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The swamp was thick with predator and prey…

The air thick and tepid with a fog that intoxicated the mind…

A knotted, hulking mass trudged along in the shadow of the swamp. A bundled cloth swaddled in his arms. He grunted with every other step, heaving the reigns attached to a equally old and nappy llama behind him. Among its packed goods, a curved blade of black hung on its side, sheathed and fastened.

“Tch Tik!” A click of a noise came out of his mouth, “C’mo Grumps..”. His words were slurred and butchered, much like his Orcish tongue. These phrases he repeated for days on end as the trek through the swamp dragged on… until he reached the edge of the marshlands giving way to the jagged mountains of the lost lands.

Drunk off the intoxicating fumes from having stayed in the swamp far to long, he headed for the very first cave he could find. Upon entry, a low purring growl could be heard in its depths. The orc peered with old eyes into the darkness.. taking long, slow inhales of air through his cavernous nostrils.

“S’am as ye’… won’ urt ya..” He slurred, carefully placing the bundled cloth in a small nook inside the cave entrance.

With that, he lit a torch. A small shriek came from the deceivingly small cave. A young swamp dragon chirped frustration at having his eyes blinded by the light.

“Tch Tik….” clicked the orc. “N’other mouth to feed..”

Movement came from the entrance of the cave… with sudden impulse the hulking mass spun around, disbelieving he could ever be tracked through the swamps of his fathers.

“T-tch…” A faint clicking sound came– but not from him!

He looked down to where he had placed the cloth, -it was strewn about- trailing towards the adolescent swamp dragon. Suddenly, a small head popped out with a tuft of dark green hair and glazed grey eyes.

The old orc huffed air out of his nostrils, “Shara..“

~To be continued~

*Thresh sits by a small fire looking out to the ocean. He picks up an old drenched book and shakes his head flipping through pages of stained with ink that has mostly been washed off. *

“time to start a new” he thinks to himself pulling a fresh new book, quill and ink well from his bag.

Everything seems so Familiar and yet so… the Strange to me…
What is this place? Who am I and where did I come from?
I remember some things like a but not many.. I remember I was sailor once. Maybe even a captian.

But that’s all gone now.

For now….
But some day. I will be a Champion.. I will be a Captian.. but more…
As I write in the pages it all seems to come back to me… and I Remember!
I remember my mother. She was a beautiful women from a small town. So strong and brave..
As for my father…

**Thresh looks up from his book and takes a swing of his Ale**

My father was an Alcoholic… Ba… No.. he was a daemon. In the most literal of instances.
But this leads me to a new goal, a new objective… My family before me. All of them were the root of evil. They returned to this earth as the Undead.

Just as my father did…. But no…

No one Knew, Knew the secrets that happened in that house…

It was a cold winter night I remember that much. My father was never home. Was never around. Until that night. I came home and there he was.

“WHERE IS MY MOTHER!” I screamed at him.

“SHE’S GONE!” he growled at me

I can’t remember if I walked…. But I know my dagger was in my hand…

I can’t remember if I ran but I can remember the blood on my hands…

I can’t remember if I flew… but I remembered it was him…

I remember that I fell… and came out of my fit of rage to see his blood on my hands..

Only it wasn’t his blood.. in fact it wasn’t even him…

MOTHER! I cried! As I held her in my arms close to my chest her golden hair dangled from my arms. As her crimson blood dripped from my between my fingers….

I knew then… I had to kill them all..

All the undead… they will die

That is my task… that is my future…

But now…..

Mommy….

Don’t leave me.

His lie through omission wasn’t against the Codicis Iustus Carnifex, but it did always leave a feeling of restlessness behind. It was an ache that was only made worse by the tiring effort put forth when dealing with nobility. That had been several days now, and both feelings had slowly begun to pass; gifted armor had slowly lost the scent of oils and perfumes that it once held to be replaced with that of earth and blood. He had slept the night previous in a burnt out farmhouse where he was able to barricade himself in a room well enough to be protected and dry. A meal of hard cheese and preserved meat along with his decent night’s sleep made ample preparation for the day.

The sun hadn’t yet reached zenith whenever he had found his quarries’ previous night’s camp. Smoke lingered lazily up through the trees and still warm coals flickered their last dying breath. He traveled faster than the group he was tracking and pushed himself ahead of them throughout the day. It was refreshing to be without the facade put up in Nerrowhaven, and it made his strides long and easy.

Since he had awoken on the beach his world had been twisted into some mirror alternative. Gone were the wars fought in blood soaked city streets and the roaming murder-gangs outside of them. From the Britannia that he knew that was most of what he could remember of that horrible anti-life.

It was nearing dusk by the time he found a break in the sparse trees into into a clearing with high grass. He was well ahead of them now, and adjusted his course so that he would intersect their path. He was upwind, which further worked to his advantage. His heart pounded in his ears and he set his jaw to shift focus away from his trembling hands. By normal standards he was strong and fast, but this mirror-world thrived on it’s heroes and gave them the strength to match. The gentle breeze gave him pause to wonder how this world would see him, and if it would give him strength to match.
He could hear the group approaching before he could see them, but it was time for them to see him. He let the lantern flare to life and give rise to shouts of alarm from prey he stalked these past several days.

He pushed down the tremors rumbling through his hands again, and lifted the hood of the thurible; sweet frankincense smoke spilling out into the cooling night air. He breathed in, filling his lungs with it and letting it burn the core of him. He could hear their weapons now; old, stolen, and rusted rushing for another taste of blood.

The helmet was made from steel and bone with his arming cap already carefully fitted inside. Leather straps held the skull-face to the helmet, and it was a poor substitution for the properly constructed one buried in memory. It fit as made for him, and he didn’t exhale the smoke until he was turning to look at the first of the group to approach him.

Gaerchon, the the name he earned.

The first was only ten paces away when he was finally looking towards them. His heart and breathing slowed to become a metronome to the flow of battle. His sword and shield were taken ready in his hands and his body shifted as the first was three paces away.

Gear, the sea. Both dreadful and holy. He was born again of it; washed of sins in exile.

The first blow came down towards Gearchon from an overhand swing. A clumsy flail from an iron-hafted mace that was met halfway by an upward thrust shield. A slash across the legs of the first pressed momentum to the left; crushed bone folded under the sagging weight of rent muscle to send the first toppling to the ground, screaming.

Hawn, brother. He had stricken it with action.

His shield was lost as the first fell. Feet pressed against the ground as he pushed to clear the distance to the other two in the tree line. The second barely had his sword drawn as Gaerchon routed him around to circle; his left hand slamming against the back of the second’s head and into trunk of a tree. Tension kept the head from bouncing, and the body fell straight down.

Dreadful, Holy Brother.

The third pressed a dagger into his back. It skipped off armor on his right side; he turned and brought his elbow up to toss the third’s dagger away. His blade was across his body to strike out if needed, but he didn’t. An armored skull-mask smashed into the third’s unarmored head to send the body toppling backwards.

Everything sped back up as he exhaled again. He couldn’t remember breathing, but his lungs burned, and his heart pounded to leave a bile taste in the back of his throat. Unconsciously the sword returned to it’s baldric as he steadied from the haze of battle. Three bodies were on the ground now; the first was a young man still clutching his badly wounded leg, the second was a woman with a broken nose who was slowly getting her bearings, and the third was an older man with a splattering, leading into a trickle, of blood on his forehead. He was messy, imprecise, and his atrophied skills shown.

Gearchon stepped over to the second, the older woman, and knelt down beside her. They said nothing, staring at each other in hated silence. Only a moment passed, a single breath, before Gearchon wrapped an armored hand around her head, pulled her sharply to the left across his body and crushed her head into a rock half submerged in the ground. The first blow caused her to spasm, and she died with the second. He didn’t stop until there wasn’t enough bone to hold onto it; wet flesh and hair slipping from his fingers.

He rose only to kick the third, the older man, in the side to prevent him from rising as well. Gearchon’s body dropped, his knee pressing down at the bottom of the older man’s sternum. The man’s hands went to push the knee off of him, and Gaerchon’s hands went to the man’s face. Thumbs pressed into jelly-filled eyes. Eventually his body weight pressed down his arms in a subconscious plea to hasten a process that he had intentionally left linger. Eventually there was only one left screaming.

The younger man, the first, was given a chance to flee with the group’s pack animal, lighter now without it’s saddlebags. It wasn’t kindness, he wasn’t one that was being hunted, he would be crippled, and had to watch as the other two had their feet removed before being strung up between the trees; deformed faces looking down at those below.

Time was once again on his side by the time it was fully nightfall. He cleaned his armor and weapons the best he could for his travel back to civilization. Scavengers would find the bodies quickly, but he had no doubt that the young man would find someone and tell them what had happened. A message left plainly in memorial to their actions; ‘Murderer’ carved into both of their chests.

The night was dark, darker than before… A man was walking by with a hideous shroud, which was giving his face completely absurd but also attention rosing look… If that person was using that shroud to “hide” himself, it was obviously a bad choice… The shourd was dark as the black of this night, only thing shining was the unusual metal belt on the waist of the man… According to voice that is coming with each movement he make, it could be easily said that belt isn’t only metal thing on his body…

The man have walk inside an inn, which was in a little village far away from the lands we all know, inn was crowded and full of joy, which have ended with his apperance. The glow below the hood was searching around, looking for the person that he have came for, he look around for sake of finding the persion, the precious one… While he was doing that, whispers started to rose, the eyes gazing uppon this figure was completely unhappy with existence of this unwanted damned being…

The man spoke loudly with dark and deep tone “If any of you have a problem, word what bothers you… And make sure to support with your steel.”, even before finishing his words faces and eyes have turned somewhere else, away from the shroud.

Then, he have seen who he was looking for… Soft and curly white hair, flowing like a handful sand from her head to her shoulder with the unusual glow of violet majesty, the skin that is as pale as the moon and the eyes… Those disturbing but beautiful violet eyes…

“Callidora…” said the name behind the shroud, he started to walk uppon her like a person he was searching for decades. He raised his right hand while walking towards woman who was surrounded by men that is most probably trying to get under her skirt with thier pathetic jokes and gestures of giving her free cheap alcohol. Before he could even reach her, she have looked into shroud, right where eyes should be located. Her eyes told many stories, but the meaning on that was nothing but a high and demanding request, asking for erasing his presence from the inn.

Shroud shook his head, shook for several times and moved one step forward as proof of his denial. All of a sudden, his steps started to be slower and harder, it was like a sudden and unexpected change, a coincidence… But it wasn’t only thing it was chaning… The eyes of Callidora, they were turning dark red, like the blood of newly killed innocent child, whom blood would be most desired taste than anything else in this world for her…

Shroud stopped, turned around and walked the way that he came. With disappearance of figures existence, the crowd have returned back to their previous joy, behave like it never even came here. But were they right?

A explosion have happened right outside of the inn, destorying ever glass, crumbling them to dust and using them like a deadly weapon with formation of shards…

Bodies have fell, screams have been heard, huge fire rose at otherside of the village. A group of people was yelling some words that would be strange for the common ears. They were screaming, shouting, crying for something. Their voice become stronger and stronger, right before apparance of every individuals on shadow, behind their back, just like a mirror image of their truselves… An image that have struck its hands to its owners chest, in the same time with other images, where they all have taken every single individuals lives.

But only one person.

Shroud appeared once again, with stains of blood at the bottom of cloth he wore, he walk towards Callidora with strong and threatful steps which made an echoing voice among the inn, that is full of dead bodies and pools of blood. “You cannot run away from us.”

“No!” Callidora screamed with anger, grabbed her sword, struck to the heart of creature in seconds with unusual speed “I will not, return!” she glared, started to pull the sword down in attempt to wide open his chest, but sword didnt moved.

A black liquid stared to come from body of creature, from where it have been stabbed. Like slimes in the dungeons of this known world, it started to smelt the precious sword of Callidora that have suprised her greately, which gave an oppurtunity to creature to slap her and rest it to the ground.

Callidora just hold her cheek, looking at ground, to the metalic colored liquid which was her sword “Crimson Veil” once. She didnt raised her gaze but stared at the remaining of her long time company, which have departed from her now. “What kind of leader are you?” said the voice of shroud, “Left your people on their own… Just because of your humanly emotions… That have raged against a pathetic traitor, whom betrayed you once again?” he said with amazingly fluent accent and deep tone. “What kind of leader would leave her people in the hands of mortals?” he kicked one body next to his feet “Who desires to hunt them?” he said with same accent and tone. Callidora didn’t spoke, her eyes were partially violet, red and blue, a sign of emotional disorder on her body which probably made her feel like a child trapped inside.

“Your people are dying, Callidora.” shroud said once again “Your Mask-ball is now over.”, she didn’t said anything. “Alisaadi, Vladimir, Elise, Alucard… And others… They are all dying…” she turned her eyes to him, where his face suppose to be but filled with dark material “I do not believe you.” she said with a tone reminding a hissing cat. Shroud reached to his belt which have made Callidora to lean to nearest weapon, but there was need to it, he threw a charm a trinket “Do you remember this?” voice said after throwing it at front of her “Do you remember what does it means?”. She leaned to the charm run her fingers around it with almost teary eyes “My c-c-ch-children…” she said with tone that is trying to hide her anger, “Do you know what it means, Callidora?!” said the voice louder this time. “YES!” she screamed, “I know! But it is not my responsibility anymore! I am not their leader!”

Curseful laugh have echoed among the corpses “You -abondened- them.”, voice pressured on word ‘abondened’ so much where it almost made other words disappear “You -forsaken- them.”, voice did same to word ‘forsaken’ “You let your children ‘die'”, the word ‘die’ echoed in whole area, even across the mountains. “They deserved it.” she said all of a sudden “They sided with that wicked traitor.”, Shroud laughed once again “No, they didn’t.”, “Yes they did… When that bastard Edward and his little slut have despised the holyness of our sanctuary.” she said with angry tone, but Shroud shook his head once again “They tried to protect you, from yourself.”, “From what?!” She said with challenging tone “Whom they are to protect me from myself, whom they are to object my desires?!”, voice spoke calmly “They are your servants, your followers, your family… Your children.”. “If they were, what you said they were… Tell me, why would they do that?”, Shroud laughed once again with deeper and louder tone “Think Callidora… What happened that night?”

Images have started to reanimate in front of her eyes, remembering what happened that day, where Vladimir and Alucard have taken her side while Gabriel just wanted to save Edward and his lover. “Yes…” Shroud said with satisfied tone “Indeed… Just like that, Callidora…” voice continued “They have been serving to you, but only objection was coming from that betrayers head! Whom betrayed to your love once again!”

Callidora stood up with anger and yelled at shroud “YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT ME AND HIM!”

Shroud just pulled down his hood, where curly white hair have fall down from creatures shoulder once the hood was completely taken down. Callidora couldn’t spoke a word, stood like where she is looking at face of Shroud. Shroud spoke with an identical voice as Callidora “I know everything and more…” her own face was smiling at her “I am what is left inside.”

Callidora started to shake her head with denial, she stepped back and tripped down. She had few seconds of blackout.

When she woke up, she found herself covered completely with blood, a perfect circle was made with corpses around where she was laying . There wasn’t any explosion, the windows were in the place where they supposed to be, but they were taller. There wasn’t blood pool either, but each corpse was dry like sand hills in desert.

She stood up slowly, looked at her hands covered with blood. She looked around, saw reflection of herself where even her hair was completely red because of the blood. She fastly walked towards the door and found herself in completely different place.

She was in a church of a town which was located in an island, far away from Lone Islands, in homeland of Gabriel and her. Town was almost turned into ash while there was small portion of fire handling the remaining structers transformation to gray powder. She looked down to the ground where she found half burnt paper, like a page from a long letter. There was only tree words visible to be read ‘mother’, ‘run’, ‘massacrace’

She dropped the paper and looked around, realized it was town where Gabriel was born. She smiled to herself and spoke;

“Whom opposes me… SHALL DIE!”

She sleeps, her black locks flowing across the pillow. She dreams, the image cast behind her closed lids are that of daily waking, walking through the corridors of her university feeling the sense of solitude, without fear. The affluence of her parents put her here to learn botony, a far stretch away from the anatomy she was learning at home. She knew that they looked down on her studies, thinking she was a headcase when she drug home a freshly dead dog corpse only to cut it open and inspect it’s insides. They banished her, hoping this ‘place’ would make her a decent human being. How she dreams of solitude again.

‘Bam!’ The sound against her window pain startling her from her dream, shaking her awake and out of bed. A smear of fresh blood dripping down the other side of the yellowed glass. She steps toward the window, unlatches it, and looks out, down to the ground. In the moonlight she sees a small body, bird perhaps? Bat? Something that flies, she knew. Excited, she rushes down the marble steps of her school and out the large creaking wooden barricade of doors. Once in place under her third floor bedroom window, she searches, unable to find the body. Was it a dream?

She returns, emptyhearted to her bedroom and closes the door softly behind her. She looks at the window again, open and as clean and as it normally is. With disappointment, she looks out, studying the sky, the stars almost blinding in the dark backdrop. She looks at the trees, their shadowy sillouettes reaching up like veins in the winter air. Along the treeline she notices something, tall and dark, with a white…face? A man, leaning against a tree, looking at the school.

She quickly closes the window and jumps under the safety of her bedcovers, heart pounding. Did he see her? Why was he there? She forces her eyes closed and waits for dawn, welcoming any sound of life within the halls.

For nights, her sleep is restless. She always checked outside before putting herself in bed. When she did manage to dream, nightmares of a white blurred face haunted her. Sometimes she would wake up and see this orb of white in the window, only to scream and fall out of bed, waking herself from the waking dream. None of the other girls saw him, she would know. They’d whisper about it. The only thing they whisper about is her. And boys.

Finally, one evening, she was angry, angry with herself for being such a mouse. She again followed her ritual by looking out of the window before bed, but this time, she stayed awake. Sitting at the window, looking out, watching the shades of night turn from brown, to dark blue, and finally to black. And that’s when she spotted it, the form, coming out of the woods and taking his perch against the tree. He looked at the school, and not up at her. She was angry that her nights were infected by his presence, and decided to take action, to ask him what the hell he was doing. In her nightrobes she stormed out, barefeet padding down the hall and down the cold marble staircase. She slams her hands into the doors, throwing them open. As she marched towards the figure in the shadows, he retreats into the forest. “Oh, no you don’t!” she mumbles, in her native tongue. Taking full charge, she runs in after him, constantly turning her head and eyes, looking for that splash of white skin in the pitch blackness. Before she could get too far, she feels a stinging pierce in the side of her neck, as all thought and feeling gradually fade away into the darkness.

She awakes, alone and dirty, on the leaf covered floor of the forest. “Oh no! I’ve got to get back!” she says to herself as she scrambles up and makes a run for the school. She trips and stumbles for the washroom, already occupied with one of the early risers. They look at her as if they’ve witnessed a ghost. “What?!” she asks them angrily. They’ve never been kind to her, always had something smart to say. She looks into the washbasin to see how much of a mess she is, but finds that her reflection isn’t looking back. She only sees the girl’s wide eyes in the pool, noticing the same thing. Elise turns to her and…

Blood, everywhere. Other girls crowd around the entryway, crying and gasping, while a few run down the halls calling for help. Elise knew what just happened, and couldn’t believe it herself. What should she do? Where should she go?

So she decides to run, the group parting for her, afraid to not let her pass, unwanting of her presence any longer. She runs, not knowing who or what she’s become, or what she is supposed to do.

She turns towards the darkness, enveloped by the grasp of death, the only comfort she could find. Years of studying the science of Necromancy, of seeing fresh spirits trying to find their way, of reprogramming lungs and hearts to function. She wants answers. She needs to know. She needs to find him, somehow, to ask him “Why?”. And she figures the only ones who’d know who he was and where to find him were already dead.

Small update: Weight Fix to Various Kegs, Namely the Crafted ConsumablesVendor:Vendors Now will use gold from bank for any amount of purchase, so you do not need to carry gold to buy stuff.Vendors will place a check in your bank when the amount of gol…