath that had been held far too long. Her shoulders relaxed and her right hand started to move, but once again she was too slow. Crows had anticipated the hand embrace and interrupted it with a shallow bow. The result was a visibly confused Daedra, but she composed herself quickly and returned his gesture with a head bow of her own. Crows finally allowed himself to smile.


"Thank you," she concluded. Crows couldn't be sure, but he preferred to think Daedra was thanking him for providing her with an escape to the handshake.


"Of course."

 

[Bone2pick]

Bloodhound


If you want to be a proud family in an overly self-righteous kingdom, then you need to keep your hands clean. And one sure-fire way to get unsullied hands completely filthy, at least in Daedra's homeland, is to get mixed up in the slave trade. Over there they consider its practice illegitimate, barbaric, and disgusting. 'Wait till they get a load of me," thought Crows.


The sorcerer brushed the hood off his bald head and scanned the starlit street. It was well past the town's bedtime. The shutters were drawn, the doors were barred, and the candles were long cooled — even the Little Coin was silent. It was the perfect time to prowl.


The trouble was staying focused. Much had been revealed during his evening meeting, including the identities of his fellow collaborators. There was Daedra Behrens, the employer, a self-confessed beneficiary of an enviable education and an even more enviable trust fund. There was Kuggly, the flinty dwarf who Crows had given his vote of confidence to. And finally there was Jaim, an ambitious Carpan caravan guard, who happened to ride into Fairway just in time to learn about what Daedra was putting together. Jaim managed to squeeze out of his current work, a modest escort job, in order to land this more profitable opportunity.


Crows was being watched. There, across the street, sprawled out underneath a front porch, a slack jowled hound looked on. Maybe it had been the sound of the sorcerer's staff scrapping along the gravel road, or maybe it was simply the stench of his man-flesh; whatever the cause the dog was now awake and alert. Crows paused to observe whether the animal would betray him, but it simply stared in silence. Even that level of attention was undesirable for tonight's activities, and so the sorcerer veered into a side ally. After Crows regained his privacy, without wanting to, his thoughts went back to Daedra's story.


She was the daughter of an Otterberg merchant, the now deceased Ashley Behrens. During the course of his productive life Ashley establish one of the most lucrative import shipping companies inside the city. This left his two children, Daedra and Dwite, in great economic standing after his eventual death. Dwite inherited his father's company, Quest imports; he was older and it was his birthright. But he proved to be a poor substitute.


Each year that Dwite managed the company bled key personnel, lost valuable contracts, and took on unhealthy levels of debt. Bankruptcy became the only foreseeable future. Despite this, and through the obvious mania of desperation, Dwite still assured his sister he would save their father's company. And suddenly, without explanation, profits started to climb.


Daedra could only marvel at her brother's financial surge. Soon Quest Imports looked as if it would retake its place as being among the city's most prestigious merchant guilds. But looks can be deceiving, and Dwite's dirty laundry started to smell. An ex-employee, an old QI sailor named Spooner, tried to blackmail Daedra. Spooner let her in on the secret to her brother's booming business — Quest Imports was shipping foreign slaves. Dwite was supposedly selling humans like cattle to some hellish mining outfit up north. Daedra did the predictable, she confronted her brother. He became furious, denied everything, and then scolded his sister for ever considering the wild idea. Spooner's fresh corpse was discovered the next morning. He'd been stabbed to death.


Unbeknownst to Dwite his sister didn't go straight home the night of their confrontation. She hid just outside his house, unsure of what to do next. That is until her brother came storming out into the dark streets. Daedra, unseen, followed. She spied a book clutched under his arm. A ledger, a record list. Evidence against the family. She stayed with him all the way, all the way to the foggy docks, all the way to his company's flagship vessel. That's where Dwite left the book, the very book Crows, Kuggly, and Jaim had been hired to retrieve.


Back to the matter at hand. Crows placed a naked palm on the door of an empty hay barn but quickly pulled it back in disappointment. A dozen earlier doors had felt the same. He was beginning to lose hope, that is until he passed near a cooper's workshop. He noted the shift in temperature there, the chill that danced along the skin. He moved alongside the stacks of empty barrels and butter churns towards what he hoped would be its source. Behind the workshop it hit his nose.


It was subtle to the unaware but to the trained the scent was unmistakeable. Like moldy tobacco, the smell was rancid and bitter in the throat. Crows lips opened wide enough to suck in some of the surrounding air. It tasted familiar. It tasted evil. The sorcerer rapped his staff gently against the ground in celebration.


With a single thought his eyelenses flared into glowing green goggles and the world melted away.

 

[Bone2pick]

He was in two places at once. Crows' body remained back in creation but his essence, along with his senses, had left that realm. He was in tune with the spirit world; the murky echo of all that was physical. Sages and necromancers referenced this space by its academic title, the Penumbra. But seers like Crows, who were usually less formal, simply called it the Shade.


The eyelenses strapped to the seer's face beamed with invading light. Shadows scurried away from underneath his gaze. A ghost who had been haunting a mere arm-length from where Crows now stood, recoiled from his sudden appearance, and then retreated away to a safer distance.


Ghosts could feel fear. As a matter of fact they could tremble, scream, and run for their unlife. Very few ran though, and young ghosts couldn't run. They were too weak to leave their death sites. It worked like this: At the moment of expiration — the moment when the heart ceases to beat inside the chest, the soul will separate from the body. It doesn't go far, it lingers in the Shade. The soul shard burns brilliantly just above the corpse, waiting, until it's inevitably summoned away. This is true for most cases, however, there are exceptions. Once in awhile a particularly spiteful, vindictive, or just plain foolish soul ignores its divine invitation. Those souls opt to stay in the Shade, but at a heavy price. The spirit world corrupts them, infects them, and eventually transforms them into ghosts. It's a pitiful existence.


Like all seers Crows preferred to dine on fresh souls, but mangy ghosts would do in a pinch.


At this range the pungent odor of the specter was enough to choke most mortals. Each breath was heavy with acidic ozone. It took years of conditioning in order to build up a tolerance to it. Crows bared his teeth in a devilish smile and savored the taint in the air. He was no amateur.


As tense as a cornered cat the ghost glared towards the sorcerer with lifeless white eyes. The seer inspected its gangly build, the disfigured hunch of its back, and the misery smeared across its face. Purples, blues, and greens, the very colors of a bruise, swirled inside it. Crows circled slowly, thumping his staff against the ground with each step.


"Do you know what I am?" Crows purred.


It delighted him to see the ghost nod. Sorcerers of his stripe rarely ventured outside the borders of the Pentavolk, so it was unlikely that any specter this far out would have encountered one. Evidently seers were getting a healthy amount of word of mouth. Dead men do tell tales. The ghost twisted its ugly face and snarled its fangs at Crows.


"You've come for me?" It moaned.


He leveled his emerald stare at the wretched thing and palmed the sphere at the top of his staff. Crows rolled his gloved fingers across its crystal surface playfully.


"I'll make it quick."


The threat ended with his hand sparking and flaring into an engulfing pale flame. Soulfire, the bane of the unholy.


The ghost hissed and cowered. It clawed the air and gnashed its broken teeth at its enemy. And then, in its moment of greatest panic, it unleashed its most potent attack: a psychic howl. A supernatural scream that could scramble the mind, silence the ears, and strip the courage of men. It was often the first strategy of materialized ghosts, and it was feared for good reason. Once heard, it was never forgotten. Unfortunately for this ghost all seers had total immunity. Crows lifted his unlit hand and pressed an extended index finger against his lips.


"Shhh."




Thanks for reading Shade Seer. I'm planning a pretty lengthy post for the next chapter so now would be a great time to leave a comment if you have one. I appreciate any and all feedback.

 

[Grey]

About midway through Bloodhound, I think you get a bit over-eager. The pacing falls apart and you start expositing an awful lot.


I think you might need to extend that section, be more patient, and trust the reader to put the pieces together with a little less hand-holding.


I like Crows, as a character. I'll admit some of the names (Daedra especially because I think of Elder Scrolls) but me due to a lack of consistent etymology or root language. You're using some classic genre tropes pretty well, which is nice. Don't have much else to say at this time - looking forward to more!

 

[Bone2pick]

About midway through Bloodhound, I think you get a bit over-eager. The pacing falls apart and you start expositing an awful lot.
I think you might need to extend that section, be more patient, and trust the reader to put the pieces together with a little less hand-holding.

100% agree. I reread everything last night and I'm the most unsatisfied with the third post. It had parts where it bored me...That's unacceptable. I should have caught it earlier but I was caught in a writing frenzy. Now I have to figure out whether to go back and fix it or plod on and take my lumps...


Thanks for taking the time to give feedback Grey.

 

[Grey]

Happy to help. Feedback is a right devil to come by, useful feedback even harder.


I'd say give it one pass in editing, no more'n an hour, and then forge on. There's always time to edit further later.

 

[Poisoned Youth]

Your writing is beautiful, poetic, and engaging. From the first line, I am completely hooked until the end of the paragraph. Please continue.

 

[Bone2pick]

Broken Swords


He just wanted to drink in peace. Crows tore the twine off his wineskin and hoisted the bag to his dry lips. They had rode all day, the four of them, across the flatlands of the Neutral Ground and into the rolling hills of the Ascended Kingdom. Daedra rented horses for the journey. No doubt she overpaid for the animals; they were appreciated all the same. Once the sun started to sag near the western horizon the group — without any input from Crows — decided to break and setup camp. Kuggly, after walking the perimeter for any alarming tracks, was already peeling out of his armor. Jaim was next to the horses who were gulping cool water from a shady creek. The sorcerer had just finished sniffing around for the supernatural, and after not detecting anything, decided to refresh his spirit the conventional way. Two glorious swallows later Crows spied Daedra approaching. So much for peace.


Walking against the evening sunlight forced her into a tight squint while dragonflies buzzed around her ears. She grinned, albeit forcefully, through the annoyances. Daedra desired to speak with a foreign sorcerer who didn't appreciate being questioned; a smile was a necessary start. Crows inner voice cursed the woman and her phony expression every step of the way. She didn't seem to notice.


"How are you?"


The sorcerer panned his emerald eye-glasses onto her. Despite trailing three horse-lengths off the party during their travels, Crows still endured the constant prattle of Daedra and Jaim. The dwarf, who ceaselessly fidgeted in his ill-fitting saddle, at least had the decency to keep his thoughts to himself. Who knew a mercenary group needed someone to play host? After a moment's thought Crows glanced down at his wineskin.


"Bothered."


She frowned at his reply. Daedra looked back towards the campsite, it was likely she was already regretting this encounter.


"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"


Crows hooked his wineskin onto his belt and considered an answer.


"My spell preparation requires my full attention. Unnecessary disturbances should be kept to a min-"


"Is your staff a foci?" She interrupted.


The sorcerer squeezed the weapon in his hand reflexively. Her voice had distinctly quickened and her smile was gone. Crows was surprised to find that he was more puzzled at being cutoff than insulted. He was also puzzled at how a young lady with her background could ever begin to know about magical foci. Crows pointed the staff towards her and conceded a nod.


"Very perceptive."


Daedra gently tilted her head at the weapon and traced the outline of the staff's crystal with one of her fingers.


"I studied wizardry...briefly."


A curious detail to withhold until now, thought Crows. Just how much did she know about the arcane traditions of the Pentavolk? Probably not much considering she entered into contact with him. Crows flipped the ghastwood staff back into position.


"Did you study our magic?"


He was relieved when she shook her head.


"No, mainly general theory and elemental application."


Crows, without inviting Daedra to follow but assuming she would, started to walk back to camp. He called back to her.


"Magic between countries is very different."


The sorcerer's tone suggested that magic wasn't the only thing. Daedra, staring insults into his back, was slighted that Crows didn't excuse himself. She paused to reassure her pride and then sprung into an intercepting pace. She was just about to speak when Crows, who could sense another boring question coming, raised a silencing palm. Something more interesting had presented itself.


"Whoa there gladiator!"


Kuggly spun around in surprise. The dwarf had just finished pulling off his boots when Crows had yelled. The sorcerer had spotted the mark. A scar pressed into the side of one of the squat man's bulging calves. Kuggly twisted his leg into a better view and grinned downward. It didn't take long for him to call back.


"That's from a lifetime ago."


Daedra, in total confusion, looked back and forth between the two men for an explanation. Jaim, now bringing back the horses, was also trying to piece the topic together. Crows, pleased to have everyone's attention, pressed on.


"Tell us about it."


Kuggly thumbed his enormous mustache while a coy smile played at his lips.


"You really wanna hear about awful pit fighten?"


The sorcerer adjusted his glasses and dipped into a theatrical bow.


"Nothing would please me more."


One of Jaim's eyebrows was nearly cocked up to his hairline while he stared at the dwarf. He squatted to get a better look at Kuggly's calf. The dark haired Carpan shook his head in disbelief.


"When the devil were you a gladiator?"


Kuggly cleared his throat while he searched his mind for an answer.


"Just over seventy years ago — right after we surrendered at Pappleford."


Daedra and Jaim rocked back on their heels. The two were as wide-eyed as if Kuggly had just announced he was next in line to inherit the crown. This time it was Crows who was left in the dark. Daedra blurted out the next question.


"You were part of the Dheg Hogh 14th's Hammer?"


The dwarf sheepishly confirmed the excited girl's guess. Daedra, aware of her outburst and the resulting looks she was getting, let the enthusiasm die in her eyes. She brushed her dress down uncomfortably.


"Sorry, it's just we studied the 14th in secondary school..."


The sorcerer was still out of the loop.


"Was it during the Carpan Expansion?" Asked Crows.


Everyone nodded. That explained Why he had never heard of the 14th: Crows was from the Pentavolk, and the Carpan Expansian only involved the Ascended Kingdom and Carpa. Jaim spoke next.


"So after the Pappleford surrender you were thrown into the pits?"


Kuggly reached a stubby hand down and slapped his scarred calf.


"We all were."


The 'pits' were mostly used by bullfighters. Carpans obsessed over bullfighting like it was a religion. But when quality bulls were in short supply they'd fill the arena with gladiators, most of whom were political prisoners. Each fighter was branded like an animal, a glyph seared into the calf meat with scorching iron. Crows knew a freed pit fighter who'd turned sellsword. The two had worked together.


"Tell us about it," the sorcerer repeated.


The dwarf shrugged and put a hand on his hip where his broadsword normally waited.


"I wouldn't know where to begin."


"Let's begin at the beginning, your first fight."


Crows prying was making the others uneasy but they were powerless to the story. Kuggly scratched the shirt covering his barrel chest as he began to dig up his bloody past.


"All right, my first go in the pit was against a Carpan. He must have been doing time for military failure — can't say for sure. He was short, not much taller than me, but he was human. That I can say for sure."


Kuggly chuckled which triggered Daedra and Jaim to offer half-hearted courtesy laughs. However, the smile growing under Crows' goggles was genuine. Kuggly continued.


"They tied a sword to each of our wrists and handed us shields. Lousy steel though, I knew it as soon as I gripped it. But hey, whadda are you gonna do, complain?"


Now the dwarf's laughter was full and hearty. A dark history, like a dusty wine bottle, had just uncorked for the first time. Daedra and Jaim dropped all pretense of comfort, but Crows thumped his staff against the earth cheerfully.


"So they hauled us both out into the pit and had us just stand there. The crowd needed a good look so they could pick favorites. Then some trumpets bellowed and we turned on each other like mortal enemies."


Kuggly started to mime the action.


"I'm swinging...and he's swinging...but we're hitting nothing but shield. It stayed like that for— well it felt like forever. Haha. And all the while our junk weapons are getting torn apart from the impacts. Then the crowd started to boo!"


Overcome with amusement Crows clapped a gloved-hand down on Jaim's shoulder; the Carpan glared at the sorcerer in disgust.


"And then it happened: the fella came down with an overhand chop that I blocked with all of my young dwarven might."


Kuggly snapped his fingers.


"The friggin blades broke...They snapped like the cheap pieces of shite that they were, and there we were, with nothin but friggin sword handles tied to our wrist!"


The sorcerer barked out a laugh for the first time in front of his new company. Even that was heartless.


"Yeah, so we dropped the dumb shields and charged each other. I landed a lucky pommel shot right up into his jaw and stunned him, stunned him good. But to finish the fight I had to choke him to death from behind with the bit of rope...The crowd cheered then."


Everyone had stopped laughing. Daedra and Jaim were paralyzed in horror while Kuggly appeared lost in thought. Crows licked his pale lips while he looked around at all the sunken faces.


"I never learned the man's name."


The words muttered by the dwarf were barely over a whisper.


"And what did you learn gladiator?" Hissed Crows.


Kuggly let the warrior take over. The ferocity that Crows had seen back at the Little Coin had returned. There, on the dwarf's face, was the unmistakable will of a killer. He growled back to the sorcerer.


"Never surrender."


Crows unhooked his wineskin and brought it near his chin. Maybe the countries weren't so different after all, thought Crows.


"I'll drink to that."