Well, here you have it.. the first part of a story that I really want to expand, but I’m not sure where to take it.. I’ll probably at least write one more part to it, but I’m not sure if I’ll do anymore, based on life and response.. Well, I hope you enjoy it, and any comments and criticism are appreciated..

-seth

Lord of Shadows

The air was cold. It usually is, on the river anyways. The Onyx River, shrouded in myths and superstition. Some say that the gods themselves live in its black depths, twisting and molding the currents of mortal lives. Others say that the souls of the dead are carried down the river, washed over the Blackfalls and away from this mortal plane. Myself, I don’t believe in either. The air is just a little colder here, that’s all there is to it.

I don’t hold stock in much superstition. Oh sure, I believe in the demons and the gods, ghosts and magic, but these aren’t so much superstition as they are facts of life. Anything that can’t be proved is all guesswork, really. Guesswork doesn’t pay off much in my line of work.

You see, I work with death. Not literally, of course. I don’t know if even I could work with a guy with such a cold disposition. One could say that I work as one of his more frequent suppliers. I am, in a word, an assassin. Not singularly, I work in a few different fields on the other side of the law. The wrong side, many would say. I guess they would be right.

That’s how I ended up on a black-blasted boat, freezing my extremities off in the middle of the Onyx River. Not even a boat really, more like a floating shack. A slow one. I hate boats, really I do. The things I do for work…

Well, I guess in this case it’s probably worth it. A simple assassination, with a small retrieval thrown in. It’s not as simple as it seems though, the pay is ten thousand larian. I’ve been paid that much to dispose of a member of the Compendium. This kill is considerably lower on the chain, a fisherman, in fact. Apparently this fisherman found something that he wasn’t supposed to find, that’s all I know. I’m not even sure who really hired me. I managed to trace the order to Daemon Councilor Jerek Neder himself, but I know it goes higher. A subtle hint (read: knife in my pillow) convinced me to stop looking. It’s not often that someone manages to find me, let alone break through my ether wards. It doesn’t matter much who hired me anyways, as long as I get paid.

So I was convinced, and started preparing for the job. It always pays to be prepared. The assassin must be in control of every moment, constantly analyzing his surroundings to better manipulate the victim. I am always in control.

Perfect control as the boat stopped at the docks, the closest to the Blackfalls. Perfect control as I adjusted my cloak, a veritable storehouse of weaponry falling into easy reach. Perfect control as I stalked the streets of the small town, searching for a decent inn. I found one fairly quickly, The House of the Falls. Pleasant name. The innkeeper threw a scowl at me from his desk. I wonder at his reaction had he known I could have killed him sixty-three different ways within four seconds of stepping through his door. That thought brought a cold smile to my face. Morbid humor is always best, especially when directed at the ignorant.

“Name?” The innkeeper growled into the folds of my hood. He was a thin fellow, with beady eyes that constantly shifted back and forth. I slowly pulled back my hood, catching and holding his gaze. His eyes stopped shifting, and instead started to widen slowly as they noticed the peculiar coloring of my own. I tossed a larian on the counter. He handed me a key. I walked slowly towards the stairs, stopping to whisper in his ear as I passed.

“Caervas.” The man actually whimpered as I walked up the stairs. I actually have several names, many not of my own choosing, yet they all seem to suit me. The Claws call me Blackheart. The church refers to me as “a profound act of Blasphemy.” They even capitalize it for me. How nice. Then there’s the Compendium. When they require my services, they ask for Nihinus. The name Caervas is unique in that it comes from the old Daemon tongue, meaning “Lord of Shadows.” I like that one best.

- - -

The night is actually the warmest time in the Blackfalls region. It has something to do with fluctuating ether, but I’m no wizard. Not really, anyways. As it was, the weather was fairly pleasant as I set out to eliminate my target. I found this quite humorous, but then, I’ve been told my sense of humor is somewhat twisted. The stench in the alley next to the inn I’d stayed was quite the contrast though. A thoroughly unpleasant establishment. That fool of an innkeeper couldn’t even serve a decent stew. I would have lodged a complaint, but the poor man had an accident. He fell backwards onto a dagger. It’s a bit mystifying, that seems to happen to many of the fools I meet.

Anyways, after a few days in town spent preparing for the kill, I was ready to strike. It really is a delicate business, killing, that is. Very precise. I had studied the fisherman’s habits for a few days, and there wasn’t much to report. He was an older, unmarried Baskan who left his house early in the morning for a day of work. His work being, of course, fishing. As many of his type happen to do, he headed straight to the local tavern after pulling back into dock, spent a few hours carousing with friends, and then had a short walk back to his humble abode. Quite a boring life really, I couldn’t stand monotony on such a grand scale. I find the business of killing much too interesting to stop after all these years.

My employer, or contact as he may be, had informed me of a certain rather large chest my target kept at the foot of his bed, reportedly for storing valuables. Predictable, and usually quite easy to deal with. Unfortunately, this fisherman had made my job much harder, spending a small fortune to ensure that this chest would not open without a reaction with his ether signature – his living ether signature. Usually I would just kill the man in his sleep, pilfer the contents of the chest, and quietly leave the city. Now, however, I would have to persuade the fool to open the chest of his own free will, and then kill him.

I had a plan, however, that would accomplish exactly that. The retrieval in my contract instructed me to find some kind of weapon in this chest. Apparently it would be easily recognizable, as they did not see fit to provide me any more details. Wonderful. I didn’t believe that would matter though, as a man will generally use his most potent weapons if attacked.

- - -

A short walk brought me outside the city walls, and I quickly found what I was looking for. A grove of beshkehr trees, full of sticks, leaves, twigs, and, hopefully, a khesahn. Even better, a big khesahn. Resembling a rather large housecat, the khesahn has a mouth full of fangs, an armored tail, and, generally, an ornery disposition.

Being as… “special” as I am, I sent my ether signature searching through the ethers in the grove. I soon detected the signature of what felt like a khesahn, and formed a link with its mind.

“Food?” The thought quested its way into my consciousness. Good, it seems I had found a hungry khesahn, and one with rudimentary intelligence. Not all creatures have a developed intelligence, but some, such as the khesahn, have the ability to communicate basic ideas and phrases through the ethers with humanoids.

“No, I am master.” I sent out my own thought, thundering into its mind with all the force I could muster.

“Master… has food?”

“Kill for food.”

“Yes.”

“Come.” Our negotiations concluded for the moment, I withdrew back into my own mind and waited for my khesahn to make an appearance.

He was bigger than I thought, onyx fur rippling across muscle as he slid smoothly through the underbrush at the forest's edge. Most khesahn are about four feet in height, and the largest I’ve heard of was seven feet at the shoulders. It tore apart a phalanx of conscripted Daemon soldiers before the wizards appeared and managed to subdue it. My khesahn’s eyes were at a level with my own, myself being around six feet in height. The average humanoid height, and the perfect for assassins. I was designed that way. His glowing eyes searched my own, seeking something. Whatever it was, he found it, and sent a thought into my mind.

“Master.” It was not a question.

“Yes. I am Caervas.”

“The trees name me Ghedesh.” Odd name. Well, for a humanoid it would be, but apparently my friend was named by the trees.

“Ghedesh. I ask for help.”

“For me?”

“Food. You must attack a man.”

“Yes. I will help.”

“Excellent. Follow me.”

- - -

It may seem like a six-foot khesahn would be rather conspicuous, even inside a night-shrouded city. The khesahn, however, is a natural predator, and has perfected, over millennia, the art of stealth. It seemed as if Ghedesh was more adept than most. My trained eyes followed him without trouble, but I suspect that the average humanoid would not have seen him pass by three feet away. The shadows are the killer’s greatest allies.

We carefully made our way towards the fisherman’s house, Ghedesh occasionally leaping the twenty feet to run along the rooftops. There were still several cycles until sunrise, but I wanted to be done with this business as soon as possible. Working in the light is never the assassin’s wish.

The trip to the small house was short and uneventful. It is ridiculously irritating when some small and unrelated occurrence can make a mission much more complicated. Thankfully, no such event had occurred. Yet.

As we neared the house, I checked my arsenal to be sure I had the right tools for this mission. I am skilled with the use of many different implements of death; daggers, swords, shurikens, throwing knives, spears, axes, and other such sharp devices. I dislike using poison or other elements of trickery, they take away the joy I find in seeing the look in a man’s eyes when he knows it is I who is taking his life. Makes my job so much more fulfilling.

On this job, I had, on my person, several bandoliers of shurikens, a belt of throwing knives, and my three enchanted daggers. Enchanted weaponry is not too hard to find, if one knows where to look, but these three daggers are very dear to my heart. This probably has something to do with the large numbers of people I have killed with each.

- - -

I enjoy giving names to the weapons I use frequently, and these three daggers were called Bloodwatch, Asylum, and Ether-cutter. Bloodwatch was originally owned and enchanted by one “Morgdas the Magnificent.” He was actually quite the powerful enchanter, skilled in the use of druidic magic. Unfortunately, he also possessed vanity in spades, being very proud of his skills and “magnificent” good looks. How he would fret if he had to go through life with that knife in his eye, and all those horrible bloodstains on his favorite coat. I have no qualms with obtaining the useful items I may find on my kills. Bloodwatch is an amazingly useful dagger, able to detect the ether presence of living beings, and to “suck” the ether out of victims, feeding it to the wielder. Rather vampiric, actually.

The dagger I call Asylum is an interesting weapon I managed to obtain while working in the Hall of Necromancy, a somewhat disturbing series of crypts buried thousands of feet under the Daemon Compendium. The fool I was tracking had teleported himself there, believing I would be too frightened to follow. As I just stated, he was a fool. He was easily taken care of, and I was actually able to loot a few tombs while visiting. I didn’t have much time, however, as a certain lich decided the décor of his tomb could use a dangling prisoner on the wall. I didn’t take very kindly to his idea. Asylum is one of the few treasures I managed to recover, and the only one that I actually kept. It has the useful ability to drive anyone who is injured with it insane. Even the slightest scratch can send a man tearing down the streets, screaming about the fruit with beady eyes. I rarely wear gloves, but I make a point of it whenever I have cause to use Asylum.

Ether-cutter is a very unique weapon, in that I actually happened upon it in a small bazaar. Some old man had dug it out of the ground in his backyard, and was looking to make some quick money. I thought it looked as if it would be worth more than twelve larian, so I bought it. I love it when my hunches pay off. I had the dagger examined by a mystic, and it turned out to be a Pre-overlord artifact, imbued with the power to focus ether, and then throw the stored ether as a projectile. Suffice to say, Ether-cutter has not left my side in a long, long time.

- - -

With my favorite tools at my side, not to mention a hungry khesahn, this job was looking as if it would be fairly easy. I stepped into the shadows to the rear of the house, surveying the building once more as Ghedesh padded up silently beside me. There was only one door, facing the street, and two windows, fitted with thin glass. One window led to a small kitchen, the other into living quarters.

“Ghedesh.” I called him to my side. His indigo eyes, seeing in the infrared spectrum, were faintly disturbing in the dead of night. I suppose the effect would be more unsettling to one who couldn’t see to whom, or what, those glowing eyes were attached.

“Master?”

“The plan is not complicated, and I only request a small service of you.” I slowly detailed the plan in his mind, being sure he understood. It would be a quick and easy kill, one that should not be fumbled.

I stepped in front of the window that looked in upon the sleeping man, quickly checking for etherwards. Not surprisingly, there were none. A simple fisherman generally does not expect attacks from assassins. I withdrew from my mind, searching the ethers in the glass pane for one particular link. There. I distorted the fibers of ether around the link, and it stretched taut before slowly unraveling. My eyes opened, and I watched the glass melt, for lack of a better word, down the side of the wall, forming a small puddle where it met the ground.

I held myself completely still for a moment, and then, hearing sounds of quiet, steady breathing, motioned for Ghedesh to move into position. He silently leaped through the window, landing softly next to the sleeping man. He assumed a very attentive pose, keeping close watch on the victim. All was proceeding as planned, so I moved swiftly and undetected to the front door. Locks are but a minor hindrance to the careful assassin.

It was a small house, but rather upscale for a simple fisherman in this region. The first room was a simple living area, adjoining with the kitchen through a thin partition. A few cheap knickknacks were scattered about, some on shelves, and several on the single table. Several books were stacked on the table: The Art of Casting, Baiting for Dummies, and Awakening Your Inner Fish. Interesting. Well, maybe just creepy. There were two doors leading out of the room, one north, and one west. The western door led to the living quarters, which left the northernmost door as leading to a washroom.

- - -

Exactly twelve even steps brought me to stand before the door to my target. Unlocked. I could still hear faint traces of the fisherman’s even breathing from behind the door. Maybe it was time to wake him up for some fun. I reached out. “Ghedesh?”

“Master.”

“Do your part.”

“Yes.”

For a moment I stopped breathing. The rest of my plan depended on the reactions of this one fisherman. If he had his wits about him enough to retrieve the weapon I was looking for, then this would all work out fine.

I heard a sharp intake of breath, and then quiet cursing. A thud. I believed he had just rolled out of bed. Quick footsteps, and then a low growl. More cursing. There was a creaking noise, as of an old chest being opened. I was momentarily startled as a low keening split the air, but it did not last long. A swishing noise, the swinging of a weapon. Now it was my turn.

I kicked down the door and rolled in, Bloodwatch leading in my right hand, pulsing faintly, and Ether-cutter held reversed in my right. The situation was roughly as I had anticipated. Ghedesh was crouching by the empty window, eyes flashing, while the fisherman stood guardedly across the room, his back to me. I didn’t hesitate. A quick burst of concentration and I hurled a splinter of ether at the back of the man’s knee, and was at his back as it connected. I slid to one knee as his bone and tissue evaporated, and he fell backwards. My left knee dug into the small of his back, and his eyes latched onto my own as his head tilted back, exposing the throat. I allowed a chill smile to spread across my features.

Balancing neatly on my right knee, I plunged Bloodwatch into his chest and drew Ether-cutter across his throat in one graceful motion, carving him a second smile. Not that he was smiling as I allowed his body to slide to the floor. It was more of a grimace, really.

- - -

“Good work Ghedesh.” I nodded to the still-crouching khesahn.

“You are swift as the wind, master.”

“Your help was greatly appreciated. Allow me to retrieve my weapons, and you may have your fill.”

“You have my gratitude.”

I retrieved Bloodwatch from the man’s chest, and finally looked closely at the weapon he clutched in his cold hands. It was, by all appearances, a scythe. This was faintly surprising, as I hadn’t heard of scythes being used commonly in many years, as they were considered by most to be to unwieldy. However, this was, without a doubt, what I was supposed to retrieve.

The scythe was a beautiful weapon, in a cold, dark way. The handle was obsidian, carved in the likeness of a ghamani scorpion, with the tail extending to form an onyx spike at the end of the grip. The weapon seemed very well-balanced as I hefted it, five feet of extremely dense wood ending in the serious side of the scythe, which was, by far, the most magnificent facet of the weapon. The shaft of the scythe lengthened and curved to form a wide blade, tapering into two spikes, covered in what appeared to phalite, an extremely rare ore. The blade was layered in nightsteel, and was adorned with all manner of gruesome designs. All in all, a rather morbid weapon.

I set the scythe down carefully on the bed, and checked the chest for anything that might be useful. Among a plethora of worthless trinkets, I found around sixty larian, and several leather strips of varying qualities. I pocketed the larian, and, given a few minutes of work, managed to tie together the leather strips to form a makeshift sheath for the scythe, arranging it to rest squarely on my back. It actually felt rather comfortable there.

- - -

Ghedesh seemed rather focused on his meal, so I let him be, and, with a last parting nod, I left the building through the window I had previously removed. The culmination of the assassin had taken less than 5 demi-cycles, and there were still several full cycles left before the skies would begin to brighten. The streets were a bit too bright for my comfort, however, so I climbed a nice floral arrangement and strolled along the rooftops for a while. The city was quaint, in a modern way, and, though inundated with all manner of new technology, was still a riverside village at heart. The environment was rather different from what I was used to, so I took perhaps a bit longer than necessary in making my way out of the city.

In preparation for a quick departure, I had scheduled passage on a boat that was going upriver just after sunrise. The boat was heading towards the Daemon Compendium, home to a large variety of cultures, and, more importantly, my base of operations. It was in the low-city taverns that I met most of my contacts, and that area, more than any other, felt like home.

I was pleased at the prospect of returning home so quickly with a contract fulfilled, and it was in a somewhat distracted manner that I left the city, traveling a short path to the docks. I wasn’t expecting any trouble, no one in that region should have any interest in me, and it was nothing but a short walk through a forest. Unfortunately, and to my surprise and dismay, trouble was expecting me.

- - -

The forest was shrouded in shadow, and I would have been on guard had I been expecting anything unpleasant. Unpleasant experiences generally have a way of surprising you, whether expected or not, but, in my experience, they are much easier to deal with when one expects them. I had seen no on else on the path, and was not expecting to this early in the day, so I was fairly surprised to see a young woman sitting on a large rock alongside the path ahead of me. She didn’t seem dangerous, as she looked to be only around eighteen, so I continued on, albeit slightly more cautiously.

“Hello, traveler.” She hailed me as I drew nearer. “Fine day, is it not?”

“Yes, a good day for traveling.”

“Headed somewhere are you?”

The question seemed innocent enough, a curious girl asking about my travels. As an assassin, however, I recognized the subtle undertones in her voice. All was not as it appeared. I took a closer look at her eyes. They were the eyes of an assassin, constantly shifting, watching the trees, the path, and most of all the scythe on my back. I didn’t answer the question, and stood still in the middle of the path, staring silently at her.

It didn’t take her long to realize that I wasn’t buying the act, and she sighed heavily, pushing herself off the stone and onto her feet.

“Well, well,” she snarled. The curious tone had been replaced by one of malice. “It appears this won’t be as easy as we had hoped. Banemore, reveal.”

The air around me became distorted, shimmering in my vision, and I jumped backwards, sliding to the edge of the path. Materializing only a few feet from where I had been standing were six men. The five were clad, strangely enough, in the colors of the Church, and were holding various weapons. The last was undoubtedly a sorcerer, most likely this Banemore character, wearing long grey robes and clutching a black staff, which was topped by a ruby. The soldiers quickly formed a line of defense before Banemore, and, as I watched, the girl walked over to join them. Oddly, she no longer appeared to be a girl. My brows contracted as her features lengthened and twisted, shifting into what appeared to be a young-looking man with raven hair and solid black eyes. No pupils on that one. Somewhat odd, but I guess I wouldn’t be one to criticize the eyes of others, mine are not exactly normal. Anyways, the appearance of the skin-shifter helped me realize what was going on.

- - -

Working as an assassin, one usually tries to keep track of the activities that others in the same line of work may be engaged in. It never works out too well when a thoughtless employer sends more than one assassin after the same target. I had heard of a team of assassins before, an accomplished sorcerer and a talented skin-shifter, who were often employed by the Church. Kazurax and Banemore they were called, and were generally regarded as one of the more dangerous pairs in the business. This was somewhat puzzling, as, due to the soldiers’ uniforms, and the appearance of these particular assassins, the Church wanted me dead. I hadn’t the vaguest idea why.

My inner contemplation came to a halt as Kazurax stepped forwards, dark eyes gleaming.

“I suppose I have the… honor of addressing Caervas.” Arrogant fellow. I began to develop an intense dislike for him.

“You might.”

“Don’t try to play games, those eyes of yours are quite the giveaway.” Of course. Curse my makers who, for whatever reason, saw fit to give me these blasted eyes.

“So you found me. State your business and get out of my way, I have a job to finish.”

“Not any longer.” Kazurax sneered, and that foolish sorcerer snickered from a safe distance. Well, one he apparently thought was safe enough. These assassins apparently worked as comedians part-time. Intense dislike was transforming into an active hate.

“Oh?”

“You have fulfilled your purpose, and your employer has sent us to relieve you of your duties.” They both snickered that time. I sincerely hoped this was leading to a fight.

“Is my employer the Church then?” That struck a nerve. The laughter stopped, and gleaming eyes turned cold.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

I would have only a slight warning before the attack, perhaps a shift in Kazurax’s arm, or Banemore shuffling his feet. This would be quite the fight.

- - -

Suddenly, a low keening, the same I had heard in the fisherman’s house, split the air. My eyes slowly widened. The scythe on my back was pulsing slowly. To my surprise, a link was painfully forced open in my mind.

“Wield me.” Interesting.

“What are you?”

“Bringer of death, destroyer of hope, betrayer of life, prophet of suffering.” My mind seemed too small to hold the voice inside it.

“You are the scythe?”

“I am in the scythe. Wield me.”

With that, the link broke, and I returned to reality. The scythe was still pulsing at my back. Kazurax had drawn his sword, Banemore stood brandishing his staff, and the soldiers held their weapons at the ready. None of them, however, had attacked, and were all eyeing me with suspicion, hate, and yes, fear. They had apparently been too confused to attack while I was otherwise occupied. Fools. There was another brief contact in my mind.

“Wield me. We will cut them down, cut all of them down.”

“I see.” My enemies were whispering amongst themselves, seeming unsure. “If you don’t mind my asking, do you have a name?”

“Prophet.”

“Ah, and may I ask if you have any prophecies about this battle?”

“Pain. Pain and death.” The link broke.

- - -

I reached behind me, carefully drawing Prophet from the simple sheath. It was still pulsing. I took a second look at the engravings on the blade. Strangely, they seemed to be shifting, as if the demonic carvings were writhing in torment. I shuddered, put the thought out of my mind, and held my weapon at the ready. It is never a good idea to go into battle while unsettled.

Balancing the scythe easily in my right hand, I stared at my enemies, coldly evaluating them. They finally seemed to lose their inhibitions, spreading out and slowly coming forward. Banemore remained in the back, ready to use the power of the ethers to immolate me. I would have to take him out first.

Moving quickly, I stepped to the rock near the path and focused, rending the fabrics of ether and hurling the boulder towards the two soldiers nearest to the sorcerer. They dove out of the way, relatively unharmed, but I had not been trying to kill them. Their escape had left Banemore unguarded, and I caught his eye. I smiled coolly, and he raised his staff. There was a subtle vibration in the air, and I dove forward, rolling, as a fireball screamed past my face. Banemore had only had that one chance.

I came out of the roll neatly, spinning Prophet end over end to my side, and tore the onyx spike through the sorcerer’s chest. I quickly altered the angle of the spin and brought the blade around, cleanly separating his head from his shoulders. Well, I guess it wasn’t particularly clean.

The headless corpse fell to the ground, and I spun quickly, holding my weapon out wide to thwart any attacks at my back. Apparently it had all happened too quickly for any of the fools to act. The soldiers I had hurled the boulder at were back on their feet, standing with Kazurax and the other three. They stood facing me, faces distorted by rage and fear as the blood of their comrade dripped off my scythe, reddening the dirt.

I noticed a familiar sensation in my mind. Another link?

“Master.” The thought was accompanied by the image of a khesahn running swiftly down the path.

“Ghedesh? I am glad to hear from you. Would you assist me again?” A six-foot khesahn could be helpful in a fight.

“I am still hungry, master.”

There was a blur of color as Ghedesh leaped out of the foliage, landing heavily on one soldier and swatting another with his armored tail. One of the other soldiers turned to help the fallen, and I was left facing only Kazurax, and two decidedly uneasy-looking soldiers. Excellent.

For some reason, I know not why, the two soldiers decided offense would be the best defense. They rushed me, waving a broadsword and an axe, while an agitated Kazurax remained behind. While they were still around twenty feet away, I launched the scythe into the air. Predictably, their eyes followed the weapon as it arced over their heads. I launched myself past the two in a burst of speed, slashing one throat with Ether-cutter while stabbing Bloodwatch into the chest of the other. I reached out and caught Prophet with my left hand, twirling it in a low arc to cut their legs out from beneath them. Literally.

I looked over to Ghedesh, who was using his rather impressive jaws to crush the life out of the last soldier. Kazurax was looking quite unhappy now, his face actually turning a shade of pale green. His sword trembled in his hand.

“They said you wouldn’t be an easy kill,” he whispered. There was a new comprehension dawning in his eyes. “They said you were made to be the best.”

“I was, and I am. Why does the Church want this weapon?” I held the scythe out near him, rather uncomfortably close to his neck.

“Can’t you see?” His eyes couldn’t seem to leave the blade of the scythe. “It’s a weapon of the Gods, not meant for mortal hands. The Church wants control over it.”

A weapon of the Gods. Very interesting. It seemed as if I had come across quite the interesting find indeed. I eyed the scythe carefully, pondering this new development as Kazurax shivered.

“Could you spare my life, please?” He dropped his sword and went down on his knees. His eyes were pitiful. It made me sick to see a man groveling as he was. I stepped close to him, kneeling so that I was at his eye level. I slowly pulled on a black leather glove.

“Know this, I grant you escape from madness in death. Farewell.” I slid Asylum into his ribs as his eyes opened wide. As his body began to convulse, foam streaming from the corners of his mouth, I stood. Swinging Prophet in a short arc, I relieved him of his pain. I can be a very forgiving man, in my own way.

- - -

It was just after sunrise as I boarded the small boat, just in time to set sail. I leaned against the railing, watching the dark waters of the Onyx River flow smoothly by, and occasionally sparing a glance for this dangerous new item I had acquired. I had heard of weapons of the Gods before. Supposedly forged in the heart of the world, they had the power to tip the scales of balance in the world, granting great power to their wielders.

I hefted Prophet, examining the disturbing carvings once more. I needed to know about this weapon. The Church of the Forsaken was centered in the Daemon Compendium. Perhaps I would pay them a visit when I arrived. It was time to find some answers.