The Sargent ripped the suction-cupped arms wrapped around his neck which such force that the cephalopod recoiled back into the depths of the ocean in an instant. His senses were starting to clear up. He could hear his men screaming from all sides. Some pleaded for help. Some gurgled profanities as their severed bodies began to fail them. Even though his vision was still blurred, he could recognize some familiar shapes. The mast head of his once spectacular ship “Fadence” gently bobbing up and down with each crash of the waves. Each time a wave pressed on the remains of the ship, it sank a little bit deeper. While the sun was blazing in the sky, it seemed that each beam of light focused on each man, gently caressing them before plunging them to their death.

His vision was clearing now and the entire scene was being revealed to him. Spinning like a wonky water rotisserie were a few of his men trying to fight off the the remaining Giant Squid that had attacked the ship. He had heard of such creatures but until today thought they were just folk tales told by bitter sailors too old for the craft. He swiveled to the left just in time to see his best war horse succumb to the struggle of staying afloat for so long. She was a fine beast that had served him well, and didn’t deserve that type of ending…

“Sargent D!” the patch-eyed sailor yelped. “You made it!” Sargent D recognized the booming voice of Jess. Always the scrapper, Jess had somehow survived more situations that he thought possible. He even survived the Dark Night Raids twenty-three years ago. Somehow, Jess was immune to their senses and they never were aware of his presence. Because of that, Sargent D always considered Jess to be a lucky charm.

“Jess. I need a count on how many men are still alive.” The Sargent barked. “Sir!” Jess dived toward the wreckage floating about the ocean. Sargent D’s vision and senses had fully returned. The pain from creature was now setting in. He began to remove the tiny suckers still working fervently to please their appetite for flesh. He was trying to recall how this happened. They were on course to Grayspire and there were no reports of any incidents in nearly three months. They had just sailed passed Slippery Rock when the attacks began. It made no sense that deep water creatures were in soo close to the mainland.

But none of that mattered now. He knew he needed to get to the capital city of Durbin in order to continue his hunt for the Death Monk.

The bard was wowing the crowd with brilliant displays of rainbow colors and noise that made the children laugh. He was singing the tale of Roland’s Run – the most notorious bard in all of Durbin. Known for his generosity as much as his mischief, any story about Roland was always a crowd favorite. Under normal circumstances Sargent D would enjoy listening to such a tall tale, but with only six men surviving from his platoon, he was in no mood for festivities. It was common in Durbin to see traders, soldiers and people of every craft walking through the markets. As the sparkling gem of civilization, Durbin offered many things, but never would she willingly reveal her secrets.

A slim hooded man appeared in front of Sargent D and his men from seemingly nowhere. He quickly bowed and extended his hand “A message for you, my lord.”
Sargent D snatched the note from the man’s fingers. “Thanks, I didn’t think anyone knew…” The hooded man raised his eyes to meet the Sargent. They seemed to be made of crystals as he spoke before he vanished “She will meet you soon.”

He opened the note.

“Welcome to Durbin. Please register your names, weapons and travel plans. We have a code of conduct that will be enforced by the city guard. Should you choose to violate this code, you will be asked to pay a fine or participate in community service. Thank you for your understanding.

This message is good for 2 free drinks per person at My Brother’s Place. Drinks provided by Roland. Ask for him to find your monk.”

Sargent D turned to his men and sighed. “Well, at least we know where to go in this city.”

Even at night his features were well defined. A five day growth of facial hair barely covered his chiseled face. His brown eyes were focused on sharpening the blade of his over-sized cleaver. It’s handle was supposedly from the Grayspire Garden that many claimed to possess powers of healing. The scars on his face told him otherwise. While many preferred the skilled blade of a barber, he used his cleaver to ensure the apex of his mohawk was perfectly unbalanced. The cleaver also doubles as a great razor to keep his head smooth and free of any insects that might decide to take up residence.

He was gazing in the blade’s reflective surface when he spotted a subtle movement behind him. In an instant, he sprung and spun around to face his enemy. “Do not be alarmed.” She spoke in a calming voice. “I have a gift for you.” “What the hell are you?” Sargent D could tell she was beautiful by the way her clothes contoured her her body. While trying to make eye contact, his eyes were averted to her curves instead. Sargent D couldn’t help but wonder why there seemed to be a gentle wind swirling around her body, occasionally flashing skin at opportune times.

“I am here to help you on your mission.” she reached inside her slightly floating cloak and presented the gift to Sargent D. At the base it looked like a horse’s hoof but had the circumference of a common staff. As his eyes gazed upwards to the top of the dark wooded staff, the head took the shape of a war horse with what looked like red rubies for the eyes. She maneuvered the staff to rest in both of her hands as she extended the magnificent staff to him.

“Take this, it will help you reach your destination.” He inched towards her. “Why do you want to help me?” He placed his left hand on the staff between her grip. “I am looking for a defender worthy of protecting me.” Her eyes met his for the first time. “Are you that person?” She released her hands from the staff.

Instantly, Sargent D felt a surge of power from the staff. While he didn’t know what the powers were, he suddenly felt drawn to the Mistress. “Damn. What does this thing do?”

“The power the staff wields depends upon the user. At the very least, you will be able to summon a War Horse that never tires, never needs to rest nor eat. Anything else is yours to discover.” Her black hair now gently rested on her bosom. Sargent D inspected the staff with his hands. “Well, I am short a good horse, I suppose this will do.” He looked to where she was standing. She leaned in towards him then burst into a mist that floated upwards into the night sky.

“‘Till we meet again.” Sargent D stared at the sight before returning his focus on his new weapon. “Time to see what this thing can do.”

– War Wizard

“Eyes of the dead watch from their living walls.”

Those were the last words spoken by the plump gnome as the last breath of life exited from his lips.

“Next time, we bring no little people.” barked Orsk. The barbarian always spoke his mind with no regard to the delivery of his words.

“There won’t be a next time if this pace keeps up.” Myria whispered. “This is the fourth one tonight!”

“Time to wake up the monk.” Orsk crept towards the sleeping man. He quietly unfurled himself and aimed for the monk’s head. As the stream was about to hit it’s target, the monk instantly rolled to avoid the incoming secretion.

He let out a hearty laugh. “I’ll get you at some point, my friend.” The Death Monk just glared at the barbarian as he made his way past the campfire towards Myria.

“Anything interesting happen during your watch?”

Myria’s hazel eyes reflected the firelight as she looked up to him. “Seems like someone liked our little Gnomes, all four were poisoned. Only the last one was able to mutter something useful. The skinny one over there said something about a Spirit in Black – make any sense to you?”

“It could mean many things. I’ll pile the little guys up and we can add them to the flame – no need to to contaminate the area.” The Death Monk started towards the skinny Gnome. Myria stood in dis-belief. “You should get your rest, we might need your abilities come tomorrow. I’ll stay up the rest of the night.”

“Are you-” He cut her off. “Yes. The Night has always been a friend to me. I find it soothing.” He tried his best to offer a smile.

“Suit yourself.” Myria flicked off some soot from her shoulder length brown hair. She unrolled her sleep sack and was quickly asleep.

The Death Monk knew that his timing would be essential to the success of his mission. His Mistress would not accept anything less than the perfect specimen.

And Myria was perfect.

– War Wizard

The dark city night would provide cover for his intended actions. This wasn’t the first time the Death Monk had the insatiable desire to feel the life force of some street whore enter into his mind. The streets of Durbin were not particularly clean near this part of the town. The local pubs were lucky to have anything more than a dirt floor and a fire pit for their patrons. At any moment in time one could find tests of strength against some hearty barbarians, or a contest of skill against the archers of Grayspire. Of course, at all times one had to be alert for the many thieves trying to earn their way into the local guild by a either a night’s worth of pilfering, or a daring attempt at a local temple to come away with some religious artifact.

None of that was on his mind as he scanned the potential victims. He almost felt sorry for the tramp that he was going to take that night. No remorse for their useless souls, but instead of how they wasted their lives by offering their bodies in exchange for gold, items and most times, food for their wretched children born into the world. Why would a whore think that she could actually do any good by bringing in another mouth to feed? But none of that mattered to him now.

He finally spotted her. The one that would please his Mistress. The whore he sought was cute for having shorter hair. At least it was brushed, and she looked cleaner than most of the other street walkers that night. Maybe she was just getting started for the night. No matter, this wouldn’t take long.

The Death Monk reached up and pulled down his hood to reveal his shaved head and piercing gray eyes sparkling in the thought of what he was going to do in the next few minutes. He caught her attention by tripping himself into her.

“Hey!” she shouted. “The first grope is free, the next one will cost you.”

The Death Monk smirked. That trick worked every time.

“How much for your company, my lady?”

She gazed over his tall frame twice and then stopped, looking at his crotch.

“Well, honey, what’d you have in mind?” as she leaned in towards him, placing her hand on his upper thigh.

“My lady, I’ve never had the company of a woman before, so I…”

“Oh. You’re pure! Well, that changes things now doesn’t it? Since you’ve never been with someone of my…talents, for five gold, I’ll make sure you won’t forget my name.”

“What is your name, my lady?” he asked.

“Whatever you want it to be, honey.” as she playfully pressed her body against his.

“Can we go somewhere with some more privacy?” as he spoke with more confidence.

“Of course, but first, I need to make sure that you’re serious?” her hand extended towards him.

“Certainly.” He reached into his cloak, securing his money bag while pulling out the payment and placed it in her hands.

“Follow me.” the short haired whore said as she turned towards Little J’s pub.

He began to follow her as he surveyed the scene. No guards in this part of town. A nice dark alley way next to the pub. Easy escape route with many places to dispose of the body afterwards. Then as he was just about to make his suggestion, he caught glimpse of his Mistress standing atop the pub. Pale skin. Ice blue eyes. Long dark hair gently resting her cape and bosom. She was just as gorgeous as she was dangerous. She made eye contact and nodded.

The Death Monk spoke with authority to the whore.

“Can we step over here for a moment?”

He gestured to the alley way.

“Well now, for your first time you’re a frisky one, aren’t ya?” She took three steps into the alley.

At first all she felt was his hands groping her at her chest, but then he moved his massive fingers up to her throat. His hands reached around her larynx and he quickly squeezed the air out and trapped whatever her final moments of oxygen would provide her in her lungs. She tried to reach back at first, then she tried to twist her body to get an angle on him.

But he was soo strong. She looked into his eyes and saw anger. Then blackness. She blinked again and saw his fist coming down on her face. The pain never came like she thought it would. Instead, she felt all her memories of her childhood. The good times, and bad things that shaped her to what she was today. She felt the connection to her body losing it’s grip. She felt as if she was floating. Gently hovering.

She looked down. She saw her body getting pummeled by the man with the shaved head. Why was he doing that? Why wasn’t anyone coming to her aid? Why didn’t she feel anything? Then at that moment, she realized what was happening. She felt an endless ache in her soul as she thought about her brother that was waiting for her to come home the next morning.

But that feeling was instantly replaced by a sense of surrounding cold. She felt her life essence being torn apart, to exist no more, and to matter nothing to anyone.

She felt a tug behind her, or was it above her? She felt her existence fading into nothingness. And in the next moment, she was no more.

“Excellent work.” The Mistress said as she landed on the ground next to the monk.

“Thanks.” The Death Monk said.

“Where the hell can I dispose this?” looking down at the body of the short haired whore.

“I’ll take care of it. You should join your friends now. I will summon you again when needed.”

“Yes Mistress.” The Death Monk bowed, but waited.

“What is it?” She asked.

“When will I see the evolution?” The monk asked.

“Next time you’re in combat, you’ll notice it. Now leave me.”

“Yes, Mistress Divine.”

The Death Monk emerged from the darkened alley way. No one noticed him.

“Amazing what those vampires can do.” He thought to himself as he entered Little J’s Pub.

– War Wizard