Viera slammed down her sword into the mud, a large pulse of aura surging from it as it connected— her feet digging down as her enemy jumped backwards to avoid being knocked down. Viera held out her hands in her central martial arts stance, the first “sword” of Karai and the one best fitting for her situation due to the fact she needed to react to what her enemy threw at her rather than strike; a philosophy she was very familiar in at this point in her life.

The white-haired girl was skilled in the aura arts, she could tell before they even met fist to fist. The way this new orderling moved was fast and potent; even if Viera had been blinded she would’ve been able to feel her sheer presence and by the potency of her aura she could tell she had a lot of it, but that came naturally to her given the talents of her clan and the culture she was raised in— the aura arts were her life and the entire thing that kept Derim unified rather than ending up like these outland nations that descended into fits of greed, warring philosophy, forced ideaologies, and gluttonous overgrowth. To find an opponent this skilled in spiritual energy was amazing and had she not been her enemy there could’ve been so much they could be teaching one another. But such thoughts would have to be discared in the face of this fight and she knew her idle fascination couldn’t be allowed to distract her as she could tell that fighting her would be tough and considering she was still alone on the field of battle that she would have to fight smart.

That’s when her enemy pushed at her quickly, her martial arts stance reminded her of—


”Viera!”

Viera gritted her teeth as she was flung back into the hull of an overturned metal tub from the blow from the female orderling in front of her. She didn’t know her name but all she knew was she was part of the trio of enemies she found herself against— a trio comprised of Rin Chiyuhato, Marlowe's former friend and two other women. Marlowe’s scream in the distance was cut off by more guttural sounds as his former friend tossed him through the tavern that they were in.

“You should know better Marlowe.” Rin nonchalantly commented with a yawn, Viera’s eyes on the orange-haired woman in front of her. “You couldn’t beat me when I wasn’t with The Order, so… c’mon. Don’t be a moron.”

Suddenly there was a voice coming from the bar— a man with a longcoat and long disheveled black hair. “Can you not?”

The three orderlings took a confused glance towards the man. Viera cursed herself, she wasn’t going to be able to help him when they pounced on him and she also knew Marlowe had just gotten tossed around to the point he wouldn’t be fast enough either. Whoever the man had been, he had just commented on the wrong thing at the wrong time; he had pretty much dug himself into an early grave. So many innocent people had died from The Order and for someone to get involved at this moment was pretty much the worst idea someone could do. Who was he? Was he drunk?

“Excuse me, what?” The orange-haired girl inquired with a raised brow.

“You’re kind of ruining my drink.” He took a step up from the stool before turning towards them. “So can you guys take it outside?, you guys are being kind of rude.”

Viera attempted to push herself to her feet— yeah, whoever this guy was he had just reached the bottom of the last bottle he was ever going to drink. She had to try to do something. She knew the patience The Order had for people, especially when they had attitudes to go along with their stupidity. Marlowe had gotten his teeth kicked in more times than she could count and she hadn’t even known him all that long.

Alfiros rolled her eyes. “Just kill the stupid drunk.”

“Heh.”

—she smirked as she prepared herself. She could build a strategy around a martial art she was famillar with, especially when she saw it in action nearly every day for the better half of four months. A thought came to her as she clashed with the female orderling— Marlowe should have caught up with them by now, so where was he?


“Hey Marlowe! Just come out please, it’s not going to be all that bad! I’m just going to gouge out your eyes!”

As evident by the howl of Jacques’ voice, Marlowe had unfortunately came to the realization that his little “friend” had caught up with him and was ready to give him comeuppance— so he was a little busy. After all of his years honing his craft and knowing his surroundings to avoid critical injuries to be blind-sighted by a barely competent punk with a saber was infuriating. Perhaps it was his naturally ornery nature, but he could feel a fuel of adrenaline, hate, pain, and pure unadulterated hatred fill his body. In his gut he knew he couldn’t hurt Marlowe for long given his particular “condition” but boy did he feel like he was going to try if he got his hands on him. The image of him slamming his foot on his throat as he bashed his rifle through his teeth before firing until he emptied his ammunition flashed in his mind; a fantasy so euphoric that he licked his lips as blood continued to drip down the wound that only a few moments ago was his left eye.

He could hear the grumble of his “commanding officer” as the older, larger man slammed his hammer at the base of a tree— sending it flying down.

Normally he would be chasing down his target and letting old man Grif do the bulk of the work with Marlowe, but for the first time in his career in this cult of theirs he was distracted so much to the point that he didn’t care about his original fixation and target. He didn’t care about it at all.

Because he had a new one.

The two Orderlings were getting close; and Marlowe realized he’d picked a fight he couldn’t win. His breathing was labored, mixed with the immense pain. Something was definitely broken. He had placed his sword on his back, more focused on staying upright and using the trees as a support as he stumbled his way through the forest. He kept moving into the thicker trees, into the brush; it would be harder to follow him at full speed, and the thick trees gave enough cover from gun or bowfire. He cursed himself, over and over again. Too bullheaded. Too foolish. Always too open in a fight. He had to get away. There was no way he could win right now. But how the hell was he going to get away?

A shrill cry broke his line of thinking. An animalistic cry; something that a normal man would shy away form. But Marlowe was far from normal, and the cry was just what he needed right now. He came upon a small glade; and over the torn corpse of a treestrider were three very large crested vharns. A vharn was something Marlowe had some experience with; they were carnivorous and went wild at the scent of blood. It looked as if the tree strider had fallen from a limb and sadly become a small snack for these beasts. But a strider was small; and there was much larger game coming up.

A vharn didn’t understand fear. They were mindless, violent hunters. It’s why the Hunters Guild made so much money selling their hides, for example. A Bog Golem’s head sold well, yes. But Vharns were plentiful and hated by everyone. And for this moment, Marlowe praised the gods that he ran into a few of them. He heard trees falling closeby; and the Vharns seemed to look up from their meal as well; curious, violent and hungry. And then, the largest of them lifted its thick, carapace shielded head and sniffed.

Marlowe had run his saber over his palm, cutting the flesh and letting loose the soft sent of manblood into the air. He rubbed it over the trunk of the tree closest to him, and then began to climb the next tree up as he heard the creatures crash through the brush towards his location. He was nearly halfway up the tree before he called to the Orderlings. “Hey boys!” He called, coughing heavily from his chest between his next yelp. “I’m over here! Come and get me!”

With any hope, Delios would be too infuriated to think. And Lathilos would be close on his companions tail to react in time. He didn’t need these monsters to kill them. He just needed them to buy him time to make his way out of the forest.

“Delios! It’s an r—”

The older orderling was honestly a bit surprised— in the last two years he had known Jacques he had seen a cynical, bloodthirsty, inane, and vicious man but he had never seen him be this insufferably stupid. It was clear that Marlowe’s attack that very well might have costed him his left eye was something that would’ve caused many to be driven to adrenaline-pounding rage but this… this was on a whole new level. The smaller man had dashed into the woods as soon as the naïve boy had baited him and even his own warning had done absolute nothing to stop his insistence on rushing headfirst into danger. Danger that he personally believed was a ruse. Marlowe was a fool, but he wasn’t inept and despite all of their differences respected the lengths he would go in battle to achieve his own personal victory. Had they known each other at different circumstances he could see himself admiring his tenacity rather than finding it annoying.

It was always amusing how things turned out.

But chasing after Jacques was not his intention. He had wasted too much time to babysit a grown ass man and if he wasn’t willing to follow orders he was more than willing to let Marlowe kill him. He shook his head as he turned toward the direction of the tracks leading out of the forest appeared to be taking.

No rest for the wicked.

He picked up the pace. It was time to get moving.


With rifle in hand, Jacques dashed through the shrubbery of the woodlands towards the directions of his target— his hunt. He knew the “old man” wanted to get on with the mission, but blood had been spilled and it needed to be returned in kind. There were no conclusions to be made elsewise and if his partner really wanted to capture the freak with mind powers then he could do it with the new girl and leave him to brutalize Marlowe. He didn’t care as long as he got what he wanted.

However, he didn’t expect to be confronted with the sight of three vharn’s coming at him with the same intensity he had for Marlowe— and like a deer caught in the path of a winding train his brain stopped for a second as he caught the sight of a blood-smeared tree to his right. He had ran right into harm’s way… right into Marlowe’s trap. How could such an imbecile be capable of thinking like a hunter? Jacques gritted his teeth as he dug his feet into the ground before he jumped onto the back of the first vharl; stomping into the creature's spine as he did so causing it to howl in annoyed pain.

This wasn’t his first rodeo and if he had not been so infuriated he would’ve been flattered that Marlowe setup a trap that was so nostalgic. He remembered how he had been raised and trained northeast of Dunral in the Noirdeces Forest, right past the border that stretched into the mountainous highlands of Srivakia where the creatures of the bog mingled with the creatures of the hills. It brought him back to his father’s contest to him— that either he died like an animal or he survived like a hunter. A contest that his father had brought to each of his children: survive alone in the stretch of wilderness with nothing but your wits and your gear for thirty days. No outside help. No quitting. Do or die.

Three vharl’s? Please. He survived a wyvern nest when he was twelve. This was going to be like walking in the park.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy did you?!” He snarled before he flicked the trigger of his rifle.

He wasn’t done. He refused to be done. He clicked the trigger again before leaping off the back of the creature and grabbing onto a low-hanging branch of a nearby tree with his right arm before making up the tree and turning to aim at the creatures that were charging the tree.

The same blood-stained tree that Marlowe had marked.

Marlowe had the drop on Delios. He was above him; as the man focused on the vharns. It was honestly unfair and unsporting of him. Right now he could do it; he could end Delios for good. No more sniper. No more removing fragments of metal from his arm or chest after a battle. One less Orderling harming other. He just had to jump to the tree and fall down with his blade: one easy thrust with the blade and Delios would be food for the Vharn.

Kill him.

The voice echoed throughout his head like a cold wind. It wasn’t anything alien; nothing new. The desire, the pleasure that vengeance gave him was an indulgence he discovered in his battles with Rin. To see the fear in a young whitecloak’s eyes; his scream as metal tore flesh apart. The warm blood that came with a fresh kill. He’d given into that base desire to make them pay.

He’d seen his friends’ reactions to himself. Covered in blood. Laughing, almost like a child. He saw the fear in their eyes as he turned from the foolish leader to a complete monster. He didn’t want to see that fear ever again. Not from Viera.

If you don’t kill him now, he’s going to kill countless others.

The voice always reasoned. It wasn’t evil. It was just. They chose their death the moment they donned their white cloaks. The Order had to die. No matter who was in it. They all had to die.

Kill him, or he kills Viera. He kills Mikael. He kills Rin. Rauz. Kath. Deya.

The nightmare of losing everyone was something common to him in recent months. The constant battle took him further and further away from his friends and away from any chance at being normal again.

KILL HIM NOW

Marlowe leapt from his branch in the opposite direction of Delios, taking cover with branches and limbs, making it difficult to be a target. Not that Delios had time to focus on him. The Vharn were trying to climb now; frenzied by fresh blood at the base of the tree—and on the rag that fell in an arc onto Delios shoulder. A torn cloth that Marlowe had soaked more blood in. The scent drove the Vharn into a howling fury.

Marlowe leapt, clung and slid until the Vharn’s howls were distant. The clearing wasn’t too far away now. He could make it. He had to find Viera and the girl. He had to help them.

They’re all going to die. Because you were too weak.

Not today. Not ever.

As Viera and Shiara met head on, Aza found herself pressing further away from the fight. The other two orderlings hadn't emerged, and neither had 'Marlowe.' Where any of them were was anyone's guess, but now that they were out of the cover of the trees there was little she could do in the way of hiding.

Azarni's eyes darted around, scanning the edge of the trees, the surrounding swamp, and then down as she lifted a hand to stare into the dusky light created by the sun reflecting off of almost tangible waves of raw psionic energy that continued to dance around her. She had to do something. She could do something, if she could just retain control over herself, over her mind.

Her mind drifted back to the stone throwing incident. How all she'd had to do was think. To command it to stop. She took a deep breath and then let it out slowly, steadying herself but straining under the pressure and concentration it took to focus. They weren't far from the tree line and Shiara was facing them, she could manage this. She had to manage this.

Stretching out a hand, she reached for the forest.

Seems like this forest is hazardous for one’s health.

Her head felt like it might explode and she used her other hand to clutch at the side of it, her face going an ill stark white as she fought to keep from passing out.

Pivoting, she jerked her hand back to her side and with that movement, a series of thunderous, ear-splitting cracks rang out across the boglands and back into the woods. All of them would hear it, and Viera would see it as three towering pines split around the entire base and then fell. Tipping slowly at first and then falling down toward the two that had been fighting.

Half of her hoped Shiara would move in time. Distance was what they needed, and that's what she intended to achieve.

The strange psionic energy resounded in a thundering ‘crack’, sending three of the tallest pines at the edge of the forest to splinter before being sent hurling at the two combatants. Viera blinked for a moment, distracted by the event for a brief second despite knowing very well that her attention should have remained on her opponent. Her father’s stern voice echoed in her mind, lecturing her to be aware of her surroundings and be mindful of her opponent.

That’s not norm—

She could feel her body twinge in pain as she took a swift punch to the stomach before she felt her body being grappled before it plummeted to the ground. She knew without her guard to protect the strange girl Marlowe wanted to protect that the white-haired orderling was going to be back to chasing her down. As the cracking of the timber indicated the trees were nearly on her made her cringe in anticipation of what was to come. She would not be able to dodge in time.

Infinity help me.


“Are you going to let the trees crush her, father?”

The young voice sent shivers into Grifor’s mind as he shook his head. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.

The old man sighed— he should’ve used this to capitalize but he couldn’t. He scowled as he pushed forward as he spun his hammer around before slamming it against the bark of the psionically enhanced trees.

Grifor gritted his teeth as he put all of his aura and body into it— bracing his back, shoulders, and hammer against the falling trees. The girl should’ve been more aware of her environment, but she was but a child and this war of theirs was new to her despite several months of accompanying that fool Marlowe. She would learn, he was sure, he had no wish of her to meet such a dishonorable fate. As his eyes moved left he nearly couldn’t believe the irony; he had not been the only one to brace the girl from the psionically-charged trees as evident from the sight of Marlowe who had done the same exact action as him. Their intentions were likely different, but their honor was the same. In the thick of it, Lathilos let out a chuckle at the sheer irony of the situation.

Marlowe narrowed his brows before he called out to her, “Viera!”

“Move!” Grifor shouted as he struggled against the weight of

As the cyan-haired female moved out of way of the falling trees, he gave Marlowe a look as he put all of his energy back into the shoulders and hammer in a quick push to throw the trees back. If Marlowe had any sense he would’ve done the same so they could’ve gone back to their confrontation on equal footing.

He’d barely made it out of the forest when he saw the trees running. His chest still ached in pain, but there was no time to cry about a cracked sternum—Marlowe focused his energy into his legs and shot across the treeline, unsheathing his blade at catching the crashing pines with the flat of his blade. The fact that when he called to Viera, Lathilos of all people was there to assist as well? It was damn funny.

Marlowe followed through with Lathilos, pushing the trees back. Together the men showed incredible power. If they were on the same side, they would make a terrifying team. But they fought on opposite sides in this conflict, and their battles were always inevitable.

“Delios is alive,” Marlowe panted, the sword hanging at his side for a moment. “I’m not like you and your friends. I’m no fan of killing. Not when I can help it.”

Lathilos leaned his hammer on his shoulder, taking a light breath. “I’m not like my ‘friends’.”

“I know.” Marlowe frowned, before lifting the blade in front of him. “You’re a man of honor. That’s why it hurts to see you wearing that white cloak.”

“We all have our reasons.” He muttered underneath his breath, before looking to Marlowe. “Now prepare yourself.”

The two men raised their weapons, until Lathilos hesitated for a moment. “Stop.” He lowered his hammer, and Marlowe instinctively lowered his own sword. He looked at the man quizzically, trying to understand the sudden change in character. “We’re done. Your group isn’t prepared to fight.”

“But know that we will be back soon enough. I’ll give you a few days while Delios is recuperating, but I know my orders. The girl is important.”

“Wh-“Marlowe tried to come up with something. But words failed him. “Thank…you?”

“Isoltos! Pull back! We’re regrouping, Delios is injured!”

Marlowe kept his mouth closed, in fear that it would fall agape at the sudden change in plans. The two headed off, probably to collect Delios and to fall back to some safer locale. Marlowe’s sword fell to the ground, and he turned around. “Viera!” he suddenly ran to the woman. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Why did they retreat? They had the upper-hand.”

"Lathilos....wanted to show me that he still had honor."

"I see." She nodded as she picked herself up off the mud-littered marsh.

Marlowe turned towards the new woman, who’d been running from The Order all day. “Miss-“ he called to her. “Are you okay?” He looked around at the destruction that had been caused. Had it all been from her? “I think you’re safe for now. But they will come back.” He sighed. “They always come back.”

They weren’t regrouping. They were retreating.

Shiara Isolt knew it wasn’t really her place to question orders given on the field by the commanding acolyte, but something about felt very strange for what little she knew of The Order. Perhaps this was some great subtle play to attack them when they were not expecting them to, but the tone set as the older larger man led her back through the forests she had been chasing Azarni through only moments prior. Perhaps it was her experience in the death pits calling out to her, but she wanted an answer or at least explanation for why they were going about it like they were. Their objective was to recruit, capture, or ultimately kill the clairvoyant and instead they were letting her go?

As they stepped over a fallen log, she felt the need to ask before they were gone from the Dhadan Forest.

“Why are we letting them go?”

Her companion stopped, grip tightening around the handle of his hammer, before a heavy sigh left him. “I thought you’d ask that.”

Shiara raised a brow— he thought she’d ask that? “Lathilos?”

“We let them go so they could be at their best strength when we fight them again. Our orders are to deal with the girl— not when we have to deal with the girl. Simply, we are regaining our strength and going over our tactics since Marlowe beat us to the punch.”

Her newfound “masters” did not seem like the people who were patient and understanding less of all honorable; a thought that made her feel nervous about what had just transpired. She knew going against her orders and charging the group of enemies now after her tactical window had passed would be difficult but something screamed inside her to obey the people above Lathilos.

“I don’t want to lie to—”

Lathilos cut her off. “—It’s not a lie. It’s the truth. Tactically we should be rethinking our approach regardless, that I will tell you is a fact. Delios will not like it, but he has retreated far more than Marlowe has met the end of my hammer. He will understand once I make him understand. Trust me. This is the right way to go about it.”

She nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Dawn's name, what have I been dragged into?

Azarni watched all of it unfold from a distance in a wide eyed state of wonder terror as the trees crashed toward Viera rather than splitting she and Shiara apart. If the girl who'd fought for her was killed-

Lathilos, the great brutish looking man who'd been chasing her was suddenly there, hacking his hammer against the tops of trees and was joined by none other than Viera's friend. Together the two of them stopped the falling logs when only moments ago they'd been at each other's throats. Dumbfounded, baffled, she continued to watch in awe as the men squared off again only to lower their guard and weapons with a promise to fight another day.

Her bright eyes, teary from an onslaught of emotions and the sweat that dripped into them, trailed after Lathilos and Isoltos as they left, disappearing back into the trees. Her thoughts lingered on the girl's silent cry, craving answers. This wasn't what she expected, not at all. Not after the stories she'd heard repeatedly, the rumors that circled the town every time she walked down the street as townsfolk pointed and looked at her with uncertainty.

Perhaps this was for the best.

Frowning, she gave a last glance toward her hands as the glittering tendrils snaked across her fingertips and dissipated. Heaving a sigh, she looked up when Marlowe called to her, sort of shrugging her shoulders up to her cheeks and biting down on her lip until-

"Are you okay?"

"I-I'm so sorry," she replied, taking a few steps toward them with a shakey hand stretched toward Viera. "I don't- I didn't mean for that to happen," she tries to explain, recoiling the hand to cup it against her chest. "Thank you. Thank you both, so much."

“We’re used to nearly being killed on a daily basis. It kind of goes with the territory with those guys. Just next time, please don’t try and crush my girlf-“ he stopped for a second thinking back to Lathilos’ comment earlier. “My partner with a copse of trees.”

“I’m Marlowe.” He turned to his female companion.

“Viera.”

He turned back to the young girl. “And you are?”

“I-My name is Azarnite Weaver.”

“I take it The Order wanted something to do with you?” He stopped her before she could respond. “Actually, hold that thought.” He looked around. “I trust Lathilos, but I’m not a fan of hanging around in open spaces right now. We need to find somewhere a bit safer.”

The girl seemed distant. Of course she would be. She’d just been chased around by three well-armed figures. And then she attempted to bring down the whole forest with whatever powers she held inside of her. It was sensible that she would be afraid. Hell, anyone would be afraid at this point. Of course, when he first met The Order, it wasn’t fear.

It was anger.



The church had been burnt to cinders. The smell of burning wood was mixed with a worse smell: burning flesh. The town was nearly emptied; those who weren’t in the church had hidden away in their homes. Terrified, unable to speak of what happened. Marlowe was still wandering by then, trying to understand exactly where he was. The journey to find home stopped that day. He found a new calling: preventing tragedies like that from ever happening again. That's what began the fire inside of him: the faces of the survivors stricken with terror and the bodies being pulled out of the rubble of the church. It was all too much for him to comprehend. Seven hells, he didn't want to understand why they were killed that way. He only wanted justice for the dead.

Two figures had been investigating as well. It didn’t take long for Marlowe to tag along with them, even if they saw him as nothing more than a civilian with a cracked mind. The two called themselves members of the Vann, a branch of the local government that sent out warriors to protect civilians and investigate crimes. Marlowe had never seen people like that before; crimes were under the branch of the magistrate. If they needed something done, you’d usually see a town guard sniffing around. These people…they traveled all over the swamp.

But that’s how Dun was. It wasn’t a metropolitan area; it was the frontier. It took hardened and brave individuals to go the places the Vann did. Perhaps that’s why Marlowe followed them in the beginning. They were completely alien to him, but their ideals matched with his own. That was enough for him.



Marlowe looked the girl over. Physically she seemed fine. But the physical realm was only part of the body. “Are you from around here? Do you live in a village close by?”

His words didn't make her feel any better. The guilt was all over her face when he requested she try not to do it again. After she'd given her name, she stood there a moment, shuffling a foot against some grass, barely perking up when he asked where she came from.

"Yeah," she mumbled, turning her head to look back toward the forest, as if to look through the trees straight home.

"I did. I um-" she paused with a huff, scrunching her nose up and raising a hand to rub at the tangled mess of blue on her head, matted from sweat and wind. "I don't think I can go back there. Things have been kind of.. awkward, and today.." she trailed off and her face went flat as her eyes moved all the way across the forest edge until they ended up on those that had been felled by her own doing.

She looked lost, the way her eyes glazed over and her mouth hung just a little open.

"I- Do you maybe know a place I can go? A town, something?" The question was simple but pleading as she tore herself out of the haze of her very real nightmare to look back up, between Marlowe and Viera. Somewhere where nobody knew her, where she could have time to figure things out, where she could hide. That's all she wanted to do.

"I don't know what I'm doing. All of that," she said, raising her hands up in front of her face, "is new to me. I feel dangerous, and I hate it."

Viera was still reeling from the fight— the thunder of the trees descending upon her as her face was planted in the dirt, unable to move in time and ultimately unable to escape her fate. Had it not been for one of her enemies and Marlowe’s own intervention she would be one with the twin-faced god and the souls of so many others whose fate had been decided so many years ago. As the girl was introducing herself to Marlowe she had been steadying herself, her breath slowly calming by the time Marlowe had inquired about The Order’s interest with the silver blue-haired girl. But then there was a pause in his question as he changed his mind entirely— he wanted to have the discussion in another place, away from the open fields and someplace more secure.

Viera frowned as the girl, Azarnite, hesitated in talking about her village and spoke how she felt she really couldn’t go back. Viera didn’t understand it— why couldn’t she go back? Were people really as superstitious as Kath said they were here in Dun and would cast people out over their gifts from god? It all made the outlander cultures seem so barbaric and fear-mongering; it made her wish it worked more like it did back in her homeland. But unfortunately, that thought was unrealistic and she would have to understand how to travel in these swamps as well as understand how people went about things until she found what she was looking for and could return home. Though sometimes she wondered if she should ever return home even if that was the case— maybe people needed the sentinels more than ever. She mentally dismissed the thought as she sheathed her sword and shuffled her hands into her pockets.

Azarnite was looking for a place to go and for them to help her. Viera looked over to Marlowe and spoke her thoughts on the matter.

“There are two options. We could go southbound to where Rauz is, or we could make the trek towards Dunric east.”

“Unless you have a better idea. I don’t know, this country is all so new to me still.”

“I think Rauz is the safest choice.” He looked to both women, trying not to think about his upcoming reunion with his friend. “Eereen is hidden away and Rauz uses his own study of magic to keep it safe. If The Order is after you, it’s the best way to hide you away until we can figure out why.”

Will you tell him the truth?

Marlowe began walking, without breaking a single beat. He seemed too focused on his own inner conflicts at the moment. Of course, if your last memory with a guy was him demanding you kill your friend, you might also have some conflicting thoughts about coming to the man for help while you still haven’t killed said friend.

“You’ll love Eereen, Ms. Azarnite.” Marlowe said, his sarcasm difficult to ascertain. “It’s a very historical town. Lots of history. Lots of magic.”



“Are you sure this place is safe?” Marlowe looked around the old town. “I mean, it’s not on any of the maps Kath has.”

“That’s why it is safe, Marlowe.” The man next to him seemed to look at the mansion, running a tapping finger over his chin. “Yes. This will be perfect.”
“Perfect for what? Falling through a rotten floor and breaking your leg?”

“Marlowe,” Rauz said, placing a hand on his companion’s shoulder, “When I’m done with this place, there will be no safer place in Dun.”



The town was empty, dark and lifeless by the time they arrived. Honestly, it looked as if no one had lived there for hundreds of years. The forest seemed to be retaking some of the buildings, and nothing looked habitable, much less safe. Marlowe led the women towards the large manor at the end of town. “See, I told you. Beautiful and historic.”

Marlowe opened the manor doors, revealing dust and a strong reek of decay. “Gorgeous interiors.” He smiled. “Just wait until you see where the magic happens.” Marlowe took a step inside, smiling. “Our wonderful host will be excited to meet you. He always has a nose for people with special talents. And I think being able to pick up trees with your mind is pretty special.”

"Are you sure this place is safe?" Aza piped up from behind Marlowe and Viera as they stood at the entrance to the manor, her gaze moving over the foliage and dilapidated buildings that surrounded them. He wasn't wrong though, it was beautiful, in its own eerie way.

When Marlowe opened the doors she was hesitant to step inside at first. "Someone actually lives here?" she asked, craning her neck to look into the dark building, pulling the length of her silvery blue hair over her shoulder to run her fingers through it, for added security. She chewed the inside of her cheek, sky blue eyes falling to look between Marlowe and Viera, unconvinced.

It could have been worse though. She could be dragged along behind the other three she'd had the pleasure of running into, with a nice warm bag over her head, and her hands tied snugly behind her back. Aza pursed her lips as she finally took a step inside. If nothing else, no one would come looking for her here, it seemed well enough hidden by any means.

"Are you sure he's okay with company?" she asked, raising a brow. Right now she was imagining some sort of trollish creature, coming to greet them by way of dim lantern light, with sharp teeth and a claw beckoning them deeper into the home. It made her shiver.

The halls of Blackraven Manor were unkempt to say the least.

If the dead empty halls did not give off the appearance of an abandoned residence, the appearance of the manor certainly did— paintings were crooked, leaning off their nails as if they were ready to fall onto the cracked wooden planks that covered the floor with the ripped aged paper inside the frame being warped from the humidity of the swamp and the skittering of insects that fed on it for a food source. The overhead candle scones overhead were unlit save for the one Viera had lit with a torch following the groups descent into the old weathered building. Viera wasn’t sure what to make of the building herself as she had only been to the general area once— and that was back during an encounter she wasn’t fond to remember.

“I’m sure.” Marlowe replied back to Azarnite with a warm smile on his lips.

However, Viera wasn’t too sure herself. But Marlowe had good instincts so she trusted it.

“Quite the restoration of a ‘historic’ property, Marlowe.” Viera quipped as she nervously took another step in the hallway. “I really do—”

THWAM!

The double doors slammed behind the three individuals as a large gust swept through the hallways rattling the cast iron scones that held the candles as it dissipated all light from the building— every door in the house slamming in the hallway as it did so causing Viera to jump a little in surprise. Viera was supersticious but she had no context for what Marlowe had just walked them into; if Rauz lived here as he said was this some elaborate prank to amuse himself upon? Was Marlowe in on it?! Her brows furrowed as she reached back for the door... but it was locked in place. She was about to say something when the loud screeching of metal could be heard in the distance. The cyan-haired girl gritted her teeth as she could feel her body tense.

“Marlowe!” She shouted.

What in the name of Infinity?

And then in the darkness there was a sinister snickering— she reached for the hilt of her sword but before she reacted the insidious laughter turned into full bombast and she heard one sentence before all of the lights busted on and revealed they were in a different room devoid of decay, mud, and ruin.

“You should see the look on your faces!”

Viera turned to glare at her companion and then back at Mathis Rauzil. She didn’t know if she wanted to make Marlowe have no teeth or Rauz to learn what his blue-haired ponytail tasted like being shoved down his throat. She was red, flushed fully as crossed her arms in agitation.

“Y-You were in on it!” She growled at Marlowe with a large scowl on her lips.

Marlowe’s face grew red with laughter, as he nearly keeled over, slapping his knee. “No-No!” he said as Viera began to rain down blow after blow aimed at his head. “I promise! This is all Rauz! I’m innocent I swear!” He laughed, wrapping his arm around the small girl to stop her attack. “It’s just a joke.” He smiled into her pursed up, reddened face, a mix of anger and embarrassment at the joke. He turned his head to his old friend, giving him a halfhearted smile. It seemed so strange to see him in such high spirits after their past year. “It’s good to see you again, old friend.”

He released Viera, who crossed her arms in a huff, and bridged the gap between the group. “Miss Azarnite, this is Mathis Rauzil. He’s the most read mind in this side of the world, an expert on both alchemy and magic. He’s also pretty handy with a spear when things get too dangerous.”

“Please. I’m just a scholar. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” He turned to Marlowe.

“I’m actually surprised to see you’ve stopped by. I would have expected you to be on another foolhardy quest by now.”

“Well, I guess we’ve been roped into a new adventure.” He smirked. “We ran into our old friends, Delios and Lathilos.”

“And-“

“No, he wasn’t there. They have a new friend. She’s got similar skills to Viera and myself.” He frowned. “And she’s pretty damned powerful.”

“It’s The Order. They’re all powerful.”



It had been raining since that day. Marlowe had been recovering; Viera was tending to him. Even though he could heal, it didn’t mean that having every bone in both his arms shattered would magically fix themselves overnight. It had been hell on
Marlowe, but it had been worse on Rauz.

Marlowe could hear the baby crying again. The creaking of wooden floorboards, and the muffled sounds of Rauz’s voice. “Shhh, shhh. It’s okay. Daddy’s here.” His voice was calm, warm—the voice you would expect from a caring father. Marlowe stood at the ceiling, wanting to move, wanting to do something.

He didn’t move.

Hours passed, and the floorboards creaked into another room. It was late; Viera was asleep near him, careful not to move or hurt his bandaged arms. Marlowe hadn’t slept—he couldn’t sleep cooped up in bed all day. He heard the heavy thud of a body fall atop a mattress, and then the muffled sobs of a man.

He didn’t move.

It only took a few days to recover, but it felt like years. Marlowe touched Rauz’s shoulder as he left, giving promises of his return, giving promises things would make things right. “Marlowe. Promise me—promise me you will kill him."

He moved.