Tuesday 8 March 2016

Chapter 15 - Leadership

“You can't stay out here the entirety of the four months we have left,” Willow chuckled.
Since the shambles of the last attack on the Horn of Abbadon, Pellius had taken it upon himself to stand guard, stopping only for a mere two hours each night for rest.
Their defence on that night had been at best haphazard and sloppy. The group had found themselves fighting on the ten foot wide staircase leading to the second floor, chasing their foes down the hundred foot drop. They had snatched a precarious victory from the mighty Mitran Inquisitor. When the fabled witch hunter and his comrades had launched their assault, the group had been unprepared and unorganised. As they had managed to turn the attack back onto the Inquisitor, Bor had been near fatally wounded, grasping to the last shreds of his consciousness, Teelee had fallen to the ground from the ledge of the entrance, and several of their minions had been slain. So Pellius had taken the guard of the entrance upon his shoulders. While he stood rigid in his vigil at the top of the staircase, Willow sat leisurely by him with her feet dangling above the abyss that was the Caer Bryr.
“We're going to have to come up with a better plan than this,” she said when he didn't respond.
“Well, my lady,” he replied, charming as ever, “Do inform me when you come up with one. Until then, I shall remain on guard.”
Willow smiled, eyes grazing over the emerald blanket of the treetops. The early morning sun shimmered along the condensation kissing each jade leaf, making the canopy glisten like a sea of gems upon its top. She was glad for these moments, small reprieves from the intensity of their immense task, quiet moments where the beauty of the world still shone.
“We should split the guard duty into shifts,” she said, leaning back on her hands, “Two of us on at all times. Divide it into three shifts; morning, day and night. I know you are more than capable of handling the task alone, but perhaps it would be best to share the load?”
Pellius frowned in thought, “The responsibility would do the others good.”
“And think of how the place would suffer if you were hidden away on guard duty the entire time,” Willow said, gently stroking his ego, “The men would run rampant if you were not there to discipline them. I cringe at the thought of the state of our order if the others were left in charge.”
“I need no posturing, my lady,” he replied, a sly grin tinting his lips, “But I agree. There is much that fills my time, and indeed the place would be a ramshackle without someone to enforce authority.”
“Just think on it,” Willow replied, rising from her rest, laying a soft hand on his arm, “It is a fact I myself am having trouble accepting, but we are not without allies. We must rely on each other, for none of us can do this alone.”


As the sun dropped behind the horizon later that night, the group gathered around the table in the tavern. Bor had recovered slowly from the impressive amass of wounds he had taken, walking with only a slight limp as the flesh knitted back together along his legs and torso. Teelee strolled in with her usual swagger, head held high, nose turned up. The only indication of her perilous fall was the covered wince within her step.
Dismissing the tavern staff, the group turned their attentions to the task at hand. The discussion of the failing defence they were employing was long and tedious. By nights end, they had agreed to Willow's proposed guarding shifts, admitting to their failing at underutilising the magic of Vetra-Kali’s eyes. They had determined the best alterations to the entrance way, and decided on new specialised training for their pitiful followers. Pellius had scripted a list of which men and women would be best suited to which training,
proposing to initiate the instruction himself. Their final task for the night was to sketch out a rough drawing of their plans for the entrance. They needed to open out the inner passage way to make room for more than one defender and narrow the door way to keep ranks of enemies from swarming them. Willow had come up with the idea of placing a gate at the tail of the pit trap, to force their attackers to deal with it instead of leaping over and rendering it obsolete.
“We need time to arm ourselves before we go running into battle,” she said, “Though humorous it may be, fighting in our nightwear is highly impractical.”
“I didn't mind the view,” Bor said with a cheeky grin.
“Nor I,” Pellius chuckled.
Willow smirked, “Be that as it may, I'd rather not be gutted, the erotic fantasy of naked fighting loses its charm when I picture my insides on my outsides.”
“Then we must take time to prepare,” Garvana agreed.
“Perhaps we set up bunks in the throne room,” Willow suggested, “Sleep close to one another so we can muster our defence in the shortest amount of time.”
Garvana scoffed, looking from Willow to Pellius, “You two don't do much sleeping though…”
Willow couldn't help but grin.
“The roster,” she continued, ignoring the comment, “Allows each of us our own free time to follow whatever pursuits we wish. Two on guard at anytime, changing shifts that align with the timing of the rituals. The signal horns, set with the series of alarms, can be heard from any level of the compound.”
“Very good,” Pellius praised, “We shall implement the changes over the next week.”
“Agreed.”


Willow couldn't help but be impressed with the group's progress throughout the following days. Garvana and Teelee took charge of the reconstruction in the entrance, combining their arcane skill to reform the stone walls into malleable forms. Pellius separated the strongest and most agile of the minions, setting them up into groups for training drills. Taken from their stockpile, he armed each set of guards with a different assortment of weapons. The men were made slightly uncomfortable with the joining of the boggard warriors, but under the intense scrutiny of Pellius, Bor and Willow, they performed through any trace of discomfort.
“Shieldbearers, spearmen and macemen with me,” Pellius commanded, a fierce bite to his tone, “Outriders and spearmen with Bor. Longbowmen with Mistress Willow. You have your basic instruction. Follow it, learn it, become it. Until now, you have proven useless. A waste of our time and resources. Prove to us your worth!”
The men and women complied readily, launching into their drills without need for guidance. Willow was glad to see her three scouts had been selected as longbowmen. She was quick to select Willem, the small scouting parties leader, as her man in charge. He ran each drill with practiced efficiently, a sharp short voice instructing the untrained novices in the basics of long ranged fighting. Willow was free to roam the hall in observation, a menacing deterrent to indolence, and an intimidatingly inspiring presence.
Pellius’ voice boomed across the throne room, ricocheting through the passageways, bounding across the stone. A fearsome aura loomed around him, strong, dominating, commanding. He ordered the men around with ease, a natural leadership to his ways. When he spoke, everyone listened. He did not request or ask. He demanded, and all who
heard him obeyed. Willow found herself naturally gravitating towards him, her feet meandering with no intentional purpose.
“Hold fast!” he called to the shieldbearers, “Do not cringe, do not retreat! Do not falter!”
Willow smiled as the men remained in position as the flurry of attacks came barrelling their way. They received the blows and deflected the assault with the steel of their shields.
“Again!” Pellius yelled.
Willow kept her face cool as she approached, eyes full of heated intensity.
“You should use that voice when we meet later this evening,” she whispered sensually, quiet enough for only their ears to hear.
Without change in his face or demeanour, he replied, “This voice is reserved for those who do not know proper discipline, my lady. And you, are the most disciplined that I know.”
Willow surveyed the men’s progress as she responded.
“If that tone is my punishment,” she breathed, a subtle grin lifting the corner of her lip, “Then I believe I must misbehave and receive my chastisement…”




Curiosity had always been Willow's blessing and her curse. As an adolescent it had always lead her right into the path of the unknown, and more often than not, the forbidden. It had been the driving force that found her listening in on conversations not meant for her ears, seeking secrets and truths where she was meant to remain oblivious. Her young wide eyed appearance had always aided her in these ventures, for even when she was caught all she needed was to bat her eyelashes and respond in the naïve soft voice that accompanied her innocent face, and all those involved would believe she had heard little that could compromise their position. It was this curiosity paired with her naturally suspicious nature that had her seeking information on all of those around her, always looking for a crutch or heel that she could use to her advantage.
It was a subtle change that had Willow prying for details into the pasts of the other Forsaken. Loyalty was something she held above all else. Hers was not an easy venture to gain. There was only one entity she gave it to freely and without restraint, and her bond with him was soul deep and full hearted. But of late, she had begun to trust four other souls; four others who were bound to her true master, four others who pledged their allegiance to him along side her.
To say the Forsaken were an oddity to her was an understatement. Willow had only ever known a handful of others who shared their unwavering faith. Her grandparents and great grandparents had been loyal to their Infernal Father. Even hidden in the shadows, hidden in the very ranks of the blasphemous opposing religion, their loyalty had not broken. The same could not be said for her parents. Bartley was a disappointment to the Monteguard bloodline. He held the ambition of a true Asmodean, but his loyalty went only as far as his coin purse. His word meant little. He was faithful while it suited him, but when there was work to be done to achieve his goals, he would flake and fall resigned to keep what he had made and run. He spoke the words of loyalty to Asmodeus, but offered no service, no sacrifice. He was faithful right up until the moment came that he had to actually put in any effort to back his words. His silver tongue and easy lies made him prosperous in the lands of Talingarde - but family, faith and loyalty held no bounds over his soul; he was the worst kind of dishonourable. Willow's mother was no better. If she had to describe the woman in one word, it would be lazy. She steadily grew fatter as she rested in the family's manor. A manor that had stood for more than eight decades, a residence that was a testament to the effort
and strength of the Monteguard’s legacy. Willow's mother resided in the walls, undeserving of the luxury and wealth. She had been the bride of an arranged marriage, a woman of status and rank in Cheliax, selected to strengthen both families ties in and out of the grand homeland. Willow was unsure if she had always been so useless and lazy, or if the easy life away from Asmodean rule had changed her. She held no ambition, no strength, no might. She desired more wealth and privilege, but refused to do anything to acquire it.
Their final act of disloyalty was what broke the last wisp of attachment that Willow had for the pair. They had turned her in, ruined her plans to bring the family's name higher into the ranks of royalty. Their reasoning was unknown to her, yet she figured there was little more to their plans than getting rid of the risk to their cosy positions. Willow was resolved to take everything from them. They did not deserve a life of luxury, they did not deserve the endless wealth that the Monteguard’s had clawed over the centuries. They deserved nothing. No sympathy, no forgiveness, no repentance.



“What of family?” Willow asked Teelee, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
They sat around the large wooden table in the tavern of the Horn, sipping wine from tumblers while the fireplace sapped the chill from the air. Willow had asked many such questions, eager to learn more about those that she was fated to ally with.
“Five brothers,” Teelee replied, “Four older, one younger, and a younger sister. The eldest is a General in the army, fourth eldest is a Major. Second and third eldest are part of the Gladiator Pits. Fighting tournaments created so the slaves of the land can slaughter each other for the amusement of the nobility. Feral displays of barbarism if you ask me.”
Willow grimaced, “Indeed.”
Turning her glass in her fingers, she stared into the flickering wisps of flame.
“And what of you? Did you work in Rahadoum?”
“My family are a large part of the slaving industry,” she responded, “We were very well known, quite successful. I tried my hand at bookkeeping, but found it tedious. I was better suited to being the face of the house, creating contacts, securing contracts. They say I am most captivating.”
Willow couldn't help but chuckle, “That you are Teelee. So what is it that had you sailing east towards Talingarde?”
Teelee sighed, “It is hard to stand out against six other siblings. Military prowess and profitable slaving were very well regarded in my fathers eye. I wished to make a name for myself, I wished to make him proud. So I was given a ship, fifty men and free reign to travel and expand our reach in the slaving industry. And as luck would have it,” she said with an eye roll, “I landed on the only shores within reach that condemned slaving.”
“An unfortunate turn of events given your goals,” Willow said, noting the irony.
Teelee pursed her lips, “Indeed.”
“And what of marriage?” Willow asked, “I do not know the Rahadoum customs, do you have a husband waiting for you?”
“No,” Teelee replied lightly, “I have not met a suitable man. He must be charismatic, handsome and rich. A trio more rare than it should be.”
Willow laughed, “Agreed. You can have mine if you wish.”
“You're married?” Teelee asked in shock.
Willow laughed again at Teelee’s dropped jaw, “Yes. Though I'm not sure if it counts if your husband condemns you to a death by drawn and quartering.”
“Oh, I suppose not,” Teelee laughed, “Still, he was rich and handsome?”
Willow scoffed, “Very. You’re welcome to him, though I suppose his fanatical Mitran faith may pose a problem, he's pretty against the whole slave trading thing…”
“Ah,” Teelee said, waving a dismissive hand, “Minor details. He’ll learn.”
Willow and Teelee burst into giggles. When they recovered, Teelee turned to her with a curious expression.
“Do you plan your vengeance against him?”
Willow frowned slightly. The anger she felt towards him had dimmed, the hatred she had held for him had morphed into almost pity. He would never understand her motives or her resolve, he would fight against her and seek her demise in retribution for her disloyalty. She felt so little for him, he was just another blind fool who could not see the beauty in her plans for order and her dreams for structure. He was just another stepping stone in her path to righting the wrongs of the land.
“I will kill him,” she said seriously, “I will cut him down myself, for he will never waver in his rigid beliefs of Mitra. He will never accept his place, he will accept only death before he bends to the will of Asmodeus.”
“And that does not bother you,” Teelee said, less of a question.
“No,” Willow replied truthfully, “His death will be one of many. He deserves no more mercy than any other who stand in our way.”


On the fourteenth week of their stay in the towering spire, Willow and Garvana returned from Farholde late in the evening. They had spent part of their day casing the town for rumours or information on the dragon that had been sighted over the city in the week before. While they found no further mention of the dragon, they did come across the raving claims of a fanatical Mitran preacher. Brother Ezekiel of the Mission of Saint Larius the Leper, had been overheard trying to empower the people of Farholde to rise up against the evil festering in the Horn of Abbadon. Fortunately, of those who had not already gone to war against the bugbear army ravaging the south, there were few left in the city who cared to involve themselves. Willow and Garvana had returned to the Horn with the knowledge of the minor annoyance the preacher had been causing.
“He's not worth our time,” Teelee said.
The group had once again gathered around the tavern to plan their week.
“He is a threat,” Garvana countered, “Why has Elise not dealt with him?”
Willow scoffed, “He is a preacher known for his lunatic rants, he is of no import to us.”
“He is drawing unwanted attention to the Horn,” Garvana replied, “With our second sacrifice due next week, we need to keep our plans as quiet as possible.”
“Send the guards,” Pellius offered, “It will be a good opportunity to employ their new training. We needn't waste our own time with him.”
“It is a fair compromise Garvana,” Willow said.
Garvana frowned, “Alright, but we must arm them, give them gold for bribes and supplies. They are fairly useless, I shouldn't expect them to succeed.”
“Fear can be a miraculous motivator,” Willow grinned.
They gathered in the throne room, the five of them standing tall along the altars steps. The hellhounds sat patiently by Willow's feet, perched regally above the cowering servants below. They had selected a group of five of their followers. Willow didn't know any of their names, nor did she care to. A brute of man stood in front of her, strong broad shoulders hunched in intimidation. Willow watched him with curiosity as he chanced a glance at her. Odd, each time he seemed to be gawking at her outfit as apposed to her body. To his left stood a woman close to Willow's height, blonde hair wrapped in an intricate braid, a semi-fine set of robes draped gracefully over her shoulders. She reminded Willow of the lower nobles from Matharyn, nose tilted in an air of superiority they did not possess. Next in line stood a skeletal man, twitching in a constant state of anxiety, black robes covered in charred marks and burns. A pyromancer, she assumed. Second from the end stood the thief. Willow could pick him out of a group with just a glance. Slender and lean, perched on the balls of his feet, ready to pounce or flee. With constant shifting eyes, he was wary of his surroundings, unsure whether his selection was a bonus or a death sentence. Lastly stood a man she could only describe as the sacrifice. Willow vaguely remembered him from their initial meeting, she had laughed for hours as he had struggled with the courage to convince Pellius to allow his pig into the Horn. The man was a pig farmer. He had joined the other peasants in their capture, and his pig had followed him for hundreds of miles, all the way to the Horn’s entrance. The reasoning Pellius had selected him for this mission was beyond her, for she figured he would prove little more than a good distraction.
“There is a task we have for you, a chance for you to prove your worth to us,” Pellius boomed, his voice hard and commanding, “There is a preacher within Farholde, Ezekiel Hawthorn, he speaks against us and urges the people to rise and raid the Horn of Abbadon! This must not happen! He must be silenced!”
The five of them trembled in fear, Willow watched their reactions carefully, reading the emotions they were struggling to hide.
“This heretical scum is nothing!” Garvana called, “He must be slain! And made an example of! When he is dead, then we will be troubled by his voice no longer!”
“No,” Teelee frowned, “If he is merely slain, he will become a martyr. That will only prove the truth of his words. He must be discredited, his name tarnished.”
“Bah,” Bor scoffed, “Who cares what those worms believe, by the time they summon any courage we will be gone from this place!”
Willow had to grit her teeth through the bickering of the group. She watched the faces of the five servants contort with fear and confusion. The situation was almost humorous.
“Enough!” Pellius bellowed, “You have your mission. The ogre Grumblejack will aid you in this, seek him out in the Lord Drownington Inn…”
Willow fazed out as the others continued their orders, she was busy watching the blonde woman and her reactions. There was certainly fear behind her eyes, but it was not a terrified mindless fear like the rest of them. This woman was cunning and deceptive, the trembling she showed was a fairly convincing act. It would have fooled many, but Willow had spent too long faking the feminine emotions, it was easy for her to recognise them in others. She would be one to watch, Willow thought.
“Go!” Pellius yelled, a fearsome and menacing warning, “Do not fail us!”


Much to Willow's utter shock, they did not fail completely. When they returned to the Horn two days later, they had indeed tarnished Brother Ezekiel’s name and he was certainly deceased. Unfortunately for them, it had been revealed that the Mitran disciple had been a werewolf. And although talk of the Horn of Abbadon had ceased for the moment, the chatter of his hidden transformation had spread rapidly through the many lips of Farholde’s population. Garvana was furious. She roared at the three who returned, cursing their incompetence and failure. Willow struggled not to laugh as she set them on a ridiculous quest as punishment; the capture of a hydra known to inhabit the swamp infested lands to the west of the Caer Bryr. Again, Willow watched the woman. She took Garvana's ridicule in
her stride, showing no protest or worry at her impossible task. She merely bowed and strode out of the throne room. When the two replacements they had selected followed out of the room, Willow let her laughter out.
“A hydra, Garvana?” she giggled.
Garvana grinned in response, “It was the best that I could come up with. If they fail, and they will, then what have we lost? And if by some miracle they survive, then we gain a hydra to guard the caverns.”
Willow laughed harder, “But really? A hydra?”
The room filled with laughter, half of the group keeled over in stitches.
“That will keep them busy for a while,” Pellius commented, “Come along Teelee, it is our shift in the sanctum.”
Willow couldn't help the ping of jealousy as he offered her his arm, followed by the small satisfaction as Teelee strode passed and knocked it aside. His keen eyes didn't miss a thing, he smirked at Willow, raising his eyebrows in gratification. Willow laughed and rolled her eyes, silently thrilled at the reprimand his dark gaze promised.


Once again, Willow had to clench her teeth to stop her mouth dropping open in shock. It was late in the evening, darkness already smothering the land, when the five servants returned – with an unconscious hydra in tow. The group stood silent for a moment as the servants approached, eyes wide in disbelief. Willow could barely imagine the luck they would have needed to perform the feat, subdue the hydra and drag its body back to the Horn. Pellius was the first to recover.
“Adequate,” he nodded, the most praise Willow had heard him ever give the servants.
He turned from them as Bor and Garvana started debating the best position for the hydra to ambush their enemies. The servants knew they were dismissed. As they turned to leave, Willow excused herself from the discussion.
“You,” Willow called to the woman, “What is your name?”
She turned to face Willow, head bowed in deference, clutching her side in an overly theatrical fashion.
“Mistress,” she shakily bowed, faking as wounded prey, “I am Felicity Noverball.”
Willow saw the slightest twitch to her lip, her sight glance to the right too sharply, tell tale signs of a lie to those who knew how to read them.
“Lie to me again,” Willow warned low and menacing, “And I shall have your tongue.”
The woman looked genuinely shocked to have been caught out. She stammered on her words and continued to dramatically clutch her wounds.
“Save the act for the fools who would believe it,” Willow snapped.
Looking once again in disbelief, the woman slowly stood straighter, eyeing Willow with a subtle mix of fear, intrigue and respect.
“Yes Mistress,” she replied, a softer tone to her voice, “I am Lady Cassandra of Entharyl.”
Willow frowned slightly, “The fishing port? The governing lord there, Davenrow correct?”
Looking slightly impressed and worried, “Correct Mistress.”
Staring the woman down, Willow looked her over critically, watching each reactions as they tinted her face. After a moment, she came to a decision.
“You have a talent for the dramatics,” Willow commented.
“I-
“Speak only when you are told,” Willow snapped, pausing for a moment, “It is a good thing, a tool I can make use of. Come along, I shall explain what I require.”
When they arrived in her chamber, Willow began to unstrap her armour, speaking as she worked. The woman readily approached and began aiding her undressing.
“I require a spy,” Willow said plainly, “I do not require infiltration, merely observation. I expect the utmost secrecy. And I require someone who can lie their way out if they are caught.”
The woman listened intently, continuing her task of the straps along Willow's back.
“I require you to watch a woman for me,” Willow continued, “I require her habits and movements, the people she meets with, the people she mingles with. You will not be able to overhear her plans or be privy to her private details, do not attempt it, she is a formidable woman. Just observe her and report back to me in a week. I shall provide coin and accommodation. This is the only chance I will give you. Fail me, and you'll be cleaning the floors for the rest of your time. Do you understand?”
The woman couldn't hide the sound of glee and the look of excitement in her eyes, “Yes Mistress. Thank you Mistress, I shall not fail.”
As the last straps were undone and the breastplate fell to the mattress, Willow ripped out both daggers in a deft swipe, pirouetting and forcing the woman against the wall with the blades pressing into her throat.
“Do not think of betrayal,” Willow warned, a rasping malevolence, “For what I will do to you if you betray me is far worse than anything your mind is capable of envisioning.”
The colour was sapped from the woman’s face, a sickly pale green washing over her skin. She trembled beneath Willow's grip, legs weak, knees quivering in terror.
“Yes Mistress,” she whispered.
Willow stared into her eyes for a moment, allowing the vicious aura to surround the woman. Suddenly, she dropped her grip, sheathing her daggers.
Calmly she spoke, starting on the straps of her greaves, “It works both ways. Fail, and you shall never regret anything more. Succeed, and I can be most generous with your reward. You will not eat the slop given to the lowers, you will not dress in those rags they wear. There is much for you to gain, a higher station if you are deserving.”
Willow almost smirked as the talk of reward overtook the fear Cassandra had been oozing. She stood straighter, a small smile on her lips, returning to the task of helping Willow out of her armour.
She quietly whispered her response, “Thank you Mistress.”


As the boggards returned from their hunt, shouldering a giant glistening scorpion, Willow was struck with an idea. She approached Pellius as he appraised their capture, deep in conversation with Bor about its possible use. Willow waited for a break in their debate.
“The tender flesh under the scorpion shell is considered a rare delicacy on Talingarde shores,” she said quietly, “It is served only once a year, at the Royal Gala on the Vernal Equinox. Perhaps the men have earned a reward for their successes.”
When the two men looked less than convinced, Willow smiled and repeated their own master’s words, “Serve thy master well, and be rewarded.”
Pellius’ lips quirked into a smile, he nodded his understanding to Willow.
“I have eaten one before,” Bor huffed, “I’ll gut it and remove its poison glands.”
“Take it to the kitchen,” Willow commanded the men, a joyous hint in her tone “Tonight, we celebrate, tonight we feast like royalty!”
The group of men roared in excitement, scurrying with renewed vigour to cart the beast of a scorpion into the Horn, running off to spread news of the night to their fellows.
Garvana smiled, “This will be very good for morale.”

As the tender flesh was seared and blanched, the mugs of cheap ale poured free and passed hands. One of the orphans that Vandermir had supplied, had a hidden talent for playing the fiddle. He sang crude songs of tavern wenches, cheap prostitutes and nights spent in the drunk tank. The men and women of their growing organisation danced to the tunes and sang along with the vile lyrics, laughing and cheering as the night grew late.
Teelee had shunned the idea of the celebratory evening, instead volunteering to take the guard shift in the sanctum. The rest of the group sat at the head table, poised on the platform along the throne’s base. They talked amongst themselves, occasionally stopping to listen along to the gaudy lyrics of a tune, or laugh at the particularly inebriated individuals.
Willow laughed along as the fiddle player crooned an ode to her beauty, she mockingly bowed to his confession of love as a finish. He sung a low bellowed tune to Pellius’ strength and might, remarking on his fascinatingly sculpted chest. Pellius sat with a slightly amused expression, keeping his face vague until he lost control at the ode to his voluptuous buttox. The small man sang a fearsome tale of Bor’s ferocity, painting the picture of a legendary battle where he emerged the lone victor. When he turned to Garvana, Willow found herself intently listening, sipping on her glass of velvet red wine, thoroughly enjoying her night. The fiddle dropped to a slow hum, the tune turning almost sad in its melody. He serenaded Garvana with a tale of her devotion and strength of conviction. He crooned to her of the fire in her words and her eyes, matching that which burned in her heart. Though sung through his drunken rasping voice, the melody was uplifting and joyous. As he strummed his last few notes, he bowed to the four of them first, before singing his final line.
And please, my lords and my ladies,” he crooned, “Don't kill me for this in the morning…”



Sitting cross legged by the base of the malevolent statue in the sanctum, Willow perused the work of the scrying magic in the small water trough filled with its festering liquid. She had managed to shrug off the eery ominous aura that's radiated from the alabaster carving, just as she learned to ignore the stench of the infectious broth in front of her. As disgusting as her position was, she had to admit, the magic of the Eyes was incredible. A vision of the halls appeared in the mirror of the basin, she watched as the guards stood relaxed and at ease in the corridor. She cringed as she watched one of their men chew his tobacco and spit it into the corner, mentally noting who he was so she could reprimand him for his filth later.
As the structure pulsed another wave of sickening energy, Willow trembled. She could feel the touch of the blistering infection the dark magic was throbbing, slowly seeping into her skin.
“Enough,” she snapped, rising from her perch, “Will you take over Pellius? I can not sit by it any longer today.”
Courteous as ever, “Of course, my lady,” he replied, “I believe it is almost the end of our shift anyway.”
As he took up her place, she strolled to the opposite side of the room, leaning back against the stone work. She watched him for a moment, admiring the dedication to each and every task he took on. He stared into the basin with an intensity Willow could never muster for such a mundane and repulsive task.
“May I ask you a question?” she said.
“You may, my lady,” he replied.
"Do you miss Cheliax?"
“It has only been 9 months since I left, yet it feels a lifetime ago…” he said airily, pausing in thought for a moment, “Put simply, yes. It is the familiar, my birthplace, my childhood nostalgia. Nothing will ever replace those memories.”
"What is it like?” Willow asked, “Living under Asmodean rule? I've never known a life where I've not had to hide or deny my faith."
Deep and powerful, he said, "Following the herd is for fools. Fear not their icy derision. Fear only thy Infernal Lord."
Willow smiled at Thorn’s familiar words.
“Listen to me preach,” Pellius chuckled, “Soon I will be as bad as our proud Sister Garvana.”
She laughed, “You're a long way off that sort of fanatical preaching.”
“What I mean is Cheliax is different, and yet in so many ways, not that different. I was raised by the temple of Asmodeus. My Mistress, Grand High Priestess Aspexia Rugatonn, expected us all to uphold and enforce the tenants of Asmodeus, wherever we tread. Failure to comply was not taken well. An oddly familiar story, wouldn't you agree?”
He smiled and motioned around him and out beyond the stone wall hiding the lands of Talingarde from view.
“As to the day to day living, Asmodeus’ followers are much like the people in other lands, except obedience to their superiors is demanded rather than preferred. Perhaps they differ for they believe in harsher punishments for lawbreakers, are accustomed to the appearance of imps and devils among their daily lives, and are openly tolerant of slavery. Measures which allow our Empire to stay the most powerful and commanding force in the region.”
His smile dimmed, “Of course there have always been those who rebel against the Prince's will, and Cheliax in that, is no different. As a paladin, my main task was to keep the city in order and compliant with the rule of House Thrune. I lead a squad of five soldiers, bringing obedience and punishment to the any who would attempt to revolt; be it slaves, civilians, even my less than devoted comrades should it be called for. You are an educated woman, perhaps you have been versed in the rise of Thrune and Asmodean rule?”
“I have read much on Cheliax,” Willow frowned, “But most of it was more of a personal import. Tomes of the Monteguard history and legacy, or documents deemed priority of the bloodline. There was little more than curiosities containing knowledge of the country itself. And of course, the rulership of Cheliax held no place among the teaching of Mitra on Talingarde.”
“Ah,” he nodded, keeping his gaze observing the scrying bowl as he spoke, “Then allow a man a portion of pride in his country's success. Before Asmodean worship took control of Cheliax, the prophecies of the Starfall Doctrine predicted the Last of the First Humans, Aroden, would return from his divine ascension to lead humanity in the Age of Glory. He was to lead the charge from Cheliax, which would become the most prominent nation in the world. With this knowledge, Cheliax undertook the Everwar for 100 years, expanding her borders and spreading civility and culture among the barbaric Varisians and Galt.”
“This i have read,” Willow said, transfixed by interest in his words, “When the day of prophecy arrived, Aroden failed to appear.”
“Indeed,” Pellius said, “It is said that vicious storms and hurricanes racked the entire land for twenty one days, seemingly endless torrents of rain flooded the expanse, fierce winds ripped the very trees from their roots. The Eye of Abendego appeared, and remains, to create chaos in our seas. When the storms subsided, the clerics had lost their divine powers granted by Aroden. Robbed of the promised divine favour, our civil country fell into anarchy, and the lands we had brought to prosperity rose up against us. Only the strongest leadership could regain control in the chaos that ensued. And so it was, Queen Abrogail of House Thrune signed the Infernal Contract with the powers of Hell, and fought her way to lead the land, establishing the worship of Asmodeus as the new state religion and ruling with an iron fist. The worship of other Gods for healing, crafting and prosperity were still allowed, as long as it was known that Asmodeus was superior and the others faiths did not challenge His position.”
“Perhaps Asmodeus had planned that all along. The Master Deceiver luring humanity with power and prestige only to prove how worthless we all are in comparison to His greatness. Only allowing us prosperity again once we acknowledge his omnipotence. The mind may boggle at the scope of such an event, yet we stand ready to deliver an Archdeacon's plague to land in order to simply loosen the grip of Mitra from this land. Maybe it is not so absurd? Here, the odds may seem a little more skewed, but the mission remains the same to me; uphold and enforce the tenants of Asmodeus, wherever I tread.”
Willow smiled at the force of the words as they left his mouth. She could feel the Infernal fire that raged within him. He was devoted to this cause, with his entire being; mind, body and soul. As she opened her mouth to say so, her reply was cut short by the sound of two familiar voices echoing up the stairway.
Bor and Garvana loudly scurried their way to the top of the staircase, fresh and well rested faces as they approached.
“All quiet,” Pellius said, reverting effortlessly back into his professional commanding role, “No disturbances or suspicious activity.”
He clasped Bor's forearm in a masculine hand shake.
“Right you are,” Bor replied, “We’ll take it from here.”
After farewelling the pair for the evening, Pellius offered Willow his arm as they strolled down to the lower levels. Accepting it, her mind continued to turn, her curiosity not yet sated.
“What was it that had your ship sailing towards Talingarde?"
“Ambition, politics, caution, opportunity,” he said, his lip quirking slightly, “And add a dash of fate perhaps.”
Willow raised her eyebrows and smiled, “That effectively tells me nothing.”
“The temple novices are trained to be ambitious,” he continued, “And trained well. I was no different in that regard. Religious, arcane, martial and tactical training were all standard, but I sought more. Diplomacy, prolific names, scandal, sex, wine lists, art. These were what had more powerful warriors and more dastardly priests seeking my favour –
“Warriors and priests were seeking you for sex?” Willow grinned.
“My lady,” he shook his head, trying to hide his smirk, “On occasion your mind holds much similarity to that of an adolescent boy.”
“On occasion,” Willow said quietly, still grinning, “I'd have to agree.”
“They would seek things which others within the temple could not supply. And so I rose in influence and power. Unfortunately, that is a double edged blade. A high standing among the temple, the capitol's more influential members and many a lady was always going to draw envious eyes from below and wary eyes from above. After I countered my third assassination attempt, I decided to seek prestige further afield and so I volunteered to head a diplomatic envoy to Rahadoum.”
“From there,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “The winds, an incompetent captain, fate, who knows? But I dare not turn my back on a land so opposed to our Lord Asmodeus presence.
From what I've encountered, the Mitran governance pursue strict religious obedience, capital punishment, torture and a strongly regimented army. Why oppose our Prince, yet continue with so much of what he stands for? Why allow the weak to rise?”
“Because they try to ignore the natural order of the world,” Willow mused, “But it can not be ignored. The strong will always rule the weak. They must, for the weak would not survive on their own. Of the many wrongs of this land, tampering with the order is their most heinous crime. Even if we were not the harbingers of change, the world would right itself eventually. The weak can not grow, they can not truly rule. A stronger more powerful force will always come and wash the weakness back into its place.”
Pellius looked to her with a true smile, “Indeed.”
They continued their leisurely stroll through the halls, detouring to check in on the guards, watching their backs straighten as Willow and Pellius passed. While Pellius demanded a report from the captain, Willow approached the feral man still chewing his vile tobacco.
“Mistress!” he said, black oozing from his teeth.
“I am in a generous mood today,” Willow said sharply, “So I will give you one warning. If you spit your filth on my wall again, I will cut out your tongue.”
His face paled as the surprise passed and the frightening intent of her words registered.
“Do you understand?” she bit.
“Y-yes Mistress,” he trembled.
Willow raised her eyebrows, staring at him for a moment, letting the intimidating fire in her eyes penetrate his mind. She turned, gracefully strolling away, accepting Pellius’ arm once again. He chuckled as they moved away.
“You are quite fearsome, my lady,” he said, “You would do well in Cheliax.”
“I'd let you cut it out,” she cringed, “I wouldn't wish to taint my blades with his filth.”
Laughing in response, he guided Willow towards her chamber, calling for a servant to procure them a pot of tea.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Willow asked, unbuckling the straps of her breastplate.
As he began to unlace his own armour, the easy smile slipped from his face, replaced by a guarded harsher expression.
“Blood ties? It is possible. The temple gave my siblings shape and form though. Brothers and Sisters truly. What of you? There are two inquisitive minds at work here, and only my tongue is doing the talking. I have heard no mention of any siblings?”
“There are none,” Willow said lightly, “I was an only child. A miraculous one at that. My mother was barren, as am I.”
“Ah,” he replied sombrely, “You have my sympathies.”
Willow smiled, a small and sad smile, “Do not pity me. It is perhaps a blessing, for I would have conceived a child with my pathetic husband. A child raised by a devout Mitran and a blasphemous harlot. It is best that such a union was avoided.”
"What are your parents like?" she asked, hoping to stop further prying into her infertility.
His face turned bitter, “My father was a fool whom Hell devoured,” he said viciously, “And my mother paid dearly for his mistakes.”
His eyes bore into hers, flashing with a hatred so fierce it made Willow shiver. She could feel the anger radiating from him, the burning intensity that churned the thoughts in his mind. His eyes slammed shut. Slowly, he filled his chest in a deep breath, exhaling as the anger subsided.
“All this talk of home,” he said softly, “I had forgotten you probably had not been privy to my upbringing. My father, Marcus Albus, was a rather influential noble and bureaucrat. Our family were ones who were not afraid to dabble with the Infernal in order to strengthen a position or gain power, so when my father required an heir and my mother could not conceive, he turned to the temple of Asmodeus. She fell pregnant with me. Everyone was overjoyed, but complications arose during my birth.”
A hint of regret trickled into his voice, “It was said that when Marco looked down upon his son, he saw the most handsome baby, with blond locks adorning his head so much like his mothers. Yet when his baby turned to look at Marco and he saw the red glow of hellfire in its eyes, he knew he could not keep his son, for it would be a constant reminder that his greed had killed his beloved.”
She knew her sympathy or pity would be unwelcome. So she sat and listened, letting him air what he wished or needed, even if he didn't know that he did.
“So he left me to the temple,” he said with a deceptively casual air, “It was only after his death fifteen years later that the temple revealed my heritage. I was granted the name Lord Albus, though it is an empty title now. I plan to make that name great once again. In this regard, you and I are similar, are we not? Restoring our names? I am curious to know how you plan to do this after the fall of these Mitran fools?”
A knock on the door halted the conversation. While the servant delivered and arranged their tea, Willow thought over her response. As the door clicked shut behind the woman, Willow lifted her cup to her lips before continuing.
“The Monteguard’s were once a proud and powerful house,” she said quietly, “Once strong and formidable, their reach covered the lands of Cheliax, Rahadoum, Varisia and, in their later years, Talingarde. The Archons of the bloodline were once fearsome and tremendously influential. Great grandfather Cassidus was a powerful man indeed. He first held the title of Lieutenant General in Queen Abrogail’s royal army, then he lead his portion of men to Talingarde to aid in the Great Conquest and rid the land of the feral clutches of savagery. There are many such men and women in the Monteguard legacy, many stories to proudly boast. But then there are the stains, the marks of dishonour that can not be wiped from time…”
Willow felt her own temper flaring, the anger burning hollow in face of unsated vengeance.
“Your parents?” Pellius asked, interrupting her stewing rage, “You have mentioned them little, and each time you've either been drunk or cursing.”
“They are traitors,” she said fiercely, “Traitors to everything I hold dear. Family, loyalty and faith. They have turned their back on our Infernal Father, they have abandoned their faith. They betrayed me, using the so called laws of this blasphemous land to incarcerate me.”
Willow laughed, a harsh and feral chuckle, “And they did it for nothing. They gained nothing from it. They actually had to pay to make it happen. They tarnished the Monteguard name for nothing! They have no honour! No respect! No ambition! And they will die for their disloyalty. I have no pity, nor sorrow. They will die, and be left to Asmodeus’ judgement.”
Pellius watched her with keen and controlled eyes, “It will be as it should.”
Willow breathed heavy, anger swarming through her veins. The cup rattled in its saucer, her hands shaking with fury. Frustrated, she placed the cup upon the table and stood from her seat, walking to the window. She stared out of the slender hole in the stone, watching the last of the sun shrink behind the horizon, the palette of the great forest morphing into a deeper ominous emerald. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, the tightness eased from her chest. Pellius’ soft footsteps sounded behind her, bringing him flush to her back.
She could feel the warmth from his body as his hands gently caressed her shoulders. His strong powerful hands could be remarkably delicate when he willed it. As soft as a breath, he began to hum one of his operatic melodies, his deep baritone voice pulling the tune into cascading depths. The sound always had a profound effect on Willow, her heart started to beat faster, her breath quickened as if the notes were a soft touch upon her flesh.
"Where did you learn to sing?" she breathed, closing her eyes, drifting with the melody.
“I always had a fondness for culture and arts,” he said quietly, methodically digging his thumbs into the muscles of her shoulders, “Keeping an eye on social events and knowing the going on of the town was part of what made me who I am. Knowing the operas, having a palate for food and drink, working through the intrigues of a room; these were my strengths. I guess after a while the melodies begin to stay with you, but I do not give the diabolic operas of Cheliax the justice they truly deserve. Once we have the means, I intend to bring that slice of civility to Talingarde, rest assured.”
“It is powerful,” she said softly, “I can feel the words, rather than hear them,” she chuckled, “That sounds absurd.”
“Not at all,” he replied politely, “But come, let us steer the conversation away from the heart. A question for a question.”
Willow smirked at the familiar game.
“So,” he said mischievously, “What do I want to know of the mysterious Willow Monteguard? Favourite colour, crimson. Hounds over felines. Red wine, powerful men, a fine dancer…”
Willow laughed as he spoke, having to admit he knew her pleasantries intimately.
“Hmm, a curiosity perhaps. You are intelligent, beautiful, brave and devout. What draws your likes to a career as an assassin?” he asked, nodding to the engraved daggers strapped to her belt, “I've seen their blades in my time.”
Smiling, Willow wondered how much he really knew of the Black Serpent Coterie.
“I'm very good at it,” she said with a sly smile, turning to face him, quivering at his proximity, “And the job entails all the qualities I seek and possess. Discipline, order, strict rules and detachment. It is a most enticing path…”
Pellius stepped closer, bring his face closer to hers. Willow felt the air in the room heat, the intent in his eyes deliciously alluring.
“I believe the question is mine,” she said quietly, a devious glint to her tone, “Do you have a wife or a lady waiting for you on Cheliax?"
“Ha, no,” he chuckled, bringing his face closer again, “A wife would have lead to complacency and restrictions in areas I was the sharpest. Plus, I had not met one who could... keep me interested, shall we say. Challenged.”
He lent down, his lips brushing the flesh upon her earlobe, his heated breath reaping havoc with her body, “Perhaps Asmodeus, Calistria and Gozreh all came together to guide me into your bed,” he whispered, “Far be it for me to disappoint the gods.”
Gently, he nipped the edge of her earlobe with his teeth, causing a shiver to reverberate through her skin. Her breathing was heavy as he withdrew, looking deep into her eyes, wicked sin peering back at her.
“My turn,” he said, a grin creeping across his lips, “I already know you are no longer married. And I know you have more than one lover. Who was the best man you have lain with?”
Cheeky laughter spilled from her lips, the grin she wore illuminating her pleasure at the question tainted with desire. At her laughter, Pellius pushed his weight against her, caging
her slender frame against the brickwork. He grabbed her chin and forced her head up to meet his. Even through the sharp intake of breath at the pain of the stones digging into her back, still she giggled.
“Would it please you if I answered by stroking your ego?” she stammered mischievously, struggling slightly for breath, “I could tell you that I have never had a man that could command my body the way you do. I could tell you that my body has never obeyed some one so willingly…”
She reached up on her toes lifting her face to his, gently pressing her lips to the crevice in the corner of his mouth before tracing their shape with her tongue.
“Or I could show you…”



As dawn neared early the following morning, a sombre tint of grey laced the sky, smothering the usual rays of welcoming gold and copper. It was their one hundred and eleventh day of the ritual. The halfway point of their mission.
The group met in the throne room, together they made their way to the sanctum, a frightened and struggling priestess in tow. Pellius forced her further up the stairs, passing the hungry eyes of Hexor and Vexor, guiding her towards the altar. She fought to rip herself free of his grasp, knowing without thought what her fate was to be. They spoke not a word as Pellius lifted her to the table, strapping her wrists and ankles in flesh-cuttingly tight manacles. The gag in her mouth stopped the worst of the screams, muffling her cries for help and pleas for mercy. Willow felt nauseous. She understood that she must complete the task set before her, for it was her master’s wishes. That did not mean she had to enjoy it. As Teelee hurled the feral unholy broth upon the silver seal, Willow began to chant.
We curse the Light, the good and the just. Rise up from the darkness, tear down that which binds thee. We curse the Light, the good and the just. Call forth the powers, The vile, the malevolent, the unholy. We curse the Light, the good and the just. Defile that which trammels thee, vitiate that which shackles thee…”
As Pellius plunged the sacrificial dagger into the chest of the Mitran priestess, Willow turned her eyes away. She continued to chant, focusing on the ominous words, cursing the light and the goodness. She tuned out the other sounds in the room, ignoring the sacrifice, not noticing if Teelee had refilled her jug or bathed the seal again.
We curse the Light, the good and the just. Might of evil and dark, poison the virtuous. We curse the Light, the good and the just. Taint the purity of the divine, weaken the bond and vigour.We curse the Light, the good and the just. Smother in thou shadow, enable the unleashing of darkness...”
As the second heart dropped into the outstretched hand of Vetra-Kali, both began to pulsate anew. The Eyes in the statue lit up with green fury, sending a shockwave of emerald flame soaring into the sky. The Horn of Abbadon called out to its true master. The ground beneath their feet shook violently, sending each of them off balance, stumbling for perch. The tremors of the land reverberated outwards from the great spire, racking the surrounding towns and villages. Wraiths cackled, wisping their inky blackness in feral patterns through the air amongst the eery jade flame. A frightening blackness blanketed the sky, snuffing out each stroke of light as it tried to pierce the horizon. The sun failed that day, a dim glow behind a thickened wall of dense malevolence. The air in the sanctum grew crisp, a sickly thrum of darkness battered against Willow's skin, a feral pulse from beyond the material realm.
As the green beacon dimmed, falling back to encompass the stone work of the Horn once more, a voice filled with terrifying malice and venom slithered from the abyss.
Tezahthrah voh…” it said.
Willow cringed as she translated the foreboding words to the others, fear racking her body, a touch of regret seeping into her soul. She breathed the words, no louder than a whisper.
“I see…”

Tuesday 1 March 2016

Chapter 14 - Eye of the Inquisitor

“She needs rest,” a deep yet feminine voice said from beyond the blackness, “She has lost a lot of blood and will have a nasty scar, but she will live.”
“When will she wake?” asked a smooth baritone masculine voice.
“When her body is ready. She needs to rest for a while, it may be some time yet.”
“I wish you'd keep your voices down,” Willow muttered, her eyes flickering open, “I can't rest while you two chatter away.”
As her vision returned, she saw Pellius’ handsome battered face.
“Welcome back, my lady,” he said warmly, though his voice was strained with pain.
He lay next to her upon her bed, blood staining the sheets and the many bandages wrapped around each of their bodies. His face held a sickly yellow tinge, his muscles straining as he affectionately clipped her chin with his finger.
“How long was I out?” she asked, rolling towards him, cringing at the aching flesh of her abdomen.
“Only a few hours,” he replied, “You were too stubborn to take your own advice.”
Willow couldn't help but chuckle, much to her stomach’s protest at the movement through her newly healed skin. She remembered having antagonised Pellius for not retreating when he was gravely injured, much like what she had done after being sliced through the torso by the barbarian's blade.
“Do as I say, not as I do,” she muttered with an eye roll.
Pellius chuckled in response.
“How do you feel?” Garvana asked, looking almost concerned.
“Terrible,” Willow chuffed truthfully, “But alive.”
“You almost weren’t,” she replied seriously, “If it weren't for your hound’s relentless barking, I may not have gotten to you in time.”
It was then that Willow saw the worried face of her infernal hound, flaming in the corner of the room. Willow smiled, reaching her hand for Lith.
Norr, barrith mar Lith siroth mer,” she said softly, calling for her hound.
Lith trotted to the side of the bed, pressing her face into Willow's palm. She whined aloud and chuffed against her hand.
Hirr mer trath Lith,” she said in praise.
“Good girl indeed,” Garvana said fondly, “Now you two must rest. You are both confined to bed for the next week. I have done my best to stop the bleeding, but any vigorous movement could start it again.”
Lith strolled back to her corner, huffing happily as she lowered herself down, taking her place facing the doorway, guarding them while they slept.
“Confined to bed, huh?” Willow asked, raising her eyebrows suggestively.
“Did you not hear me?” Garvana snapped, “No vigorous movement. You'll both bleed out internally before you get to enjoy it.”
Willow chuckled, “Yes Mother Garvana, I heard you.”
As Garvana rolled her eyes and left the room, Willow shuffled closer to Pellius. She lay her head on his unwounded shoulder, closing her exhausted eyes. It took only moments for her to fall back into the depths of slumber.


When Willow woke again, it was to the soft sound of Garvana’s voice humming a gentle tune. Her eyes flickered open, she pulled herself upright, surprised to not find Pellius next to her.
“Stay there,” Garvana said harshly, “You still need rest, but you need to eat.”
She placed a tray filled with fresh cut vegetables, diced fish and a glass of water next to her on the bed. Garvana turned to the door as Willow fetched the plate.
“Did Pellius recover quicker than expected?” Willow asked, frowning at her pathetic feminine constitution; she still felt completely fatigued and exhausted.
“No,” Garvana said frustrated, “He's taken a walk. Deciding that he knows best, unwavering in his exercise regime. He can't grasp the idea of bed rest.”
Willow chuckled as Garvana turned to leave.
“Will you stay?” Willow asked, taking a sip from the glass, “I still feel as if I barely know you, and it's been months.”
Garvana turned to her, a strange look on her face. She looked around the room for a chair to sit in, but Willow laughed and offered her a spot on the bed. Begrudgingly, she sat.
“What do you wish to know?” she asked warily.
“Oh don't be so serious all the time,” Willow said as she rolled her eyes, “Everything with you is always so intense. Tell me something light hearted about you. Tell me something of your past?”
Garvana frowned, “My past is not light hearted.”
“Oh no you don't, don't do that serious somber thing. Tell me of a man, a dalliance, a romance or an affair?”
Again, Garvana frowned, “There is none.”
“So you've never fooled around with a man you shouldn't have?” Willow asked.
“I've never fooled around with any man.”
Willow's eyebrows raised in scandal, “A woman?!”
Garvana laughed in surprise, “No no, definitely not. I've just never fooled around.”
Willow's mouth dropped open in shock, “Ever? You mean you've never…?”
Garvana smiled, a small blush touching her cheek, “Never.”
Willow was almost lost for words, “Wow. That might explain why you're so uptight.”
Garvana’s head snapped to Willow, but relaxed when she saw the joking grin on her face.
“May I ask why?” Willow inquired.
“Do you want the truth? Or a light hearted answer?”
Willow frowned slightly, “The truth.”
Garvana sighed, “My mother was executed for her unholy union with the dark powers. I am the spawn of this union, the spawn of a devil. I suppose the knowledge of this has tainted my view of the world. I understand normal attraction, but I have never felt it strongly enough to consider doing… that, with any man.”
“And you've never wanted to just, you know, give it a try?”
“Not with any human man.”
Willow's eyebrows raised again, grinning wickedly, “Human man? But you have wanted with some other?”
“Well…”
“Oh come on, you can tell me, who was it?” Willow pried.
Garvana turned her pink cheeks away from Willow.
“Dessiter,” she whispered.
Willow groaned, “Oh yes, that commanding air, that striking presence. He would know how to split a girl from herself.”
“Willow!” Garvana called in shock.
Willow laughed, quivering at the thought, “He would be fun. If you made it out alive…”
“I can not believe we are having this conversation!” Garvana said, hiding her face.
“You could use those big horns like handles for leverage…”
Garvana burst out into giggles, “Willow stop!”
Willow laughed in response, “Alright alright, but in all seriousness, you might want to start with a fish a little smaller. I don't think he'd be the type to play gentle. I meant it when I said it would be a possibility you may not make it out alive.”
Willow dropped her voice to a low carnal whisper, “But it would be a hell of a way to go…”
Garvana’s blush threatened to burst her cheeks.
“Enough!” she said firmly, “Tell me of you. I would have assumed that you and Pellius were an item, but when you return from your solo trips to Farholde, I often see marks that he could not have made…”
Willow smirked, “Pellius and I have an understanding. Well, we had one. He's distanced himself of late... That man is remarkable, a most satisfying and vigorous lover. He is passionate and dedicated in his application to everything…”
“Yet you are not satisfied with only him?” Garvana asked, clearly pleased to have the conversation turned away from herself.
“Oh he indeed leaves me satisfied,” Willow chuckled, “And sore and weak in all the right ways. He is a touch of a sadist, and certainly knows where to push the pain threshold to make a woman-
“Alright!” Garvana interrupted, “I do not need to know anymore of Pellius.”
Willow laughed as Garvana shook her head.
“If you are so satisfied by him,” she asked questioningly, “Then why do you want the other man? And, who is he?”
“It is not a matter of want,” Willow tried to explain, “It is more a matter of need. Unfortunately, I am not satisfied for very long. I have always been this way. It is only recently that I have been able to experiment and explore it for myself.”
Garvana frowned, “What does that mean?”
Willow debated how much she really wanted to share. Garvana had been trusting and open, sharing secrets from her past, Willow owed her the same courtesy. Within reason.
“I do not seek love or romance,” she said carefully, “I certainly do not seek marriage. I was married once before to a man whose status and rank were the only admirable qualities he had. But it was a lie. I could never give myself to mere man. My body, yes, and I take great pleasure in that. But my heart…”
“I have felt it,” Garvana said, breaking Willow’s thoughts, “I have felt Him.”
Willow frowned and snapped her head to face Garvana’s intense expression.
“I did not know what it was at first,” she continued, “It would appear late at night, lasting for a while and leave me baffled in my meditation. So I followed it one night, it lead me to your chamber back in Alden Cross. I was unsure I had understood it correctly. When we settled here in the Horn, I was meditating as it returned. When I could hear the… sounds, Pellius and you were making, I began to grasp the idea. How is it our Infernal Lord is with you in those acts?”
Willow smiled in surprise, unsure how to truly answer.
“I am bound to Him. My heart and soul have always belonged to him. He is not just with me then, He is always with me…”


When Pellius returned later that afternoon, he was followed by Garvana and Bor. Garvana scolded him as he lay down and she checked over his wounds. The blue tinge to his lips
seemed to be an indication that exercise was a bad idea. Bor spoke as she re-bandaged the newly opened wounds on his shoulder.
“The sorcerous, Traya, has agreed to work for us,” Bor said, “I believe she will be a beneficial ally. I have questioned her, and her motives and morals seem to be in line with ours, to a certain extent. She does not follow any particular religion, yet she genuinely seems to hold no bias against anyone who does.”
He reported the details of his interrogation. Traya appeared to have been honest in her answers. She was not here to quell the evil residing in the Horn, she was here for the treasure; she was after the Eyes. She was also wise enough to realise when the need to keep her life outweighed the need for gold. Tarska, the knife throwing halforc, had proven much less wise. He had been quick to sell out his friends for his freedom, and even quicker to sell his services for gold.
“Kill him,” Willow suggested when asked of his fate, “If he was that eager to sell out his allies, he will only do the same to us.”
“Agreed,” chimed the rest of the group.
While Bor returned to his duties, Teelee had left in search of the boat that Traya’s group had sailed upon. When she returned, she handed Willow a small locked chest and the journal Traya had used to find the information on the Horn and the Eyes. Willow perused the book while her body recuperated.
Sir Martin of Brandingshire was one of the Knights of Alerion who had accompanied the Victor on his raid of the Horn. He wrote a tale of battle and purification, a ballad of good triumphing over evil. It was a detailed account of each heroic deed he witnessed and played part in; from his captain beheading Ezra Thrice Damned, the High Priest of the Sons of the Pale Horsemen, to the Victor himself slaying Vetra-Kali in one on one combat. There were many interesting details in the journal, such as the failure of the Knights in recovering the three emeralds of the Archdeacon and the treasury of the Sons. He spoke of the construction of the shrine of Mitra, how each knight prayed in unison, the power of their combined faith feeding the shrine and strengthening the might it possessed.
Willow found a particular intriguing passage that spoke of the immense task of slaying Hexor and Vexor. Sir Martin described in great detail how the daemons were killed in brutal combat, slayed by the hands of the faithful knights, before their bodies dissipated into the abyss. She resolved to ask the group if they had any further knowledge of what the ceustodaemons had the power to do, and how binding the amulets they now held were.

As the sun rose on the final dawn of Willow's bed rest, she flowed through her movements of her regular morning stretches. Her muscles were stiff and sore, their forced lack of inactivity hindering her flexibility and reach. She gritted her teeth against the strain, holding her stretches for longer, testing her muscles elasticity against the cramps. The large scar on her stomach pulled the skin taut as she arch her back and neck, the newly knitted flesh quivering as if it feared it would rip open.
The group had been busy while Willow and Pellius had recovered. They had implemented the plan of sealing every entrance to the Horn, with the exception of the second floor. They had used stone shaping magic to collapse the secret entrance to the sanctum stairs, creating a single door from a third level chamber into the room guarded by Hexor and Vexor. They had closed over both balconies, collapsed the outside stairs leading to the first floor and made a crude set of stairs out of the stone wall connecting level one and two from the inside. They instructed the guards to keep the only remaining entrance heavily guarded at all times.


It was late afternoon on the ninth week of their ritual as Willow returned to her suite in the western wing of Vandermir’s manor. She mused over her findings as she strolled through the long hallways. She had come to Farholde in search of information on the celestial hounds that had attacked the Horn. What she knew before her trip was that they were known as moon dogs, and although they could certainly use telepathy to communicate, she had not heard a verbal word from them. She had a hunch that they could not speak, therefore giving the Forsaken a possible defence tactic. She had been correct, her research had confirmed that they could not verbally utter words. So she had come up with a plan to ensure they could be caught if the second hound returned for his or her partner. The crew would use a code word, a simple term or phrase that must be uttered each time they passed one another throughout the Horn, every time without exception.
Willow was scribbling notes in her journal as she approached her room. The hallways were silent, the Baron had instructed his staff to leave the western wing untouched unless otherwise instructed. So when the softest click of a window lock sounded on the other side of her door, Willow silently returned her journal to her bag and withdrew her dagger. Trying to appear as if her distracted approach had continued, she loudly unlocked her door and swung it wide. She was ready when the dagger flew towards her head. She ducked under it’s path and tumbled into the room, leaping up to launch an attack against her would-be ambusher.
Switch laughed as he bombarded her with a flurry of attacks, parrying each strike of Willow's with ease. He advanced forward with his unrelenting offence, forcing her steps back towards the bed. He leaped towards her in an uncharacteristic bull rush, catching her off guard and knocking her off balance as she fell upon the bed. True to character though, he swiftly slid above her and caged her there, knees holding her thighs, hands pinning her wrists. He forced her head aside, biting down firmly on her sensitive spot; the thin muscle that ran between her neck and shoulder. Willow squealed with delight, struggling to restrain her body from pushing up against his. This was a particular favourite game of theirs. He revelled in her inability to control herself, and unfortunately, so did she. It didn't stop her from trying though. She allowed her body to react as he anticipated, her back arching so her chest thrust itself against his, her hips grinding upon the hard length of his belt. As his teeth tightened their bite, his body slightly relaxed as he swapped his grip, one hand holding both of hers so his other could explore her body. She took a moment to enjoy it’s exploration before using every ounce of her strength to push his weight up enough so she could quickly flip him and roll on top. Her legs parted and slid to each side of him, straddling him tightly, knees locked against his thighs. She had surprised him enough for him to release the latch he had on her shoulder, but not enough for his hands to let go of their fierce hold on her wrists and waist. His hand forced the slender frame of her lower region to grind down on his. Willow couldn't stop the high pitched moan that pierced its way from her lips. He smirked at the sound. They stayed that way for a few moments, his unrelenting grip giving no room for escape as he rocked her hips ever so slightly. When he spoke, it was in an easy casual tone that gave no hint of the intense position they were in.
“I didn't take you for a lady of literature,” he said, “Hard to picture you encased in a room full of towering shelves lined with books.”
He just stared at her, awaiting a response, as casual as if they were sipping tea and talking over biscuits.
“I am not opposed to research,” she said as casually as possible, “And do you not have anything better to do than follow me around all day?”
“Do you not have men and women that serve you?” he asked with a mocking noble air, ignoring her question, “One would think that such a task was beneath you.”
Willow's laughing response was stifled with a groan as he rocked against her.
“It is quicker for me to do it myself,” she gritted.
“I'm sure that's true for a lot of things,” he said, crudely laughing.
Willow almost blushed at his words. Her dainty reply was cut short by his hand releasing her waist as it slithered lower. His other hand clutched its grip on her wrists, pulling them higher and forcing her body lower against his. She may have been on top, but as usual, he was completely in control.
“We've got two hours before training at nightfall,” he said quietly against her lips, “I can think of one good way to pass the time…”


It was on sore and fatigued legs that Willow followed Switch through the hazy moonlit streets of town. She kept within a few paces of him, ignoring the burn in her thighs. He gracefully ran on silent feet with the vigour of a man who had not expended his energy in the last few hours, even though she intimately knew better. They reached the warehouse and crept through the tattered wooden panels, quietly creeping though the large halls to the secret room hidden within its walls. As they entered, Switch lifted something from his cabinet and flung it towards her. Willow quickly reached out and caught it by the metal shaft. It was a dagger, a matching one to the first that he had given her. The sisters were identical in every way, both had unusually long blades that arched into fine slender points. Both had the intricate markings along their base, script written in a language she didn't recognise. Her contacts in the underground had translated it for her, they had said it was written in an ancient language, one so lost that it no longer had a name.
Silence is our greatest ally, as we strike from the shadows - the motto of the Black Serpent Coterie. Willow fingered the dagger lightly as she lifted the other from its sheath.
“You will learn to dual wield the daggers,” Switch said, watching Willow practice her grip, “In the beginning it will feel awkward, you'll feel sloppy and off balance as you've been trained to even your weight with a single blade.”
Willow practiced the basic dance of light blade training. She did indeed feel sluggish. Her movements were slow and jerky, her left hand untrained in its attack, her grip tight and unnatural. The unarmed hand had always been used for balance and control, there to support her weight as she pirouetted and cleaved. The dagger, though only a whiff of metal, felt like a lumbering weight in her hand.
“In battle you rely on your speed and agility to overpower your opponent,” Switch continued, no trace of the light hearted smug rogue, he was all business and professionalism, “But as a down side to keeping you light and quick, your weapon must be small. You are at a disadvantage when your opponents weapon can inflict massive damage each time he manages to catch you. Those opponents are usually the ones in the heaviest armour. So to even the playing field, you need to be able to hit them harder in the shortest possible time. Long drawn out battles are not your friend. The longer you take to cut them down, the higher their chance of landing a fatal blow on you. To that end, two daggers. You can inflict two wounds in the same time it would take you to make one.”
It was a simple theory, one that made perfect sense. But the logic of it did not make Willow’s grip anymore even. Switch started by weaving her through the basic attacks of dual wielding. They were similar to her normal attacks, with the difference being the follow through. Instead of slashing and leaping away, she continued her movement with it’s momentum and sliced with her left hand. He said that there was no need to expect her second hand to be as powerful as the first, but to allow the first to guide the path for the second. After an hour of hacking through air, Switch stood in place of her imaginary target. He slowed his movements in the beginning, allowing her to get comfortable with the two blades. Luckily, she was a fast learner. As his speed increased; so did hers, her attacks mirroring his in their fatal dance. By midnight she was almost attacking at her regular speed, her fluid grace returning, her steps quick and swift. She managed to slash deeply across his cheek as she countered his attack. As the blood seeped from the gash and Switch realised she was keeping up with him, he quickened his pace, his attacks becoming impossibly fast to parry. He backed Willow into a corner, a move she didn't notice until her back thumped against the wall. He cut off all her escape routes, his body seemed to be in three places at once, his blades seemed to triple, six daggers slashing towards her. She defended herself as best she could with the little room she had. As she lashed out at one of him, she struck her blade across his torso and gasped as the image of him disappeared. The other two of him grinned in glee at her response. She ducked under their swings and took a chance by leaping into one of them with her dagger forward. The blade and her traveled directly through the image as it vanished, leaving the single Switch to chase after her as he laughed. Willow had heard of magic as this, but had never seen it herself. It was disorientating to say the least. She continued her sprint across the room, trying to create space for herself to attack. The sound of his footsteps behind her suddenly silenced. She span on her heel and prowled, two daggers at the ready. The room appeared empty, no sounds bar the ones her own quiet footfalls were making. Her heart was beating too quickly for her to take in any slight feel of motion upon the wooden floor. Silently, Willow felt the press of a cold clean blade against her throat. It pulled her backwards until her back pressed against a hard solid body.
“You're very good,” Switch’s low grumbling voice whispered against her ear, “But not good enough. Your enemies may have access to the same weapons as I, and they won't hesitate to use them. You need to be better prepared.”
Willow remained silent as he pulled the dagger tighter against her throat, his other hand slipping around her waist and up behind the hem of her shirt. As the rough callous of his palm scraped the smooth delicate flesh of her torso, Willow quivered against him. She felt the soft wetness of his tongue trace her earlobe.
“Keep the dagger,” he whispered, “Use it train yourself. When you are competent, you will use it to fulfil your next task. When I deem you ready, I will deliver the requirements of your next mission. Once it is completed, you shall become a Journeyman. You have much training to do before then. For if you fail, you will only see me once more. It will be as I take your life with my blade.”
Without another word, he was gone. As if winking out of existence, he disappeared. Willow felt like she should have been frightened by the intensity of his words, or the utter conviction in which he said them. But she wasn't. If anything, she was excited. She didn't expect to fail, she knew she could complete any mission he gave her. But the thrill of facing Switch if she happened to falter, was a delicious tease in itself. Willow gathered herself enough to collect her belongings and right her skewed armour. Her blood was still racing too fast to return to the manor and sleep. So she decided to use her energy to run her way back to the Horn. The darkness of the forest did not scare her. In fact, it welcomed her into its eternal shadowed embrace.


The guards came barrelling up the stairs in the midmorning sun, an urgent hurry to their steps. They had returned to the Horn with the gruesome news about town. A slaughter had occurred in the slums of Farholde. Six bodies were found strung up by their hands, their entrails sprawled across the alleyway. One of the deceased had been a local prostitute, known for her easy nature and loud mouth. The other five had been an Iraen group of adventurers that had been set on ransacking the Horn. The most disturbing of the news was the message that had been written in blood cresting the bodies.


Stay away from the Horn.


“Subtle,” Willow scoffed as the guards recounted the tale.
“It might scare off the groups that were merely after treasure,” Bor replied, “But it is only going to bring those that wish to actually disrupt and stop our progress.”
By the guards report, it had indeed sent several adventurers north, figuring there were easier pickings over the wall. As the group headed towards the tavern to convene, Willow mused over the suspicions in her mind. The oddity here was the prostitute. She had not forgotten that the note Elise had sent had given them the wrong information on Traya's groups planned entry. It was Willow's suspicion that had each entrance manned. She approached the sorcerous who sat alone at the corner table of the tavern.
“May I speak with you?” Willow asked politely.
“Of course,” Traya responded, “I have some questions of my own if you don't mind.”
Willow smiled as she sat, “Go ahead.”
“The orc says you are here to banish an Archdeacon, yet you are strained for allies. Surely the Mitrans would have vested interest in seeing this task complete. Why not get them to aid you?”
Willow kept her words controlled, careful not to give an opening for the wrong information to slip, “We are Asmodean,” she said simply, “The Mitrans consider us their enemies purely for our faith in our Lord.”
“But surely they would put that prejudice aside to banish a greater evil from this land?”
Willow smiled and shook her head, “No. The crimes of blasphemy and heresy are punishable by death. Burned at the stake, like some backwards heathen ritual, punishing those simply for their faith. They would not set aside their differences, their own law states that our very existence is a stain upon this land, no matter if our cause is just.”
Willow listened to the others join in their conversation and turn it into a debate of the state of Talingarde. It was slightly refreshing to hear their views countered not by fanatical hatred, but by an unbiased outsider. Traya was smart enough to realise that there was more to their plans than simply banishing Vetra-Kali, but she held an open view of their intent, not condemning them for their belief that they could make the world a better place. Garvana spoke of the injustice against the Asmodean people of Talingarde, the slaughter of innocent families who were convicted and killed for their religion. Pellius spoke of order and freedom from chaos, real structure to allow those who were worthy to rise to from their station, everyone having and knowing their place in the world. Traya's arguments were valid. She spoke of the paradise that Talingarde was for the people, the more fortunate helping the less, charity and community being pillars in the society. Willow's mind trailed off while the others bantered, the sorcerous had raised several strong points. She could understand the views she put forward, but she could also see how they were wrong. The state of the land allowed many injustices to fester. It was those of worth that suffered. The poor were cared for by the gold stripped in taxes from the rich. The poor had no need to help themselves, they had no need to improve their own situation, the charity of this land ensured there was no need. The rich had no need to better themselves either. Their stations were protected by laws and rights, they paid their taxes and awaited the years of fattened bellies, shrinking muscles and full coffers. Willow's parents were prime examples of that. The land was stagnant. Nobody gained, nobody grew, nobody rose. It was the powerful and ambitious that suffered; there was no room for either in Talingarde.


Early one afternoon on the eleventh week of their ritual, the boggard chieftain Zikomo approached the group. His eyes were glossed over, a drugged fuelled haze surrounded him.
“Zikomo comes to you with grave news, oh great emissaries of the Father,” he said in his mystical amphibian way, “A boggard hunting party has not returned, they were headed east towards the great lake. I have read the signs. A great hunting demon has taken them.”
Pellius, who appeared almost uninterested in the speech, perked up at the mention of a demon. The temptation of purging the demonic being of chaos, was one too great for him to ignore. The group agreed to seek out and destroy the predator, leaving swiftly after sourcing all the information they could from Zikomo’s readings.
The trek to the east was slow, they followed the boggard tracks towards the river for a few hours until they came across the signs of ambush. The blood smeared along the ground casing the panicked prints of the boggards told a strange story. Massive clawed prints lay sprawled across the mud. Willow frowned at the tracks.
“I don't think the boggard meant demon as such,” she said wryly, “I think he meant it as a beast or creature.”
“A dire tiger,” Bor agreed, “And a huge one at that. I've never seen prints so big.”
“Well we can't have it running around killing the boggards,” Garvana chimed in, “They're no good to us dead.”
The group followed the enormous tracks to the edge of the great lake. They lead into a cave, black and shadowed, deep stone curving into an underground den. Willow slinked out of sight as the group tried to draw out their prey with noise. When a few minutes passed and nothing appeared from the cave, the group gave up their lure and decided to enter.
“If it's home,” Willow whispered, “It sure knows we're here.”
The arcane light that was cast upon Pellius’ warhammer lit the way into the winding caverns. They were greeted by a strangely clean and orderly den, bones of the deceased stacked almost neatly upon a single pile. As they delved deeper through the stone work, a frightening silhouette leaped from the shadows, straight towards Pellius. It was the largest tiger that Willow had ever seen. With paws the size of her head, on all fours it stood almost two foot taller than her. It ferociously mauled at Pellius, its teeth sank deep into his shoulder, it's claws on both front paws ripped furiously at his chest. As it tried to tear a chuck of flesh through his armour, Willow was the first to react. She tumbled passed the massacre and leapt up behind it, ramming her dagger deep into its side. The beast let out a fearsome growl as it unlatched itself from Pellius and attempted to turn on her. Pellius struggled to hold on to the tiger as it turned its attention on Willow, but it was too strong as it ripped itself free and leap on her. She cried out as its teeth pierced her flesh, embedding deeply into her neck, blooding running down her shoulders. The rest of the group attacked fast. This was not a creature they would attempt to capture, the attacks mercilessly seeking its death. In unison, Bor, Pellius and Garvana cleaved into the beast, their blades searing deep into its back. Even Teelee’s horse galloped forward, lashing out with its jaw and savaging a chunk of its fur and flesh before greedily swallowing it. The creature refused to let go of her, its teeth keeping an agonising hold as it lashed out at Pellius with its back feet. Willow saw his flaming warhammer fly towards the beast. As his mighty blow connected at the same moment Bor's sword shoved through its ribs, the enormous tiger collapsed on top of her. Still bleeding heavily, Willow dragged herself free of the beast with Pellius’ aid. His face was white with blood loss, the wounds across his neck, chest and torso were gushing bright red. Willow guided him to the floor as Garvana raced over to heal the worst of his wounds.
Approaching the dead tiger, Willow frowned as she saw an old scar slashed across his left eye. She had heard of a tale surrounding a one eyed tiger of the Caer Bryr.
“There is a legend of these parts,” she said to Teelee as she looked over the tiger’s face, “An animal companion of an Iraen druid, a tiger who grew to immense power in the presence of the divine might his master commanded. They say he lost his eye in the very battle that killed his master. He had grown intelligent. Enough to harbour a hatred for the Talriens who slaughtered his master…”
Willow's frown deepened as she inspected the scar. The exterior had healed long ago, but the flesh around the eye was still reddened and swollen. As she looked closer, she saw what appeared to be the pommel of a dagger. Delicately, she gripped its edge and pulled it free. It was a complete adamantine dagger. Wllow felt a ping of sadness at the thought of the creature wandering for decades, a blade painfully latched through its eye. She handed the dagger to Bor as she turned from the beast.
“Take its head, give it to Zikomo, it will be good for morale.”


A soft knock on the door at midmorning broke Willow from her drawing. She had been sketching the Horn of Abbadon in her journal, shading the silhouette of a great blackened wraith circling its side.
“Come in,” she called, closing the journal.
Pellius stepped inside, dressed in his fullplate armour. The blackened metal sat on his flesh like a menacing stronghold, dark and wicked, almost frightening in its allure. He had been on bed rest again for the week following the tiger’s attack. It was good to see him up on his feet, looking his usual handsome self.
“My lady,” he said smoothly, “May I have a moment of your time?”
Willow smiled at his formality and impeccable charm, “Of course, what may I do for you?”
“There is a show tonight in Auld’lrey, a famous bard by the name of Wildak Quinitis, I would be delighted if you were to accompany me?”
Willow cocked her eyebrow in intrigue, “I would love to.”
“Very good,” he said, a slightly devious glint to his eyes, “We shall leave by midday. Pack for an overnight stay.”
Willow inclined her head as he left and closed the door behind him. There was clearly more than a show that Pellius had planned, and she couldn't help the flutters of excitement and anticipation that rattled through her body. After packing her belongings and gently folding in one of her gowns, Willow was almost disappointed when she left her chamber to find some of the others had joined in for their trip to the city. Bor and Garvana had decided to travel to Farholde to restock supplies and search the arcane stores for trinkets.
The sun was caressing the horizon as they arrived through the southern gates, dusk coming earlier as winter made its approach on the land. As the others made their way to follow Pellius, his sharp commanding comment had them stopped in their tracks.
“We will see you tomorrow,” he clipped, “Goodnight.”
He placed his hand an the small of Willow's back and guided her towards Auld'lrey. They said little as they strolled through the streets, winding through the rich pathways of the upper market district, towards a lavish inn situated at the highest point of the hill. The Minstrel and Shield was a three story building of timber and brick, magically lit lanterns blazed brightly by its entrance, illuminating the reddened brickwork along its door frame. Willow smiled at the bellhop as they entered. Her large black fur cloak hung close to the ground and hid her armour underneath. The fur glistened against the light glittering through the opulent parlour. Pellius stood tall in his shining armour, the magic of the circlet warping it to a brilliant silver shimmer. They would have appeared as a noble knight and his mistress. When the bellhop showed them to their suite, Willow had to smirk at the memory of the first night they had spent together at a similar inn in Aldencross.
As the door clicked shut, Willow began to unpack her things. The measured controlled footsteps behind her had her breath quicken. She could feel the heat from his body as he stood behind her, his fierce presence like a force pressing against her. The air in the room was different than it had been for weeks. Pellius had become distant and reclusive, still as charming and polite as he always was, but the desire and lust between them had dimmed. He had politely declined every advance she had made, leaving her with little choice but to accept it and stop trying. Willow had never been one to chase after her prey, she had always been patient enough to wait for it to come looking for her. And it always did. The air in the room seemed to thicken, her heartbeat sounding loud to her ears, her palms beginning to sweat. Suddenly, he turned and walked to the opposite side of the room. Willow frowned, spinning towards him. Pellius began to casually remove his armour, unstrapping each buckle with practiced efficiency, nothing remotely seductive about the methodical way he went about it.
“Am I correct in assuming you have contacts in town?” he asked simply.
Willow frowned, figuring she had only imagined the hint of jealously in his voice, “You assume correct.”
“I would ask a favour, if I may.”
Willow quirked her head, “You may.”
“I would ask that you inquire if your contacts could track down the fate of my shipmates. I have mentioned them before, they are my Chelaxian brethren, and although it is most likely they were captured and executed, the possibility that they survived is too tempting to ignore. They would prove great allies if we could locate them.”
Willow nodded, looking out the window to see the last of the sun dipping below the horizon. She had roughly two hours until the opening of the show so she picked up her cloak and laced it around her neck.
“I shall inquire and be back within the hour. I must pick up an item for Teelee while we are here, I may as well kill two birds with one stone.”
Pellius nodded as she turned to leave.
“Willow,” he called as she approached the door, “I must apologise for being discourteous over these last few weeks.”
Willow smiled and shook her head, “Do not apologise. We are all just trying to do what we think is right to accomplish our mission.”
“No, please allow me to offer an explanation.”
She stopped her leave, her interest peaked, as she took the chair he was offering.
“I am cautious of allowing him too much power,” he said, still tending to his armour, “I wish to keep Grumblejack compliant, I fear too much power will lead to a loss of our control. I am not so stubborn as I cannot see the benefit his transformation, but it is only a benefit while he serves us. He has pledged his services to Asmodeus, but you know very well how little words can mean when alliances change.”
Willow smiled, “You know I am not a woman of easy trust. I have been keeping a close eye on the beast, and will continue to do so, for now though he appears content in his servitude. If that changes, or at any time I believe it may, I will not hesitate to correct my mistake.”
Pellius paused for a moment, turning to Willow with a small smile, “I believe that. But I still must air on the side of caution. Willow, you are clearly the most talented and capable of the group, -
Willow laughed, “Flattery will get you entirely everywhere.”
His smile deepened, “It may flatter you, but I truly believe it so. I believe we have much to gain by assisting one another, there is much prestige and power we could source for ourselves, there is nothing binding us in Thorn’s contract to dissuade us from seeking our own advantages. In fact, it is encouraged by the Asmodean dogma. By aiding me in finding my previous companions, we would have a group of disciplined Asmodeans, loyal to me to help further our goals.”
Willow nodded, “I will endeavour to find them.”
He smiled his thanks as he returned to his armour, Willow strolled over to him and began helping him with his back straps, unlacing their thick buckles.
He sighed, “I am disappointed in our groups usage of our base of operations and its subjects. The men are cleaning walls that have already been cleaned, standing guard yet incapable of standing up to any kind of assault. We should be expanding our reach to bring true obedience and civility to this land, we have servants who are now bound to Asmodeus, yet we are giving them no way to truly prove themselves. What are your thoughts? You have contacts in the city who, if my suspicions are correct, partly run the underground. Do you have any better use for our men?”
Willow mused over the question, unstrapping the last of the buckles, pushing the heavy plates over his shoulders.
“I shall think on it, the men we have are peasants, thugs and thieves, perhaps I can find something more suitable to their skill.”
Pellius nodded as he bent forward to start on his greaves. Willow had to take a moment to admire the bulging muscles of his backside. She tore her eyes away with a grin, and turned towards the door, readjusting her cloak.
His silky words had her tremble, “I am not a man of forgiveness, I am a man of retribution. Yet denying you seems to have had little effect save leaving me missing your company. I’ve had to arrange more innovative means of punishment.”
Willow quivered. She cast a quick look at the last slither of sun dropping behind the horizon before striding for the door.

She made her way quickly through the back streets towards the slums, slipping through buildings until she reached the entrance to the black market. She approached the office to find Martin sitting in his chair, hunched over a large tome filled with hundreds of numbers and lists. She knocked as she entered and returned his welcoming smile.
“Kathryn my dear,” he said warmly, “A pleasure as always to see you.”
“And you Martin,” she replied.
He stood from his seat and greeted her with his usual kiss to the knuckle. He indicated her to a chair and went about pouring them both a cup of aromatic foreign tea. Willow quietly closed the door before she sat.
He raised his eyebrows slightly at her secrecy, “And what brings you here today, my lady?”
Willow smiled and accepted the tea, “I have a task. One of the utmost secrecy. I need people who I can trust, discreet people, and I do not have any to spare.”
Martin grinned, making his wizened face almost devilishly handsome, “Ah, colour me intrigued my dear. May I ask of the details? It may help to define the type of men you are seeking?”
Willow smirked, “Men I am seeking is an appropriate term.”
“Ah I see,” Martin replied, sipping on his steaming cup, “And are these men the type who do not want to be found, or cannot?”
Before she spoke, she tilted her head to the door, not sure if she was imagining the soft rattle of footsteps standing by the frame. She heard Martin whisper an incantation and suddenly every sound outside of the walls silenced. Willow's eyes flickered to Martin in surprise.
“I may be an old dog,” he chuckled, “But I've still got a few tricks. You may speak freely, no sound can penetrate into or out of this room.”
Willow saw no lies in the creases of his soft face.
“Roughly eight months ago, a Chelaxian vessel landed on the shores of Matharyn. A member of its crew was captured and arrested for blasphemy. The fate of the rest of the crew is what I require. For now, that information is all I need. I do not need these men to be approached, I simply need the status of them, and their location if they survived, escaped or were released.”
Martin barely battered an eyelash at the request.
“Consider it done,” he said with a smile, “It shall take time, but I shall send two of my own. You shall have your answer within two months.”
Willow quirked an eyebrow, “And what shall this cost me?”
Martin chuckled, “Think of this as payment for that scar upon Switch’s face. It has been a long time since that man has been marked by anyone, it brings an old man like me a lot of joy to see his pretty mug a bit roughed up. That it was such a delicate thing like you, makes it all the more sweeter.”
Willow laughed as she returned her empty cup to its saucer. She thanked Martin, laying a gentle kiss on his cheek before taking her leave, purchasing a vial of calamus and styrax for Teelee and heading back to the Minstrel and Shield. Teelee had requested Willow acquire a bottle of the scents when she had heard the story of why the perfume was forbidden. While on Talingarde soil, only one person was permitted to wear such a fragrance; Princess Belinda. Willow had always found the rule ridiculous, so she secretly enjoyed Teelee's instance at wearing it.

When Willow arrived back at the suite, she found it empty. She called out to Pellius as she began to remove her gear, but did he didn't respond. She strolled through the bedroom as she finished pulling off her breastplate and stopped as she saw an odd item laying next to her gown upon the bed. Two black leather garters sat neatly arranged along the layers of ebony silk. The garters themselves were nothing aberrant, it was the slender metal spikes attached to the insides that made them intriguing. The spikes were not sharp enough to break the skin, but their thin points enough to cause a constant discomfort and sharp jolt of pain to their wearer with every step. They were a more carnal version of the shirt Pellius had designed and commissioned their blacksmith to make. An innocent looking chain metal shirt, it's insides laced with razor sharp hooks that would latch on to its wearers skin. A perfect, if not cruel and callous, means of obedience. Butterflies flooded her stomach at the sadistic design of the garters. She left them where they were while she headed for the bathroom, finding the tub already filled with clean steaming water. She bathed and cleansed herself in her usual ritual, finding little comfort in her distracted preparation. When her makeup was done and her hair was arranged, she returned to the bedroom to face what was waiting. She delicately slipped her feet through the garters, whimpering as she dragged them high upon her thighs. They were a perfect fit. The leather strapped a tight seal around her skin and the metal spikes pinched deeply into her flesh. They were strangely not uncomfortable, Willow actually found them quite enjoyable. The slight sharp pain that rippled through her legs with each step was not dissimilar to the feeling she received each time her Infernal Lord found her. She would not have to be worried about hiding her pain in public, it would be her amorous enjoyment and the constant flush of her cheeks that gave her away.
As she finished dressing, a loud bell chimed from down the street, the sound indicated the theatres doors were open. As Willow glided through the room, Pellius entered the parlour.
“You look beautiful as always, my lady,” he said charmingly.
His lip curled into a sly grin as Willow’s breathing hitched as she stepped towards him.
“And you are as handsome as ever,” she replied, doing her best to hide the throbbing need she felt.
“Shall we?” he asked, offering his arm.
Willow smirked as she accepted it, keeping her steps graceful and soft. They strolled out of the inn and down the lantern lit street towards the theatre, Pellius spoke with a casual air as they neared.
“Did you have any luck this evening?” he asked.
“Indeed,” she replied softly, “We shall have an answer well before we leave the area.”
“Very well, my lady, and thank you.”

The performance made for a pleasant evening. The halfling bard sang with a soft foreign lilt, his skill with the fiddle living up to his famous reputation. Willow thoroughly enjoyed his rendition of some of the classical folk songs of lore, his delicate sopranist vocal range added a whimsical hint to the somber ballads. Of course, Willow found it difficult to really concentrate. On the occasion she managed her mind to drift off with the music, a firm hand would subtly squeeze the garter, forcing the metal spikes to dig further into the skin, making her clamp down her teeth to stop from groaning.
As his hand released its grip and the pain retreated, Willow found her mind turning. Both Pellius and Switch were sadists. She tried not to think about what it said about her that she would find herself so drawn to them. They were so very different. Switch was vicious, rough, impulsive. He was fierce, he preferred his prey to fight back, so he could dominate them and force them into submission. Pellius on the other hand was subtle. His commanding air needed no posturing. He expected to be obeyed and revelled in his target’s obedience. He did not need to force them to submit, they would willingly, for fear of his dark promise of retribution.
It was that dark promise that kept Willow's blood racing as they left the stalls of the theatre and made their way back to the inn. Dinner had been prepared and delivered to the parlour of their suite when they returned, the smell of heavily spiced roast duck filling the room. Willow trembled with anticipation as they ate in silence. The air in the chamber had thickened again, his ominous aura seeping into her pores. She was sure the servants in the room would have to be able to feel it while they served dinner and refilled their glasses.
As they finished eating and Pellius called for the servants to clear the table, Willow strolled to the bedroom and slowly began unlacing the binding of her dress. She jumped as she heard the click of the lock behind her. She dropped the gown to the floor, standing in front of the mirror dressed only in her corset, lace undergarments and the garters. The cold breeze drifting from the open slit of the window feathered along her bare skin, sending a shiver racking through her body. She heard his approach before his menacing reflection appeared behind her. His fingers trailed and lingered over the garters, before firmly clutching them and compressing them so tightly that Willow felt their points pierce her skin. Her teeth clamped as the guttural groan sounded from her throat. His grip retreated as his hands turned to her undergarments and swiftly ripped them in half, the silk fabric trickling to the ground. He stared into her eyes through her reflection, as one hand traced up to her neck, forcing her head to the side to bare her throat. Willow's breath was short and sharp, her pulse quickened, her body trembled. She watched it all in the vivid detail of the mirror, she watched him take it all like it was rightfully his.



An ominous worrying note greeted them as they returned to the Horn. A silver dragon had been sighted over Farholde, and Elise had sent an urgent message to warn them of the possibility that it was on its way towards them. The lingering enjoyment Willow felt from the night before vanished as she read the note. The group convened in the tavern to discuss their defence, combining their knowledge of silver dragons. They knew the creatures to be highly intelligent, strong willed and severely devoted to the forces of good. They knew they had powerful magic of cold and ice, giving them natural immunities to winters grace. This also meant they had a weakness to fire, one the group planned to utilise.
As night closed over the sky, the group retreated for rest and preparation. As they left the tavern, Willow grabbed Pellius by the hand and led him towards her chamber. Far past midnight, she collapsed atop him, shallow breaths, body lethargic and sated. The signal horn sounding from the entrance broke her sexual stupor. They both leapt from the bed, scurrying to grab their weapons. Willow quickly ripped on a black night slip, it's slender whiff of fabric would offer nothing but a touch of modesty. As Pellius turned to the knock at the door, she tossed his pants towards him. Barris, the guard captain on duty, appeared in the archway.
“The signal came from outside,” he mumbled, “They haven't breached the door yet.”
Willow and Pellius charged down the hallway, Barris and the hounds following closely behind, rounding the corner to see the rest of the group arriving at the entrance. Bor had been on duty, so he wore his ragged armour and appeared alert and ready. Teelee had managed to grab her belt of potions and wands and had it strapped over her floor length red nightgown. Garvana wore only satin trousers and unlaced boots, her heavily muscled chest and breasts sitting taut and firm, an erotic and imposing sight. The Asmodean star burned into the flesh of her back blazing like a beacon of malevolence.
What a strange tale this night would make, Willow thought.
She stayed hidden behind the barricade as Bor and Pellius cautiously approached the door. Suddenly, two halberd blades shattered their way through the wood. As they retreated, Teelee shot off a pellet of flame that slipped through the cracks and exploded the door inward, scorching their attackers. Three men with halberds stepped through the doorway, unbothered by the flaming mess of the wooden arch around them. When Willow saw the intricate sunburst decorating their armour, a wave of fear came over her. They were Knights of the Inquisition. Fabled witch hunters that roamed the land of Talingarde, righting wrongs and seeking out any evil to destroy it. These knights meant that an Inquisitor was with them - these knights were a very bad sign for the Forsaken.
Willow heard Pellius’ dark chanting as a crippling wave of energy burst through the room, for a moment, the knights looked weakened. It took them half a breath to right themselves again. The charged fiercely towards Bor, with practiced military proficiency one of them hooked his halberd behind Bor's leg and ripped him off balance, while the other two arched their blades high and brought them down into Bor's chest. Willow let off a flurry of arrows, struggling to pierce their fullplate armour, as Garvana chanted behind her. She felt the strange sensation flood her body, energy sprouted from her veins, she felt fast and keen. The strange joy was overshadowed by the entrance of their true enemy. The Inquisitor walked in with an air of complete control and arrogance. He wore a face weathered with age and trauma, his eyes held a deep wisdom and battered down pessimism. This man had seen much battle, much terror, much evil. A scar that slashed across his face contorted his lip into a permanent sneer, his hood hanging low on his brow, his shining sunburst medallion hanging heavy on his chest.
“Mitra guide me!” he bellowed, “I shall cleanse this stain from your land!”
Willow watched as the wounds on the knights closed over and healed from the touch of the Inquisitor’s hand. Bor leapt at one of the knights in a frothing rage, cleaving his blade deep through it’s shoulder and down into it's chest. The knight fell to the floor in a crumpled heap of metal. As the remaining two repeated their trip and cut manoeuvre, the gaping wounds in Bor's torso poured with blood. He struggled to get back to his feet as the strain of the blood loss intensified with each movement. There was little the group could do to help. The choke point of the corridor meant that no one else could squeeze through to aid him, Willow could have possibly made it through, but would have taken heavy damage along the way. Suddenly, Garvana charged through the guard room towards the arrow slits. She used her stone shaping magic to seal off the entrance between Bor and the Inquisitor's men. Pellius gave Bor a potent healing potion as he helped the halforc to his feet. Willow heard the forceful words of the Inquisitor booming from the outside as they retreated.
“You will not escape next time!” he bellowed, “This vile den of scum can not be allowed to stand!”
Willow assumed the group would take a moment to equip their armour before giving chase, but as she turned for her chamber, she heard Garvana reopen the stone. One by one they ran out of the building and followed the Inquisitor down the stairs. As Willow reached the entrance, she saw a slender man in black armour deserting the battle and begin to climb down the side of the Horn. Aided by the fleet of Garvana's magic, Willow quickly climbed down after him. As she neared, she saw the strangest thing. Teelee leapt from the stairs and fell plummeting towards the ground. Willow didn't have time to think on it as she deftly closed in on the man's escape.
“Leave me alone!” he screamed, “I didn't want to come! They made me!”
Willow had no mercy for the man as she leapt at him with her dagger. She slashed him across the throat as she clung on to the wall. He wailed as the wound spouted blood, his grip failing as he fell to his death. She heard a loud thump from out in the distance, unsure whether the ground broke the man’s fall or Teelee’s. From her vantage point she could see Grumblejack flying through the air towards the Inquisitor, hacking his blade deep through the shoulder. Willow quickly climbed her way back up, the slender slip of her night gown offering no protection from the cold bite of the night air. When she reached the stairs, she felt an ominous pulse of divine energy throbbing in the atmosphere. She looked further down the walkway and saw the Inquisitor and Grumblejack locked in battle. Wisps of holy magic danced around the Inquisitor, shimmering an eery cold blue, whipping back and forth as if building in strength. Suddenly, he unleashed them, hurtling them towards the ogre as their overflow bounded passed him and encased the rest of the group. Willow felt the sickening shrill of goodness, the righteous arcane power pelting her full force, sapping her will to fight. As she struggled to regain her composure, a menacing chuckle sounded from a deep and guttural throat. The spell had been aimed at Grumblejack, but as it poured from the Inquisitor's hands, it seems to collide with a magical barrier surrounding the ogre. He seemed to dismiss the holy man as an unworthy opponent, flying off in chase of the the priest who had rolled his way down the large staircase.
Bor and Pellius were not so naïve. Together they charged the Inquisitor, metal flashing as it clashed through the air. The man continued to scream his Mitran dogma, cursing the retched souls that were the Forsaken. His might was undeniable, his will a testament to his strength. He was not afraid as the warhammer and the axe came sailing towards him. He could not dodge both of them, he knew he was going to die, and yet he was so fanatical in his faith he believed he would die only for it was the plan of his Mitra. As the weapons hit, the axe tore through his stomach and the warhammer bludgeoned his chest. He fell to his knees and collapsed. Bor and Pellius turned their attentions to the remaining knights. As the battle drew to a close, victory on the lips of the Forsaken, Willow strolled down the stairs.
The Inquisitor lay slumped against the wall, his breaths shallow and rasped, blood seeping from his wounds. He faced death with a stubborn chin, a strong will cementing his knowledge that he was going to his Lord’s side. Willow approached him, dragging his hood back and lifting his head by his hair, hearing the spluttering broken words he was trying to speak.
Mitrawill…-
Willow pushed all of her might into a single swipe of her blade, she felt an Infernal pulse guiding her strike with strength she did not possess. The man's words were cut off as his head came free from his shoulders. She dropped it to the ground with disdain. Lifting the pendant from its rest along his collarbone, Willow stared into the rapturous glistening sapphire. She felt an uncontrolled hatred flare in her stomach, she felt the rage of vengeance fuelling her actions. As Pellius and Bor turned back towards her, she let out a fearsome chthonic shriek, swinging the pendant towards the stone wall. The Infernal surge returned, it's force sending the medallion hurtling to it's demise. As the sapphire connected with the stone, it shattered, exploding in a feathering shower of blue and silver dust. The glittering cloud surrounded Willow in an ominous mist, before it trickled to the ground around her. She held the medallion by its chain. Lifting it into her sight, she saw the irony of the medallion’s state. A silver sunburst, hollow, destroyed and empty - just like Mitra's protection of this world.