Story - In the enemy ranks

“Uhh... Where am I?”
The man takes a slow look around him. His garments are ripped and scorched, with blood all over him. The ground is burnt with a darker area right aside him, as if a blast or explosion happened. Corpses all over the place too, most of them seared beyond recognition, but clearly humanoids – humans and elves. He slowly shakes his head and shuffles to the side, getting into a sitting position.
“Wait... I remember now. Exploration... An ambush... The explosion...” He suddenly stops talking to himself as he hears a noise coming from behind him. He concentrates to determine the source. He hears another footstep. He looks at his side; he quickly grabs a sword from the nearby corpse and hops up, turning around, only to find a soldier standing in front of him – Tenebram, from the light armour and dark blue/grey colour scheme.
“A survivor, I see...” The soldier grins, approaching the man, weapons drawn. “It’s only you and me, then. I will take great pleasure in ripping away what little life is left in...” Before he can finish the sentence the man rapidly blinks towards him and lunges his blade into his right shoulder. “Lesson number one, never underestimate your enemy.” He grins, as he pushes the now lifeless body to the ground. He then takes a thorough look around. “Good, there’s nobody else here. This fellow seems to have my same build, and if somebody around here comes I’m dead for sure, I’m too tired to teleport away or run. I’ll take his armour and see if I can find any of my belongings, sneak away and warn the Council – they should be informed of this”.



“This armour is so uncomfortable... No wonder Tenebram lose most of their battles.” He grins to himself as he looks around the scorched zone. “Nothing... Everything’s been burnt or turned to dust. I can’t just leave like this... I need to find the culprit of this massacre.” He noticed a reflection just outside the scorched area. A satchel survived, probably knocked off from the blast or covered by somebody, saving it from its certain demise. He picks it up and looks inside it. He grabs a bottle of water from inside it and empties it in a matter of seconds. “That was needed... What else is in here? Hm... Two power gems, anti-poison... Well, better than nothing.” He straps the satchel to his belt and looks around. “I should be in the Ven’hak Highlands...” He holds his hands forward and closes his eyes, a second later he holds on a summoned map. “Yes, I was right... deep into Tenebram territory, to investigate these ruins supposed to contain a magical artifact...” He looks in front of him. “Good, they aren’t far. Alright then, here goes...” he is interrupted by the sound of chatter not too far away from him. He quickly rushes and dives behind a nearby boulder, observing the patrol, composed of four Tenebram grunts.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to give second chances?”
“You’re right, but apparently we need every possible man at the ruins. Nobody knows what we’re expecting...”
“What, monsters? Demons? Undead?”
“Please, we’re probably not going to find anything at all.”
“Last time you said that, we fell in an ambush. We lost most of the squad to giant spiders, remember?”
“That was only once.”
“Another time you led us into a treasure room, saying ‘it looks safe’. You stepped on a pressure plate and had half of our team die to poisoned arrows.”
“Okay, fine... Twice...”
“Don’t make me speak about...”
“Guys, stop it. We have to look for survivors, even enemies, and take them to the camp. If they don’t want to help, we’ll make them.”
That’s a good opportunity, he thought. He suddenly stumbles down from behind the boulder. He pulls up a weakened, battered voice. “Over here... Help!” The group quickly approaches the man, one of them draws weapons. “Don’t be that stupid... He’s clearly one of us. What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know.... The ambush... We were winning... A blow to the head... That’s all I remember. I was... Trying to rejoin but... I am lost.”
“Wow, you sure took quite the hit. Don’t worry, you’re with us now. We’re just going to search the area for more survivors, and then...”
“There’s none.” He sighs. “I looked. No one is alive, all of them... Burned to ashes.”
“Then you’re damn lucky, and Pyromancer Aryen did a damn good job. Can you walk?”
The man slowly goes to stand up.
“Good. Follow us, soldier. We’re going back to base.”
“I don’t like him...” one of the grunts nudges another one. “I don’t remember him.”
“That’s because you don’t like anybody at all. And hell, nor do I, but are we supposed to remember everybody? No. We’re over two hundred, you can’t expect to know everybody.”
“Still... I am not convinced.”
“Shut up back there! Give the man a break.”
The man sneakily grins to himself – Tenebram grunts have never been known for their intelligence.



The small ruins are almost overcrowded, as they have to accommodate the Tenebram troops. A temporary palisade was the only protection for the encampment, which is composed mostly of medium or large garrison tents. A feast table is present as well as a few officer tents. Some mages are examining a large reinforced door, and the occasional spell thrown at it seems to have no effect – whatever enchantment is locking that door is very strong. “You’ll want to report to Overseer Kanata.” The patrol leader stops and turns to the man. “He’ll be interested in knowing there actually were survivors... if only just one... and to know how you survived the blast.” The man nods and salutes in proper Tenebram fashion – he knew how the army structure worked. “At ease, soldier. I’m not your superior.”
“Thank you nevertheless. If you...”
“I just followed orders. Now report to the Overseer, there’ll be time to chat later. He’s in the last of the officer tents.” He nods and walks away. On his way to the tent he slows down to eavesdrop on an interesting conversation.
“So what? Only because I joined the squad two days ago it doesn’t mean I am weaker than you!”
“Yeah! Let us prove your worth instead of just discriminating against us.”
“You had a chance to prove your worth earlier... Almost all of your fellow newcomers died. You hardly even survived a direct clash against those northerners.”
“A meteor was launched at us!”
“So are you disagreeing with our tactics?” The soldier, clearly a higher ranked soldier, stares at the grunt.
“No... No sir. I am not.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
He then hurries up to the officer tent. He knocks on the wooden board at the tent entrance. “Overseer? I am reporting from the field...”
A slightly high-pitched and creepy voice greets him.“Ah, a survivor? Interesting... Come inside.” The man walks in and takes a quick look around. Kanata is standing in front of a table, his back to him. Battle plans and letters are scattered on the table. The heavily-armoured man then turns around and folds his arms across his chest. “I honestly didn’t expect anybody to come out of it alive. What made you so special?”
“I don’t know, Overseer. All I remember is the fight... A strong blow to the head... That’s it. I found myself under some other corpses... They might have cushioned the impact...”
“I don’t remember you, however.” Kanata interrupts him, examining him. “Who are you?”
“I am one of the newcomers, sir. Joined two days ago.”
“That would explain it. I will admit it, we did the round of recruitment so that we could have extra cannon fodder to send... However, I tend to reward those lucky or brave enough to survive. You will be placed into our main squad for the next mission – no more suicidal charges for you.” The man briefly nods. “I will also grant you the chance for me to listen to one of your requests. Do you have any wish?”
‘Good, another dumb Tenebram’, he thought. ‘Better not underestimate them, though. If they suspect I am not actually one of them I am done for – no way I can get out of this. Unless...’ He nods to himself, slowly
“Yes. I have seen some of your men examining a large door. I believe I may be of help... Who should I report to?”
Kanata quirks an eyebrow and looks at the man. “How would you be able to help?”
The man smiles. “Before joining here, I was a scavenger and adventurer. I remember seeing a few doors similar to these, and I believe I know how to open them, or I could at least assist a magician in doing so.”
“Interesting... Since Pyromancer Aryen seems to have a personal interest in entering that place, but no means of doing such, you may want to report to him. You will find him at the entrance, probably attempting to scorch the door with one of his spells... with no success.” Kanata flashes a smirk. “And good luck, soldier. Not many had the honour to meet up with Aryen and come out of it unscathed.”
The man stands and salutes. “Thank you, Overseer. Semper Tenebram.” He then turns around and leaves the tent, a sly smirk on his face.



Much was tried to open the door, he thought. The nearby walls and the ground show signs of magical influence, scorch marks and even a few heavy strikes. A brute stands nearby, watching the mages, the door and anybody passing by. Two dark-clothed mages examine the door and fling the occasional spell at the door, failing every time. A taller figure, instead, is simply trying to break the magical lock with fire, fire and more fire. Concentrated heat blasts and beams don’t seem to have any effect, however. The man decides to carefully him, being quite sure he’s the person he’s looking for – if the attitude wasn’t a good enough proof, the typical Pyromancer robes – red and golden hooded garments – are easy to spot even from quite the distance.
“Pyromancer Aryen? The Oveerseer sent...”
He quickly turns around, not with the happiest look on his face. “You better have a good reason to interrupt me... Wait. Kanata sent you?”
The man nods. “He thought I could be of help in opening the door.”
Aryen bursts into laughter, taking the attention of the two nearby magicians. “You, a mere grunt, think you can assist me in this? You probably don’t even know what’s holding this door shut, let alone how to open it.”
The man smiles at him, wholly ignoring his remark. “I can tell this is a standard Catachan lock, which would also explain its extremely high resistance to both magical and physical attacks. You could try and find its creator, or cast the proper Lockbreaker spell at it. It’s not hard, but you need to know the spell to open Catachan locks...”
An awkward silence follows as the three casters stare at the man, two of them bewildered, one of them surprised. “How did you...”
“I used to be an explorer and scavenger. I met several of these enchantments, and I usually had at least a mage that shown me how to break them.” He then turns to Aryen. “Now, you have two choices. You could ignore me or execute me and go back to your scorching, with a near null chance to open the door, or you could heed my advice and use me. Of course, all finds would go to you. Also, if this were to end up in a report, it could be that I never existed...”
The silence continues for a while. Aryen gestures for the two other mages to go away. “One wrong step and you’re dead. You understand? You better not be tricking me...”
“Not doing anything dirty here, sir. However, I will need information on the place in order to know what to do.”
Aryen turns to the door. “Reports indicate this used to be the residence of an archmage. He owned a powerful artifact, a staff said to grant far sight amongst other things – the ability to see further away than your eyes could and cast spells at great distances...”
“You’re talking of Archmage Trevor and of the Great Eye, aren’t you?”
“Silence!” He briefly looks at the man. “Yes indeed, them. This is the entrance to the tower’s dungeon, which is also where the staff is kept. Now, what do you want to open this door?”
He smiles again. “Nothing.” Aryen looks even more confused. “Give me some time with the door. Also, I’ll need the best quality scrolls, ink and quill.”
He gestures to the brute to approach. “The good scrolls, ink and quill. Bring them here. Also, give our... helper... the standard mage garments and watch him. It’s almost night and I wouldn’t want him to escape or plant a trap.” The brute nods and trots off. “You better be done by tomorrow. If the door isn’t open by then, you’re in trouble.”
“It’ll be done before you know it.”
“It better...” Aryen nods briefly and walks away. The brute returns with the requested items as well as a table and chair. The man takes a hold of the plain dark robes. He removes his light armour (he still had clothes underneath them, don’t worry!) and puts on his new robes. “Ah, finally, something comfortable...” He nods at the brute, which doesn’t reply. “Anything else?”
“No. Thank you. Return to your duties.” He then turns towards the door. He leans on it with both of his hands, palms in full contact with the door. He then enters a meditative trance... And doesn’t move... For a long while.



“So you’re telling me he’s been like this for basically the whole night?!”
“Yes, Pyromancer Aryen. He only briefly went to write on the scrolls and then returned to the door.” The ogre brute is just as confused as the elf. When meditating, the man doesn’t show many signs of life or consciousness. His magical aura is strong, but it is hard to understand what he is doing. Aryen tries to subtly gather information with a scrying spell, but fails – the spell returns no information whatsoever, which irritates him. Suddenly, the man breaks from his meditative state and stands up. He quickly heads over to the table, sits down, and hastily draws on the scroll.
“May I know what is going on here?”
“I’m inscribing the key to this lock. Be thankful.”
If the pyromancer’s ears could release steam, they would. But he knows it is his only chance to get inside. “Watch your tone...” He then realises he doesn’t even know his name. As soon as he opens his mouth to ask, the man holds a scroll towards him. “There you go.” Aryen looks at the scroll, puzzled for a moment. “This is the lockbreaker spell for the enchantment. I am sure I don’t need to explain it to you.”
A familiar, creepy voice is heard from behind them. “So, Pyromancer... I trust you will definitely open the door today?” Both of them turn around to face Kanata.
Aryen hastily grabs the scroll. “Yes, Overseer. My... New assistant... Just finished the details on the spell I will use to break the enchantment. Warn your troops as we’ll be delving a dungeon shortly.” Kanata nods but still looks sceptical. “It better work this time. I am tired of your...” A strange noise fills the place as Aryen, after having read the scroll, turns around and begins casting the lockbreaker spell. The scroll incinerates in his hand, being consumed, and the door emits a metallic crack noise, followed by a faint magical pulse, before the whole noise ends. He then pushes the door which opens with ease. “You were saying, Overseer?”
Kanata shakes his head. “Took your time, but you did it. Take as many troops as you want... But leave some for me – I will stay here and make sure nobody interferes with your work.”
“Assign me all mages except for one, a specialist group and some cannon fodder.” He then looks at the ma, which just stood there and watched. “And of course the newcomer... He may be resourceful inside the dungeon.”
“The men will be at your position in five minutes.” He salutes Aryen and heads off, screaming a few orders (calling his men) in the process. Aryen then turns to the man, taking a step towards him. “Now tell me. How did you...”
“Sure. Do you want the simple explanation or the full one?”
“Do not take me for a fool or I will make you pay for your insolence!” Aryen gives him a deadly stare, which is thoroughly ignored by the man’s calm and relaxed behaviour.
“Every Catachan lock has a special ‘attunement’ aura, which is what keeps the enchantment strong and stable. The purpose of a lockbreaker spell is to disrupt this aura and make the enchantment unstable.”
“I know that much, but how did you tune into the aura?”
“Meditation, patience, and a fine sense... This is why I am starving right now; I haven’t eaten for a day. Where can I find something?”
Aryen is doing his absolute best to be patient. “Hngh... My tent... There’s bread, fruits and water...Help yourself, but be quick.” The man nods and heads to the tent, his typical smirk on his face.
Once inside, he makes sure the entrance is closed, grabs a fresh loaf of bread, bites on it and looks around himself. He picks up what seems to be a diary and skims through it. “So, apparently this guy wants the artifact in order to launch ambush and siege attacks at a great distance. This would allow him to, for example, storm a helpless village with meteors, while helped by fellow mages... Oh, great, another typical Tenebram madman.” He puts the diary back on the table, his attention being redirected to a few maps, one of the surrounding areas. “They knew about our coming, it seems. I hope the path to Helkar’s landing, and the port itself, wasn’t discovered.” He grabs a couple of apples, slipping them in a pocket on his robes while munching on the whole bread loaf. He hurries out and to the entrance. Troops were still converging there, which is good – he didn’t spend too much time snooping around the tent, he thought.
Overseer Kanata was standing in the middle, so the man thought it’d be a wise idea to blend in and stand near the other grouped-up mages. “Everybody is here? Listen up. We are very close to our objective. You will soon be sent along Pyromancer Aryen to explore this dungeon. You will follow his orders – any kind of desertion or escape will be met by execution on this very spot. Nobody knows what you are going to meet down there, but expect traps and perhaps some magic at work. Now, off you go.” Aryen looks at the troops, especially the cannon fodder. “You, go ahead.” A few whispers can be heard amongst their ranks but the fifteen men march forward, followed by the six specialists, Aryen, the three mages and the man at the end... stern on not erasing that smirk from his face.



The men were greeted by a large, candle-lit room.
“How are the candles still lit with no fresh air?”
“Magic, you idiot... These are magic candles.”
“There is no such thing as magic candles!”
“Yes, there is. You have some right there.”
The room seems to be a welcoming hall more than anything else. A few chairs and a short table are set on both sides, with paintings and empty showcases on the walls. A large decorated carpet covers the floor.
“This is awkwardly clean,” one of the mage says. “There’s hardly even any dust. Are you sure this place was completely sealed, Pyromancer?”
“Yes I am. The owner’s been dead for years.”
“But what about his successors? Somebody could’ve gotten here...”
“There’s none you imbecile. And the door was clearly never breached. Now stop being useless and look around, examine this place. You,” he points at a grunt “check the corridor over there. You,” he points at two men “see if those drawers have anything in them. And you...” he points to his assistant, who approaches him “What do you know about this place?”
“Just as much as you do, sir, only that there is a staff somewhere.”
A scream is heard coming from the corridor.
“Okay, I may have forgotten to mention that sealed magical residences often have a lot of traps in them, and most of them are based on magical systems... But I thought you knew that.”
Some men rush towards the corridor. “Strange... I swear it was lit before.”
“Well, now it isn’t. Guess why?”
“Because somebody blew on them?”
A face palm is heard across the room. “Because your dumb friend triggered a trap, maybe?”
Aryen smirks. “That comment was so stupid you just earned yourself a special task. Go ahead and see what happened to your friend.” He holds his hand up and summons a burning torch, which he tosses to the quite scared grunt. “Your just-as-witty friend will be right behind you.” They march, slowly, followed by the rest of the group.
“I didn’t sign up for this!”
“Shut up and look around instead... You don’t want a spike to pierce your sorry excuse of a brain.” The corridor takes a turn, and the first man stops in front of a door. “Oh, I wonder what’s in there.” He goes to open the door, and as soon as he does so he falls down, with a scream, through an open trapdoor and into a bed of spikes.
“Well, they didn’t hit his brain, but that’ll do.” He then turns around. “Don’t open that door. Just turn right, follow the corridor and you’ll be fine.”
“Wait, why not turn left...” before the other man can finish his sentence, the sound of moving spears and pierced flesh echoes into the corridor. A few grunts cringe.
Aryen sighs. “Stop killing yourselves and find a way to get out of this narrow corridor already.” The group turns to the left, with no more casualties... for now.

“Now this is quite the big dining hall...”
“I’d call this a residence more than a dungeon, really.”
“Really? Do you have spikes and trapdoors at your home too?”
“Yes, I do. On that regard, feel free to visit me anytime.”
“You wish.”
“Actually, I do. I would love to see your ugly face splattered on a wall – only way to make it look good, really.”
A large table complete with chairs, plates, glasses and cutlery lies in the middle of the hall. The room is heavily decorated – large paintings, tapestry, a couple of highly fashionable carpets, a few standing armours and five large wooden doors.
Aryen turns to the other mages, while the grunts and specialists scatter across the room to examine it.
“Don’t open the two doors near the armour.” The mages turn to the man. “They’re rigged with a scorching trap, it seems. I’m also not convinced about the second one to the right of the portrait. So unless somebody wants to check it I suggest...”
“You!” Aryen points to another unlucky grunt “Check that door.”
“You don’t trust me, do you?”
“Of course I don’t. Once we’re done with this there’s a lot of things you have to tell me.”
The grunt goes to open the door and slowly walks inside the dark room. “Uh... H.... H-hello?” As he steps forward he hears a characteristic pressure plate sound. “Oh, great...” He is flung across the dining hall by a hanging battering ram.
“Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”
“Every second that passes by my urge to incinerate you on the spot increases, and I am not known for my patience.”
The man completely ignores his comment. “I suggest we split up. Half of the mages one side, half of the mages on the other, as I trust they’re all able to telepathically contact the rest if something happens.”
Aryen gives him a deadly stare. “You’re not in command, you know...” he then pauses for a while and sighs. “Men, time to split up.” He points at five grunts, three specialists and two mages. “You’re taking the door on the right. The rest of you, with me.” He then looks at the man again. “And I am going to keep a close eye on you. In fact, I should probably make you go first.”
“Well okay then!” The man hastily trots off to the door, with the puzzled looks of all the other men. He summons a torch and opens the door. “Let’s go. Treasure isn’t going to discover itself.”



Aryen closes his eyes and stops for a moment.
“They haven’t found anything, only corridors and rooms. Seems like they accessed the residential area of the place.”
“We’re in the military and training quarters, then. It’s also more likely that a staff is kept in an armoury instead of a bedroom.”
The grunts are all compact, in a group, the specialists right behind them.
“And what are you meat bags doing?”
“I don’t like this place.” One of them turns to face Aryen. “It’s dark, there’s all these weapons and armours around... And it has a strange feel to it.”
“I feel like one of these swords is going to swing at me in...”
A metallic noise is heard. Everybody freezes except for the man, which decides to cast a light spell to brighten the room. Suddenly, some of the standing armours step away from their pedestals and, weapons in hand, move towards the group. “Defender enchanted armours! Don’t get hit from them, their blades will cut through you like butter in the morning.” The mage stands near Aryen and gathers energy, while the man rushes towards the group of grunts while summoning a simple steel sword. “Guys, look for enchantment sigils and hit them. They’ll be engraved on their armour, but they’ll be hard to spot. They’re runes, basically... Ruin them and the armour will fall down.” He then rushes towards one of the walking defenders. He slides right under its legs, ducking a horizontal slash by very little, and slices its knee joints, causing the armour to fall backwards, before getting back up. Spotting the defender sigil on its chest, he quickly stabs it and the armour falls into pieces. Another defender approaches him.
“How many are there?”
“They’re resistant to magic! My fireballs are worthless against these things!”
“How many?!”
“About a dozen!”
“Mage, stay behind the soldiers and help them spotting the sigils!”
A scream is heard from the main group, partially covered by the sound of falling metal pieces and swords clashing. The man hops backwards to dodge a vertical slash, and parries the upward sword. He spots the sigil on the helmet, and he pushes on the sword to thrust himself towards the defender and knock his helmet off with a shoulder charge. As the armour is about to get up he briefly enhances his strength and crushes the helmet with his boot, resulting in the defender falling to pieces. He turns towards another defender, about to cut one of the grunts in half, and hastily throws a volley of ice shards at it. Freezing the joints the defender is stuck in place, and the grunt shatters it with a powerful shield bash. “Hey, thanks! First time somebody ever helps me!” Sadly that does not save the unaware man from a morning star, which cracks his skull open and sent him flying into another grunt, which actually laughs. “His first and only time, it seems.”
The man throws a volley of summoned sharp arrows towards the defender. The armour falls down, the sigil broken. He dashes forward to grab the morning star; he then spins around and violently smacks an incoming defender with it, sending it into another armour and making both of them fall down into pieces. He then stops and looks around, the silence overtaking the room.
“Is that it?”
“Yep. These things aren’t moving anymore.”
“How many have we lost?”
“We’re left with a grunt, two specialists, you and me. You do the maths.”
“How did the mage die?”
“I honestly don’t want to know... He probably thought he could actually do something against them.”
“Let’s get going. We can’t be far away from the treasure room.”

“I hate corridors.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Yes... Especially when they’re dark and narrow.”
“This guy sure had a strange concept of residences.”
Aryen stops for a moment. “Wait.” He concentrates – he’s clearly receiving a telepathic message. “It seems like the other men found a dead end. They’ll be rejoining us soon...” He frowns. “Apparently not - one of the grunts set a trap and... Well... I’m not hearing anything now. I guess we’re on our own.” He sighs.
One of the grunts stops. “What is that glowing circle...”
“STOP!” The man rushes towards the front. “That’s a trigger rune. You step on it, something happens. And it’s usually not a good thing.”
The pyromancer joins the man. “Stand back, let me deal with this.” He casts a spell at the rune, which suddenly begins to pulse.
“Uh... Is this supposed to happen?”
“I honestly doubt it...”
Suddenly, similar runes begin to glow on the walls. The man and Aryen quickly leap foward; magic lightning rapidly connect the runes and electrocutes anybody in its path. The two slowly get back up and look at the three corpses behind them.
“It’s only you and me, it seems.”
“You totally did that on purpose.”
“Maybe I did...” Aryen smirks. “Maybe I didn’t.” The man sighs and goes on. After a couple of turns, they meet what looks like a trophy room. Several closed display cases and chests lean on the walls of the long room, with a large coffer at the end of it, a red gilded carpet leading to it.
Aryen walks towards the coffer. “Oh yes, finally... You’ll be mine.”
The man bars the way, standing in front of him. “I’m afraid this is where it ends.” Aryen looks puzzled. “You have committed war crimes against the Coalition. You aim to use an artifact for the pure intent of generating mayhem and destruction rather than the advancement of magic knowledge. Stand down and be trialled by the Council for your actions.”
Aryen cracks a laugh. “And on what authority or power you’re going to make me do that?”
The man holds his right hand up and summons a sword, which he comfortably holds forward. For being a proper high-quality (and big!) long sword, it seems to be very lightweight. The glowing, blue-silver-gold blade makes even an elf like Aryen frown at its sight. He’s seen it before, but... Where?
For the first time, the man sounds serious, his eyebrows arched, his look and expression focused and stern. “Say all you want. But one thing is certain: you’re not going to walk out of here unscathed. Be it in chains or as a corpse, I will bring you to justice.”



“This is your last chance. Surrender and no harm will come to you.”
“The Tenebram do not surrender to their enemy!” Aryen summons a ring of pure fire around him. He then unleashes it, almost like a whip, towards the man, which rapidly swings his sword towards it. The fire whip vanishes the moment it is struck from the blade. Aryen gulps briefly. “Is that...” The man grins. “Spellbreaker. I told you, you should’ve surrendered.” Aryen summons a volley of small fire lances, which he throws at the man. “Nothing can save you from my wrath, not even an artifact!” He quickly creates a magical barrier, on which the lances splat like water droplets. “No, but your arrogance is going to be your demise.” He pushes the barrier forward, which bluntly slams Aryen backwards. He is fast to get on his feet and summons two flaming swords in his hands. He lunges at the man, parrying with Spellbreaker. He pushes on the two swords to put some distance between them, but Aryen charges at him again. He parries one of the swords, annihilating it, but the other one connects and slices him on the side – a shallow cut, but enough to make him leap backwards and cringe slightly to the burn. The Pyromancer uses his free hand to send a blast of raw magic towards the man. He smirks as he is hit and pushed into the ground. Aryen charges at him again with the flaming blade, expecting to strike a helpless target, but is instead met with an enhanced kick, which sends him flying across the hallway. A loud thud follows his flight, and he slowly gets back up. “You can’t kill me! Your stupid laws forbid you from doing so!”
“Then you do not know our laws.” The man begins to muster a large amount of energy. “We forbid vigilante justice. But this is not vigilante justice... Because I will be bringing you in front of the Council for a proper trial.”
“You can’t... You won’t get me alive.”
“Who said you have to be alive?” A swarm of large ice and earth shards begin to surround the man. Aryen has little time to panic – the shards are flung at him. He hastily brings up a powerful flame shield, which only blocks a part of the attack; some of the shards pierce his stomach and legs, and he slowly falls down on his knees, crippled and stabbed.
“I feel sorry for you... To be reanimated only to be trialled and likely executed again. But that is the path you chose, and the one I had to enforce.” Aryen throws one last look at the man before he falls flat on his face, lifeless. He takes a few seconds to catch his breath and turns towards the large reinforced chest, which was open. “I swear it was closed before.”
An ethereal, weak voice echoes throughout the place. “Indeed it was. I opened it.” He looks up to see the faint image of a floating ghost, an elderly human with richly decorated robes, above the chest. “I could see into the Pyromancer’s heart... It was dark and craving for destruction. You did well to stop him and prevent my staff from falling into the wrong hands.”
“I take it you’re Archmage Trevor.” The ghost nods slowly. “I wish I had met you in life. I am a great admirer of your works, Archmage...”
“I am sorry to announce I cannot stay here for long. Guarding my Staff was my only purpose. Now that I know it will be in the right hands – the Council’s or yours – I have to depart. However, allow me to use the last bit of my power in whatever way you believe is necessary.”
“Seal this place yet again. There are many goods in this hall that should not fall in enemy hands.”
The shade smiles. “Noble intentions... I will do so. It is my time to go, then. But before I do so...” the man goes to grab the Great Eye, which is now hovering over the chest and in front of the ghost. He takes a hold of the intricate wooden staff, admiring its detail and its centrepiece – an orb containing wild, swirling pure energy – before looking up. He grabs a floating scroll; two runes are engraved on it. “I want you to look after my residence and treat it as your own. This spell will allow you to teleport directly into the main room, the other will let you tune into my spells’ aura to disarm the traps and unlock all doors. I will teleport you to Helkar’s landing and bid you farewell, as my time has come.”
The man politely bows to the shade. “It has been an honour. I am truly grateful. I will commend you to the Council; you shall not be forgotten for your selfless actions.”
The ghost shows a weak smile before him, and the man, slowly fade away.

“Is it me or is it hot here?”
“Everything south of our hometown is boiling hot to you.”
“We do live in one of the coldest places of...” The two guards are interrupted by a bright flash in the middle of the port’s plaza. A black-dressed man, holding an elaborated wooden staff and standing aside a pierced corpse, materialised out of nowhere. The two guards, as well as others, quickly turn to them and unsheathe their weapons. “Whoever you are, surrender now or die!”
The man takes down his hood and raises both hands up “Don’t worry. I am not your enemy. I need to talk to an officer.”
One of the guards walks towards him. “I am Protector Fervan Icestrike of the 10th Guard Regiment. Identify yourself.”
“I am, or was, a Battlemage of the 1st Retriever Force. We were sent to investigate some ruins, suspected to be Archmage Trevor’s residence, to locate and extract the Archmage’s Great Eye and any other item of value to the Coalition. We have been intercepted and slaughtered by the Tenebram, led by Pyromancer Aryen” he points at the corpse “and Overseer Kanata, which escaped justice – for now. I infiltrated their ranks and managed to locate the artifact, which I am holding right now.” Fervan motions for the other guards to sheathe their weapons. “Pyromancer Aryen refused to surrender, but I made sure his body is still suitable for full life reanimation and trial. With your permission, Protector, I will need an audience with the Council for a full report of the events.”
“Impressive work, Battlemage. I will secure a place for you on the next boat to Castle’s Edge, which is going to depart tomorrow. I will also get you a place to sleep at the local inn, I am sure it has been an unpleasant experience...”
“Thank you, but I won’t need the latter, I’m alright. Also, I will need to do some cleaning at the Archmage’s residence.”
Fervan shrugs. “As you wish. I will, however, need your name so that I can send a message to the Council – you will have your audience granted even before you arrive to the Capital.”
The man smiles and inclines his head politely. “Thank you for your assistance.” He is about to turn around but then shakes his head. “Oh, I’m sorry... I am a little bit tired indeed. Kalandras Spellweaver, at your service.”