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Description
      The prophet woke, startled. She was covered in a cold sweat. Her body was old, coming to its end, but her mind was as fresh as ever. She couldn’t shake the vision she had from her dream. The scroll! She didn’t know who or what, but it threatened to take the scroll from its cave. She couldn’t let that happen! Her people had split throughout the land and could not protect it as they had always anticipated. They were not bound to protect it, but they felt it was their destiny.
      For as long as she could remember, her race kept it hidden. The Thalans had settled their home city to the northern reaches of Morden for this very reason. Now, the knowledge of its existence was threatened by something terrifying. The presence she felt in her dream was so strong, so forceful, she wasn’t sure if they would be able to do anything to ward off this monstrous force heading their way. What could be threatening the scroll?  Not knowing what else to do, she slipped a small pouch from her wrist and opened it. Inside it was full of Reverie Leaves, she took one out and laid it on her tongue. She drifted off to a restless dream, hoping for more information.

__________

      Drathir steadied his foot on the chest of the dead man below him. He grasped the hilt of his sword tightly and pulled it out from man’s sternum. Five came this time. The king was getting weaker every day, and he knew what was coming. Not much longer he thought. Soon he’ll be dead and we can be at peace. He dragged his blade across the fresh corpse, removing much of the blood that had previously caked it. He sheathed it, and looked southward to where Linbourne could be seen in the distance about a mile or so away. His black eyes seemed to look soulless, but that was never the case. He heard a voice and turned to face its direction.
      “They were even less skilled than the last.” Elota almost whispered, trying to catch her breath. She had chased down and killed one that had fled a good distance away from where the other four were now dead.
      “The king is fading. His men are becoming slack from lack of proper command. We could only hope his Murdan army has degraded this much as well.” Carakas lifted himself off his knees from where he was foraging through the fallen men’s pockets. “Nothing on this one, either.” He was speaking to himself more than he was to his companions.
      Drathir moved beside the looting Slayer, “Quit looting the dead or you’ll be joining them.” He did not like it when Carakas disrespected the dead. Drathir was not a completely honest man himself, but he believed the fallen deserved to keep what they carried on their bodies with them to their grave.
      He knew the king was not the one who had sent these men searching beyond the outskirts of Linbourne for the three of them. He assumed the well-known Thalanian advisor of king Malvarius was the one who had sent them. Gnarthok was smart, and Drathir knew to keep his distance from the protective servant. The cities of Ironhollow were suspicious of the Layrik, never trusting the ancient race. Linbourne being the worst among them. It should have helped that the Thalanians were fond of Layrik, but it encouraged the advisor’s distrust instead.
      He called out to Elota to ask if anyone from the nearby farms had witnessed their encounter, but she was busy looking through one of the saddlebags of a horse one of the guards had been riding. After assuring himself that they were alone, he joined her near the startled horse, and watched as she pulled out a folded piece of parchment. They could tell it was sent to all the guards of Linbourne due to the markings on its outside. Elota handed it to Drathir and continued to go through the bag.
      He opened the parchment and began to read its contents. After finishing, he let out a low grunt. “What?” the young woman asked, peering up from her previous search. “The king has apparently ordered all of his men to return to the castle.”
      Carakas had overheard and came towards the two, his cloak flapping in the wind. “Why would he do that? Isn’t there enough men guarding the damned castle?”
      “We should move closer to the city when we finish here.” Drathir wasn’t sure what was going on inside the king’s mind, but he assumed it wasn’t good.
He moved to another horse a few feet away. This one was injured and lay on the ground, foaming at the mouth. It would have been nice to walk away with two horses instead of one, but there wasn’t much he could do other than put the animal out of its misery. He grabbed a dagger from his bandolier and with a quick swing, sliced the horse’s throat. It faded quickly and he began to shuffle through its saddlebags after taking its last breath.
      They finished clearing the camp and began to head south, closer to Linbourne. Drathir and Carakas walked, letting Elota ride the scavenged horse. Drathir glanced at her occasionally as they continued. She had Ash Brown hair that she kept in a loose bun that never held all of it. Her honey colored eyes always tried to hide her emotions, but they never truly did. She was a complete satire of herself and it amused him. However, he could not say that he enjoyed the companionship of Carakas.
      The man who walked behind him was a complete shell, empty of a soul at times. Through the years that he had known him, he slowly seemed to hollow out inside. When they first met, he was much like Drathir. As Drachmere began to fade into darkness from lack of a king’s presence, the land began to fill with more and more vile images. Murder, rape and theft were all over Linbourne, and every time they had passed a horrific scene through their travels, he watched Carakas’ pale face twist with amusement that grew with each one. Drathir would have pushed this man away from his life but the slayer was a great fighter, and he needed his skills. Because of a past she couldn’t let go of, Elota held Carakas as her closest friend even as they became indifferent towards each other, speaking less and less. Drathir noticed that they had started to drift apart as if heading in separate directions. Something inside him welcomed it.
      They walked for two hours in silence, until they reached the outskirts of Linbourne, the capitol city of the humans.  It was dotted with crumbling homes full of ailing people. These loose brick huts were not a result of the king’s inability to look after his land, the people who lived in these shriveled homes had always been the burden of Linbourne, the people living in them worried more about the dying crops. Drathir signaled for them to take a route into the city that was hidden from the villagers’ view. They followed it for fifty feet. It led them to the nearby wall that had crumbled to reveal a thin alley, shaded from the sun by tall buildings on either side. There were no guards on the dusty streets within, and the travelers seemed to relax, ready to go about their various tasks. The sentries must have already moved farther through the city, engulfing the castle. From here, Carakas split from the group as Drathir and Elota lead the scavenged horse to a stable, where they seemed to barter with a scrawny stable owner over the worth of the animal.
      The Rogue brushed the hood of his cloak over his deep brown hair and started towards a stall that smelled of spice. When reaching it, he stood looking down at the various ground roots and vegetation. He looked to see if his companions had followed him, and when he saw they hadn’t, he closed in on the merchant. “I need two pouches of the usual.” His voice was brusque.  “I’m sorry, Carakas. I’m out of Foster leaves.” the merchant leaned in close to the Rogue and looked around inconspicuously. “But I do have something you might be interested in.” He bent down and sifted through his wares. When he stood back up, he handed a discreetly handed a small bag to Carakas. “It’s fresh.” Carakas dumped the contents of the pouch into his hand and examined the small brown seeds. “Imbibe seeds are quite a step up from Foster, I know. But I’ll sell them to you for the same price as the leaves.” The Rogue pondered the exchange for a moment and decided to purchase the Imbibe seeds. “I’ve also received a batch of Junket and Torpor if you’re interested.” Carakas accepted the offers, and paid the merchant.
      He started away towards a nearby tavern. A large woman fanning herself with her meaty hand leaned against the building, as if she were holding it up with her massive weight. She tempted him with crude offers as he walked passed, but he ignored her. The tavern inside was dimly lit and the smell of their liquors led him to the bar. He ordered a strong ale and once he had it in his hand, sat at a table in the back of the room. It was positioned under the balcony of the upstairs bordello. He could hear various activities taking place above him, and welcome them as if they were the humming voice of his mother cradling him to sleep.
      Ever since he and Elota had joined Drathir, he felt his mind begin to tear gradually. As he saw more and more wicked things throughout his traveling, he realized he was accepting the new nature of things. During one particular stay near Belcliff, he came about an alley where a man was being torn apart. With every scream he heard, he became more and more enticed. He couldn’t explain it, but he continued to watch, never stepping in to stop the muggers. A couple years later, in the markets of Goldpine, he had watched as a thief stole from a stall. He stood by, not intervening. The people in these pitiful towns have damned themselves to rot by their own accord, and he would not stop them from achieving their goal.
      Carakas pulled out the pouch of Imbibe seeds, grabbing one and began to chew on its thickened shell. The sun was beginning to set, and he sat back in the creaking chair letting the drug take over. He watched as the tavern came to life slowly as dusk approached.

__________

      Drathir and Elota had struck a deal with the stable owner and were now walking through the downtown market area. Drathir enjoyed watching Elota wander through the crowded street. Her face would flush from the various sexual advances she received from passing men. She was fair but women that were more attractive roamed the streets. The men’s vision of her was the same as his. She appeared innocent and chaste. As far as Drathir knew, it was accurate. They had traveled together for near a decade and he had never seen her accept a man’s advances. More than a few times, he caught himself having visions of her thighs wrapped around his waist and his hands grasping her supple breasts. The lecherous images were hard to suppresse and he wasn’t sure if he wanted them to vanish.
       The vendors had started packing up for the night and knowing they would have to wait till morning to resupply, they headed toward the tavern. When they entered, Drathir headed to the bartender. “How is business tonight, Maren?” Drathir asked, nonchalant. The large man behind the counter looked up, smiling.
       “It’s pretty slow tonight. No free drinks for you and Miss Elota.” Maren gave a low laugh. Drathir smiled in response. “Your friend came in earlier. He’s passed out over there. You might want to attend to him.”
      Drathir looked to where Maren had gestured. Carakas lay slumped over the table, passed out. Elota had joined him and was attempting to wake him. He grimaced. “Any guards stop off this evening?”
      Maren shook his head. “Why? Have another run in with our friendly neighborhood watch?”
      “A group found our camp this morning. I don’t think it was intentional. But to be safe I’d appreciate it if we could use the basement room.”
      “For you, of course. Just don’t bring trouble in here. If anything happens, the news will spread like fire. I have enough trouble getting customers in here as it is.” He gave Drathir a stern look.
      “I understand.” He placed a gold coin on the table and stepped from the bar. He sat at the table with his comrades. Drathir moaned as he examined Carakas again, knowing they would have to carry him down to the room.

Description
      The prophet woke, startled. She was covered in a cold sweat. Her body was old, coming to its end, but her mind was as fresh as ever. She couldn’t shake the vision she had from her dream. The scroll! She didn’t know who or what, but it threatened to take the scroll from its cave. She couldn’t let that happen! Her people had split throughout the land and could not protect it as they had always anticipated. They were not bound to protect it, but they felt it was their destiny.
      For as long as she could remember, her race kept it hidden. The Thalans had settled their home city to the northern reaches of Morden for this very reason. Now, the knowledge of its existence was threatened by something terrifying. The presence she felt in her dream was so strong, so forceful, she wasn’t sure if they would be able to do anything to ward off this monstrous force heading their way. What could be threatening the scroll?  Not knowing what else to do, she slipped a small pouch from her wrist and opened it. Inside it was full of Reverie Leaves, she took one out and laid it on her tongue. She drifted off to a restless dream, hoping for more information.

__________

      Drathir steadied his foot on the chest of the dead man below him. He grasped the hilt of his sword tightly and pulled it out from man’s sternum. Five came this time. The king was getting weaker every day, and he knew what was coming. Not much longer he thought. Soon he’ll be dead and we can be at peace. He dragged his blade across the fresh corpse, removing much of the blood that had previously caked it. He sheathed it, and looked southward to where Linbourne could be seen in the distance about a mile or so away. His black eyes seemed to look soulless, but that was never the case. He heard a voice and turned to face its direction.
      “They were even less skilled than the last.” Elota almost whispered, trying to catch her breath. She had chased down and killed one that had fled a good distance away from where the other four were now dead.
      “The king is fading. His men are becoming slack from lack of proper command. We could only hope his Murdan army has degraded this much as well.” Carakas lifted himself off his knees from where he was foraging through the fallen men’s pockets. “Nothing on this one, either.” He was speaking to himself more than he was to his companions.
      Drathir moved beside the looting Slayer, “Quit looting the dead or you’ll be joining them.” He did not like it when Carakas disrespected the dead. Drathir was not a completely honest man himself, but he believed the fallen deserved to keep what they carried on their bodies with them to their grave.
      He knew the king was not the one who had sent these men searching beyond the outskirts of Linbourne for the three of them. He assumed the well-known Thalanian advisor of king Malvarius was the one who had sent them. Gnarthok was smart, and Drathir knew to keep his distance from the protective servant. The cities of Ironhollow were suspicious of the Layrik, never trusting the ancient race. Linbourne being the worst among them. It should have helped that the Thalanians were fond of Layrik, but it encouraged the advisor’s distrust instead.
      He called out to Elota to ask if anyone from the nearby farms had witnessed their encounter, but she was busy looking through one of the saddlebags of a horse one of the guards had been riding. After assuring himself that they were alone, he joined her near the startled horse, and watched as she pulled out a folded piece of parchment. They could tell it was sent to all the guards of Linbourne due to the markings on its outside. Elota handed it to Drathir and continued to go through the bag.
      He opened the parchment and began to read its contents. After finishing, he let out a low grunt. “What?” the young woman asked, peering up from her previous search. “The king has apparently ordered all of his men to return to the castle.”
      Carakas had overheard and came towards the two, his cloak flapping in the wind. “Why would he do that? Isn’t there enough men guarding the damned castle?”
      “We should move closer to the city when we finish here.” Drathir wasn’t sure what was going on inside the king’s mind, but he assumed it wasn’t good.
He moved to another horse a few feet away. This one was injured and lay on the ground, foaming at the mouth. It would have been nice to walk away with two horses instead of one, but there wasn’t much he could do other than put the animal out of its misery. He grabbed a dagger from his bandolier and with a quick swing, sliced the horse’s throat. It faded quickly and he began to shuffle through its saddlebags after taking its last breath.
      They finished clearing the camp and began to head south, closer to Linbourne. Drathir and Carakas walked, letting Elota ride the scavenged horse. Drathir glanced at her occasionally as they continued. She had Ash Brown hair that she kept in a loose bun that never held all of it. Her honey colored eyes always tried to hide her emotions, but they never truly did. She was a complete satire of herself and it amused him. However, he could not say that he enjoyed the companionship of Carakas.
      The man who walked behind him was a complete shell, empty of a soul at times. Through the years that he had known him, he slowly seemed to hollow out inside. When they first met, he was much like Drathir. As Drachmere began to fade into darkness from lack of a king’s presence, the land began to fill with more and more vile images. Murder, rape and theft were all over Linbourne, and every time they had passed a horrific scene through their travels, he watched Carakas’ pale face twist with amusement that grew with each one. Drathir would have pushed this man away from his life but the slayer was a great fighter, and he needed his skills. Because of a past she couldn’t let go of, Elota held Carakas as her closest friend even as they became indifferent towards each other, speaking less and less. Drathir noticed that they had started to drift apart as if heading in separate directions. Something inside him welcomed it.
      They walked for two hours in silence, until they reached the outskirts of Linbourne, the capitol city of the humans.  It was dotted with crumbling homes full of ailing people. These loose brick huts were not a result of the king’s inability to look after his land, the people who lived in these shriveled homes had always been the burden of Linbourne, the people living in them worried more about the dying crops. Drathir signaled for them to take a route into the city that was hidden from the villagers’ view. They followed it for fifty feet. It led them to the nearby wall that had crumbled to reveal a thin alley, shaded from the sun by tall buildings on either side. There were no guards on the dusty streets within, and the travelers seemed to relax, ready to go about their various tasks. The sentries must have already moved farther through the city, engulfing the castle. From here, Carakas split from the group as Drathir and Elota lead the scavenged horse to a stable, where they seemed to barter with a scrawny stable owner over the worth of the animal.
      The Rogue brushed the hood of his cloak over his deep brown hair and started towards a stall that smelled of spice. When reaching it, he stood looking down at the various ground roots and vegetation. He looked to see if his companions had followed him, and when he saw they hadn’t, he closed in on the merchant. “I need two pouches of the usual.” His voice was brusque.  “I’m sorry, Carakas. I’m out of Foster leaves.” the merchant leaned in close to the Rogue and looked around inconspicuously. “But I do have something you might be interested in.” He bent down and sifted through his wares. When he stood back up, he handed a discreetly handed a small bag to Carakas. “It’s fresh.” Carakas dumped the contents of the pouch into his hand and examined the small brown seeds. “Imbibe seeds are quite a step up from Foster, I know. But I’ll sell them to you for the same price as the leaves.” The Rogue pondered the exchange for a moment and decided to purchase the Imbibe seeds. “I’ve also received a batch of Junket and Torpor if you’re interested.” Carakas accepted the offers, and paid the merchant.
      He started away towards a nearby tavern. A large woman fanning herself with her meaty hand leaned against the building, as if she were holding it up with her massive weight. She tempted him with crude offers as he walked passed, but he ignored her. The tavern inside was dimly lit and the smell of their liquors led him to the bar. He ordered a strong ale and once he had it in his hand, sat at a table in the back of the room. It was positioned under the balcony of the upstairs bordello. He could hear various activities taking place above him, and welcome them as if they were the humming voice of his mother cradling him to sleep.
      Ever since he and Elota had joined Drathir, he felt his mind begin to tear gradually. As he saw more and more wicked things throughout his traveling, he realized he was accepting the new nature of things. During one particular stay near Belcliff, he came about an alley where a man was being torn apart. With every scream he heard, he became more and more enticed. He couldn’t explain it, but he continued to watch, never stepping in to stop the muggers. A couple years later, in the markets of Goldpine, he had watched as a thief stole from a stall. He stood by, not intervening. The people in these pitiful towns have damned themselves to rot by their own accord, and he would not stop them from achieving their goal.
      Carakas pulled out the pouch of Imbibe seeds, grabbing one and began to chew on its thickened shell. The sun was beginning to set, and he sat back in the creaking chair letting the drug take over. He watched as the tavern came to life slowly as dusk approached.

__________

      Drathir and Elota had struck a deal with the stable owner and were now walking through the downtown market area. Drathir enjoyed watching Elota wander through the crowded street. Her face would flush from the various sexual advances she received from passing men. She was fair but women that were more attractive roamed the streets. The men’s vision of her was the same as his. She appeared innocent and chaste. As far as Drathir knew, it was accurate. They had traveled together for near a decade and he had never seen her accept a man’s advances. More than a few times, he caught himself having visions of her thighs wrapped around his waist and his hands grasping her supple breasts. The lecherous images were hard to suppresse and he wasn’t sure if he wanted them to vanish.
       The vendors had started packing up for the night and knowing they would have to wait till morning to resupply, they headed toward the tavern. When they entered, Drathir headed to the bartender. “How is business tonight, Maren?” Drathir asked, nonchalant. The large man behind the counter looked up, smiling.
       “It’s pretty slow tonight. No free drinks for you and Miss Elota.” Maren gave a low laugh. Drathir smiled in response. “Your friend came in earlier. He’s passed out over there. You might want to attend to him.”
      Drathir looked to where Maren had gestured. Carakas lay slumped over the table, passed out. Elota had joined him and was attempting to wake him. He grimaced. “Any guards stop off this evening?”
      Maren shook his head. “Why? Have another run in with our friendly neighborhood watch?”
      “A group found our camp this morning. I don’t think it was intentional. But to be safe I’d appreciate it if we could use the basement room.”
      “For you, of course. Just don’t bring trouble in here. If anything happens, the news will spread like fire. I have enough trouble getting customers in here as it is.” He gave Drathir a stern look.
      “I understand.” He placed a gold coin on the table and stepped from the bar. He sat at the table with his comrades. Drathir moaned as he examined Carakas again, knowing they would have to carry him down to the room.