Young Writers Society

Rumours abound in Kresa City, about a crazed necromancer and their quest to resurrect an ancient, mad witch-king. You, dear hero (or anti-hero), have heard these rumours and were drawn to The Dragon's Den, a tavern nortious for being home to thieves and vagabonds, among other...things... And a dangerous place, especially for those of noble birth.

And, dear hero, after rumour upon rumour, you finally hear the clue you've been waiting for. It will be a dangerous journey, and a long one, for the necromancer has sought out an ancient source of power deep within the moutains. You, dear heroes, are determined to follow after them and stop the resurrection by any means possible.

What secrets are you willing to uncover to stop an ancient darkness from being resurrected?


Map of the Realm

Kresa City

The Dragon's Den

The Necromancer

The Ancient Witch-King

Magic & Monsters






1. Orist Ren - Assassin - @Oxara
2. Eryn Fontelle - Healer/Mage - @Tenyo
3. Lord Gaius Ash - Noble - @RavenLord
4. Corrick Malair - Ranger - @Kirkiln
5. Therion Halwyn - Thief - @ScarlettFire
6. Keren Edrei - Unattached Troublemaker - @ShadowVyper
7. Mason Raginmar - Bounty Hunter - @AstralHunter

Therion stumbled to a stop on the bottom step, blinking blearily at Keren standing before him, hands on her hips and an eyebrow raised. He blinked a few more times before leaning against the nearest wall. "What?" he asked, crossing his arms. "What's that look for?"

"Get your beauty sleep in, did you, Princess?"

He scowled at her. "What else would I be doing at--" He squinted past her to see how the light flittered in through the dirty windows. "--midday?"

"Oh yeah, 'midday'," Keren said mockingly, throwing a rag at his face. Therion scrambled to catch it. "That's totally why the tavern is so full. They all decided at once that Today would be the day they start getting drunk at lunch."

Frowning, Therion peered past her again and stared at the packed tavern. He blinked a few more times and then rubbed a hand over his face, brushing red hair back behind his ear in the process. "It's not midday?"

"Oh, very good, you've caught up with the rest of us." She rolled her eyes. "Why don't you go wipe down the bar? It's been crazy tonight already."

Therion grunted and pushed off the wall, brushing past her. He headed for the bar, sliding behind like he hadn't just woken up. Pointless chatter washed over him as he began to wipe down the bar, greeting and smiling at the regulars as they saw him. Keren joined him a moment later, leaning on the bar to speak lowly into the ear of a pretty blonde boy.

She brushed his cheek, ever so softly, and then straightened as he flushed with a blush that ran all the way down his neck to meet his collar. Therion rolled his eyes at her and turned towards the door as it opened. A handsome, older, brown-haired man stepped through the door. He swept his gaze over the crowded tavern and then headed straight for the bar. Therion stared at him, admiring his muscles and the coin purse attached to his belt.

Keren hesitated as she slid a drink across the bar to the cute blond boy, glancing at Therion. She rolled her eyes when she saw him gawking at the man striding up to bar. She backhanded his shoulder, jerking him out of his daze. "Seriously? You just got out of bed and you already want to go back?"

Therion grinned at her. "What? He's handsome!"

"And old."

"So?" He shrugged, eyeing the man again. "Like I care how old a handsome man is, Keren."

"Of course you wouldn't." She rolled her eyes again, then noticed the coin pouch hanging off the man's side. "I don't mind the looks of that, though."

He chuckled, turning towards the bar. "Exactly." He glanced back at the man, giving him a quick once-over. "I have an idea... Which do you think he prefers?" Therion gestured between them, smirking at her.

"I think I know what you're hoping," she scoffed. "You little slut."

"Me?" he asked, batting his eyes at her. "Never!"

"Mhmm, sure. Well make sure you get his attention thoroughly fixed on you. It looks like he's got an awfully large dagger."

"Oh, I'm sure he does, Keren," he said distractedly, watching the way the man shifted in his place against the bar. "And I'm sure he knows how to use it." He shook his head and turned back towards her, offering her a small smile. "I'll be careful. I always am."

Keren gave him a shove into the bar as she walked past him. "Pervert."

"Damn straight I am."

"Pff, as if," she scoffed, picking up a serving tray. "There's nothing straight about you."

"And don't you know it," he shot back, pushing off the bar to watch as she headed out into the crowd. She threw him an off-handed gesture and disappeared into the throng. Therion sighed and turned back to the bar, greeting another customer and getting their drink ready. He'd make his move in a bit, when the man had relaxed a little.

He kept half an eye on Keren as she wove through the crowd and the rest on the man, still leaning against the bar. He requested a drink, and then another a few moments later. Therion slid them both down the bar towards him, smiling. He turned away for a second and when he turned back, Keren was there beside their target, smiling and chatting away. The man barely spared her a glance. Therion moved opposite them behind the bar and took the glasses and cups Keren set down, all while she was still chatting off the man's ear. The man grunted, glancing up at Therion.

"Hi," he said shyly, smiling a coy little smile. "How's your evening going?"

"Would be going better if I had another drink."

Therion smiled wider. "Coming right up, sir!" He moved back down the bar to pour the man another drink and this time, he returned to hand it directly to him. "There you go!"

The man leaned forwards to grab his drink and as he did so, Keren snagged the money pouch. He started to turn towards her so Therion grabbed his wrist. The man jolted, turning a raised eyebrow on Keren. Therion nearly chuckled; she'd grabbed his ass.

"Hey there, cutie," she said with a wink, blowing him a kiss as he looked towards her.

"Remove your hand," the man said, glancing towards them. "Both of you."

"Rawr," Keren said, raising the hand she'd grabbed him with defensively as she stepped away, keeping his purse hid behind her leg. "Alright then, Mr. Grouch. I won't show you a good time, then."

"But I might still be able to," Therion interjected, successfully gaining the man's full attention. He didn't move his hand, not until Keren disappeared around the far end of the bar, and even then, he still held on. "If you're up for it, of course?'

The man stared at him for a moment and then reached down past the bar, where Therion couldn't see. That hand came back a moment later with a dagger in it. He set the dagger down on the bar with a quiet thunk and scowled.

"Remove. Your. Hand."

"Assertive?" Therion winked. "I like that in a man--"

"Do you want to lose your hand?"

Therion released him quickly and stepped back, holding up his hands. "Alright, fine, you don't want a good time. I get the message."

"Good," the man said, reaching for his belt. "Now, I'd like to pay for--" He paused mid-sentence, frowning. Then he glanced up at Therion, and then he looked for Keren. Therion swallowed, watching him. "I'll be right back."

He watched as the man pushed off the bar and disappeared into the crowd. "Oh, no," Therion breathed, and rushed around the bar to follow after him. That was not a good 'I'll be right back', not at all.

"Alright then, Mr. Grouch. I won't show you a good time, then," Keren said, backing away from him with her left hand raised defensively and her right hand holding his purse so that it was hidden behind her leg.

She watched as he turned back towards Therion's unyielding advances, and then slipped his purse into her right pocket and pushed her way into the crowd that roamed around the center of the tavern, feeling simultaneously proud and disgusted.

Keren wiped my hands on her trousers. I should go wash my hands, she thought distastefully. Grabbing old men was not how she'd envisioned her thieving career would go, but there was little else she could do at that point. Keren supposed that option was better than having him punch her in the face. Slightly.

She pushed my way through the crowd until she was almost to the other end of the room, being sure that there were plenty of people milling around behind her to block the stranger's view, if he should notice her theft and try to spot her. Keren glanced back towards the bar, but Therion was still chatting him up.

She glanced at the door a few meters ahead of her, considering bowing out now, before the man had a chance to notice. Karen really wasn't in the mood for a fight tonight, and besides, despite being old the man was massive and weighted down with more than enough daggers to stop her heart from beating.

"I heard there's been talk of necromancy in Omeka."

Keren stopped short, grabbing a snippet of the conversation from the table along the wall to her left. Necromancy? That sounded like something far more interesting than her petty theft any night. She glanced back towards the bar, ensuring that the man was still sitting there, and then pushed her way to the table where the gossiper was seated.

"Omeka?" A man shook his head. "I thought that it was happening in Reska?"

A third man looked at her as she approached their table. "I'll take another ale."

"You know where the bar is," Keren retorted, then turned her attention towards the first two men, seated across from the one who had addressed her. "Necromancy?"

The man just to her left harrumphed, feeling slighted at her response. "Yeah, necromancy. But I heard it was happening in Keles."

"Sounds to me like you all need to get better informants, then," Keren said, ignoring the glares that she got in response. "But why in the world would anyone want to practice necromancy?"

"Who knows," the first man said, shrugging. "Supposedly, the mage who's doin' it is a little crazy, if you know what I mean."

"A mage? Pah!" the second grunted, tossing his arm out wildly and spilling his drink. "Mages don't exist!"

Keren rocked back slightly, out of the range of the liquid tumbling toward her, sending an annoyed glance towards the man. She really didn't understand why people seemed to find it so difficult to keep their ale in either their mug or their stomach, and yet it seemed like dodging spilt alcohol was as much a part of her life as mocking Therion was.

A fourth man added queitly, "I hear this mage wants to ressurrect the witch-king, which would a very bad thing for all of us."

"And why's that?" Keren asked, turning her full attention towards him.

"The witch-king will want to kill us all, girl," the man said, giving her a piercing look. "For what we did to him, so long ago."

"I don't know about you, but I didn't do anything to no witch-king," Keren said, crossing her arms. The man opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, looking at something behind her.

Keren stiffened as a large hand clamped down on her neck, not tight enough to hurt but plenty tight enough to make it clear that she wasn't going to get free easily. Stupid, she thought viciously, kicking herself mentally. She was usually better than this. It wasn't like her to commit a crime and then not pay attention to her surroundings. But curiosity had gotten the better of her.

She twisted her head slightly, looking out her peripheral vision at the massive man standing uncomfortably close, just to her left. She swallowed hard, unable to tell exactly who it was.

"Thanks for the 'good times'," a gruff voice growled in her ear.

Keren hesitated, mind racing through her list of possible responses. The list wasn't long. She could always try to elbow him in the side and make a break for the door, but with the way he was standing it was hard to tell whether he might have a dagger in his other hand, ready to run her through if she made such an impulsive move.

"Heh," she cleared her throat, hand darting into her pocket to retrieve the purse. She felt his hand tighten on her neck. She hesitated another moment, then pulled out the purse and held it out towards him. "Sure thing. Anytime."

"Best not make a habit of it." He snatched the purse from her hand, grasp still unwavering on her neck. "I don't take kindly to people trying to steal from me -- woman or not."

"It wasn't exactly my idea this time," she spat, unwilling to back completely down, even though he still stood uncomfortably close to her.

"Hey!"

Keren started to turn towards Therion's voice, but the hand still prevented her.

"Let her go!"

She put her own hand on the stranger's and dug her fingernails into his hand, forcibly prying it off of her. He grudgingly pulled his hand away, and they both turned towards Therion's voice.

"Oh... oh... uh... hi?"

"Not exactly your idea, huh?" the stranger repeated, eyes fixed on Therion even though he was still speaking to Keren.

"Oh, well, I mean..." Keren rubbed the back of her neck, realizing that she'd run her mouth too much. She always ended up doing that. And yet as she stood there, painfully aware of how much bigger he was than both her and Therion, she wasn't entirely sure which one of them she wanted to take the fall.

"I suppose that means it'd be his idea?" the stranger continued, turning to face Therion squarely. Rion's eyes went wide, but he didn't back out of arm's reach fast enough. The stranger's hands clamped down on his neck and then slammed him down on the table in an instant.

The stranger pulled his fist back. Keren darted forward without a second thought and threw her arms around the stranger's cocked fist, yanking him backward. He shook her off roughly, elbowing her in the side as he managed to get his arm free.

Keren grunted and rubbed her side, starting forward once again, but not fast enough to stop him a second time. The stranger let his coin purse fall to the table as he grabbed Therion again and slammed his fist into his face.

"Hey!" Keren shouted, somehow managing to get herself between them and giving the stranger a violent shove away from the table. She drew herself up to her full height, which was a painfully-obvious several inches shorter than the stranger still, fixing him in fiercest glare. "I don't know who you think you are --"

"I'm the man you don't steal from," the stranger cut her off.

"Alright, yeah," Keren said defensively, noticing that he wasn't currently holding his beloved change purse in his hands. She subtly put her hand down on the table behind her, feeling for the place she'd last seen it. "But you got it back, right? So no harm, no foul, and all that. Just calm down."

His eyes snapped down to her hand just as her fingers found the rough leather and wrapped around it. "Try it again. I fucking dare you."

She never was one to back down from a challenge.

Her eyes flicked towards the door again. She had a pretty clear path to freedom. She hesitated a moment longer, briefly considering what it might mean for Therion if she grabbed the purse and then darted away, leaving him alone with Mr. Grouch.

He's a big boy. He can take care of himself. Keren grabbed the coinpurse and made a break for the door. She felt the stranger's grasp clam down on her shoulder, even fiercer than the first time, and yank her backwards.

He threw her towards the wall, making her bounce off it and then fall squarely on top of where Therion still lay nursing his nose on the table. She coughed, all the air knocked from her lungs, head ringing from the impact. This dare wasn't going nearly as well as she might have hoped. Suddenly he appeared in her vision, upside down from her point of view. Oh no.

Keren thrust the coin purse towards Therion, already finished with having it in her possession. The stranger grabbed her by an arm and hauled her off the table once again. Keren threw a hand up in a vain attempt to protect her face, anticipating a fist would be flying towards her soon.

"Hey! Take your squabbles outside of my bar!" A voice cut through the noise, stilling the stranger's fist. Keren cautiously uncovered her face, sheepishly peering up towards Amyk, still very much at the stranger's mercy. "It's you. Of course it's you. It's always you!"

"Father!" Therion sat up on the table, nursing his jaw and nose.

"And you as well." Amyk sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Wait, what?" The stranger looked between Therion and Amyk, seeming far more surpised than Amyk sounded. "Father?"

"Not technically proven," Keren muttered, trying to claw her way free of the stranger's grasp, but his grip was like iron and all it resulted in was him twisting her arm further behind her back.

"What did you two do?" Amyk demanded, looking between them with his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised.

"Nothing!" Keren spat.

The stranger twisted her arm a bit further, making her grimace.

"Try again."

"Ther?" Keren asked breathlessly, hoping he'd step in to rescue her as she had him. She was pretty sure she'd already gotten the worse end of this deal.

"It was my idea," Therion said with a sigh and tossed the coinpurse to Amyk, who caught it deftly. "I...uh....yeah... I have no excuses, Father."

"Him," Keren said breathlessly, gesturing vaguely at the man still holding her arm at a painfully unnatural angle. "You should give it to him."

"No, I'm going to take this to cover the damage expenses."

"You're going to have another expense soon, if I don't get that purse back," the stranger snarled, twisting Keren's arm even further until it made a gut-sickening pop. "Father."

"Oh, good heavens," a small man pushed his way to the front of the ring that had cleared as the attention in the tavern had fully shifted to the fight. "It's no wonder healers have such a full schedule, with these sorts of childish negotiations being the deciding factor as to whether someone ends up with a broken arm or not."

Keren scowled at the floor, expression twisted with pain, desperately wishing that she hadn't gotten in the middle of this after all. "Three votes for him getting his money back."

'And what are you, their pint-sized butler?'

'Fontelle. Eryn. I'm sure it would be a pleasure to meet you, should we have met in more amicable circumstances, but currently there is a pressing issue and it's that if you don't release this dear lady and instead go on to cause irreparable damage to her ligaments you will develop the unfortunate reputation of being a woman beater. Thief or not, this is clearly excessive force in front of at least a dozen witnesses. After that no maid nor whore will come within three feet of you. You can spare a few coins, I'm almost certain you could go out as a sword for hire and make that back in a night. The sweet touch of a pretty woman, however,' he tipped his head and shrugged. 'You and I both know is not to be gone without.'

The stranger's grip loosened. 'Who the hell are you?'

'Eryn Fontelle. You won't have heard of me. Now, let us leave this be, go our separate ways, and be glad that a few coins is all it will take to pay for the mess caused by this outburst. A thief will always be a thief, but I'm sure the amount of time it will take for those bones to heal will teach her at least to stay out of your pockets. Come on, I'll even buy you a drink- as many drinks as it takes to get you merry.'

The stranger snarled reluctantly. He pushed Keren down onto the ground and stepped away. For a few seconds he loomed over Eryn before taking him by the arm and dragging him to the bar.

Behind them the calamity started to disperse.

'...think he is calling me a 'dear lady',' Keren hissed in the background. Eryn could get to her later. For now he had gotten himself into a situation of his own.

'This is going to be an expensive evening, isn't it.'

'You bet,' the stranger said. The bartender came to see to them, a practised carelessness on his face as the tavern resumed its usual business.

'The size of you.' Eryn sighed. 'You could probably out drink a noble horse and still come trotting in through the stable doors. Just how much do you weigh? Two forty, two sixty pounds?'

'More than you. Two pints of Green Ale.' The bartender looked to Eryn for confirmation. Eryn nodded.

'Two pints of Green Ale, on me. I'll have one of the same.'

The bartender nodded and returned shortly with the drinks.

'So, have you... is she at it again?' He twisted to look over the strangers shoulder. He turned around briefly, just about long enough for Eryn to switch the drinks over. 'My mistake, must have just been a shadow.' He thought nobody would notice, but from the corner where they'd retreated the beetroot-haired one caught his gaze. They locked eyes for a few more seconds before Eryn glanced away. 'Have you been to Reska recently? I've heard someone's been meddling in somewhat less than noble affairs.'

'Meddling in what now?'

Eryn lent in. He put one hand firmly on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. 'Necromancy.'

'That will be in Keles, from what I heard.'

'Not Keles, I'm almost certain. What fool did you hear that from?'

'From uh,' he frowned and gestured towards what could have been any of three tables, but he seemed quite drunk already. 'In the...' He slowly started to tip and it was all Eryn could do to push him inwards so that his head landed on the bar.

'Oh, maybe you're a bit softer than I anticipated.' He patted him on the shoulder and left his side, heading for the corner where the Dear Lady and Beetroot had settled.

'Minor anaesthetic,' he shrugged and sat down in front of the Dear Lady. He reached out slowly to touch her. 'May I? I'm a physician.'

'Find some other dear lady' she said. Therion rubbed his forehead.

'What are you going to do?' He asked.

'I'm going to take a look. It's most likely just dislocated.'

'You think I don't know what a broken bone feels like,' she said. 'Some physician you are.'

'Please, just let me take a look.'

'You can look, can't you.'

'Keren...' Beetroot sighed. 'He might be able to help.'

Keren glared at him, but she trusted him.

'Fine.'

Eryn carefully stepped in between the two, setting them both momentarily on guard, but it was the easiest way for him to get close to her. Slowly he put his hands on her, one on the back of her shoulder, the other on her lower forearm.

'See, it's just a dislocation. This will hurt a bit.'

'It's not a dislocation. I can feel my own bones.'

'It can feel like that sometimes.'

'I'll rip you in two,' she snarled. He leant in closer and spoke softly into her ear.

'I'll trust you with a secret, and then you can decide if you want to trust me, okay?'

She didn't agree, but the brief moment of silence was enough.

'Sometimes it feels like one thing...' he pushed hard and sudden on her shoulder and pinned her arm in place as hard as he could. He knew without a doubt she was strong enough to push him away as soon as she chose to fight him. She screamed in pain again until a feeling that prickled like sparks of fire ran through her skin and the grating agony of her broken bone started to disperse. 'But it's actually something very, very different.'

Lord Gaius Ash

Gaius had watched the commotion from the small table in the corner, nursing a pint of ale he found to be more water than alcohol. Perhaps this was for the best; he needed to keep a level head in a place like this. It was bad enough that his thick Northern accent marked him immediately as a foreigner and that his common clothes did nothing to hide the air of nobility. He couldn't risk getting drunk.

The hard-looking man who had dislocated the young woman's arm looked as if he could do some damage, but whether or not he was a good assassin wasn't clear. Perhaps the girl instead....she seemed nimble and good at thinking on her feet. The way she had slipped the pouch of money away from the man was admirably smooth. Gaius was sure not even Tomhas would have been able to do better. Tomhas....He would get what was coming to him soon enough.

"I'll trust you with a secret, and then you can decide if you want to trust me, okay?" Gaius's ears pricked up, and his pale eyes flickered to the source of the sound, a small man in conversation with the young woman. Who was this? He didn't look as if he belonged in a place like this. Obviously a craftsman of some sort, his clothes were too clean and his face was too smooth. What, then, was his purpose here? Gaius watched as the man jerked the girl's arm back into her socket. An apothecary, perhaps? He knew many people who could do the same thing the man had just done, but the way the man had done it suggested quite a few years of experience in that field.

As interesting as this new individual was, Gaius had no need for a medical man. He was looking for a killer. Someone who didn't mind getting his or her hands dirty. Right now he could pick out about ten separate individuals in his immediate line of sight that looked as if they fit the bill. One could never be too careful, however. He needed to observe further, interview people.

Gaius rose, supporting his weight on a long, elegant cane held in his left hand. He kept his posture stooped and unassuming, fixing his eyes on the bar as he limped toward it.

"Good afternoon," he greeted the bartender, nodding cordially. "Do think I might have another pint of that ale?" The bartender regarded him suspiciously as he set about getting the drink.

"You're not from around here," he observed. Gaius shrugged, taking a sip of the tankard he was offered.

"I'm looking for someone to do a job for me. I would prefer that is be someone from outside my Realm." He hesitated. Might as well take a gamble. Bartenders knew most everyone, didn't they? After a moment, Gaius leaned forward slightly so he was making eye contact with the bartender. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could find an assassin, would you? Someone that's good with their hands and won't get caught." The bartender snorted.

"Take your pick of patrons, my friend. Most of them won't disappoint." He scanned the tavern, narrowing his eyes. "Depending on what you're paying, Corrick over there would be a good candidate. He was a bounty hunter some years ago." Gaius followed the bartender's gaze to a rough-looking man with a weathered face and a fox curled at his feet. The man reminded him of many mercenaries he had seen over the years. He would have to keep him in mind.

"Any other reccomendations?" he asked. The bartender shrugged.

"Therion and Keren are always options, but I doubt you'll have any luck. Corrick is your best bet, in my opinion, but don't expect him to agree easily. It's been a long time since he's seen that kind of action." He gave Gaius a curious look. "Who're you looking to kill that brings you overseas?" Gaius gave him a crooked half-smile, which was about as much as he could manage nowadays.

"Nobody that would concern you, I assure you. Thank you for your time." He finished the ale and stood, placing his payment on the counter and approaching the table where Corrick sat. The man looked up as Gaius sat down, curling his lip in distaste.

"Seat's taken," he grunted.

"Is it? My apologies, sir." Gaius didn't rise. "I won't keep you for long, I promise. I have a proposition for you." Corrick raised an eyebrow.

"I don't take jobs from strangers," he said flatly. "Try your luck elsewhere, foreigner." Gaius rested his hands on the table, watching the man.

"There will be a profit in it for you," he said. "Gold." Corrick huffed out a snort of laughter.

"I've got no need for your gold right now, old man." Corrick sipped at his tankard. Gaius pursed his lips.

"Very well. I'm staying at this tavern if you change your mind, however. There will be new sights to see in the bargain, if you're tired of the same surroundings." He took a slip of paper from his pocket. On it was his room number and his first name. He slid the paper forward and stood. "I do hope you'll take an interest. I hear you used to be a bounty hunter." Corrick looked up at him, appearing to be slightly surprised. Gaius nodded to him and returned to his table. The exchange had been disappointing, but he had not lost hope yet. There was still time, not to mention countless other people to consider. Corrick struck him as something special, however. Someone he could trust to get the job done without betraying him.

Gaius continued to observe the people around him, listening in on conversations near him in hope of finding valuable information. After about five minutes, something caught his attention.

"--Right here in town, I heard." Two men and a woman two tables away from him were conversing. Gaius glanced at them, brow furrowing. Had he heard a mention of magic?

"I don't believe in none of that neckermancy," one of the men grunted. " 'Sides, if there is one in town, wouldn't we be seeing skeletons and sitch all over? Killin' people, slaughtering sheep, things like that? You're being told lies, mate." The first man shook his head.

"Right here, Cotter, I swear it. One of the men down the way saw him. Skin white as snow and a skull as smooth and hairless as a newborn babe's. Wears all black."

"Ah, you're full of it," the woman scoffed. "Where'd your friend see this necromancer, huh?"

"On his own farm," the man said, lowering his voice. "Said he was wandering the fields muttering to himself. I tell you, we'd have better luck finding work elsewhere before things here go south. I hear he's up and looking for some way to wake the Witch-King." His friends shushed him, casting paranoid glances over at the door.

"Keep your big mouth shut," the man Cotter hissed. "Are ye trying to summon him yourself?" Gaius leaned a bit further in their direction, but their voices had lowered into whispers and couldn't be heard above the regular din of the tavern. He sighed and went back to watching the other patrons. A necromancer, hm? Whatever that was, it sounded quite, quite interesting. He would have to keep an ear out for more information.

Therion eyed the brute who'd dislocated Keren's arm and then dragged his gaze back to the little physician. The man appeared to be slumped against the bar,. "He gonna be alright?" he asked, jerking a thumb at the big brute. "Don't get me wrong; he deserves what he gets...but I don't want anyone to die."

"He'll be fine," the physician said with a shrug and turned to him. "Now, your nose..."

He scowled at the healer. "It's not broken."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Therion huffed out a sigh but let the healer do his thing, tolerating it only because he didn't want to have to come crawling back later. He lowered the hand that had been cradling his jaw and shifted to sit on the bench beside the table instead of laying on the table.

"Get on with it, then," he muttered and cast a look towards Keren. She was frowning down at her arm, and glanced up to meet his gaze after a moment. Her eyebrows rose and Therion tilted his head slightly. Thy exchanged a confused glance, and Therion offered her a sheepish smile. "You good, Ker?"

She frowned, glanced down at her arm and then nodded. Amyk, who had remained nearby, sat down beside her and tugged her into his side. He started in on her with a lecture in a low voice. Therion tuned it out and returned his attention to the physician. Small, gentle hands turned his head up and pressed against his jaw.

"Jaw isn't broken," the healer muttered, almost to himself. The hands moved to his nose and started inspecting that just as gently as he had Therion's jaw. Therion scowle at him and the healer just offered a small smile before his serious look smooth out his expression. "Neither is the nose. You were lucky."

"Uh, thanks?" The healer shrugged and backed off. Therion gingerly touched his jaw and then his nose. "Probably gonna bruise, though."

"Probably."

Therion nodded and hopped up onto his feet. He offered Keren a hand up as well and caught their Father's eye. The old man offered him a narrow-eyed warning look, then stood and disappeared into the back room. With Amyk back in his 'office', Therion gave his sister a pat on the shoulder and headed back to the bar.

"Hey there," he said, greeting a regular as he passed them, and then ducked behind the bar to find something to do. And also something to help with his face, but he wasn't having much luck. He'd probably just have to deal with it. He ducked down behind the bar to rummage through the stuff Amyk kept below it.

"Hey, you," someone said and Therion popped up to peer over the bar at an older man with greying brown hair and sharp blue eyes. "Yeah, you."

"Can I help you, sir?" Therion asked, blinking at him. He was....rather attractive, for an old guy. Therion offered him a grin and nodded to the mug by the man's scarred hand. "Would you like another drink?"

"No, actually," the man said and nudged the empty mug towards him. Therion picked it up and stashed it below the bar to be washed later. "What do you know about these necromancy rumours?"

Therion blinked slowly and settled back on his heels. "Uh... Not much, sorry."

The man frowned at him and ordered another drink. Therion got it for him and wandered down the bar a bit more. He hesitated opposite the brute and poked him. The man grunted, seemingly a little more alert than he'd appeared from across the room. Therion squinted at him and then took the chance to slip away, back out to the other side of the bar, before the grouch woke up. He went back to where Keren still sat beside the healer. They seemed to be deep in conversation about something, so Therion slipped into a spot beside his sister to listen in. Ah, they were discussing the same thing the guy at the bar had asked him about. He sighed.

"That seems to be the big thing going around at the moment," he inserted smoothly, not quite looking at either of them, but watching them from the corner of his eyes. "What d'you think it's all about, Ker? Seems to be a pretty popular topic..."

"Not sure," Keren muttered, gaze darting over to the bar and then back to Therion. Therion stared back. "But it can't be good..."

Therion nodded and went to stand only to be brought up short. He peered down at his sister and gave her hand a quick pat. "I'll be fine, Ker."

"You better."

Orist Ren


Orist Ren nearly laughed form his concealed position; he had never seen a bar with so much happening in the space of only an hour. Orist Ren had been grateful that entering the bar unseen had been easy, even without his magic. He once again scanned the tavern, before letting his eyes settled on the bar tender.

“Your finest please.” Orist Ren said much like a drunk. The Bartender gave a nod and reached for what seemed to be the cheapest bottle he had. Orist Ren gave a click of his tongue in warning, to which the bartender simply gave another nod and went to a back room. Orist Ren took a single bottle out of his pocket, containing a simple poison that anyone could get their hands on.

When the bartender returned, he carried with him a glass of what seemed to be beer with a faint savory smell to it. The bartender turned to deal with another customer. Orist Ren quickly removed the lid to the poison in his right hand, and put enough to kill a man on his dagger and put the bottle back in one of his pockets.

Orist Ren again clicked his tongue at the bartender in a quiet whisper “I would like some information, sir.” The bartender gave a quick look and appeared to wait for coin. Orist Ren continued “And unless you wish to be charged with attempted murder of a noblemen, you will speak.”

“Attempted murder?” The bartender blurted out, barely a whisper.

“It would be an issue if I were to kill you without enough cause, However, as I found this poison in my drink, I believe it will not be an issue.” Orist nudged the knife. To Orist’s surprise the bartender let out a hearty laugh.

“There are much easier way to get someone to talk you know.”

“Ways that are expensive, and of course my information may leak in bribery. But well with the danger of death or prison on the line, well people tend to be less willing to talk.”

“So what information do you need.” The bartender at last said, his face now grave

“Any information on necromancer who wants to resurrect the witch king, also anyone else who has also shown interest in this topic. Specifically any who wish to take this necromancer down.” Orist responded, in a monotone voice.

“I can’t tell you much, everyone here is either talking about or trying to get everyone to shut up about it. And other than you, there hasn't been anyone out of the normal, at least that I am aware of. The only other information I am sure you have heard a million times.”

“I see thank you, If you do hear anything please let me know. Also I must warn you to tell anyone that I was here.”

“I believe you have already done that sir, not that I even know how you are.”

“The better for the both of us, then. Now then I must take my leave.”

Orist made his way to a man, who appeared to be a regular of the tavern. Orist sat down quickly and gave the man a smirk at the man’s obvious annoyance.

Orist laid his legs on the table, practically flaughting off his wealth. He was sure that to this man, Orist appeared to be arrogant tradesman. Orist slid the beer he had bought before the man. “It’s on the house.” Orist said again giving the man a confident smile.

The man eyed it suspiciously. “Oh please don’t be like that,” Orist pushed, “I simply wish to know about the person who got in the fight earlier, and their partner in crime.”

The man seemed to be put at ease. “You must mean Keren, and Therion , can’t tell you much other than that cause trouble, and they have a habit of stealing.”

“Trouble maker’s tend to have useful information.” Orist responded

“Good luck getting them to give it to you.”

“I have my tricks,” Orist said, with his feigned arrogance. “Now I must bid you farewell.” Orist said having gained their names.

Orist left, nearly laughing at his younger self not seeing the value of his acting lessons. He simply moved to the girl. Her partner, Therion also now by her side.

“Hello there Keren, Theroin.” Orist said in a friendly tone, however, they practically fell over in their seats at their names being called. “Let me offer you something for the pain, as well as something to protect yourself in the future.” Orist sent down a numbing poison on the table. He also laid one of his throwing daggers, which contained his crest engraved in the hilt.

“I do hope that I see you around.” Orist said, and at last left the tavern.

Yet another miserable evening. Hands in his pockets and hood over his slumped head, Mason trudged towards The Dragon’s Den — the only inviting structure for several blocks. He’d heard whispers from people calling it several other things, all of them rude and mean, but it didn’t matter. All the “proper” and “respectable” establishments had turned him away, calling him equally rude and mean things. The owner of this particular inn had done neither.

A grey shade moving along the grimy street, he must have seemed like a regular vagabond. His appearance, as well as his mood, would usually be much brighter, but he had stashed his scarlet cloak away, lest that be stolen too. Two days previously, he’d still been a curious boy exploring the unfamiliar avenues of Kresa, but he’d been reduced to one of the countless silhouettes skulking through the city’s slums since then. Ahead of him lay his only beacon of hope. But... for all he knew, it could just as well be a lure to more misfortune — a flame into which he, the gullible moth, would willingly fly.

His walk brought him close enough to be illuminated by the warm light shining through the windows. He looked up, his spirits lifting ever so slightly. The orange glow reflected in his glistening green eyes, but when the door opened, he quickly looked down again. A sudden burst of noise invaded the muffled atmosphere and a black-robed figure strode past. The door swung closed and the quieting night once again emphasised the sound of gravel crunching underneath Mason’s slow trod, although now accompanied by the stranger’s fleet steps. The quiet became complete a few seconds later, one shadow melding with the darkness and another slipping into the light.

Several pairs of eyes glanced Mason’s way following his entrance. Most of the tables were already occupied by patrons, but he didn’t feel like interacting with humanity just then, so he slunk over to the empty spot in the corner to his left, unslinging his backpack and dumping it next to his chair before sitting down. The din became slightly more bearable. He preferred staying at emptier inns to avoid the noise, so if the innkeeper allowed it, Mason would simply retreat to the stable again and sleep in the same empty stall as the previous night.

At one of the tables close to the door, a light-skinned young man with red hair spoke with a dark-skinned young woman and another young man. The woman looked Mason’s way and said something, afterwards collecting off the tabletop and pocketing what looked like a dark brown vial and some kind of blade. The red-haired man, presumably a waiter, said something in return before approaching Mason’s table.

“Hello there,” he said with a bright smile. “Can I get you anything?”

The smile reached all the way to the man’s dark amber eyes. He looked cheerful despite his nose and jaw being badly bruised. Mason wished he could feel the same way. He usually did, but on that evening, all he could do was sigh.

“I wouldn’t be able to pay for anything,” he admitted dejectedly. “Could you call the owner for me?”

He looked concerned for a moment, then nodded. “Sure.”

He turned to leave, allowing the light from the lanterns hanging from the ceiling to light his face. Something about him suddenly seemed familiar.

“Actually… please, hold on a moment.”

The man turned to face Mason again. “Yes?”

Mason hadn’t noticed it while speaking to him at first, since he’d been facing away from the light, but a scar ran from his left cheekbone to his ear. He’d seen that scar at noon the previous day after bumping into a hooded man at the marketplace. Mason had continued browsing the many stalls, but when he wanted to buy some yarrow from a herb stall some hours later, he discovered his coin purse had gone missing. He’d spent the rest of the day searching for it, assuming that he must have dropped it, but after searching for two consecutive days, he’d given up hope of finding it again. However... was it possible that this man had stolen it from him?

“Weren’t you at the marketplace yesterday? I remember seeing your scar after you’d bumped into me.”

The man gave him a blank look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Could he be mistaken? But then again, the man had a very recognisable face, even if his hair was covered by a hood. No, Mason was certain it had been him.

“I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but did you happen to take my purse? I really do need it back, and I don’t want anyone to die because of it.”

“No. I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to edge away from Mason but then hesitated. “Why do you want it back so badly? Why would anyone die because of it? Did you put poison on it?”

Mason blanched. “Poison? No, because then I would never be able to buy anything with it! One of the coins is cursed. If it leaves my possession, whoever has it will attract pestilence and misfortune. I can tell which one it is by holding it so that I never give it away by accident, but it’s indistinguishable from the others to anyone else.”

The man frowned and his gaze narrowed. “Why the hell do you have cursed money? That’s stupid of you.”

He flinched. “My master cursed the coin for me after my apprenticeship with him ended. He said I’d probably travel around a lot, and if I wasn’t careful, people would take advantage of me. The curse won’t affect me, but if it was ever stolen, probably along with the rest of my money, the sudden increase in accidents and illnesses around the new owner would make it easy to find, especially since they would suffer the most.”

“Ah, that explains the face.” He gestured to his bruised jaw and nose. “I’ll get the owner and be right back.”

“Okay!”

Mason beamed as the man darted off to the back of the room and disappeared into what was probably the innkeeper’s office. He silently thanked Master Melisande for his foresight. And what luck that the person who’d taken his money happened to work at the only inn willing to offer Mason shelter! He spied the dark-skinned woman from earlier looking at him again, so he waved happily. She frowned, but the man next to her waved back.

The other patrons simply minded their own business. None of them looked out of place, which was to say all of them looked tough or sinister in some way. Even the man passed out at the bar looked like he could wrestle an ox to the ground. Mason could probably kill any of them if a bounty was ever taken out on their heads, but in a regular fight, he would quite certainly lose. He felt grateful that most people seemed to forget about him as soon as he left their sight.

He didn’t forget about the red-haired man, though, and it had been a few minutes already. He and the innkeeper must be discussing something important for him to… Wait, what? Mason thought the man had agreed to return his money. If so, what would he need to discuss with the innkeeper? Did he work for him not only as a waiter but also as a thief? Or… maybe he hadn’t gone to fetch the innkeeper at all? Mason wouldn’t know if it was actually an exit. For all he knew, the man could have fled to spend all the money as soon as possible and be rid of the cursed coin in that way.

…That meant the cursed coin wasn’t really an effective way of getting the money back, was it? But Master Melisande was always careful and thorough! He’d surely notice such a flaw in his plan. Was there more to the curse than Mason knew? He meant what he’d said to the man: he really would hate for anyone to die horribly because he was careless with his money. Especially if the curse could then perhaps affect more people than just the person who took the coin.

The far door opened and the red-haired man finally emerged, followed shortly by an older man with dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, and even something of a dark air about him, but whose face Mason knew was kind — the innkeeper! Mason exhaled and felt his anxiety evaporate. He was also a bit cross at himself; losing all his money had truly shaken him, but was that an excuse for thinking the worst of people? He straightened and tried to hide his relief.

“Sorry it took so long!” the young man said as he stopped next to the table.

“Therion,” the innkeeper sighed in exasperation, “what did I say about your behaviour?”

The redhead deflated a little and avoided making eye contact. “To, ah, behave, Father…”

“Now,” the older man said, eyeing Mason thoughtfully, “what’s this about cursed coins?”

Mason blinked. The young man named Therion… was the innkeeper’s son? The information probably shouldn’t be as stunning as he perceived it, but Mason found the revelation almost unfathomable. After a second of silence passed and the innkeeper folded his arms in front of his chest, Mason remembered he’d been asked a question.

“My… my master gave it to me before we parted ways. He said it was to prevent people from taking advantage of me, although I’m no longer sure how exactly it would do that. Its action is more retroactive than proactive, since I’d be able to follow the effects of the curse to its source, but people wouldn’t know beforehand that it’s cursed. I didn’t think about it much until now.”

“That is a problem, yes,” Amyk agreed, though he glanced pointedly at Therion, who pretended not to notice. “How can you distinguish the cursed coin from the uncursed ones?”

“I’ll have to hold it. Curses have distinct energies, but most people aren’t attuned to them, so they can’t recognise one.”

The innkeeper lifted an eyebrow. “You are attuned to the energy of curses?”

Mason frowned, confused at the question. “Well, yes. Why else would my master give me anything that’s cursed?”

“I’m in favour of returning the man’s money to him,” Therion said firmly after noticing his father’s contemplative look.

The man scowled. “As you might recall, I confiscated your stolen loot yesterday.” He gazed at Mason with an apologetic expression. “Unfortunately, I’ve already spent half of it on the inn’s upkeep. I’ll give you back what’s left, if that’s all right.”

Mason wasn’t quite sure he understood. The innkeeper spoke as if making a suggestion, but his tone indicated more of a statement.

“I don’t think it is, honestly.”

“Oh?” The innkeeper seemed surprised that Mason hadn’t immediately agreed.

“If your son had taken my money and you then took it from him, doesn’t that mean you might as well have stolen it instead?”

“He makes a good point, Father.” It was Therion’s turn to cross his arms. “If you object to my behaviour, show me the right way to act.”

Mason shrank away into his seat when he saw the innkeeper’s expression harden. Something about his dark skin made it even more menacing. However, his stony stare quickly melted away into a polite smile. Mason found it about as unsettling.

“You make an excellent point. This young man has done nothing wrong, so he shouldn’t need to suffer because of the whims of a delinquent.” He turned to Mason. “We’ll return all your money to you, my boy, and what’s missing will be covered by Therion’s wages.” He threw his son a lazy look, as if dealing with a triviality. “With his newfound interest in doing the right thing, I’m sure he won’t object. Allow me to fetch your money right away.”

“Are you sure you remember what the full…?” Mason trailed off when the innkeeper walked away without paying him any further attention.

He didn’t like being ignored, but at least he would get his money back. Therion, on the other hand, seemed horrified.

“Excuse me,” he said, nodding to Mason before rushing after his father.

They both disappeared into the office again. Waiting for them once more, Mason he realised he was quite hungry, having eaten nothing since the previous morning. He looked around the room, but couldn’t see anyone resembling a waiter, and nobody stood behind the bar. Was Therion really the only person serving the patrons?

By the time they finally reappeared, Mason felt like eating the table. The innkeeper approached, purse in hand and paying no heed to the pleading Therion trailing behind him. He smiled warmly.

“Here you are, as promised! Please accept my sincerest apologies for my son’s misdeed.” Therion grumbled behind him, which evidently brought the man great satisfaction. “Now, is there anything you… wanted?”

Mason looked up, interrupting his process of making little coin towers. The innkeeper and Therion both looked like they didn’t know exactly what to make of him, but his focus was on only one thing: food.

Very seriously, he answered, “I’d like to order literally anything you have that’s edible.”

The innkeeper blinked once before laughing. It was rich and deep, and for the first time, Mason sensed his mirth was genuine. He wasn’t too happy that the entire occupancy of the room now looked in his direction, but they weren’t important anyway.

“What’s your name, my young friend?” the innkeeper asked, his laughter receding into staggered chuckling.

“Mason.”

“Hmm, you don’t look like a ‘Mason’.”

“I… don’t think my parents had any specific appearance in mind when they named me that way. Don’t most people just give names because they like them?”

“Names could also be traditional or simply the first thing that came to mind, but I see your point. Well, Mason, how would you like an onion quiche and a rabbit haunch? And a glass of…” —the man narrowed his eyes in assessment— “…cider?”

“I’d love that.”

“Wonderful! Therion here will fetch it for you.”

“Thanks,” Mason said distractedly, resuming his task of counting his money. Both of the other men looked on as he built the last few towers, so when Mason finished, he looked up at the innkeeper, smiled, and said, “You have a good memory.”

“I do, thank you. That will be eight copper coins.”

Once again in possession of all his money, Mason beamed and presented the stated amount. “Of course! Here you go. While I remember, do you have any rooms available?”

“We’re still full, I’m afraid.”

“Oh.” Mason’s bright mood dulled a little. “Then… may I use the stable again? I’ll pay for both tonight and yesterday as if it was a regular room.”

“Gladly. That would be thirty-four coins for both nights.” After the innkeeper accepted the payment, he noticed Therion loitering beside him. “Why are you still here? Go on, off with you!”

Therion reluctantly obeyed and drifted towards the back, heading in a different direction than before. Mason and the innkeeper watched him go, after which the latter said, “If you need anything else, just be sure to ask.” He made to walk away, but turned back on an afterthought. “I don’t run a charity, as you’ve seen, but just this once, I’ll give you a bit of free advice.” Lowering his voice and leaning in Mason’s direction, he said, “Be more vigilant with your funds. Cursed coin or not, you won’t be this lucky next time, and now that you’ve displayed your money for all the world to see, ‘next time’ might come sooner than later.” He straightened and spoke at regular volume again. “Watch your back, Mason. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I don’t see you around.”

Mason stared at the innkeeper’s retreating back while he pondered the man’s words. He scanned the other patrons and noticed that he drew more glances than before. Suddenly nervous, he scooped all his money back into his purse and stashed it as deeply in his bag as possible. He then retrieved Glimfang, his ceremonial dagger, and strapped its sheath to his belt. Master Melisande would be disappointed if he made the same mistake twice.

Mason sat in growing anxiety until Therion arrived with his food and drink. (It seemed he wasn’t particularly motivated to do anything in particular, and Mason wondered if he’d have his job if he hadn’t been the innkeeper’s son.) The man placed the plate and glass somewhat carelessly in front of him, almost spilling some of the cider, before sulkily dropping down into the seat opposite Mason.

He sighed heavily. “You owe me one, by the way.”

Mason stopped halfway through cutting his quiche. “I do?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Now that Therion knew about the cursed coin, he might not want to steal from Mason again, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to swindle something out of him in a different way. “For… what?”

Therion lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Dunno yet. Still thinking on that.”

“So… you just decided I owe you for no particular reason? That doesn’t make any sense. If anyone owes someone something, wouldn’t you owe me?”

“Why, because I stole from you?”

“Yes? Do people usually take kindly to strangers taking their things?”

“Well, no, but I returned your money! All your money. If it hadn’t been for me, Father would only have given you half your money back. So, there! You owe me for the sacrifice I made on your behalf.”

Mason looked down at his food, prompting his stomach to rumble loudly. He just wanted to eat in peace. Master Melisande had said it was sometimes difficult interacting with people, but he’d never told him how confusing or persistent they would be.

He resumed cutting the quiche and replied, “I told you about the curse, which allowed you to avoid any more misfortune. Using your logic, that makes us even.”

Therion snorted. “Fine, we’re even.”

Mason looked up at Therion, surprised that he’d finally ceded the point, but he wasn’t going to wait for an explicit invitation to begin eating. He grinned and devoured half the quiche in a way that would probably have provoked a lecture from his master. He was about to do the same with the second half when he realised Therion hadn’t left yet and was still watching him. He looked a bit less sulky. Although… actually, he didn’t look sulky at all anymore. He looked… expectant?

Mason sipped some his cider and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I mean no offence, but why are you still here? Do you just enjoy sitting at tables with people you don’t know?”

“Weeeeell,” the redhead said, propping his elbow on the table and planting his chin in his palm. “Not everyone. Only some.”

Something about his gaze seemed off, but Mason couldn’t tell what. As long as he didn’t take any more of his things or prevent him from eating, though, he supposed there was no harm in letting Therion continue to sit with him.

“Umm… all right? But shouldn’t you be working?”

“Oh, I am working.”

Mason laughed nervously. “Right, because I’m a patron and you served me. Well, and again, I mean no offence, but I don’t think I’ll be tipping you, if that’s why you’re waiting here.”

Therion laughed. “I’m not waiting for tips,” he said, leaning back slightly. “I get them in other ways… So, handsome, since I haven’t served you properly yet, how’d you like it?”

Mason had often blushed before when his master had praised him, but never in his life had he turned scarlet all the way up to his ears. Did Therion just call him handsome?!

“I, umm… I…” He stared down at the rabbit haunch and half-finished quiche. The shock had mostly driven his appetite away. “I’ve never been called that before. And the, umm, food is… err, nice. Wait, no, I mean good. Umm…” He cut off and chewed a small piece of the quiche, making a small “mmm” for emphasis while looking at Therion and attempting a reassuring half-smile.

“I wasn’t talking about the food, Mason.” He gave him a pointed look, then dragged his eyes down and back up. “Although, what I am talking about looks delicious.”

Mason grew even hotter at the mention of his name and swallowed with great difficulty. “I, umm… I don’t understand.” He put down his cutlery and then looked from Therion to his bag and back. “You don’t want to take my money again, but you’re also not asking about the food, so…” He pulled the collar of his shirt forward with his index finger and exhaled heavily, trying too cool off. It didn’t work, so he downed his glass of cider instead. “I’m sorry,” he said, spectacularly flustered, “but I don’t spend a lot of time with— I mean, people don’t usually speak to me, so I don’t understand. I’m confused.”

Therion leaned forward and sighed. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“That would be… I mean…” He looked down and breathed shallowly, feeling totally overwhelmed. In a small voice, he said, “Yes, please.”

“Mason, look at me.”

Mason hesitantly did as instructed, looking up into the other young man’s dark amber eyes and blinking rapidly while trying his best not to cry. He really just wanted to go to sleep and be done with the day. He wanted to be back in Master Melisande’s cottage, where he could read as much as he liked and never had to deal with people. He didn’t feel prepared for the outside world.

“Hmm?” Mason couldn’t manage anything more.

The redhead offered him a small smile. “You don’t have to sleep in the stables tonight,” he murmured, leaning in closer — or as close as the small table would let him. “You could share my bed.” And then he winked at him. “What do you say, Mason?”

“Yo… you, umm… you keep saying my name.” Mason tried his best to think, but his thoughts were utter chaos. Therion probably… Oh, maybe he was trying to make up for stealing the money! “Oh, but, that’s… umm, really nice of you to offer. A bed would be nice, but I slept in the stable yesterday, so another day won’t kill me. Like I said, we’re even. Where would you sleep if I…” Mason felt like his face would melt off, yet his blood suddenly ran cold. “Wa… wait. Did you just… did you just say share?”

“I did,” Therion confirmed with a grin. But then he frowned. “Wait...” He squinted at Mason for a moment and sighed. “Hang on.” He got up and joined Mason on his side of the table, sitting down on the chair to his left and slinging an arm around his neck. He put his lips right by Mason’s ear and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell me you’re completely clueless?”

Mason covered his face with his right hand. He didn’t want Therion to see the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. With a cracked, shaky voice, he said, “I am. I’ve… I’ve only been on my own for a few months now.” His eyes stung and his breathing grew ragged. “I’m not ready for people or cities or crime or… or anything!”

“Oh, goddess,” Therion whispered, staring at Mason in disbelief. “I’ve been flirting with a clueless virgin!”

Therion leaned back in his seat, eyeing Mason in wonder. The other man shifted in his seat, and Therion’s shock melted into a wicked grin. He leaned back in close to Mason again, and put his lips close to Mason’s ear.

“A virgin,” he whispered. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Mason murmured miserably. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m tired.” He swallowed hard and tried to steady his breathing. “I just want to go to sleep.”

Therion stroked a hand down Mason’s arm, who shivered and pulled slightly away. “Alright. No, it doesn’t matter.” But it did, to him. Not that he was going to tell Mason that. He exhaled heavily. “Alright. Did you want to share my bed? It saves you from sleeping in the stables. My Father never has to know.”

“Why don’t you want your father to know?” Mason asked, squinting at him with glistening but suspicious eyes.

His arm tightened around Mason’s neck and on his shoulder. Therion grinned. “Oh, no reason.”

Mason squirmed uncomfortably and sniffed. “I think you’re lying. It’s probably best if I just go the stables now.”

Therion froze, grip still iron-like on Mason’s arm. “Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere,” he said and shifted on the seat until he could look at Mason side-on. “It’s more dangerous in the stables. Anyone could just...walk in and hurt you.”

The boy’s gaze shone with something new--uncertainty, maybe even a little fear. “I can defend myself. I’ve decided to hunt bounties for a living.”

“You’d be safer with me,” Therion pressed with a shake of his head. “Hunting bounties is dangerous. I promise, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to do.” He offered him a small, shy smile. “We can just sleep.”

“And you’re not going to try to steal anything else from me?”

“No, of course not.” Therion glanced down, then peered up at Mason from beneath his eyelashes. “I’ve learned my lesson.” And I plan to steal nothing unless you wish it to be stolen.

Mason sighed resignedly. “Alright,” he agreed. “Sleeping in a bed again would be nice. My back hurts from last night.”

Too easy, Therion thought, smiling fondly at Mason. “Shall we go upstairs, then?”

Looking sadly down at his food, Mason said, “Yeah, I suppose. I’ve lost my appetite anyway.” He looked up at Therion. “Can I at least take the leftovers along? I’ll want to eat it tomorrow, and I don’t want it to be thrown away.”

He chuckled. “Of course you can.”

With that, Therion stood and gestured for Mason to follow. And Mason did, somewhat reluctantly--taking his bag and his food with him. Therion led him across the inn’s full tavern and up the stairs until he reach his rooms on the third floor.

He pushed the door open and gestured for Mason to go first. “So,” he said, watching carefully as the boy hesitated in the doorway and then wandered into the room, food in one hand and bag in the other. “What do you think?”

Mason set his bag down by the end of the bed and placed his plate on the bedside table. He apparently felt better already, since his cheeks were drying and he looked around curiously. “It looks comfortable. The bed has more than enough space for two people, and--” Therion watched as he reached down to stroke the blanket covering the half-made bed. “--it feels warm and soft.” The lute on the desk caught his eye. He gave Therion a quizzical look. “You play?”

“Yes,” Therion said and kicked the door shut, moving over to grab Mason before he could go and touch it. “Leave it, though. I might play later.”

The idea lifted Mason’s spirits. “Would you?” He pulled free of Therion’s grip and gazed in wonder at the musical instrument. “My master and I lived away from other people, so my first time hearing music recently was after going to Reska City, where a minstrel played in the streets for passers-by. He was plucking a frame with some strings on it, but it didn’t look like this. It was flat and looked more like… a boat? Or a bathtub?”

“Maybe,” he muttered, still watching Mason as he gazed about the room. “Probably a lyre.” He frowned. “You’ve been to Reska?”

Mason smiled at Therion. “It’s the first place I went after leaving the cottage! I collected a couple bounties there before I heard of a necromancer over in Keles. He’ll probably travel by land and cross the river somewhere between Omeka and Rinas, so my plan is to take a boat all the way up the river to Veski. I’ll figure out the rest once I’m there.”

Therion blinked at him, slowly. Mason really didn’t know what he was getting into, did he? He sighed. “You’ve....already collected bounties?” he asked and then shook his head. “Nevermind that. Between Omeka and Rinas, are you sure?”

“Definitely! Keles is a little in the middle of nowhere. If the necromancer went there instead of taking a boat, he’s trying to avoid being seen. Cutting through the forest is the shortest way to the mountains, but it’ll give him cover and privacy.”

“Huh, interesting.” He squinted at the kid for a moment, then tilted his head. “How d’you know so much about him? How do you even know it is a ‘him’? Could be a her, you know.” Therion turned and sat down on the bed, scratching at his neck. “Fascinating theory, either way.”

He looked thoughtful. “My master sometimes hunted necromancers, and he would tell me about them. He says the ones you know about are usually crazy and volatile or intelligent and vain, so they’re often men. He says women are usually a lot subtler, so female necromancers hide more successfully. I guess this one could be a woman, but then she’s probably letting herself be spotted. I wonder why? Master would know. I don’t understand people as well as he does.”

Therion’s frown deepened. Mason’s master was beginning to sound suspicious, but what could he do? The man was probably long gone. Or dead. He figured it wasn’t his problem, and leaned back on his elbows. “People can surprise you, you know.”

“Yeah… they can.” Mason gave him an analytical look. He wasn’t sure if it was suspicious or just assessing, though, so he ignored it and raised an eyebrow at him. Mason’s gaze drifted. Speaking more to himself than to Therion, he wondered, “Maybe the necromancer is both? Or neither…” He trailed off, losing himself in his thoughts.

Well, that was an interesting theory, too. Therion chuckled. “Maybe. I’ve found that our concept of gender is broader than we can ever imagine.” He shifted on the bed, brought one foot up until it rested on his knee. “Why, I’ve encountered people who are literally both.”

“Really?” Mason asked, intrigued. “How? My master is only ever one at a time!”

That made him chuckle again. “They say they’re born like that,” he said, and shifted to rest on one arm. He brought the other round to pull his boots off. “I’ve asked.”

“That makes sense.” Mason looked down at his own shoes before moving around to the other side of the bed, taking them off, and neatly placing them next to each other. He then shrugged off his cloak. “Where should I put this?”

“Just by the bed,” Therion said, shifting to take the other boot off. It fell to the floor with a solid thunk and he ducked down to pluck the blade out of it. Therion flicked it towards the wall without looking, then stood up and crossed to where the food Mason had had was sitting. “I don’t particularly mind.”

Mason watched the dagger fly before draping the coat over the bed post at the head end and looking at Therion. Therion met his gaze steadily as he removed his vest and then divested himself of the daggers hidden in his sleeves and the folds of his shirt. They clattered to the bedside table, next to the plate. The vest had been tossed to the floor, and the shirt soon followed it. Therion smirked.

“Like what you see?”

The boy’s face contorted in confusion and embarrassment. “I, umm… well, the daggers look… effective? And you… look… half-naked? I haven’t seen any other half-naked men or their daggers before, so I can’t compare you with, err, them. But you can hide an impressive amount of weapons on you. I only have Glimfang.” He unstrapped a dagger from his belt and unsheathed a shimmering blade with an inlaid ruby in the pommel. Mason’s features brightened and his smile filled with confidence. “Your daggers aren’t more impressive than she is, though.”

Therion raised an eyebrow again. “That?” He gestured to the dozen or so daggers on the bedside table. “That’s not even half of what I hide on me. And yours is very impressive.” He winked and turned fully to face Mason. “I like the ruby.”

“Thanks! She’s enchanted and has a mind of her own.” His face suddenly turned serious. “But never touch her. She’ll bite.” He slipped the dagger into “her” sheath again and slipped the weapon underneath his pillow. He turned to face away from Therion and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a white, cotton undershirt. He folded the grey garment in his hands and neatly placed it onto his shoes. “I’ll leave the room so you can remove the rest of your blades. I’ve never shared a bed with someone before, but yours is large enough that we’ll have ample space for ourselves.”

“Enchanted?” he asked, lifting one foot up to plant it on the edge of the bed. “Oh, don’t worry. You don’t have to go anywhere.” Mason glanced towards him, and Therion just tugged his pants leg up to reveal four daggers strapped to his calf. He grinned and undid the leather strap holding them onto his leg, then dropped them onto the pile of daggers already on the bedside table. He repeated the process with the other calf. “Enchanted is fascinating. I don’t think I want to mess with that.”

Mason demurely sat down on his side of the bed, looking away from Therion again. “It’s better not to. She’s content for now, but she can get thirsty.”

“Thirsty? For what?” Therion sat down, his back to Mason now as he slid his pants down to his knees so he could get at the last two daggers strapped to the inside of his thighs. He removed the blades, still sheathed, and tossed them up to join the others before pulling his pants back up. Mason was a virgin and not very experienced; he didn’t want to scare him off. “Blood? Death? What’s she thirsty for, Mason?”

“Blood,” Mason replied matter-of-factly. “What else? I often give her a little of mine, but it’s mostly other people’s blood that she drinks.” He paused. “How could she even drink death? Wouldn’t that bring people back to life? It seems a bit counterintuitive for something you use to kill people.”

He said it as if it was obvious, and Therion frowned. “I’ve heard that some necromancers feed on death, but I don’t know how that would work.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug, then turned to find Mason watching him. “As for enchanted items... I’m not a mage or anything. I wouldn’t know how that works either.”

“Necromancers can’t feed on death! Maybe the dead, sure, but they’re more likely to leech the life from their victims. Death is--”

“Mason...”

“--loss, and you can’t draw on the absence of something. Master explained that you’d instead use the process of losing to siphon away--”

“Mason!” Therion said sharply, twisting to grab him. His hand closed on Mason’s shoulder. Therion was mildly concerned by what the other boy was saying. “What kind of master did you even have? You sound like you’re speaking from experience--”

“I am! What kind of blood mage would I be if I’ve never drained someone’s life away, or made their heart burst from their chest, or burned them with a river of acid, or turned their blood to poison, or summoned a fountain of razors from their veins, or…?” Mason stopped, having run out of breath, and exhaled. He took a few deep breaths, but was met with silence and frowned. “Therion? Are you alright?”

Therion stared at Mason for a long moment in mounting concern. “Mason,” he said, and swallowed, fingers shifting on the other boy’s shoulder. “You’re a blood mage?”

“Yes. Master started my training when I was six, after he killed my parents.”

“Six?!” Therion spluttered and then the next part of what Mason had said registered. He froze. “He killed your parents? And you didn’t run away? What the hell, Mason?”

Mason’s frown deepened. “Why would I run away? Master explained that he’d killed my parents because Mom’s grandmother was a powerful witch and Mom had inherited something that somebody else wanted. I don’t know what. But my master’s contract hadn’t said anything about me. He said that like my great-grandmother, I also possessed magic, and he wasn’t opposed to training an apprentice. I would probably have to live on the streets if I chose to stay behind, but he promised to take care of me. So, I went with him, and he kept his promise. He was always fair, and whenever I had a question, he would answer it honestly, even if that meant telling me that I wasn’t allowed to know. He said I couldn’t have any friends until my training was done, since they would distract me, but he told me many things about people and the world. When my apprenticeship finished earlier this year, he gave me Glimfang and told me to go see the world for myself. If I had run away, I’d have nothing. Why would I do that?”

Therion was stunned into silence. On one hand, Mason was making sense, but on the other.... Therion shook his head, unable to believe Mason’s story. He frowned deeply. He’d been brought up on the streets, after his mother died. Amyk had been nice enough to let him sleep in the tavern, but... He’d never taught Therion how to murder people. Therion had figured that out himself. Aymk had just taught him how to use a dagger. And steal things. He heaved a sigh.

“Mason... I don’t... I don’t even know what to say.”

The boy’s frown lessened a bit, the confusion transferring to his gaze. “But… what is there to say?”

“A lot of things,” he muttered, shifting up onto his knees on the bed. “But it doesn’t matter.” He glanced towards the pillow that Glimfang was resting under then back at Mason. “Do you feel like your master took advantage of you?”

“No? How would he have?”

Therion sighed. “Forget about it,” he said and shifted a little closer. “Can I try something?”

Mason half-copied Therion’s pose, pulling his legs onto the bed and turning to face him. “Like what? Do you mean with Glimfang? I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Therion murmured, taking Mason’s face in his hands. “I agree; no enchanted weapons. That’s just asking for trouble.” He smiled fondly. “Mason, have you ever been kissed?”

“No, I haven’t,” Mason answered self-consciously, casting his gaze down to his legs. Then he looked up, uncertainty glowing in his eyes. “You’ve… said a lot of confusing things today, but I understand now that you want to… you know…” His gaze dropped again. “…make love to me. Why?”

Therion huffed out a small laugh. “Finally, he understands,” he said and then sighed. “But only if you want to.” He rubbed a thumb over Mason’s cheekbone. “As for why? Because why not?”

Mason gazed intently into Therion’s eyes. He seemed focused, like when he’d given him that analytical look earlier. He tentatively raised a hand and laid it on the one Therion had used to rub his cheek. “I don’t… I don’t understand you.”

“Who says you need to?” he said, and snorted out an amused breath. “So, shall I?”

Mason blinked slowly before answering. “Master killed my parents, but he raised me instead. He was kind. I trusted him. He didn’t take advantage of me. You stole from me, but you returned what you took. I… think you might be kind too. And I want to trust you. But will you take advantage of me?”

Therion smiled wider. “I always ask for permission first, Mason. For consent.” He brushed his thumb over his cheekbone again. Mason’s eyes were such a pristine, clear light green. Therion was utterly taken in by them. “I will only do what you want me to do, what you ask of me. I don’t take advantage of people unless they ask me to. Do you understand?”

He nodded. “I do.” He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. “I… consent.”

“Good,” Therion murmured, tone husky and leaned in to press his lips to Mason’s.