REVILED

A depressing, somber atmosphere hung over the bar. Meridith held her head in her hands while Mina sat next to her nursing a shot of whiskey. The woman drinking told everyone how bad the ambush on the Saint went.

Baron sat at one of the tables tapping his foot furiously. “Dammit, how could this have happened?” He sneered.

Oria smirked at him, her face deeply flushed from all the alcohol. “Didn’t realize you cared so much?” Her words came out slurred as she swayed on her stool.

“Of course I fucking care!” Baron furiously stood up. Taela tried holding him back, but he stormed over to Oria and forced her hand onto his chest. “My life is on the line here. If the monster dies, then so do I. As will all of you.” His words sobered Oria a little.

“Calm down Baron.” Meridith sighed and smoothed out her dress. “It’s not over yet. Rench is currently working on getting master Reviled back on his feet. So, while he’s out, we need to think of a way to fix this.”

“Agreed.” Taela placed a comforting hand on Baron’s shoulders. “Let’s fix this, for our sakes.”

Baron took several deep breaths. “You’re right.” He looked to both women. “You’re both right. That damned sanguinite and wererat failed, so we should pick up the slack.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Dead Gods, working under my father wasn’t this stressful.”

“So, what should we do?” Mina whimpered. “I want to fix the mess that I made as well. Had I been a better onomori, then I could have been more useful.” Meridith took the girl into her arms.

“We need to secure our position.” Baron rubbed his stubbly chin. “Especially with the Church. If we can hold them up from requesting more support, then that could buy us more time. Have any artisans been recruited to fill in the stores we’re setting up?”

“No, unfortunately the war has kept many artisans busy, and none of their apprentices are willing to leave.” Meridith sighed. “Even artisans among the refugees are being snatched up.”

“Then we’ll need to look for an outside source.” Baron growled, his foot tapping madly. It stopped and a smile came to his lips. “I have an idea that can solve both these problems.”

“And what is that?” Meridith looked at him suspiciously.

“I have a contact in Zymarra. He was instrumental in helping my father take over the slave trade, and I think it’s time we contact him.” Meridith glared at Baron, but he held up his hand. “We’ll need to donate to the Church. If we make a large enough donation, the Cathedral Patron will give us his blessing. The presence of a slaver would be a stain on his reputation, so he won’t let any request for aid be sent.”

“And why would the Patron do that?”

“Because Patron Waldren has a penchant for a special kind of prostitute.” Taela replied with a dark stare. “My aunt had records of the patron purchasing the services of younger prostitutes. Records that are now in my possession.”

“Virtues!” Mina gasped.

“My dear, you’ll soon learn that the Church is as much a political organization as it is a spiritual one.” Baron chuckled and turned back to Meridith. “I can send him a message requesting he procure slaves with artisanal skills. We can also make some money out of it by making it a proper auction.”

Meridith nodded vigorously. “Very well. How much will we need to donate?”

“Ten thousand gold.” Everyone gawked at the cost, but Baron held up his hand. “Listen, this is important. We want Waldren to feel respected before we ask for the favor. It’s a necessary expenditure that is expected of the king.”

“He’s right,” Taela replied, “Bartholomew often donated large sums of money when he needed the Church’s favor, but don’t worry, it’ll come back to our purse.” She gave them a sly smile.

Everyone turned to Meridith, and she sighed. “Then we shall proceed with this plan.” She stood up with her hands clasped before her. “Eirgnon and Skivret failed, but we will turn their failure into our success. Let’s show master Reviled that he can count on us.”

Skivret sat on his throne with a low growl escaping his throat. His ears laid flat against his head and his shoulders felt heavy. It felt like his father was staring down at him, glaring in disappointment, and for the first time, the throne felt uncomfortable to him.

“Sire?” Skivret lifted his head to find Nimble and Preddie slowly approaching.

“Sorry you two, but I needed to time to myself.” Skivret sighed heavily.

“Was the ambush a failure?” Preddie sat down at his feet, staring up at him.

“Yes, because of me.”

“What happened?” Nimble hung off the arm of his throne.

“That damned blood sucker.” Skivret growled. “I hated how he looked down on us, so I asked master Reviled for a chance to prove ourselves. We were given a chance to fight against the heroes, but it wasn’t enough. We couldn’t secure victory, and they escaped because of it.”

“But sire, it wasn’t your fault.” Preddie gently touched his leg.

“But it was. Had I not interfered, then the heroes wouldn’t have damaged master Reviled, and had they escaped, then the fault would be with that newcomer.”

“What do you plan to do?” Nimble’s ears twitched nervously.

“I don’t know, but something needs to change.” Skivret growled and his claws dug into his palms. “I’m tired of everyone looking down on us. We’re more than simple sewer rats!” He took a deep breath. “With our numbers, we could be a terrifying army, but we lack the skills and equipment.”

“Then why don’t we steal it?” Nimble asked. Skivret and Nimble stared at her in disbelief. “If we’re in need of equipment, then let us take it. That way, we can both gain the experience and resources we need to be a terrifying army. Then, the surfacers will see us as more than just sewer rats.”

“What you say is true.” Skivret growled, his left eye burned with rage. “Write!”

The elderly rat hobbled into the throne room. “You summoned me, Sire?”

“I’m calling an assembly. Have all our citizens head to the arena at once.” Skivret turned to Nimble. “Have the soldiers line up in the arena. I want them fully equipped.” Nimble and Write nodded and rushed out of the room. “Preddie, help me get ready.”

Skivret jumped off the throne and stormed to the royal chambers. A multitude of colorful plush pillows decorated the center of the room with a broken mirror leaning against a broken coat rack on the other side. Two broken, but ornate chests sat at the back of the room next to the broken mannequin that held all the king’s jewelry.

Skivret pulled off his coat and rummaged through the chests until he found the fanciest tunic that would fit him. He then went to the mannequin and started placing on every piece of jewelry he could. Many bracelets lined his arms, and he had to organize the rings so that he could fit multiple on each finger. Golden chains layered around his neck, but eventually he had to have Preddie help place them around his head and the bracelets and rings onto his tail. His body screamed under the weight of all the metal, and he staggered over to the mirror.

“I finally understand why you always wore this father.” Skivret glared at his weak form. “A king must be strong to bear the burdens of his people, but I have been weak.”

“Sire…”

“No Preddie.” Skivret growled at himself. “A king cannot abide weakness. If you truly care for me, then support me. Help me to grow stronger.”

“Of course, sire.” Preddie gave him a sad smile. “For our litter, I shall give you everything that I have.” Skivret nodded as he left.

The weight of the jewelry made his muscles scream in pain. Each step felt like he carried a sack of rocks on his back, and he feared that his body would soon give out. He stepped out of the tent palace, his face twisted into a determined snarl. His knees buckled after several steps, but with a growl, he pushed forward. His anger fueled his steps all the way to the arena.

Skivret stepped onto the raised platform and looked upon his people. Today, their lives would change. No longer could they continue to live simple carefree lives. Something had to change, and he was going to be the one to enact it. Many of the soldiers filled the pit of the arena. Their pitted and rusty armor was an offense to his eyes. They deserved better.

Skivret raised his arms, and they burned under the weight they carried. “We are at war!” The wererats mumbled in fear and confusion. “We are at war with the people of the surface, and it’s time we started acting like it. You all know that the surfacers send their fighters down here to slaughter us, but it’s far worst than that. My time in the service of our master has shown me the truth, and the truth is that they don’t see us as a threat at all.” Shocked gasps echoed through the reservoir. “The humans we have encountered are merely their young and inexperienced. To the Surfacers, we are nothing more than training dummies. The first of many steppingstones. We are not a threat, we’re barely an inconvenience. Well, I say no more!” The crowd stared intently. Their attention enthralled by the golden plated ruler. “We are not sewer rats. We are wererats, and it’s time that we remind them of that. No more will we be weak. No more will we be a pest that inconveniences them. We will show the Surfacers that we are strong. We are warrior, ready to take the fight to them!” Several of the soldiers nodded in anger, and they held their weapons tightly. “From this day forward, strength will be our virtue. Might will be our ally. We will take the fight to the Surfacers and show them that we are not to be underestimated.” The soldiers cheered with their weapons raised, and the citizens nodded enthusiastically. “Let us show the humans, the Monster, and the gods our might!”

The soldiers slammed their weapons against the stone in rhythm, and the citizens stamped their feet. “Skivret! Skivret! Skivret!” Their chants sounded like thunder throughout the sewers.

“Follow me to glory!”

“I’m sorry son, but there’s no saving your hand.” Urielle held back tears as the priest wrapped Torrn’s arm. “The necrotic magic has eaten away to much of the flesh.” The somber atmosphere weighed heavily on the room.

“Will I still be able to serve?” Torrn’s voice came out low as he stared at the stump of his left arm.

“Yes, but you won’t be able to carry a tower shield anymore.” Torrn flinched at the news, and Niel placed a hand on his shoulder. “You should still be able to use a round or heater shield. They’re far more practical.”

Torrn stared at the large shield leaning against the wall. “It’s not about being practical,” he whispered, “It’s about being a symbol.”

“I understand.” The priest nodded. “I’m truly sorry son.” Urielle turned away. Her eyes burning from holding back the tears. All of this was her fault.

“Lady Saint, a word if you please.” She looked up at Patron Waldren, who had just entered the room. She nodded and quietly left. The rain still fell heavily, leaving large puddles in the cathedral courtyard. “What happened?”

“We-I underestimated our enemy.” Urielle said with a hoarse voice. “The monster, Reviled Legion, was ready for us and had us in the palm of its hand.”

“How could you let this happen?” Waldren snapped, his eyes filled with rage. “First there’s the quest you commissioned, and now we’ve lost a paladin, and another that is permanently wounded.”

“I’m sorry.” Urielle wiped her eyes.

“Sorry!” Waldren bellowed, his spit hitting her face. “You have made us a laughingstock! When word gets out that a Saint failed to exorcise an agent of the Dead Gods, people will start losing faith in us.”

“We should request aid.” Urielle tried holding herself together. “The guards can help secure the sewers. We should even send word to his Holiness- “

“No.” Waldren growled. He pressed his finger into her sternum. “This is your mess, Urielle. If you can’t solve this on your own, then I’m sending a request to his Holiness to remove your title of Saint.” Disgust painted his face. “You are a disgrace to Lady Shecoga.” He stormed off with veins bulging in his neck.

Urielle slowly made her way back to her room, and as soon as she the door shut behind her, she stripped off her armor. In the pale light of the candles, she looked at her reflection. She was soaked to the bone, but she couldn’t help but see blood everywhere. Giale’s blood. Elizar’s blood. Torrn’s blood. So much blood covered her. All because she failed.

The tears flowed down her cheeks, and she crawled onto her bed. Her face was buried in her pillow as she begged for forgiveness.

Halligan stared at the ground. He couldn’t bear to look at the Duke’s disappointed face, and Magister Cromwell held his head. The weight of Elizar’s death was now on their shoulders.

“Forgive me, your Grace.” Halligan said with a dejected sigh.

“How could this have happened?” The Duke groaned, standing from his desk. “Elizar was a master mage. To think that he could be surpassed in magic is unthinkable.” He leaned against the window and stared out into the rain. “He was irreplaceable.”

“Agreed.” Cromwell nodded. “I doubt we’ll find another mage as loyal and dedicated as him.” He turned to Halligan with a fiery glare. “You had the Saint and a group of paladins; how could you lose?”

“We underestimated the monster.” Halligan frowned in remorse. “It has control over the wererats, and its command of magic easily surpassed everyone in our party, including Elizar. It even summoned a lich, and had a minstrel at its side, one that could influence people with her music.”

“This is more serious than we could ever imagine.” The Duke growled, his face twisted in worry and anger. “We’ll have to mobilize the guard. The Black Horn Guild won’t be able to lend us adventurers, and I fear the Church will send more inexperienced paladins.” He turned to Cromwell with a determined gaze. “Have Phineas prepare an elite unit. Make sure Sir Kogna is a part of it.” A knock sounded from the door. “Enter!”

Priscilla entered with Kogna and Lana at her side, and she gave her father a deep curtsy. “I’m sorry to disturb you father.” Priscilla said, trying to keep her voice calm. “I heard Sir Halligan is back, and that Elizar wasn’t with him.” Her hands clutched at the front of her dress, and she tried to keep her lower lip from quivering. “Is he dead?”

The Duke gave his daughter a sad, but proud smile. “I’m afraid so.”

“I see.” Priscilla stood up straighter, trying to fight back the tears. “Do you plan on sending in our soldiers?” The Duke nodded, and she replied with a fiery gleam in her eyes. “I would like to request you hold off on that, your Grace.”

“Why?”

“Because I think this would be an excellent opportunity to reveal our new knightly order.” Priscilla said with a toothy scowl.

“The Knights of the Withered Thorn are still undergoing training.” Cromwell looked concerned. “If five paladins, a Saint, Elizar, and Sir Halligan couldn’t vanquish the monster, then what possible chance do they have?”

“I must agree.” The Duke said.

“You are correct in that they are inexperienced, but there’s more at stake then destroying the monster.” Priscilla replied with a deep breath. “The Duke’s reputation is on the line. Chances are, the Church won’t send any more reinforcements, at least not until Sir Solomon can be dispatched. Which will leave defeating the monster to us.”

“Very astute, and I agree with your assessment.” The Duke smiled. “However, why should we rely on this new order?”

“Because of the added morale.” Priscilla’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Imagine how everyone would react when word gets out that the monster was destroyed by a new order of knights. The tale will boost their esteem across Mrytha, and since they are an order of commoners, we won’t have a shortage of recruits.” The Duke rubbed his chin in thought. “Father, this is a chance for us to stand apart from the other nobles. I recommend we have Sir Kogna and Phineas train the recruits, push them until they are the best. Then we send them after the monster. If they succeed, then we pronounce the new order to the world, but if they fail, then we send in the guard.”

“It’s an ingenious plan, your Grace.” Cromwell replied with a smirk. “We can also train the guards alongside them to be safe.”

The Duke looked at Priscilla with a stern gaze. “Was this your plan, or our benefactor’s?”

“Mine, father.” Priscilla smiled proudly.

Lana curtsied. “I can attest to that, my lord.”

The Duke returned her smile, a proud gleam in his eyes. “Very well Priscilla. We’ll go with your plan. Would you like the honor of telling your brother?”

“Yes.”

The Duke nodded. “Then go tell your brother of this plan.” Priscilla curtsied and glided out of the office. “She’s grown up.” The Duke chuckled after the door closed. He turned to Cromwell. “See to it that the knights are properly equipped.”

“As you command.” Cromwell bowed and quickly left.

Sir Halligan and the Duke stared at each other. “Go rest, Sir Halligan. I’ll call if I have need.” Halligan bowed and quietly left the room.

Eirgnon snarled as he gazed at the ball of mana above Jericho. If it wasn’t for the failure hanging around him, he would be proud. The mana should fuel the spell for nearly a week, and yet it hung there as a reminder of his ineptitude.

Cool air blew through the broken rafters, and rain seeped in from the holes in the roof. The floorboards creaked with every step, threatening to give under their weight. He found this ruined manor hidden in the back of the middle city. There remained no signs as to what happened to the previous occupants, so he had taken residence.

A pair of hands reached around him and ran along his chest. “Master, you should be in bed.” Magia whispered as she pressed her perky breasts against his back. Eirgnon growled as his lust warred against his wrath.

Eirgnon clenched his fists tightly. “Now, isn’t the time.” He snapped, trying to get himself under control. His hands ached to squeeze Magia’s soft flesh. “If Lord Reviled is anything like Lady Dyir’bahl, then I have failed one time too many.” He pulled Magia’s hands away. “I must find a way of regaining his favor, lest I be replaced.”

“There is none greater than you master!” Magia cried, grasping his arm.

“Foolish wench!” Eirgnon slapped her, sending her flying across the room. Magia cried when she slammed into the crumbling stone wall. “You know nothing, so let me educate you on how this works.” He stared down at her as she cowered. “The Avatars are the very pinnacle of humanity, they are the children of the gods, and that draws in all manners of people to their side. All of us are vying for their favor, for their will is that of their patron’s. So, if I’ve grown in disfavor with Lord Reviled, then-?” He gestured to her to complete the sentence.

“You’ll have lost favor with Lady Elithis?” Magia sniffled as she flinched away from his hand.

“Exactly.” Eirgnon leaned down and petted her. The gesture made her pur. “You never want to be in a god’s disfavor.” A ruckus came from below, and one of his children came storming in the room. “What is it, Hornet?”

“Squatters master.” Magia’s former friend replied. “They tried stealing into the manor for refuge.”

Eirgnon sighed deeply. “I could use a stiff drink.” He slipped on a plush robe and headed downstairs.

In the main hall, ten ragged people sat under guard. Their clothes were soaked and torn from constant use, and Eirgnon could smell them from the stairs. One of the women held a baby in her arms, and its wails echoed off the walls. A family of four sat huddled together, the father desperately trying to protect his two daughters. The rest looked to be a myriad of unrelated strangers.

“Looks like we caught ourselves some rats.” Eirgnon growled, trying to pick one to feed on. Unfortunately, none of them looked appetizing.

“Please sir,” the mother cried, holding her baby tight. “We were simply trying to get out of the rain. We didn’t know this place was occupied.”

“Don’t beg!” A rough looking man snapped. “They’re clearly squatters too.” Eirgnon snarled and used his magic to force him to the ground.

“This is my house.” Eirgnon snarled, showing off his fangs. “Only those I consider family can stay here.”

“Please sir.” The father swallowed in fear. “There’s nowhere else to go. The Church chased us away when we tried going to the cathedral.”

Eirgnon looked them over. “Are you all refugees?” They nodded, and Eirgnon hummed in thought. Besides from the young women, none looked appealing enough to turn into sanguinites, and even then, it would be unwise to rapidly grow his brood. They all stared up at him expectantly, and a smile crept to his lips. “You misunderstand, my friend.” He smiled warmly. “I meant that I welcome you all as family.”

“What about him?” They all looked to the man being crushed.

“He was being quite rude.” Eirgnon sighed in distaste as he manipulated the mana in the air. “Even after I welcomed you all into my house.” The enchantment took hold, and they all nodded in agreement. He released the spell and gestured to the man. “What do you have to say?”

The man coughed a reply. “Forgive me.”

Eirgnon affectionately petted his head. “Of course, child.” He cooed. “All are welcome into the House of Destiny.”

“House of Destiny?” They all looked around in confusion.

“I know it’s not much, but every flock deserves a place of rest.” Eirgnon chuckled.

The world around them shifted as the crumbling ruins transformed into a proper house. The main hall sparkled from a fresh coat of wax, and a luxurious rug decorated the floor. Warmth radiated from the fireplace along with the sweet smell of food. Laughter echoed off the walls as illusionary people walked the halls in robes of red and gold.

In the center of the hall, nestled between two staircases, stood a large golden statue of a voluptuous woman. Her arms were held open, inviting all into the room. The warm smile on her lips easily put everyone at ease. In her right hand was an open book with a bee and flower on the front cover.

“Behold, this is what the House of Destiny truly looks like.” Eirgnon turned to take the image in. His gaze lovingly lingered on the golden statue. “Here, our Lady of Fate guides us towards our purpose. In this house, there is no such thing as a refugee.”

“That’s a load of shit.”

Eirgnon snarled as he turned onto the group. “Fate is not a ‘load of shit,’” he said, “It is the very meaning of life.” He approached the group. “All of our suffering is because there are those who don’t know their fate. So, they fight against what they should do causing everyone around them to suffer.” Hate filled eyes turned to the man. “In this house, I guide my flock towards their fate. I show them how best to live their lives by showing them where they belong.”

“Does everyone have a place.” The Mother looked to her crying child.

Eirgnon took the woman into his arms and placed a hand on the baby’s head. “Of course, my dear.” He whispered into her ear. “The Lady of Fate denies no one a purpose.”

“Can you tell us more about this Lady of Fate.” All eyes turned to Eirgnon.

“That is my purpose.” Eirgnon held his arms outstretched. “Come children, let me show you your destiny.”

The clinking of metal echoed of the stone walls, and a single lamp lit up the tent. Rench and his sons gingerly replaced the parts damaged by the mage’s spells, and a small pile of melted metal sat in the corner. After they connected the final wire to the core, they closed up Reviled’s chest.

“They’re ya are master.” The old rat rubbed his paws. “This one was a doozy. Took us nearly a week to replace everythin’.”

Reviled’s eyes lit up as it tested its movement. “A fine job.” It sat up and stared at the pile of broken parts. “How bad was it?”

“We’re outta’ parts master.” Rench groaned as he rose to his feet. “Nearly every wire and gear was slagged. I’m surprised you was able to move.”

“You did excellent work. We’ll have a reward soon.”

“I’ll take that.” Rench pointed at the broken parts. “They maybe useless to ya, but I can never have enough metal.”

“It’s yours.”

Rench smiled and whistled at his sons. They quickly removed the parts from the tent.

“Until next time master.” Rench nodded and hobbled out of the tent.

Reviled sat there staring at the floor. Frustration pinged off the souls in its core, and a low growl escaped. Necrotic mana flooded the tent and Reviled looked up at the portal floating in front of it.

“I’m disappointed.” Elithis said coldly. Reviled let slip a growl which made Elithis’ frown deepen.

“Forgive us, mother.” Reviled bowed its head. “Ever since Eirgnon arrived. Our followers have become willful.”

“If you are to be my avatar, then you’d best learn to control your followers.” Elithis snapped, sitting up straight. “The title of Avatar draws in all manner of humans. The weak and the strong. The ambitious and the meek. The loyal and the traitorous. You must learn to align their desires to your own, otherwise, your kingdom will crumble under its own weight.”

“We understand.”

“Make sure that you do.” Elithis snapped her fingers, and the Tome slammed shut. Reviled reached for the book, and a spark of mana snapped at his fingers. Eventually, the Tome faded into the shadows.

“Mother’s right.” Reviled growled in frustration. “A kingdom can only thrive when everyone knows their place.” Its eyes flashed in anger.