Cordoba Chronicles IV: Chapter 12

EPILOGUE

The 16th day of Rzandol, Axian Year 7803

The world is now a completely different place.

My master has seen fit to give me another chance to perform in the world of the Living. In its infinite mercy, I was pulled from the sublime embrace of Death by its hand and given many new powers. What would surely end the lives of others is now a mere nuisance to me. While I was given these grand gifts, I still had to pull myself from beneath a boulder.
Upon freeing myself, I saw what was a factor in my initial death. A Halfling male, aged 38, lay prone and broken at my feet in the ruined temple I created for my master. I looked about the broken walls and the ruins of my home above and thought that I should feel some feeling, yet I did not. Was this yet another gift from my master: the ability to know, but not be taken over by emotion?
True to the will of the Benefactor, I was indifferent at the knowledge that I escaped death at the hands of a sworn protector of a misguided male notion of what is “good” yet again. Males: always a thorn in the side of justice and what is truly right in the world. The claims of right and wrong issued from their mouths are but a hollow gesture to the women who have paid with their lives and their freedom in the wake of their wars. The only way, some males may say, to achieve peace. After many years of contemplation and experimentation, I have found another way.
It is my discovery that frightens the established world of thought, as have the necromancers who have preceded me on this material plane. The idea of order and balance in the world of mankind is aberrant to the minds of most males and their wiling whores. They see the actions of my like-minded practitioners as evil for evil’s sake. Nay, my work is not evil, but it fails to meet the ‘holy’ approval of the janissaries of the false gods. That is enough to knock the feather from their caps and label my work as they see fit.
Would they deign to know about this work and its practitioners, they would know that it is we—the mortal masters of the undead—that achieve what they can only promise in theory: peace and everlasting life. It is a form of mercy unknown to the false gods and their followers. The world has chosen not to follow the path of what is good and holy, relegating it to the back room as if it were a secret shame.

In response to the faint glow of my Adventurer’s Guild medallion, I believe that I should resume my duties as an Adventurer—nay, a Crusader, for I seek adventure no longer. I now seek to implement a solution long overdue.
It seems that my master has agreed with my decision, for it has showered me with all the tools I would need to complete my mission. Old texts and manuscripts, and even older artifacts have fallen through the gaps of the rubble and stone above my head. They are all useful components for my future campaign, my maps of Kinjeti in particular. Their proximity to the fallen Halfling’s helmet reminded me of a place I had not been to in some time.
The Collection Room had not changed since I last crossed the dimensional door from my basement (when it was still a basement) into the pristine white marble walls and myriad trophies. I passed by the shield of Bors the cleric and the last three daggers still locked in the bandolier of Va-shi the elven battle-mage, to an empty manikin head. I placed the helmet of the fallen Halfling paladin onto the manikin head, recalling the male’s name and writing it on the plaque below: Cyan.
As I left the dimensional door, the night’s gloom was of no comfort to me as it once provided. I looked above and saw Rzandol shining down. I climbed out of the chasm that was my home and laboratory and stood upon a sturdy part of my collapsed roof. The light of the moon flashed blue on my pale skin…and it reminded me of young Inia.
I had many applications for the positive results with my experiment in ectoplasmic and incorporeal manipulation and the resultant proof of my hypothesis that an incorporeal being, such as a ghost, can be returned to the world of the Living through spells. The details of my initial experiment with Inia’s immortal soul are detailed in an earlier log, but this latest development could only be a side effect of the resultant simulated aging and brain development of the average teenager. Falling in love, rebelliousness and general ignorance of the world around her was a sure sign that my experiment with Inia was far too successful.
There were to be no interferences in her life and my control of it, but an unanticipated variable entered into the equation that was my calculated experiment.
I’ll be damned if it wasn’t a male.

As my young subject goes off to the west, I can only look on through the cloud of iridescent green  dust for I must not fail my master a second time with the foibles of mortality, such as impulse. I will plot. I will plan. When my machinations are beyond the restrictions of any possible failure, when my grand army of the undead is a mighty force I will strike at the world and charge roughshod over the kingdoms and potentates of mankind. Then the world will join me in peace.

Whether they want to or not.

-Blackheart the Destroyer

Cordoba Chronicles IV: Chapter 11

The arcane language spilled from Blackheart's mouth as she spoke the uncanny phrases in a guttural tongue to start the summoning spell. The words of magic completed a spell that forced the drained blood of the corpses in the next room to pool in a reservoir below the altar and rise into the piping that ended in the basin hollowed out in the top of the altar. The crimson claret coalesced in the stone sink, and the necromancer smiled. She craned her head back and looked into the moonlight of Rzandol, shining into her black eyes and the blood-filled basin from the faux well overhead to hear the sounds of her reckoning coming to bear.

She has done exactly as her master had commanded: sacrificed a great many on the eve of the rise of Rzandol and dedicate all their blood to her master, for it was trapped. Stuck in an ethereal prison and only able to act through associates like herself, Blackheart met her master when she was at her worst. Now, she felt it necessary to repay the gift given to her by a powerful creature from beyond that saw fit to save her life, by any means possible. The idea of such an act of justice as an appetizer to an even greater justice that would soon come, levied against the mortal world of Cordoba, made the necromancer feel as if she was in tune with the very earth itself.

The dark mage reveled in the sounds of the earth around her head as she heard the worms burrow and the roots of trees spread themselves through the ground. She could hear the dead stirring in their graves, scratching and pounding against coffins in a rhythm Blackheart found musical. The thought of even more of the walking dead at her disposal, in addition to the several ghouls that sat before her in the temple pews, was enough to make the dark necromancer's smile stretch from ear to ear as she continued to chant.

Suddenly, a shout from the upper levels of the basement broke her concentration, disturbing the chant that would deliver her master from his prison to this world. Blackheart cursed her intruders for their poor timing and stepped away from the altar. She almost tripped over the prone Inia? body as she walked out into the central aisle of the temple and stared at the front doors to the next room, where the bodies hung and bled. She looked to a couple of ghouls and said, "We have a visitor."

The necromancer didn't bother to guess who her intruder was as she looked back at the unconscious form of her niece.

Rashad. That damned male has come back to soil my home a third time, the necromancer thought. He's escaped that incompetent Doyle and now he thinks he?l defeat me. The little black bastard thinks he can just walk in here, do what he wants and take my niece away to be some breeder? Aside from the truth, she said to herself, that male will be in for one hell of a surprise.

Turning away from the door, Blackheart felt her old Adventurer's Guild medallion shift in her bosom. Touching it through her clothes, she continued her stride to the altar and took her place at the altar and continued to chant. As she chanted, voices could be heard floating in from the useless windows to the abattoir. It seems that the little male has brought friends, the necromancer mused. Her black eyes glinted with amusement as she chanted, making sure to position herself under the moonlight as she did before. As she expected, the group of intruders made their grand entrance into the temple. Blackheart had not seen many of these people before, but some she knew and one of them she knew very well.

The first of the intruders came dressed in blue armor; she could tell that from the reflections of the moon's light bouncing from the floorboards. The necromancer had not met him, but she did know his symbol: the brotherhood of Brash. Blackheart had tangled with only one Brash acolyte prior, and she wasn't satisfied. Two Enigmen--a female cat and a giant crab of some sort--stood with the armored warrior. Four humans walked through the doors. Two were dark-skinned and males, like the fool Rashad who walked with them, but of the two only one was a mage. By the look of his aura she could tell he was an ice-mage of some power, but not enough to sway her will or her master's will.

The last human was a slim woman with long black hair, carrying a satchel. A quick glance showed that the girl had no real skills to speak of, and would be no threat. Her eyes scanned over the last member of the crew--an elf, she could see by the ears--bore a strange resemblance…

Moira, the seamstress, had come to reclaim what was once hers. But from the elf's excessive cowering, it looked like the spell she put on her was still in place. The elf had cost her so much in the past, nothing would be able to negate the spell. So why was Moira here? Blackheart pushed the question out of her head and decided that the elven seamstress would die first, but changed her decision when the blue-armored warrior sealed his fate as the first to fall: he opened his mouth and spoke.

"In the name of Brash, I am sworn to strike down evil wherever it may lay! Beware, Blackheart the necromancer, for you now face Cyan--warrior of the Brotherhood!"

Only slightly aware of what he would face on the inside of the temple walls, the halfling went full tilt into his lines, remembering the honor of the Brotherhood and forgetting the full situation. While sent here on his own to deal with a claim of ghouls in the town of Karmor's Bend, many friends have joined him in his mission. No one in their party, not even the ice mage, was prepared for the scene set before them.

The temple, cold and lit only by the moonlight falling from the well above the necromancer's head, was a mockery of the temples built to Toren the Assistant and his Master Hamar. Instead of the Tetra-Sphere that would adorn the walls, that same diagram of the eye reaching skyward with tentacles took its place. The walls, adorned with tapestries bearing the tentacled eye, were carved from the surrounding stone and supported by smoothed columns. The ceiling of the temple stretched over their heads and curved upwards into the base of the fake well. Past that, a smooth wall with an arcane diagram in the shape of a circle stood out in relief with the moonlit form of Blackheart the Benefactor juxtaposed in the foreground.

The necromancer's eyes flashed in the moonlight as she looked down on the ghouls in the pews. The stinking corpses moved in response to her gaze and rose from their seats to attack the group of intruders. Charging into the pew, the first ghoul met his second death at the end of the Rock Sword. More ghouls came onward, and they were dispatched by Cyan's dancing sword. Kitty and Barcrab joined in the fray, actively going after ghouls and fighting them claw, tooth and nail. The two Enigmen barreled through the rotting wooden pews, taking whatever pieces of broken wood they could and using them for weapons. Shuya, Wyle, Donovan and Moira stayed by the door and fought off any ghouls they could, using the fire poker, Donovan's ice axe and Shuya's potions. As Shuya's potions lit up the floor around them and cast a bright blue light in the temple, Donovan's eye caught a glimpse of the circle behind the chanting Blackheart.

He had seen that circle somewhere before in a manual at the Academy, in a book on summoning, but what would a necromancer want to summon? Regardless of what the dark mage wanted to summon, he would have to stop her. "Cyan! Rashad! She's trying to summon something! See if you can stop her!"

The two nodded and cut a swath to the altar. After wading through the ichor and rotting body parts, the Halfling and human raised their weapons to strike Blackheart down. Their blades struck her arms, but were deflected by some sort of magic. Using the advantage, Blackheart thrust her arms out and the two men went flying to the floor. As they picked them selves up, Rashad noticed a curly mop of hair sticking out from behind the altar. He looked up at the necromancer with a grimace of anger and shouted to Donovan, "Inia's here! You have to stop her!"

In response, Donovan pulled a potion from Shuya's satchel and encased it in ice. He launched it at the chanting woman, hoping she would not be able to stop the projectile. Blackheart was involved with the chant, and she was struck full in the face and staggered back as the ice shattered across her nose. The necromancer rose, her face covered in the brown liquid of the potion hidden in the ice ball. She wiped her face off and looked at her hands as they burned a light blue flame from her fingertips and palms. The dark mage looked at the intruders with her black, almond-shaped eyes and continued chanting to release the ethereal bonds of her master.

She was not able to complete her chant, for a significantly large piece of broken pew came flying at her, forcing her to hurl herself away from the altar and Inia. Blackheart landed hard against the stone floor, shielding herself from the shower of wood splinters. As the necromancer began to right herself, Barcrab shouted, "RASHAD! GET INIA!!"

Snapping up and rushing to the altar, Rashad knelt by the unconscious Inia and grabbed her by the arm. He dragged her to safety, just as Blackheart lunged at the two with her silver dagger. The blade missed them both by inches, and the dark mage screamed her rage. She prepared to cast a spell, but Cyan charged and slammed into her back. As she landed on the ground, she spun and blasted the Halfling with a burst of green energy, sending him flying towards Kitty. The Enigman cat-woman was ready and caught the armored Cyan before he hit the ground completely. "No worries; I've got you," she said.

"Thanks, Kitty," Cyan said. "Are you all right?"

"Yes; more importantly, are you alright?"

"Whatever that monster's hit me with, it's made me tired." Turning to the others, he said, "We gotta stop her…no matter what."

Blackheart heard that and started to chant again. Donovan heard her chant and cast a spell that froze the pipes of the sink inside the altar. The pipes burst, cracking through the stone and toppling the altar over. The necromancer could only look on in annoyance as the intruders congratulated themselves.

Suddenly, the sound of a clearing throat echoed through the temple. "You peons have come this far to have an audience with me," the emotionally charged Blackheart spoke. "You've fought my undead minions and interfered in my current plans."

She stared at the slowly waking Inia as she continued, "You've tampered with my life's work, and there's no shortage of pain I could inflict on you all for such transgressions. Yet I believe that you all would not have done these things if there were not a reason…even in your limited scope of 'reason'."

"I want revenge!" Shuya shouted across the temple. "You killed my father, mother and brother! Your hands are stained with their blood."

"I'm sworn to staunch the flow of evil in these lands, and your time is over, Madam Blackheart!" Cyan brought his sword to bear and said, "By the will of Brash!"

"You've cost me my job," Rashad said as he held Inia, "and the lives of others have been changed or ended because of your actions! I've dealt with your kind before: mages and the powerful that thought they were beyond the reach of Good. You think you're all that matters, that everyone should follow your path or die. I am here to tell you you're wrong--dead wrong--and you will pay for your crimes against the world."

The necromancer looked over the battle-ready group, as they breathed heavily from the evening's fight. Covered in the blood of the fallen ghouls, they all meant business and brought their weapons up. Blackheart looked at the poor fools…and began to laugh. The anger that washed over her from the aspiring heroes made Blackheart smile from ear to ear. The necromancer said as she clapped her hands, "Oh, such rousing speeches, all of you. I'd spare you all for such performances, if mercy was in my nature. You must excuse my amusement; I've heard those words far too many times."

The necromancer continued with a sly grin, "Your family meant nothing to me. They were merely a sacrifice to my master. All of Sumptor, and I gave it to my Benefactor.

"As for your 'sworn quest' against evil, you backwater hirsute," the necromancer leveled at Cyan, "you need look no further. I doubt you'll be able to defeat me, because I eat misguided male "heroes" like you for lunch." Her eyes narrowed to slits as she said, "You will fail."

Turning to Rashad, Blackheart said, "And as for you, you wanna-be adventurer, you dare walk into the mouth of danger a third time? For the hand of my niece, you certainly went the distance. It was all for nothing, for you would fail, just like your hairball friend here."

"Hey I resent that!" Kitty piped up.

"Not you," Rashad spoke through gritted teeth.

"Oh."

"I don't like you. You've lied to my niece Inia and to my face! I'll not stand by as my niece becomes a breeder for some male who lies about his achievements. Adventurer's Guild, indeed; your medallion isn't real!" The Benefactor continued, "You're nothing but a one-shoe hustler!"

"By Toren, I am an Adventurer!"Rashad shouted. "The Guild has changed! I was there myself when it changed recently. Why don't you believe me? Is it because you hate me for being with Inia?"

"YOU ARE A MALE! ALL MALES LIE AND I HATE ALL OF YOU FOR THAT!" Blackheart's shout echoed on the walls. "YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY LIFE'S WORK FROM ME TO SOW YOUR FOUL SEED, FOR I AM THE DESTROYER OF ALL MEN! I WILL--"

"Auntie!"

Blackheart stopped her rant and looked down on the face of her niece. The tanned teenager's skin shone in the moonlight, her cheeks streaming with tears. "Is this how you truly are? Why?"

"It's lying males like this dark-skinned dunderhead that hurt me in my younger days."

Inia returned, "But you don't have to do this because some guy broke your heart--"

"BROKE MY HEART?!?!" The necromancer's face flushed and turned a bright purple in the moonlight as she said through gritted teeth, "Is that what they're calling it now? Is that what you've learned from the world of males? That rape--my rape--was nothing more than a matter of the heart?!

"You foolish little twit! After all the time I spent on you," Blackheart said with a cracking voice, "you turn into a blithering trollop who can't tell when a male wants you. You don't need that male."

"Auntie," Inia said, "I know. I want Rashad. It's you I don't need."

What, Blackheart heard echo through her head.

Inia continued, saying, "I'm a big girl now, Auntie. I have to go and do what I can to make it in the world. I'm a grown woman. I can't live under your wing forever; I want to see the world and its entire people--all of the MEN and WOMEN and the world they live in. The world I was meant to live in."

The rage on Blackheart's face was barely hidden. She dipped her head and closed her eyes. Bringing her face back to see her intruders, it was completely clear of all anger as she sucked in a cool breath and said, "I can see that trying to coax you from the side of your male is quite difficult, and will take more time than I am willing to invest. It's time I owned up to the fact that my experiment was a failure."

"E-experiment?" Inia stuttered. "W-what do you mean?"

Rashad took the young woman's hand and said, "C'mon, you don't need to listen to this madwoman rant any longer. You're with me now."

Rashad took her to Shuya and the others and said, "Watch out for her, this'll be a nasty fight."

As Shuya nodded, Blackheart looked at Donovan and said, "It's only natural I terminate my unsuccessful experiments. You understand, don't you?"

A bolt of black lightning shot from her hand and flew towards Inia as she stood in shock. Rashad threw himself in front of the blast, taking it full in the chest. He flopped to the ground and lay still. Inia leapt on top of him, shaking him and screaming, "NO!!!"

"HA! RIGHT ON CUE!" Blackheart laughed a maniacal laugh and said, "EVERY HERO IS THE SAME! YOU ALL GIVE YOUR LIVES FOR NOTHING! I'VE TAKEN THE LIVES OF MANY HEROES OVER THE YEARS…AND NOW YOU ALL SHALL SHARE THE SAME FATE!"

Cordoba Chronicles IV: Chapter 10

The boots felt a bit tighter than usual this time around as Cyan pulled them on. He felt a strong sense of determination and conviction as he slapped the steel greaves over his boots, tightening the bands to hold them in place. With his gauntlets in place over the sleeves of his hooded hauberk, the Halfling called out to the main room in Shuya’s house, “Can I get some help in here?”

Beyond the door of Shuya’s bedroom, Donovan, Wyle and Shuya stood in the kitchen making potions to combat the undead. Kitty, Rashad and Barcrab were watching the windows, waiting for some kind of response from the ghouls who had surrounded the house at sunset and now marched around an ice crystal barrier. Moira was slumped in the chair closest to the fireplace, holding her knees against her chest and rocking back and forth. Her whimpering seemed to keep pace with the tempo of her movement, making the rocking movements that more unnerving.

“Might I get some help please?” Cyan yelled again. “I can’t get this damned breastplate on by myself!”

Kitty looked up from her position and yelled, “Coming!” The Enigman cat-woman plucked herself from the floor and peeked over the doorjamb. “What’s up? 

“Please, help me get my breastplate on.” Cyan motioned to the hunk of metal sitting off to the side of Shuya’s bed. She picked up the plate by the armpits and carried it to Cyan, who sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked up at her and said, “I mean, I need someone to put it on for me. Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t.” Kitty climbed onto the bed and hobbled over to Cyan’s back on her knees. She lifted the breastplate over the Halfling’s head and fitted it to his body. Tying the straps wasn’t a problem, so she did that too. The flirty feline reached under the gorget and stroked Cyan’s neck saying, “All set.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Cyan said as he felt the soft fur against his stubbly neck. “You know, you tied my armor as if you knew what you were doing. Where’d you learn to suit armor like that?”

“I know a lot of things,” Kitty purred. “I had a life before dancing at the Egress Bar.”

Cyan nodded and said, “Pass the shoulder pads.” The cat-woman leaned over to where the shoulder pads lay and pulled them to her. She put them to Cyan’s shoulders and anchored them to the breastplate. Satisfied with her work, Cyan stood up.

The halfling Cyan practiced his balance in the standard issue armor for a warrior of the Brotherhood of Brash. The breastplate armor bore an embossed symbol of Brash, a trio of down-pointing swords crossing before a bright sun. The thigh armor attached to Cyan’s equipment belt made for a natural weight against his body. He knelt at the bottom of the bed and reached underneath it, pulling out his sword and his helmet. The sword, a sharpened and stained affair at its blade, shone in the candlelight of the next room as the Halfling drew it from his scabbard and replaced it. The helmet was curved and plated, sweeping upward into a metal frill from its forehead and trailing off into a tail at the nape. Both items bore the symbol of Brash as well.

Cyan turned to Kitty and said, “Listen. If the plan doesn’t go as well as it should, I want you to have this.” He reached down into his hauberk and pulled out a slim necklace. It was a small ivory stone on a silver length of chain. He handed it to the Enigman cat-woman and said, “If I fall, bring this to the headquarters of the Brash Brotherhood in Fort Swordhome, in the west.” The Halfling could see the fear in Kitty’s yellow eyes and comforted her with, “I admire a woman with skill such as yours. When this ends, I think we need to discuss our future together.”

“No need to wait on that, Cyan. We can discuss our future relationship…” Kitty said as she held his hand with padded hands and a serious look in her eye, “…right now.”

Just as they gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, the mood was broken by Wyle’s intrusion. “Hey, we’re almost done with the––“

Both Cyan and Kitty turned to the carpenter. Annoyed, Cyan said, “Go on…”

Blushing a bit, Wyle continued, “We’re almost done with the potions. Are you ready?”

Before the Halfling could answer, Kitty leaned into him and playfully said, “Seems ready to me…”

“Stop that.” Cyan ripped himself away from the furry arms of the Enigman dancer and strode out to the main room of Shuya’s home. He looked around at the state of his allies and friends. Most of them had no weapons, armor or combat training. They looked worn out from the day’s events. It’s not every day that the undead march on your town, but these people have acted admirably under stress and the threat of a living death. The bravery of all these people, especially Shuya, would be commended upon reaching Swordhome.

He looked over to the kitchen and watched Shuya work alongside the ice-mage Donovan as she made the potions. This young woman had fought a minion of the undead and lived to not only tell her story, but to fight them in the corners of her own town. As Cyan admired the strength of the woman behind the counter, she put the last of the potions in a satchel and said, “Finally, we’re done.”

“Good. Everybody ready?” Cyan asked as he put on his helmet.

Rashad got up from his position and said, “No, we’re not ready. Excluding you, only Donovan and I have weapons, but no armor. How are the others supposed to fight those ghouls out there? Punch them really hard and hope they stay down?”

“You forget we have the potion to kill those ghouls…”

Rashad struck him with a look of surprise and said, “You want me to catch fire drinking that stuff? You must be crazy.”

“Cyan’s right, you know.” Shuya walked over with the satchel of potions and held one out to Rashad. “The main component in this potion is wine. We can drink this potion and the potion should act as a counteragent against any ghoul bites we may receive,” she said as she passed around the potions. “Since we don’t have enough armor to go around, we’re all gonna get bitten at least once.”

Still unsteady, Rashad asked, “Are you SURE this is gonna work, Shuya?”

“No, but since we’re all living beings and don’t have many choices in the actions we must take to survive, we’ll be better off. Trust me,” she said with a wink, “I’m a bartender.”

Drowning out Rashad’s protest, Donovan piped up, “I propose a toast: to the fall of Blackheart and the fall of dark magic! CHROVA!”

“CHROVA,” the survivors returned and downed their potions. Rashad was the last to do so as he watched the others drain their draft and flash a light blue aura before returning to normal. He tossed the potion down his gullet and felt the warmth of the potion work its way into his belly, then saw his vision go blue for only a moment and return to normal.

Slapping Moira on the shoulder, Cyan said, “I don’t know what that foreman Jollum was talking about Blackheart having you, but it wasn’t about undeath. You’re clean and ready.” He found his cloak and hood and placed it over the frightened elf woman. “You ready, Moira?”

She nodded and the Halfling said to the others, “Alright, now for weapons. Grab what you can out of here and use it as a weapon. If it stabs, don’t bother; if it bashes or cleaves, then grab it.”

The group looked about the interior of the house. Kitty ripped the posts off the bed frame in Shuya’s bedroom, sending the bed crashing to the floor. Wyle followed suit with another bedpost and knocked the nails flat with his hammer. Moira was still frozen with fear at the idea of facing the undead. Barcrab saw that she hadn’t fond a weapon yet, so he handed her the first one he could find: a fire poker.

“HERE” he said, “YOU NEED THIS.”

She looked up at the Enigman crab-man and rose to her feet, clutching the poker so tightly that her knuckles showed white beneath her skin. The scared seamstress looked around at all the people and said loudly, “Thank you.” The volume of her gratitude made everyone turn to look for a moment. Worry flooded their faces as they heard the fear in her voice, but Cyan broke the mood with a clear voice.

“We are ready.” Cyan looked at Donovan and the ice-mage prepared a spell. The group of survivors got close to each other to keep their area small, and Cyan was close enough to ask Shuya a question.

“Have I ever thanked you for allowing me to stay in your house, Shuya?”

“No,” she said.

“I suppose now’s the time to do so. Thanks.”

“You still owe me rent.”

“I’ll pay you back when we get through this.”

“That’s comforting,” the bartender said as she adjusted her satchel. “I have to go through all the Hells and back to get my money.”

“Money is the least of your problems,” he shot back. Looking out the window, he saw that the ghouls had gathered in front of the door, just as he knew they would. “Donovan, do it!”

The ice-mage set the door to freeze and used his magic to blast the ice outward. Blowing outward in a shower of shards, the ghouls went flying into the street and were frozen by the arctic wind. The path strewn with the pieces of frozen ghoul, the eight survivors charged through the ghouls and headed south to the shadowed manor of Blackheart Estates as Rza shone high overhead against the night sky.

Cordoba Chronicles IV: Chapter 9

"What do you mean by ‘you don’t know who I am’?”

With an confused stare of green-gray, Inia repeated her answer to Rashad and said, “I have never met you before, sir. Given your aggressive demeanor towards me, I doubt we’d ever get along.”

The girl kneeled over Jollum and stroked his face as Moira held his prone form. Jollum’s injuries and his condition were getting worse with all the stress in the room and he moaned in discomfort.

“What? You don’t think we’d get along? We’ve been on a date—just last night, we were out on the top floor of the construction site and we kissed. Twice!” Taking her by the shoulders, Rashad said, “Don’t you remember anything? Anything at all?”

“Get your hands off me, buddy!” Inia shouted and pushed Rashad off. “First of all, I wouldn’t go to some damn construction site for a date, ‘cuz Auntie said guys are mean and all of them are liars. With that said, I certainly wouldn’t be going out with you, because you’re both a mean person and a liar.”

“I’m tired of people calling me a liar and I’m TIRED of hearing about that damned auntie of yours,” Rashad yelled. “You don’t have a single original thought—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, there.” Kitty stopped him with a powerful paw, saying, “We’re trying to get her to remember who we are, not make her our enemy. Cut her some slack; maybe she’s suffering from the stress of the day.”

“Yes, Kitty,” Donovan interjected, “but we must get her memory back to where it was before we can get what we want.”

“Get what you want?” Inia looked at the ice mage with a wary eye. “What do you mean by that?”

“Never mind that. First, we must get your mind in order. Do you know who I am?”

Inia shrugged. “I don’t know…some guy asking me questions?”

Sighing, Donovan asked, “Do you recall meeting me before?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Alright. So you know, I’m your boss here at the Egress Bar,” the ice mage clarified. “The name’s Donovan.”

“I don’t work here,” Inia spat back. “I’d never work in a filthy little knothole like this. I work for my Auntie’s friend Moira at the Loom House. I have been for three days now.”

“Yes, she has worked for me during the daytime,” Moira piped up as she held the injured Jollum. “And it’s true: she’d never work here because her aunt would never allow it.”

“If she ever knew about it,” Donovan added, brushing off the comment about his bar. “Okay, so you remember your aunt’s friend Moira. Do you remember anyone else here?”

“C’mon kiddo.” Kitty put on a smile and danced a bit, adding a flourish to her finish and said confidently, “You have to remember me.”

Frowning, the tanned teenager replied, “No, I think I’d remember meeting an attention whore in this small town. Especially if she was an Enigman.”

“Oh…” The humbled cat-woman slinked back to her seat next to Wyle, who said, “You remember me?”

“I’ve seen you in town, but I’ve never met you. I’d have no reason to talk to the likes of you.”

“HOW ABOUT ME?” Barcrab asked, expecting the best.

“Heavens no!” Inia wrinkled her nose at the crab-man saying, “You’re ugly as sin and you smell like fish! By the night sky, who do you people think I am?” She looked about the room and surveyed the other nine people as they stared back at the rude young woman who impatiently asked, “Well?”

“We are your friends!” Rashad said harshly. “We are the ones who saved you from a fate worse than death out there. We saved you from your aunt: the woman you hinge your ideas on is the one responsible for what’s going on past that door.”

A look of shock washed over Inia’s face. “My aunt? She’s got something to do with what’s going on outside?” When Rashad nodded in the affirmative, she replied, “Let me guess…she’s an evil magician who’s bent on destroying the world with that peasant army outside, so she can take her revenge on the world of mankind.” A sarcastic smile spread across her bronze face and she asked mockingly, “Am I even close?”

“You’re very close, little girl. One mistake: they aren’t peasants.” Cyan stood and patted Rashad’s shoulder reassuringly. “They are the undead.”

With an angry stare, Inia said, “The undead? You mean as in walking corpses? HA!” She got up from Jollum’s side and said, “The dead can’t walk, because they’re dead. Dead. As for my aunt Blackheart being the cause of all this, I think you all need to stop telling lies about the person who runs this town. She made this town—”

“And she can break it whenever she wants,” Shuya cut in. “I’ve seen her do it before, and she’s doing it again. Only this time, she’s has foot soldiers to do whatever she wants done. Our “benefactor” didn’t have that luxury in Sumptor.

“Sumptor? That town was destroyed! And you say my aunt did that?” Inia stomped her foot and said, “I am not going to sit here and let you people slander my aunt’s good name in Karmor’s Bend. She’s done far too much good in this town: there’s no crime to speak of in this town because the commoners stay in their places!

“And you rabble are trying to upset that balance with lies,” Inia said as she pointed a slender finger at the group in front of her. “I’m going to tell my aunt about you subversives and see that you are punished justly. I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me.” With a swirl of her cloak, the haughty teenager tromped up the stairs to the upper floor of the bar.

The other survivors in the bar looked at each other with worried looks, thinking that their plan was lost to the whims of an impudent young woman. The only exception to the rule was Donovan, who smiled brightly. Shuya looked at him, asking, “What’s so funny?”

“She’s never gonna get past that ice wall I put up.” Donovan laughed and said, “Somebody go get her.”

Wyle stood and went upstairs to find the upper bar empty. “Inia?” he called. Suddenly, he saw a bit of movement pass by the window closest to the frozen barrier. Wyle couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Inia pass by the frost-edged window. He ran to the window and said, “Inia! Come back!!”

A snarling ghoul replaced the sight of a retreating Inia. Wyle jumped back in shock and made a beeline for the underground bar, yelling, “She got out, man! She’s headed for Blackheart Estates!”

“How the Hells…” was all Donovan could manage at first. “If that little twit broke any of my windows—”

“Ain’t no windows broke, Don. She did something though, and she’s gonna get the Benefactor on us! We’re stuck in this trap!” Wyle ran down to Shuya and Rashad and said, “We’ve gottta get out of here! We gotta move or we’re gonna get killed!!!”

Cyan reached over and slapped Wyle twice, saying, “That’s two out of three statements right: we have to move or we will be killed. But we aren’t trapped.” Turning he said, “Donovan, is there another way out of here?”

“Yeah, the back door. I sealed that with ice.” The ice mage stroked his white goatee. “I can unseal that back door…”

“Ah!” the halfling exclaimed in excitement. “You see where I’m going with this, right?”

“Yeah. I clear us a path and we all escape, leaving Karmor’s Bend behind. But to where…”

“By Toren, we’re not leaving without her!” Rashad looked pointedly at his fellow survivors and said, “Something is wrong with Inia, and I think that Blackheart the Benefactor has something to do with it. I’m not going to leave her to the mercy of that evil woman any longer!”

Cyan looked at the two dark-skinned humans with an equal amount of confusion and said, “The both of you are wrong about my plan.” Looking at Shuya, he explained, “I want Donovan to make a way through the undead creatures out there with his ice magic. We’re gonna go to Shuya’s house and get the rest of her gear, get my gear and then we deal with this necromancer. Are we clear on this?”

“This man’s injured,” Moira said. “He can’t be moved. We must stay here…”

A rattling cough stopped the seamstress and the foreman Jollum spoke. “Don’t worry about me, lass. You’ve got to get out of here, y’hear?”

“B-but if you stay here alone you’ll die, Jollum!” Shuya said. “We’ll take you to my house—”

“I’m already dead inside…” Jollum coughed a glob of phlegm, swirled dark red and yellow-green. It sat in his beard as he said, “That woman on the hill has had me wrapped about her finger…since the days of Sumptor. This damned disease…and my foolish wants of living forever were…were the cause of so much pain and suffering.”

Jollum turned to Shuya and said, “I sold out all of Sumptor for a new life, free of disease and all I had to do…was open the gate. Please forgive me my errors, little one…if you can …” Turning away from a wide-eyed Shuya, the Halfling foreman rasped to Moira, “Hear…she has you too…you must…get free…” The hacking coughs rattled his body and spittle flew from his mouth as Jollum breathed his last.

“No…” Shuya sobbed as she fell to her knees in frustration. “Why, why, why…”

“Ey,” Cyan said. “You can’t cry over this traitor, Shuya. You have to go on.” Wyle picked the bartender off the floor and got her to her feet. “Sumptor and this town were your towns too, human,” Cyan said to Wyle, “and I say it’s high time we paid the foul Blackheart back. Are you with me?”

“Yeah, and Shuya’s in too, even if she can’t say it,” Wyle said.

“I’m in,” Rashad said. “I’ve got a bone to pick with her.”

“ME TOO” Barcrab added.

“I will help you in your mission,” Donovan said. “You’ll need it.”

Cyan turned to Kitty and said, “Kitty? You with us?”

The Enigman cat-woman sat on the edge of the stage, looking at the floor in contemplation. She had been thinking about what Inia said when she heard her name and she said, “Something’s not right with her…wait, what?”

“We’re gonna put a stop to the woman who’s changed your little buddy. You coming with?”

Kitty got up wearily and said, “Yeah, I’m in.”

Moira looked around at the other people, ready to go and asked openly, “What of me, good sir?”

Cyan turned to her and said, “You’ve got no choice but to come with us.” Before Moira could protest, he said, “I heard what the foreman said. ‘She’s got you too’ he said. How’s she got you? We’ll have to find out when you come with us, ‘cuz you’re certainly not going to go out there alone.

“No buts,” Cyan cut in over Moira’s second protest. “We’re leaving now. Donovan, are you ready with your plan?”

“Yes,” Donovan said as he hefted his ice axe onto his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

With a wave of his hand, the back door leading to the back lot of the Egress Bar opened and the group filed up the stairs through it to street level. No ghouls were in the back lot, so Donovan cast his spell. While the eight survivors headed to Shuya’s house under a protective spell, the basement of the Egress Bar filled with a cloying smell of death and decay as Jollum’s rotting body decomposed at a supernaturally fast rate. Moments after Shuya cried over his dead body, all that was left of Jollum the foreman was the fine jacket coated in a muddy mixture of dark bloody phlegm and brown dust.

Cordoba Chronicles IV: Chapter 8

Jollum looked up at the ceiling of his tent office from the crook of his hammock, the letter in his right hand swinging over the edge and brushing the floor. The sickness still rattled in his chest, making every breath an effort to ignore the taste of blood. He leaned over the edge of the hammock to cough the contents of his lungs into a spittoon. Looking into the foul contents of the spittoon, he wondered if he would ever cough himself into a state like this: all red and gooey with saliva. He wiped the spit from his lip with his sleeve and considered the back of his left hand.

His hand still bore the coarse hair of a Halfling, but the hand it sprouted from belied its age. Cracked from overwork and wrinkled from premature aging--a hard life he'd tell the curious--the palms of Jollum's hands read like the rampant squiggles of an Elven inventory list. The fine jacket sleeve that covered his arm was a mockery of what he aspired to be, the drying spit notwithstanding. Jollum sat up and drew the sleeve closer to his eyes, looking closer at what he really had become. So many years under Blackheart's yoke had taken its toll, and she collected the fee in his lifeblood hand over fist.

He should have never betrayed them. Had he stayed true to his job, Jollum thought, he'd not be a walking wreck of a man. To walk through the valley of the shadow of Death was one thing; to set up a homestead in its belly was another thing entirely.

A clank at the gate of the construction site pulled Jollum away and he stuck his head out. He saw the back of a worker hefting a sack over his shoulder. The sack clanked a bit much for his liking, so he called out to the worker. The worker turned and faced the foreman, unsurprised at the identity of the porter.

"Rashad," Jollum said. "What's with the bag?"

"I'm moving, chief. I found someplace else to stay."

A sad look came over the foreman's face as he stated more than asked, "You're leavin' us, lad."

Rashad smirked and said, "No, no. I'm just moving to a different place in town."

"No, you don't understand. You are leaving us."Jollum held up the letter. "You've been relieved of duty, responsibility and pay from Black Spade Construction Company. I'm sorry to say."

"Y-you?e getting rid of me? Why?"

"It's not me that's relieved you, although your constant talking during the workday gave me pause as to whether I should keep you against the order. You're a good worker when you're silent, Rashad," Jollum said. "I'd keep you if there were no problems, but this comes from Blackheart the Benefactor herself. Take a look."

Snatching the letter from hairy hands, Rashad looked at the words and the signature. It was all in Common, yet signed with a seal of a trisected heart in black ink. This woman is playing with my livelihood, Rashad thought. Seeing the look on his worker's face, Jollum said, "This is your last day so I'll try to give you some kind of parting bonus, alright?"

"Fine." Rashad stomped off to the back and placed his stuff by the slate deposits and he began to pace. That blasted necromancer's got this town locked down tighter than a dungeon, he mulled. Rashad came to the conclusion that this whole situation wasn't worth his time. He needed time to think on things and he couldn't do that when the undead threaten his very existence. A solution came into his mind as he looked up at Barcrab working on the western wall. Just like the brick that fell from his ruddy claw, Rashad would run away.

That's it: run away. No more dealing with that misandrist shrew, the undead, or this screwed up barter system that's made this crappy town even crappier than it is. If the great Benefactor wants me gone, so be it; I can go back to Miniga--hell, even Sannohe--anytime I want to. I won't even have to work a job I'm not properly qualified for; I can go back to adventuring…

Dammit. Adventuring. The very same thing that got me here in the first place, the same thing that got Sa-ren killed; all of it just a screwed up whirlpool of--of--

Rashad leaned against a nearby wall and beat on it with his fist as he looked up at the sky. He had enough of the world, its madness. All that he had known about his abilities he called into question. Was he really an adventurer worthy of the Rock Sword he was given? To think: the world before me, a magic sword in my sack and all I can come up with is running away.

 

A low growl formed in his throat as he clenched his fists. I'm not running from this. I've faced killer robots from the stars, Insectoids and lived through a war; one woman will not stand in the way of my path. Rashad walked away from the wall, his head and hands filled with new purpose. His mind was so focused on what he was gonna do as a party to last night's agreements, that he didn't even hear Wyle approach.

"Hey man. Something's going down on the street," the carpenter reported. "Looks like the hoods are taking people from wherever they are. They ain't  being nice about it, either."

"The Hells is going on out there?" Rashad shot back.

"I don't know. Cyan's at the gate with Jollum and Barcrab and they can see it all going on from there. Let's go see, man; get your stuff!" Picking up his sack, Rashad caught up to Wyle by the time he reached the gate. Sidling up to the wooden fence next to Barcrab, he held the sack close to him to minimize the rattling as he leaned over and looked out the gate.

The black-hooded ghouls were out in force, grabbing people from their homes and businesses. The shopkeeper Kehlin was pulled from the general store, screaming about how he didn't do anything. The ghouls gave no quarter and tossed him into a waiting wagon. More ghouls came into the middle of town and began to ramp up their search for people. Doors were kicked in and windows bashed to get at the people hiding inside. Men, women and children were rounded up and placed into the wagon. A team of ghouls pulled the wagon away from the center of town to the south--towards Blackheart Estates.

In the midst of all the chaos, Rashad spied a single figure undisturbed by the commotion. She meandered to and fro to dodge the busied ghouls, struggling to stay on her own feet. With weary eyes and a pale complexion, she looked up from the ground with eyes of the lightest green.

"Inia," Rashad said, "By Toren, she's out there!"

He made a move to head out in the center of town, but Cyan held him back and brought him behind the fence. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Rashad? You don't just run out there to fight the undead like a rabble of bandits!"

"I don't care, Inia's gonna end up on that cart when it comes back!"

"That's the Benefactor's daughter!" Jollum rasped. "Whatever's going on, she'll be immune. There's no point in risking your life for something that's already safe!"

"She's not safe with ME, and that's MY concern" Rashad spat back.

"But what about the plan?"Wyle asked.

Rashad turned to the carpenter and said, "Damned Benefactor isn't following the plan, so why should I? I'm going out there to get her and I'll need back up. You with me?"

Cyan weighed the chances of survival in his head briefly and said, "Fine, I'll follow you and back you up. We're gonna need weapons."

"Mark the number down by one on the weapons count," Rashad said as he drew the Rock Sword from the sack, "I've got my own."

"What?" Jollum sputtered. "You brought a weapon onto my work site?"

Wyle stopped the foreman with "Now's not the time, sir."

The entire time the exchange went on, Barcrab had extended his eyestalks over the fence and saw the group of ghouls headed for the construction site. He spoke in his bass voice, "GUYS, THE GHOULS…"

"Good! It looks like it's of Draconian make. You any good with it?" Cyan cut in as he hefted his own shovel.

"Watch me" Rashad said and turned to face the ghouls, as they stared in murderous ignorance with dead eyes. He matched their stare with one of burning defiance and brought his sword to bear.

.......................................................

Strapping on fresh gloves for what seemed to be the umpteenth time this afternoon, Blackheart went to meet the remainder of the cargo brought up from Karmor's Bend. The necromancer whistled a macabre tune in the chilled subterranean air as she approached the charnel chamber, where the "leftovers" were housed for the moment. She smiled when she reached the door and overheard the scared locals speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones.

"…was supposed to be at Egress today, can you believe…"

"…Oh Toren, why me…"

"…done nothing to deserve this…"

"…baby, it'll be over soon. The Benefactor's got us over for a surprise, you'll see…"

"…bitch'll never know what hit her…"

What.

Beckoning for two ghouls to aid her in her act, she opened the door and said, "Whom are you calling a bitch?"

The townsfolk froze. They all had looks of shock on their faces, from the adults to the small child sitting inside the chamber. One of the captured townsfolk had the nerve to rush Blackheart, screaming, "Let us go!"

A ghoul caught the would-be attacker and threw him against the wall. The ghouls moved to attack, but Blackheart waved them off. "No. If this elf wants to be free, he's got to get past me." She drew a shining silver dagger with a skull pommel from her waistband and said, "Whenever you're ready, elf."

The shirtless and well-muscled elven male charged again and said, "I'll kill you, you monster!" He caught Blackheart in her midsection and tackled her to the ground. His hand wrapped around her neck and her blade hand as he said, "You let us go or I swear by Syfalhalla, I'll kill you…"

Blackheart couldn't hear him because she was in the middle of trying to struggle loose. As his hand closed about her neck, she looked at the elf strangling her and he wasn't the same. He was--

NO. NOT AGAIN. NEVER AGAIN.

She saw the jeering grins and the lustful eyes all over again, hands holding her down and apart, the helpless struggling made all the more so from drink. She heard the mocking laughter, the endless string of names--CUTIE HONEY BABY BITCH SLUT WHORE--and those last words said to her as the pain ebbed away only to come back in a new form of shame: "Damned worthless gutter trash didn't even do the job right, man."

Man. Men. Males. All of them. Worthless. Gutter trash. Nothing.

A rage born of intolerance and vengeance washed over Blackheart as she began to overpower the elf, pushing against his weight with her own inner strength. When she was able to sit up, she spat in his face and wrenched her blade hand free of his grip. She slashed him across his arm and took initiative when he rolled onto his back. Blackheart straddled him and brought the dagger into his chest over and over again. The flash of the blade was soon marred by the crimson staining from the elf's blood. Even after the elf was dead, she continued to bury the dagger deeper and deeper into his chest. The necromancer didn't stop stabbing until the blood began to seep into the gloves, and when she stopped the townsfolk watched in horror as they got a good look at their Benefactor.

With her skin flush and her hair and eyes wild from the fight, Blackheart looked the part of the idea that she instilled in the townsfolk: a woman possessed by devils and mad with hatred for all that lived. Tugging her right glove off, she smoothed her hair back into a coif with the elven blood on her sticky hands. The necromancer rose, straightened her black dress and wiped the blood off her blade with two fingers. She took that blood and put it in a vial, mumbling, "Every drop, every last drop will be used for my master."

"Madam, dear madam," a woman cried. She was a human woman with blonde hair, older looking than her thirty years. She held in her arms a frightened boy, no older than four. The necromancer turned to hear the woman plea, "By Toren, what have we done to deserve this?" Blackheart looked at the woman and the child in her arms. Suddenly, she struck the woman full in the face with an open-handed slap. The weary mother looked back with bewildered eyes as her Benefactor gave her the only answer she felt obliged to give her "subjects":

"The worst thing you could have done. Nothing."

Turning away, she spoke to the ghouls. "Save as much blood as you can."

As she closed the door behind her, the ravenous ghouls made a singsong growl as they attacked the screaming townspeople. Focusing on her next task, she headed to the near end of the basement hall beneath Blackheart Estates. A door stood there, made of local blackwood and covered in huge locks. Blackheart ignored that door and reached down for a pull ring that led to a sub-basement. She descended the dark stairs without tracing her hand on the stair well; so familiar she was with this path. The necromancer took stock of the sight that greeted her when she entered the room and was pleased with the results of her work. 

Sloping downward towards an underground edifice at the far end of the room, the hewn earth walls of the sub-basement contained glowing green  transparent cocoons that held the bodies of ghoul-ravaged townsfolk. The majority of their blood had been taken from them soon after their murder; now their bodies would be drained of the lingering blood and fed into the ribbed tubes that led to the building that the necromancer walked towards in a relaxed fashion.

Pushing open a set of doors, Blackheart entered her special sanctuary. The high wall carvings, recessed halls and benches resembled a temple to the great god Hamar and his Assistant Toren, but the symbol of the god was perverted to match that of the Benefactor's dark lord. The evil symbol resembled a slit eye with three tentacles reaching for the sky, prominently displayed on the altar. Carved into the tableau of the altar was a stone basin with a hole in the bottom. Blackheart tested the plumbing of the altar by casting a spell. Blood rose from the hole in the basin and brimmed at the opening. She cancelled the spell, knowing that the pipes and pressures were working, as they should.

Looking at the sanctuary, from the tapestries to the carvings close to the high celing, Blackheart felt a profound sense of accomplishment. It had taken so long to amass all this material to facilitate her master's arrival. She knew it would be worth it, for it was her master--her Benefactor--who had given her new purpose in life when she teetered on the edge of oblivion. The time would come so soon: she could hardly wait to release her master from the ethereal prison.

And then the world would know what she knew intimately.

Cordoba Chronicles IV: Chapter 7

The broken-down wooden façade of the Stonesthrow Inn never looked so inviting to Rashad, given the evening’s content. It was so beautiful, yet it ended too soon.

“Freakin’ auntie…” Rashad mumbled as he walked into the lobby of the inn. There were two people in the lobby that night, not counting the innkeeper. One of the two was a large man dressed in a blue cape and hood. Rashad walked past the main counter and said nothing to the innkeeper, hauled himself to his room and plunked down into the bed. He lay there thinking of the night, and lulled himself to sleep thinking of his night at the Egress Bar.

Rashad slipped into a dream of a sweeping palace in a field of mist and clouds. There was a doorman holding back a bunch of kings and lords. Rashad pushed his way in and past the doorman who gave him a pat on the back as he passed into the palace gates. The columns of the palace held up a vaulting roof with paintings of birds and winds. Each of the birds looked down on the large open space below it, swathed in earthy tones and animal furs. There were many beautiful women there of all races; slight elves, strong Enigman females, sexy humans and sultry Halflings all occupied the open room and had their eyes on the dark-skinned human’s every move. They beckoned him closer and bade him sit on cushions made of bearskin and soft hide. Rashad, bewildered at the number of beautiful women about him, relaxed and let the women point him in the direction of a nearby stage.

Music played as if from nowhere and the curtains moved aside, showing a beautiful elven body dancing enthralled in the melody. The brown leather fringes of the dancer’s outfit snapped to and fro as she tossed about her pink hair and flashed blue-green eyes above a distinct scar on her left cheek. She crawled as a great cat would from the stage, though the throng of beautiful maidens to where Rashad sat. The dancer ran her fingers through his hair and breathed sweet breath onto his face. She arched her back, pointing skyward twice without hands and fell back onto the pillows in wait. As the pink-haired elf lay there, coated in a light sheen of lust and surrounded by all manner of carnal beauty, Rashad could no longer hold back and took initiative.

When he reached for the lacings on her outfit, the high ceiling of the palace darkened to a dull gray stone and the pillows disappeared into the floor as stone tiles. The beautiful women had turned into large chunks of broken stone and Rashad was across the room from the pink-haired dancer. He was armed with his Rock Sword and she held the Grand Trident--but most truthfully, the Trident held her. She screamed for help, but the shaking of the temple walls about them was so loud that Rashad could not hear her. He understood that his wife was in danger of dying again and ran to her rescue to prevent history from repeating itself. He tried to run to her, but his entire body moved slowly as if he were in mud. The Trident grew brighter with each second he wasn’t saving her and ultimately the Trident burst open in a flash of magical energy so powerful, that it melted the flesh from the elven mage’s bones.

The scream she let out was so terrible that it launched the sleeping Rashad up from the bed in a cold sweat. Panting and in shock, he looked around and saw nothing. The moon R'zandol was on its way down past the western Tolym Mountains. Its light broke through the night clouds and into his window, playing shadows on the foot of his bed. Rashad regarded the shadows once more and carefully went to sleep.

As soon as he closed his eyes, he saw Sa-ren’s face melting off of her skull, jarring him from sleep. He propped himself up on the heels of his hands and tried to get these thoughts out of his head. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t his fault that Sa-ren was dead. No matter how he tried, the doubt lingered in the back of his head. Rashad thought that he had gotten over dwelling on who was at fault in her dying, yet he kept thinking: What if it was different? What if he was dead in there? Would Sa-ren mourn for me all her days? Would she dream of me all her nights?

Worst of all, would she try to forget as I have done with her?

Rashad let the subject fly through his mind over and over in an endless loop, pushing him closer towards the idea that he was responsible. The loop was eventually broken by a scratching noise below his window. He reached for the Rock Sword in defense, thinking the noise a burglar. Then he caught himself before he did something silly. He thought no burglar go through all the trouble to scale up to a second-floor room to rob him. All I’ve got, he thought, is my Rock Sword and the clothes on my back. He put the sword down and went over to the window to investigate what the noise was. Looking down through the windowpane, he had to make sure that what he was seeing wasn’t a nightmare.

A black-hooded man was slowly clawing his way to Rashad’s window. It looked like one of the black-hooded men that he had seen from his first day in Karmor’s Bend, Rashad thought. The hood had fallen back and the man’s face was revealed to show what was left of it. The flesh on its face was sagging and gray, with bits of mold and fungus coming from the hole where its nose used to be. The nails of this thing were jagged and yellow, much like the mockeries of teeth that sat in a black pit located smack center in its head. The least strange thing about this creature was that it was climbing the wall using its claws. All this Rashad could see in R'zandol’s light, and he was too horrified to look away.

The creature broke into the room as Rashad watched, crawling through the window on its belly. The broken glass cut into its abdomen as it crawled and it dragged entrails across the floor in complete ignorance of the fact. It stood aright and raised its arms as if to embrace Rashad, but the stench that pealed from this creature surely smelled of rot and death. As Rashad backed away, the creature moved towards him in a shuffling gait and began to move its arms in a swiping motion. The young man realized he was backing away to his sword and warned the creature, “By Toren, you better stay back!”

Undaunted, the creature shuffled forward and exhaled. The funk of month-old fish left in the sun sprung to mind as Rashad gagged, then grabbed the Rock Sword in fear. He swung the sword and hacked off the creature’s limb. A blow like that would repel any living thing; the amount of blood that would gush from a major wound would scare anything. The problem in this situation was that the wound was merely a black hole in the side of the monster: no blood shot forth and no running away for the monster, let alone slowing down. Rashad hefted the Rock Sword again and used the flat of it to bash the monster’s head in. The monster crumpled to the floor in a heap, with its head split open and empty.

Well, Rashad thought, that stopped it…but what was it?Rashad wanted to get away from the creature as far as he could and walked onto the bed to get to the door to the hall. He backed out of the room until he hit the banister and bolted downstairs. Getting the innkeeper’s attention, he said, “Innkeeper! Something broke into my room while I slept! I woke up and a-a-a thing tried to kill me.”

“Yeah,” the innkeeper said. “You kick its ass?”

“Uh, yeah,” Rashad replied. “I think I killed it…”

“Boy, you ain’t killed a darn thing,” the innkeeper said with a laugh. “That thing you just beat up in your room has been dead for some time now. You’re lucky you got away with your life.”

“Wh-WHAT? Already dead?”

“Yep,” the innkeep said nonchalantly. “The whole lot o’ them types ain’t men no more.”

Still in a state of shock from almost dying and trying to take in this new information, Rashad cautiously asked, “Then what are they?”

“The undead,” a voice spoke from the shadowed tables.

He looked over and saw no one but the blue-robed man. The frightened Rashad walked over and asked in a hushed tone, “What do you know about these…things?”

“I know plenty,” the voice came from the hood. “When I tell you what I know, you will also have to accept everything. You must suspend your disbelief, for failure to do so is to risk your life and my own.”

“Then tell me,” Rashad whispered in fear, “what you know. Please.”

“Very well,” the blue-hooded man said. “First things first: we must go to your room and destroy the creature. It shall rise again within the hour if not properly dealt with.”

The two men walked back upstairs and into Rashad’s room. The room was as he left it, but the black ichor from the creature’s head wound had spread so far, it began to creep from beneath the bed. They both waked over to where the creature lay. The creature was a mass of filthy cloth and bloated flesh, unrecognizable as what was once a person, but the voice issuing from the blue hood was quite sure of what it was.

“A ghoul; one of the Black Hoods,” the voice said. He reached inside his cloak and pulled out a vial. As he did that, he turned the mangled creature over with his boot. The flesh of the ghoul may have been corrupted by the dark magic that spawned the beast, but the hooded man was able to make out the name and face of the former: “Gods, it’s Orcheon.”

“Orcheon?” I’ve heard that name, Rashad thought.

The hooded man poured a quantity of the stuff out of the vial onto the ghoul’s corpse. In an instant, the beast was awash in bright blue flame. The flame licked at everything on the floor, but only the ghoul was turned to ashes. As he finished, the hooded man said, “Orcheon no longer, may the gods of Light have you.”

The night had just gotten too crazy for Rashad: crazy dreams, dead men coming to kill him and now this guy has blue fire that doesn’t burn–except when the dead walk. Gripping the Rock Sword in his hand, he asked in a trembling voice, “Who are you, why’d this thing try to kill me…and what in the Hells is going on in this town?”

Cordoba Chronicles IV: Chapter 6

Groaning in response to the creaking of his bed, Rashad stretched the covers off of his body and got ready for another day of working at the construction yard. The sun’s rays shone on the edges of the windowsill to his room at the Stonesthrow Inn as he threw on his clothes and headed down stairs to get some breakfast. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a faint crying. He looked about the inn lobby and saw that it came from the shadowed tables on the opposite end. Rashad looked around to see if anyone else heard it. Most of the other people in the inn were wrapped up in breaking their fast, so he went over to the tables.

Rashad found a familiar figure sitting with her back to him. It’s Inia, Rashad thought with a smile. He heard the crying coming from her and asked, “Hey, miss. What’s wrong?”

Inia turned around and Rashad almost jumped back at what he saw. Inia was a deathly pallor, the tan skin replaced by a pale olive shade. Her body looked as though she suffered from some sickness, because her body looked askew beneath her clothes. Even her eyes, a bright and fierce gray-green, were reduced to an icy green and underlined by rings of fatigue. “Hey, Rashad,” the young woman’s voice rasped in greeting.

Rashad looked at her a bit longer and said, “Inia? Is that you?” As he reached out, he said, “What happened?”

She suddenly recoiled from his hand, as if it were a snake. “P-please, don’t touch me…”

Surprised by the request, Rashad acceded and sat down near her. “Alright, I won’t. What happened, though?”

“Last night…” Inia began, “Auntie got mad at me. She hit me because I liked you, Rashad. I don’t know why she did, but she was real mad. Kept callin’ you a male and all that. Then Auntie said that she’d never let me see you or any other man ever again.” Tears rolled down the young woman’s face as she continued, “I’ve seen Auntie mad before, but not this mad…”

Rashad hated to see a girl cry, so he hopped up and said, “Hold on; I’ll go get my handkerchief…”

Inia waved him away, saying, “It’s alright. I just wish she would stop being so close-minded about you and all the men in town…”

“Forget her.” Rashad had a defiant look on his face when he said,” She’s just a shriveled old maid who spent so much time in her books, she forgot how to live. I hope she doesn’t expect you to live your life the way she does.”

Inia shushed him as fast as she could and said through clenched teeth, “They’re listening.”

“Who?”

“Them. The black-hoods. They’re everywhere and know everything.”

Rashad shrugged and said, “What’s your point?”

The young woman leaned closer and said, “Auntie owns them. She owns this whole town.”

“One more reason to not pay them any mind. They’re shady cops who work for the interests of one person.” Crossing his arms, Rashad said, “Trust me, I know authority figures. Best thing to do is cheer yourself up and go out with me on a date to watch the stars after work.”

She offered a small smile and said, “Nice try, but I don’t want to—“

“You gonna let your auntie do your thinking forever, Inia?”

She stared at him with a strange look of shock. This guy just made fun of her AND he had the audacity to ask her out in the same sitting. Inia thought about it a moment more and realized Rashad has gone a lot farther then any other guy has. So she gave him the benefit of the doubt and said, “Fine.”

Praying to Toren for things really does work, Rashad thought. “Great! I’ll pick you up from Egress Bar tonight—“

“I don’t work there anymore.” Inia cut in. “Given her state, she’d kill me for real if she found out where I really worked, so I don’t want to give her any other reasons to do so.”

“Fine,” Rashad sighed. “I’ll meet you at the construction site tonight.”

A smile spread over Inia’s face as she said, “Alright.” Then, “Wait: the construction site? Why?”

“Just be there, miss,” he said as he walked out the door.

The smile on Inia’s face brought a flush to her cheeks and a curious hope: what could Rashad be all about?

.....................................................................

“Date?” Wyle said through bandanna-turned-mask.

“Yeah,” Rashad shot back through his own scarf. The workers had covered their mouths to make sure they didn’t breathe in harmful dust from the heavy-duty work being performed at the Karmor’s Bend Town Hall building. The shipment of slate had just come across the Dumas River from the northern Svetarra Mountains in the east. The slate was cut to order by miners at the quarry site, transported by wagon to Karmor’s Bend and further manipulated to suit the needs of the construction crew. This particular shipment of slate was cut into thick ring shapes and standard bricks. 

Many of the workers, like Rashad, Wyle and Cyan, unloaded the bricks and set them aside for the future walls of the town hall. The stone rings, cut especially for the creation of columns, were too heavy to be handled by any normal humanoid. So Jollum called in the only abnormal person on his crew he could find.

“AWRIGHT” came the cry across the work site. Barcrab was digging holes for the wall supports when the wagons rolled up, and he dropped the earth where he was standing. Rushing over to the wagon, he reached over and grabbed a stone ring, carrying it as if it were no heavier than a laundry basket. He grabbed another in his claws, proceeded to the back of the lot and placed them with the other pieces of slate.

“Yo, who’s the girl?” Wyle asked over the commotion.

“Like you’ve gotta ask. It’s Inia, man.”

Wyle’s eyes widened over his bandanna as he said, “What in Hells? Are you crazy?”

“Do I look like someone’s who’s crazy?” Rashad asked.

“No,” Wyle said, “but you look like someone who doesn’t want to keep their job! If the Benefactor finds out that you’re messin’ with her niece, you’ll be out of a job!”

Rashad hefted a slate brick and said, “Like I care what that woman thinks. Plus, she probably already thinks that I am messin’ with Inia.”

Wyle’s eyes got as big as saucers as he stared at Rashad walk to the back and put his block down. The new guy doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, the carpenter thought. Rashad came back and continued, “Man I was over at Blackheart Estates walkin’ Inia home last night and she wants me to meet the damned Benefactor. I go in, we’re relaxing and her aunt—the Benefactor—shows up like some kind of lurking shadow.

“She’s in my face about who I am and what I used to do—I used to be an adventurer,” Rashad slides in as Wyle grabbed another slate brick and walked to the slate deposit. Wyle comes back and Rashad continues, “So I used to be an adventurer and she tells me I’m not. Old bag’s yellin’ at me about ‘I need to show her proof’, so I show her this and she shuts up quicker than a shame plant. I wasn’t gonna put up with that another minute. Inia was home, so I left."

“Wow, new guy,” Wyle said. “So, you beat the Benefactor in an argument without getting fired on the spot AND you’re dating her niece. Sounds like you’re a liar on top of being insane to me.”

Rashad pulled another brick from the wagon and said, “I’m not lying! I went to Blackheart Estates and had an argument with the Benefactor. On top of that, she—

“The Hells is going on over there guys? Rashad? Wyle?” Jollum stood outside his foreman tent and shouted ”If you’re going to talk, talk AND work or talk on your break! How hard is that?”

“Yeah, twerp,” Cyan punctuated by a slap in the back of Rashad’s head, “get to work already.”

“I’m really beginning to hate that guy,” Rashad said. “What’s his deal anyway?”

“He’s just riding you, remember?” Wyle said. “Anyway, we’ve got to unload this cart before the day is out.”

“Right,” Rashad said and grabbed a brick. He headed to the slate deposit and placed his brick down. He looked about and marveled at the amount of stone, thinking how much work must’ve gone into cutting and mining from the rock quarry. He was lost in thought when a thunderous crash shook him from his musings. He looked over and saw that he was near a support post for the town hall, on which Barcrab was putting the stone rings.

Thirty feet in the air on strong scaffolding, the Enigman Barcrab took the other stone ring and placed it over the support post. With gravity taking over, the huge piece of slate dropped down and crashed against the proceeding ring. Barcrab looked down to see Rashad and waved a big red claw in greeting. The Enigman yelled down to him, “ARE THEY STRAIGHT?”

Quickly glancing at the short stack, Rashad shouted, “Yes they are straight!”

“GOOD. I’M COMING TO GET MORE,” the Enigman bellowed. Rashad watched as the Enigman tromped down the service ramps from the aspiring roof to the ground floor. The Enigman strode over, red carapace gleaming in the sun and his eyestalks waving ever so slightly in pleasure. He picked up two more slate rings and said, “THIS IS MY FAVORITE PART OF THE WORK I DO; HEAVY-DUTY WORK. WHAT DO YOU LIKE ABOUT THIS JOB, RASHAD?”

“Oh, uh…” Rashad was very busy thinking of how he could make the date work tonight and was seriously considering the roof as the place when he said, “…the fringe benefits.”