Chapter 7 - Fall of Balentyne

The wind howled across the lake, echoing its mournful chorus into the night sky. Willow lay awake staring at the spine of the tent. She could hear the breeze whistling its somber song, the nocturnal creatures calling to one another on the outside of the camp. She could hear Pellius’ satisfied heavy breathing as he lay next to her in a deep sleep. But she focussed on the low rumbling snore coming from the orc. He was a curiosity to her, a puzzle she needed to solve. As they had sat by the fire, he spoke of The Wall. Willow had pried for more details, listening intently as he described a prison of sorts, a place that sounded like an eternity of misery, uncountable souls crushed upon each other in a lay of tormented moans and ululating cries. He had no recollection of life prior to The Wall, no memory of what would have led him to become imprisoned there. Willow asked him of his loyalties, noting he had no obvious moral qualm with taking out Iron Sam in armed combat. She watched his facial expressions as he answered, searching for telltale signs of truth or lies.

“Do you serve our Infernal Lord Asmodeus?” Garvana asked forcefully.

“I do. That, I will always remember,” he answered truthfully.

“Who or what was that devil?” Willow asked curiously, “The one who opened the portal, do you remember him?”

Bor turned and stared intensely, “I don't know what it was, I’ve never actually seen it before. But I could feel it. Always there, always watching.”

She was most intrigued, looking over to Garvana she asked, “Do you know what type of devil he was?”

Garvana frowned, “Nothing I've ever come across.”

Willow had no knowledge of a devil such as him, nor had she ever heard of The Wall. Of course, she intended to find out.

The day had certainly been strange. Willow’s mind wandered through a labyrinth of questions, at the top of them all was her intense bond with Hell. Most intriguing was how the bond was strengthened and intensified as the portal from this realm to His had formed. She had always known she had an odd religious connection. She had never heard of anyone feeling their god the way she did. As a child it was more like a friend, an eidolon of guidance and comfort, always by her side. But as she grew, it changed.

Her fourteenth birthday had barely passed before He came to her.

Her mother had insisted she accept the offer of a date from the son of Marcus Edanburn, Duke of Tevvarneh. Willow had to admit, Samson was certainly the most handsome and adventurous of the four Edanburn boys. He was sixteen years of age, tall and lean with cropped darks waves framing his soft edged face. He had a reputation for fun and mischief, far more exciting than the other young noble men who had tried courting her.

After a polite lunch in the parlour of his families’ manor, he offered Willow an arm as an escort for a tour of the gardens. They strolled slowly away from the watchful eyes of their chaperones and approached the end of the maze of flora.

“Want to go somewhere a little more fun?” Samson asked mischievously.

Willow laughed as he grabbed her hand and pulled her along, sneaking off the property. She hitched her dress up as they ran through the wheat fields and into the forest. They ran alongside the river, following its bends and curves, climbing over rocks and fallen tree trunks. When they came to the cliff edge of Fell Valley they sat and hung their feet over.

“May I say my lady,” Samson said, “You are staggeringly beautiful. I am most grateful you accepted my invitation.”

Willow laughed, “And may I say dear sir, that flattery will get you entirely everywhere.”

She stared out across the rolling hills of the valley, pretending not to notice as he slowly leaned in, planting a kiss on the side of her cheek. Turning to face him, she looked into his eyes, smiling coyly she moved in closer pressing her lips to his. He placed his hand gently behind her head, staying locked in the kiss for a time. Willow could feel a warmth growing from within her. As he reached his other hand around her waist pulling her closer, Willow whimpered. A hot rush flooded her, and an aching tear seemed to be pulling her deeper into the forest. She broke the kiss suddenly and scrambled to her feet.

“What's wrong sweet girl?” asked Samson standing after her, “I apologise, I did not mean to rush you.”

“There's something out there,” Willow said distractedly.

“Wait, come back!” he called as she ran off, “Wait for me!”

Winding through the trees she followed her instincts. She knew she was getting closer when the feeling in her grew and started to burn, her breath quickened and with each step her senses heightened. She stopped as she came upon the largest weeping willow tree she had ever seen. Pushing aside the curtains of branches, a moan escaped her lips, an open abandoned stone temple stood dark and solitary.

Willow jumped as a hand grabbed her shoulder.

“What is this place?” Samson asked, eyes wide.

“I haven't a clue,” Willow said in a breath.

As she stepped forward, Samson pulled her back.

“No, I do not like this place.” he said sternly, “It feels evil. It feels angry. Wrong.”

Willow scoffed and pushed his hand away, “Nonsense, it feels… like… Him.”

The words came out of her mouth with no intent on her behalf. But they felt right, they felt truthful.

“What are you talking about?” Samson snapped, “This is not right. Who are you talking about?”

Willow wandered forward ignoring his protests. As she reached the entry to the temple, she was greeted by a hot wave of energy, searing her from the inside out. She groaned as she continued on, timidly climbing the stairs one at a time. The further she made it, the louder the rushing energy sounded, she could barely hear Samson talking behind her. She stood at the threshold of the archway and paused. The pulling was at its worst, threatening to yank her inside, but this was a step she knew she had to take herself. Taking a deep breath, Willow lifted her chin high and crossed the threshold, stepping inside.

A surge of knowledge flowed through her veins, the burning heat comforting her in a way she had never known.

“This is his,” she said in awe, “This is his place. He’s here, he’s everywhere!”

Willow studied the markings on walls, most blurred by burn marks. She surmised that the temple used to be a place of worship for those faithful to Asmodeus. As the thought formed in her mind, a wave of heat flared down below, forcing out another moan.

She lifted out her arms and span in a circle laughing, “I can feel him. He’s actually here!”

“Willow!” Samson bellowed fiercely, “Stop this nonsense at once! No future wife of mine should be permitted to carry on in such a way!”

Willow froze in her position. Her arms dropped to her sides as she slowly spun to face him.

“Can't you feel him?” she asked intensely, “He's rushing through my blood, he’s fire in my belly, he’s feeding my soul.”

Willow ran over to Samson, pushing him up against the wall, forcing her lips against his. Grabbing his hand, she thrust it between her legs, the touch sending a shock wave through her body. As she kissed him with fiery passion and ground herself down on his hand, he struggled with the decision to pull away, eventually tearing himself from her.

“Willow,” he panted through a heaving chest, “What is going on? What is this? Who are you talking about?”

Willow looked up at him with bright eyes and whispered, “The Prince of Darkness.”

Samson recoiled with a look of disgust.

“What in Mitra’s name?!” he screamed, “Who are you?!”

He backed away from Willow with his hands up in defence.

“Stay back you devil bitch!” he yelled, “Heinous blasphemer!”

He ran down the stairs and back through the forest, Willow followed behind him, skirts flying as she leaped. Her parents had warned her of this. She had been so caught up in the moment that she had forgotten the reality of the world. Even simple worship of her beloved Infernal Lord was outlawed, punishable by death. As they neared the clearing of Fell Valley, Willow knew she would never catch him, she had to act fast. She swooped down and picked up a heavy stick and threw it hard at his head. A perfect shot had him tumble forward and skid along the dirt on his stomach. Willow ran over to him and grabbed him by the collar pulling him to his feet. She could feel the searing heat circling in her again. Her eyes flashed with hellfire as he stood frozen in fear.

“Deliver me from chaos that I may serve you in eternity,” she said fiercely, holding his collar tight forcing him to step backwards to the edge of the cliff.

Staring deeply into his eyes she kissed him softly and whispered, “Hail Asmodeus.”

She shoved with all her might and saw Samson fly outwards, plummeting down the side, his body falling limp as it smashed into the rocks along the way. Willow watched until he came to a stop, unmoving and lifeless. She sat down, hanging her legs over the edge of the cliff. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She did not enjoy death, even when it was necessary. As she stared out over the expanse and more tears fell, Willow felt a gentle warmth encompass her. She smiled through the tears as it wrapped her tight, like a gentle caress from a lover.

Staring up at the spine of the tent, Willow smiled. She may not feel her god as others did, but the way she felt Him was magnificent. She remembered learning some very valuable lessons that day. That she could not trust anyone with her secrets, that a crying woman’s lies are very likely to be believed and that no man would ever be as great, or mean as much to her as Him.

Willow thought back to the day she had just had and was struck with an odd thought. She remembered the devil that had stepped out of the portal had looked straight at her. When she caught him he had snapped his head away, she would have sworn it seemed almost in deference. She was still left with questions, certain questions only her family or their histories could answer.

Rolling over, she could make out the silhouette of Pellius’ face. His Chellaxian bone structure so rigid compared to those of Talingarde. She wondered what he felt when he channelled their Infernal Lord, smiting he called it. Did he feel the same heat? Did his blood burn and his chest heave? Did he know that was what she felt?

Willow silently crawled on top of him, gently grasping his hands and swiftly slamming them down above his head. He woke with a shock, instantly flipping Willow over and under him, hand to her throat.

Willow laughed, “Round two?”

In the early hours before dawn, Willow was woken by a familiar lick of burning flare. She blazed in the same way she had that night in the Lords Dalliance.

“And does our great Infernal Lord offer any guidance?” she heard Garvana ask.

“The Master of Devils,” spoke a smooth baritone voice, “Is of course far too busy to provide guidance, nor would he expect he would need to provide guidance. He would of course assume, that you would suffice with your own capabilities.”

“Of course,” Garvana said curtly.

Willow lay still, listening to their exchange. What she could gather was that Garvana had been contacted by this creature more than once. Willow wondered what she had to gain by hiding this information, and what other knowledge she was withholding from the group. The creature seemed to be offering advice and encouragement, as well as the use of his particular talents, described as best used in shadows. As they said their farewells and the creatures’ presence faded into nothing, Willow thought of how far she had let her guard down. She had begun to trust these people although she knew they all had secrets. Garvana’s concealment was a reminder of why trust was such a futile and hindering value.

Willow heard Garvana shuffle around the camp, darkness still looming, first light not having breeched the horizon. The group roused quietly, gearing up and clearing out well before sunrise. Garvana, Pellius and Bor dragged the corpses of Barhold’s men towards the clearing around the Watchtower. Willow helped Teelee carve inverted pentagram’s on each of their foreheads. She watched deep in thought while they strung each body up by its neck in full view of the keep. A gruesome message sure to inflict fear in the hearts of god-fearing men.

They hustled back to town as the sun bloomed low in the distance. The signal horns sounded from the keep as they reached its secret entrance. Upon reaching the other end, they slowed and listened. Garvana signalled that she could hear coughing in the vault. Preparing for a fight they opened the wall, charging the two guards from the tunnel, catching them by surprise. The group was so quick at taking them down, neither managed to use their signal horns. Willow took the brass flute off the guards body, a keepsake, someway to remember the beginning.

Pellius and Bor used the magic from the circlets to mimic the guards they had killed, copying the fine facial details. Willow and the others stood in the shadows, readying their weapons, prepared for anything. She watched Bor’s face contort with rage as he reached the top of the ladder, leaping from the trap door into the room. Before anyone else could react, Willow had surged up the ladder and darted in behind the blacksmith that Bor had hacked, and sliced him through the neck. One by one, each of the six blacksmiths were cut down, but unfortunately not before they managed to raise the alarm.

They took the tower one room at a time, meeting any resistance head on, emerging almost unscathed. Climbing another lot of stairs, they came face to face with Father Donigan. Poised for battle, a grim determination set on his face. Willow felt her fierce energy flare as he made eye contact with her, unflinching and undeterred he stood tall, while she smiled at his arrogance. He whole heartedly believed his Mitra would save him.

The room was lined with guards forming a barricade in front of the priest and layers of archers along the northern stairwell. Willow dove through a gap in between two guards, jumping out of the way of a shower of blood flying across the room. Bor had hacked a guard clean in half, splattering the priest as his sword carved through flesh. Pellius charged through the defence into the path of Father Donnigan. Willow flipped around the room with ease, ducking and weaving gracefully, effortlessly avoiding swords and arrows alike. As she slid under the stairs flanking the priest, she was flooded with a searing rush of profane heat. Pellius called to Asmodeus, dark energy seeping from his skin, making Willow clench her teeth to stop from moaning. Father Donigan did his best to fend off the attacks, surprisingly skilled with his shield, but was ultimately too weak. A last desperate attack he started a summoning, magic wisps stirring, but was too slow to avoid Willow’s dagger aiming for his heart or Pellius’ great axe aiming for his head. He fell to the ground as the last sounds of his incantation spluttered in his throat. Pellius charged onwards upstairs towards the archers while the others took out the infantry men. Willow lingered over the priest.

“Do not be afraid,” she whispered, draping his eyes closed with her fingers, “Our fate cannot be taken from us. It is a gift.”

Dragging her dagger to his throat she pushed down firmly, “And if that gift is displeasing; the strong will carve out a new one for themselves.”

The last room in the tower they took quickly. Willow was repulsed watching Bor cram a guard through an arrow slit barely half his width. Pellius seemed to puff out his chest and cleave with vicious strength, so cleanly decapitating the last guard that his head appeared to float in mid air for a moment, before dropping to the floor with a thud. Willow laughed at their vile display of testosterone.

Through the other arrow slit they were greeted with too much silence. Looking closely, they managed to make out men on the top floor, the remainder of the guards and the commander having fallen back, preparing for a last line of defence.

Willow and Pellius argued on which way to go, she wanted to go back through the guard rooms and come up from underneath, avoiding the open space of the courtyard. It didn't take long for Willow to snap with impatience.

“Go wherever you go,” she clipped, “I'm going DOWN!”

Pellius chuckled, “No no it's fine, I always have fun when you go down.”

Willow rolled her eyes and span on her heel, smirking as she trotted down the stairs.

They prowled through the hallway, clearing each room they passed. As they entered the passage that joined the main hallway they came upon four sturdy reinforced doors. Willow watched Bor shift his balance lifting his leg and ramming it into the door, not even making a dent. She placed a hand on his forearm as she slipped in front of him, swiftly picking the lock and swinging the door wide, winking at him as she entered. The four rooms belonged to the captains, none of which contained much worth the weight. As she rummaged through their belongings she heard a loud crack of splintering wood. Slinking back into the passage with her daggers at the ready, she laughed as saw Garvana holding a large wooden door, the door to the forge. She squeezed passed as Pellius ripped another door off, splitting the hinges apart, tearing it from the wall.

They reached the main door in the hallway and prepped themselves for a fight. After opening the door towards them, Willow quickly took a peek at what awaited them. As arrows flew towards her head, she saw a line on four infantry men guarding a line of four archers, set up on the northern and southern side of the hallway. She swiftly withdrew, dodging the arrows with ease. Pellius and Garvana stood with their wooden doors as shields at the ready. They stepped out on either side of the door, followed by Teelee with the fireball wand and Willow with her bow. Willow saw an arrow slip through the side and puncture Pellius in the shoulder, he stood fast, tall and strong behind his wooden shield.

Teelee launched a pellet of flame into the centre of the southern guards ranks, the explosion of fire rippling outwards, obliterating all but one. Willow launched a volley of arrows to the north, not standing in the return path long enough to see if they had hit. The northern guards retreated back into the gatehouse, calling for the drawbridge to be raised. Teelee launched another charge and managed to slip it through the small gap of the rising bridge. They knew it had found its target when the screaming sounded.

The last infantry guard on the southern side started a desperate charge towards them. As Willow stepped out and drew a bead on his leg, Pellius launched his door towards the guard. The guard tripped forward as she loosed her arrow, unintentionally shooting it into his forehead.

They closed and barred the large doors to the north, blocking off any chance of attack from behind. Pushing on into the barracks they saw part of the devastation they had caused with the poisonous Wolfsbane. The smell of decaying limbs pungent in the air. Guardsmen strewn about the place, gaping mouths, wheezing chest, blackened lips and tongues. Willow cringed at the smell and continued on, leaving Teelee to burn the barracks down behind them.

Entering the acolytes’ quarters, they came across a simple candlelit shrine to Mitra. The humble altar stood in the centre of a small pond filled with holy water, a shining sun sprouting from its top. Willow was intrigued as she watched Pellius approach it feeling the dark energy radiate from him. He hefted his great axe and cleaved the sun from its pedestal, sending it flying into the wall, shattering on impact. A small moan escaped her lips as she felt the darkness pulse and surround him.

Along the back wall stood a small bookshelf, flicking through the titles Willow pulled out a blue white and gold book, a Mitran holy text. She held it gingerly, half expecting it to turn to ash and scorch her hands as it lit itself on fire. She laughed at herself and threw it roughly in her bag. Pellius led the way into the chapel, dutifully charging up the ladder and into what lay above.

“LEAVE!” bellowed a saintly voice.

“This place,” Pellius called with sacred purpose, pulling out his Asmodean pendant, “Like all others, is His. And we… are here to claim it for Him.”

Empowered by his words the rest of the group charged up the ladder into battle. Willow reached the top and sprinted towards a nearby acolyte, cutting him down with quick slashes to the chest and neck. Looking around she recoiled as she saw a great mass of energy, like a whirlwind of dancing firefly lights. Nine Archon lanterns, scouts of heaven, forming one single entity.

Willow twirled around the chapel, flipping above the pews, avoiding each attack with ease. As she dove through an acolytes legs, reaching up behind him and impaling her daggers into his spine, she felt a menacing aura surge from the Archon. The surge throbbed and threatened to break into Willow’s mind, but Pellius’ words were still bounding around, giving her strength. She was here to claim this place for her Infernal Lord. She shrugged off the feeling and leaped back into the fray, carving her way through.

As the last of the acolytes fell, the group realised they could do little to no damage to the Archon, they fled back down the ladder. As Willow hurried towards the latch she laughed and winced as she saw Bor hack off an acolytes head and throw it up at the Archon.

Barging through the kitchen door, they were greeted by the chef, an array of knifes set out in front of her.

“Don't be thinkin’ your using my kitchen as a way in!” she barked, picking up a knife.

As Pellius charged forward she started hurling knives erratically, clearly with no skill, flinging them everywhere but at him. He reached her and easily knocked her to the ground subduing her pitiful attacks. Willow sprinted forward and leaped up onto the table, diving off it plunging her dagger into the woman's skull. She had to prop a foot against her forehead to remove the blade, shrugging and smiling in response to Pellius’ quizzical look.

Climbing out of the trap door into the throne room, Willow’s lip turned up as she felt the sickly righteous aura of the Thomas Havelyn.

“Lay down your arms, lest you further endanger your very souls with this villainy!” boomed the Lord Commander.

The group ran into attack and Willow vaulted up onto the throne in the centre of the wall.

“Our souls have always belonged to Him,” Willow replied fiercely, firing an arrow at his head, watching it clang of his helmet, “We are in no danger. It is your soul Havelyn that I would be worried about!”

With a flash of fire, Teelee conjured another inferno that ripped through the ranks of guardsmen, more than half of them falling to their knees. As the Commander charged at Willow he beseeched Mitra for healing aid, channeling holy energy allowing it to flow from him into his comrades, reviving them from the brink of death. Garvana, Bor and Pellius took the brunt of the attack as the guards and the commander pushed forward. Lord Havelyn seemed to recognise Pellius for what he was, a Paladin of the Archdevils faithful, the righteous embodiment of his power. Willow bared her teeth as the sickening wave of divine energy flooded the area, he called down Mitra’s guidance, smiting Pellius in the Shining Lord’s name.

Willow dashed in behind the commander, slashing and slicing, searching for a weak point in his armour. He carved his great sword across into Pellius’ torso, continuing through to strike Garvana in the shoulder. Pellius continued to try parry and defend, while Garvana called out to Asmodeus, her blood covered mace erupting in flame.

Bor harnessed his rage into effortlessly hacking through the guards, making his way toward the commander. Pellius started to falter after taking the majority of the assault, his gaping wounds refusing to stop bleeding, he continued to fight, his strength draining with each hit.

Bor stepped up to the Commander and brought his sword down into his helmet. Caved as it was, it held fast. Garvana swung her flaming mace, smashing it into his chest, denting in the front of the breast plate.

Willow saw her opportunity when a spilt in the armour opened, allowing her to plunge her dagger into the Commander’s spine, his legs collapsing underneath him. The guards behind tried to grab hold of him and drag him back into their ranks. Before they could Willow pounced, landing atop of him plunging her dagger down through his throat. Feeling an intense rush of burning pride, she looked up at the guards with the fury of hell in her eyes and grinned. Willow laughed as she saw the look of horror form on their faces and fear took over, sending them scrambling out of the door. She watched as she heard Teelee send off another fireball, but as it passed her she whimpered when the searing hot flare swarmed through her veins. The fireball had been enveloped by a dark swirling mist, the sweltering burn of hell engulfing the simple pyromancy. As it reached the fleeing guards, it forcefully imploded, leaving behind only a shower of red blood misted through the air.

Garvana saw to healing Pellius, while Willow stayed perched atop of Lord Commander Havelyn. She pulled off his helmet and studied his face. He looked like any ordinary man, and in death of course, nobody was special. As the last flicker of life drained from his eyes, her thoughts churned over in her mind. This was her enemy. Mitran fanatics that would never understand or appreciate real order. Freedom and equality were the cause of the chaos in this world. She felt slightly unhinged as she sat crouched atop his corpse. She had gone from a life of privilege to a life of death and destruction. The chaos of death and destruction that she had caused. She knew that the cardinal had a greater plan in motion, she just had to trust that he was capable of reining in the chaos he was ensuing. She would follow him, while he was still powerful enough to lead.

Still crouched on top of the Lord Commanders corpse, she heard Pellius’ footsteps behind her. She smiled, stepping off the body, throwing the helmet to him.

“Don't mind the blood stains,” Willow said with a wink.

She turned to walk off, but froze as she felt a creeping surge of powerful profane darkness. Spinning back to the commander, she watched the silver armour flake and shed its layer, revealing a matte black finish underneath. The trim boiled off leaving a blood red one in its place. Willow smiled and her heart sang as the Mitran sun burned away, exposing the Asmodean star, front and centre in the heart of the armour.

Pride pounded in her chest, “He is pleased!”

They seized each floor of the keep, working their way to the roof. As they rounded the stairs on the top floor, they reached the ornate doors leading to the commanders meeting room. Willow smirked as she threw the doors open and approached the large chest in the corner. She carefully inspected its joins and grooves looking for the trigger to its alarm.  She noticed the creases of a small hidden button at the back, disguised as one of many decorative engravings. She disabled the trap and sprang the lock, opening the chest to reveal two silver Asmodean pendants and two iron circlets laid over a heavy barbed mace; Garvana and Teelee’s confiscated belongings. After she lifted out the last piece of armour, Willow smiled at the glittering wealth she saw. Perfectly sorted bags of gold, jewelled chalices and valuable medals. She knew she had been correct, she had just robbed Balentyne’s treasury.

After storming the roof and cutting down the rest of the guards, they dismantled the trebuchet by cutting through its ropes. Pellius stood by the edge, pointing to the north, lighting and launching the signal rocket. It exploded into a shattering of green flame coating the sky, unmissable by their bugbear army over the wall.

Heading towards the gatehouse, they reached the bottom set of stairs, leading to the throne room. They heard a large number of guards and dwarves blocking their exit, leaderless and with little chance of success, they had banded together as a last ditch effort to attempt to stop the take over. Deep and intimidating, Pellius shouted a warning of the incoming attack, giving them a one time offer to flee. Bor, Garvana and Pellius bickered amongst themselves about what to do with the group, while Willow strained to listen to the others. They were divided, some wanting to flee in fear desperate to stay alive, some wanting to stand fast and stay and fight. While the bickering kept the group distracted, Willow used the arcana of her circlet. She bled her skin crimson, grew her teeth and tail out, flashing her eyes blood red. Slowly she prowled out in front of the guards and dwarves, with a wicked toothy smile, watching the fear drain their faces hollow. She perched up onto the arm of the throne.

“Go,” she purred, “Take this chance and flee. For you will know real fear before long. He is coming for what is rightfully his. And when he comes, those who are unworthy shall drown in agonising dread. For his shadow is darkest at the bottom, a place where terror and horror feed on the fear of mortal men.”

She leant forward, “GO!” she screeched, “Or I will cut you down myself and offer you in sacrifice!”

She laughed as she watched the men scramble and shriek. Looking over to the stairs she saw the group staring down at her.

“What?” she asked innocently, fluttering her eyes as she blinked away the fire.

The gatehouse had been abandoned. Only scorch marks remained of the guards, their screams of agony still haunting the walls. While Garvana and Bor opened the portcullis and the drawbridge, Willow sat along the top of the outer wall facing north, watching the bugbear horde approach in the distance. She had dropped her disguise and sat, legs dangling, marvelling at their own accomplishments. The five of them had managed to infiltrate, wipe out and take over an entire watchtower by themselves. She watched the army flood through beneath her and she cringed at the utter chaos they would bring. She understood the necessity, and saw their usefulness in the long term, but still despised their thirst for pointless brutality and violence. Feral beasts at heart, dogs that needed to be kept on a short leash.

And from the front of the charge she saw Sakkarot. A feral beast indeed, but with an intellectual mind. A dangerous sort and a powerful ally.

The horde spilled out of the keep towards the town. Willow could hear the massacre bounding across the clearing. She dropped down landing in a crouch when she saw Saakrot approaching.

“I'm impressed little one,” he laughed, slapping her on the back, almost knocking her off her feet, “I’ve barely worked up a sweat. You sure did a number on this place!”

“Eh,” she said in her best cockney accent, “All in a day's work.”

“Haha!” he bellowed, “That's the spirit!”

The gruesome deeds raged on and fires burnt high in the town, while the group gathered around the clay seal they had been given. Willow studied the carving, an inverted pentagram surrounded by intricately detailed thorns. Firmly holding it between her hands she snapped it clean down the middle, watching the cracks rivet along the pentagram's points, shattering the clay through her fingers. The waited mere seconds before Tiadora, the Mistress from the cardinals’ manor, appeared before them with a small wooden box in her hands.

“Well,” she said patronisingly, looking around, “I suppose this means you've been successful in your task. Most surprising.”

She handed Willow the oddly heavy box containing a hefty amount of platinum bars and a note marked with an A. The Cardinal gave his congratulations offering the fine reward. He gave orders to rest and recover, before they would be called on again soon. Tiadora announced that she had been given authority to recruit Bor as the replacement fifth charge in their Nessian Knot. He signed without hesitation, much to her obvious disappointment.

They traveled to the dockside where a ship awaited them, Willow turned back towards the watchtower. She saw the smouldering embers and thick ash smoking through the air. The outer walls were crumbling, the tower had fallen into rubble, the inner sanctum was nothing but an inferno. To the south the horde had amassed in camp. The horrific cries of the last townsfolk and the ferocious calls of the beasts could still be heard as she walked away. She threw her hood over her head as she toed along the plank.

The Watchtower of Balentyne had fallen, and with it, all hope of peace for Talingarde as they knew it.

Chapter 6 - Thinning the Ranks

The first of the morning birds started their song, the sky still shadowed black as dawn slowly approached. The warmth of summer’s air lingered in soft breeze through the crack of the open window, the bright leaves upon the trees rustling under the weight of the singers’ wings. Willow awoke in the warm embrace of heavy solid toned arms. It took a moment for the reality to set in. The memories of the prior night swarmed back to her mind, unconsciously bringing a blush to her cheeks. She had never shared something so intimate with another soul. She had never bared herself so openly, her faith and devotion so completely on display. Even knowing Pellius shared her beliefs; through every step of their lustful and carnal joining, she had expected him to turn form her in revulsion. She had never known the feeling of real trust, she had kept her faith so hidden over the years, so sheltered from all watchful eyes. Yet, here she lay, in the arms of a man who knew her darkest and most well-kept secret, and who not only accepted it, but revelled in it.

Stepping out of the bed, she stretched her arms high and arched her back. She winced as the flesh pulled tight along the welts from the crop on her sides. She couldn't help but grin as she traced her fingers down their ridges. Walking gingerly, she tottered towards the bathroom on fragile legs. She grinned as she heard Pellius’ gratified laugh from the bed as she gave him a crude finger gesture before closing the door.

Under the cover of darkness, they met up with Mathias and broke into the secret tunnel within the Lord’s Dalliance. Their plan was to await the evening, to poison the stew and take out as many guards as possible, using the distraction to free Teelee and Garvana. They had a few hours to wait, so Willow retired a bottle of red from the cellar and they sat by torchlight, passing the time with a few rounds of cards.

They emerged silently from the tunnel after the sun had set, sneaking through the vault and into the forge. Willow had disguised herself as a plump female servant with unremarkable features and an aged forgettable face. Pellius and Mathias had disguised themselves as guards, planning to loiter in the walkway pretending to eagerly await the stew much like the rest of the guardsmen. It was Willow’s job to lace the cauldron with the concentrated wolfsbane. She took a large tray from the store room and hefted it through the hallway. Shuffling her footsteps, appearing busy and in a hurry, she barged the door open with her backside and navigated her way into the kitchens. As she entered, she saw the hefty size older woman known as Mumma Giuseppe. She was leaning over and stirring a large steaming cauldron, as the smell of spices and venison wafted throughout the room. To the left were a dozen kitchenhands, and an intimidating woman brandishing a rolling pin. Willow had to think of a way to get Mumma Giuseppe’s attention off the stew only for a moment. As she attempted to knock a servant over by bumping him firmly in the shoulder, perfect and terrible timing had him bent forward to adjust his laces. The movement sent Willow off balance as she tumbled over his back. The tray she was holding went clattering to the floor, and in a chorus of shouts of surprise, the kitchen staff all ran over to help. The fierce looking woman came barking towards Willow as she picked up the tray and quickly wiped it over at the sink.

“What’s wrong with yer girly!” she barked, clonking Willow over the head with the rolling pin, “Useless! Can't git decent help these days!”

Mumma Giuseppe turned away from her cauldron to calm the cook down.

“Come now, Larza,” she soothed, “They’re only children. And it’s only a tray.”

Willow took the opportunity to slip in behind her silently, emptying the vial into the broth. She watched the poison simmer on the top of the meaty stew, before being sucked under and absorbed into the chunks of venison. She quickly piled her tray with a few bowls of simple foods, sliced vegetables and meat, and a tankard of ale. A horn signalling the beginning of dinner sounded throughout the keep as Willow left the kitchen. She shuffled down the corridor making eye contact with Pellius, smiling with a nod to him as she continued on her way. With casual ease, the two men fell in behind her and followed her up the stairs and into the keep.

As Pellius and Mathias stopped to talk to the two guards standing on duty outside the cells, one of them stopped Willow as he put his hand out in her way.

“Are you busy at the moment mam?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Willow said politely, “What is it you were after my dear?”

“Would you have time to bring me up some of that stew after?”

She smiled compassionately, “Oh of course I will, I hear it's extra delicious tonight.”

“We’ll take over,” Mathias said, “We already got our share early.”

“Really?” the guard asked, “Oh, that’d be great. You two sure you’re alright to hold the post?”

Pellius laughed, “Yeah, go on.”

As the pair hurriedly made their way down the stairs, Willow smirked as she quickly put down the food tray and set about picking the lock on the door. She had it open in seconds and wasted no time, prowling in quickly and deftly unlocked the cell doors. As she threw the outfits at both women, the other prisoners started shouting out for the guards. She pulled out her bow and drew an arrow trained on Mot’s forehead, as Mathias did the same to Barnibus. With no where to run or hide, it was swift and quick that they fell, silencing their cries for help.

Willow quickly went to check the women over, both of whom looked drained and exhausted. As Willow approached Teelee, who hadn't said a word since being freed, a frantic signal horn sounded an alarm. She placed a firm hand on Teelee’s shoulder.

“No time for sorrows,” she said softly, “Take this and get to the tunnel. You remember where it is?”

Teelee took the invisibility potion and nodded. She drank it down in a gulp and she was gone. Willow turned to see Garvana pacing the floor, she spoke an enchanted incantation and disappeared, sounding footsteps travelling up to the next floor. Willow shook her head and transformed herself into a guard before following Pellius and Mathias towards the exit. They passed dozens of guards falling into rank as they ran through the courtyard, when they reached the forge, Willow cursed under her breath to see it filled with guards donning armour and fitting weapons. She pushed passed Pellius and strode up to the pile of longswords, grabbing a few, passing them out to each guard. She saw Mathias smirk and take up position handing out halberds, while Pellius tended the shields. Suddenly, a shrilling high pitched squeal sounded from the top of the keep. The guards they were outfitting seemed to quicken their steps, all converging on the main tower. Willow would have bet anything that Garvana was the cause of the alarm.

Once the last of the guards had his gear and the forge was clear, the three of them hurried down into the vault. With no sign of Teelee or Garvana, they waited quietly, listening out for any incoming infantry.

Willow stretched out her sore muscles while they waited, ignoring the smug grin on Pellius’ face as she massaged her tender thighs. She was arching her back when a wave of sickening cold hit her, sapping her energy and forcing every muscle in her body to clench and cramp. She cried out as the surge zapped through her, hearing Pellius and Mathias gasp and groan in unison. Pellius was the first to charge up the ladder to see what was going on, Mathias and Willow following closely on his heels.

“I KNEW IT!” squealed the magister from the top of the stairs, “I’VE GOT YOU! I KNEW IT! IN HERE! GUARDS IN HERE!”

Willow followed his eyes and saw Garvana reaching for a longsword as the Magister pulled out a wand engraved in runic flames.

“FINALLY!” the magister called excitedly.

He smiled with glee as he launched a pellet of flame down the stairs towards the group. Watching the bead crane down, Willow leaped into the air, flipping as the fire impacted and exploded in rippling waves of fury across the stone floor. She landed in a crouch as the flames furrowed outwards. The others weren't so lucky, blackened scorch marks charred Pellius and Garvana, while Mathias’s clothes were still burning as he dropped and rolled in a desperate attempt to douse the embers. As Willow raced up the stairs and dove in behind the magister, Garvana ran to the hearth and pulled free a book from her pack, holding it over the fiery forge.

“Surrender,” she rasped viciously, “Or I will burn this book to ashes!”

The magister seemed to falter in his steps. But, it was already too late for him. Willow felt Pellius before she heard him. A wave of searing profane energy exploded from him, like rapturous tendrils of unholy wrath, wrapping their clutches of darkness around him. As she turned her head to face him, the wave hit her like an unending torrent of might, forcing her breath out of her chest as her heart pounded in her ears.

“IN ASMODEUS’ NAME!” he roared, his voice coloured by the fury of hell.

He charged up the stairs with eyes of pure fire. The magister didn't know where to look between his book and the ferocious man charging towards him. In a panic, he went to jump off the stairs and misstepped, falling free with a cry as he fell on his face. Pellius dove down after him, and as he lifted his great axe high into the air, it was the frightening wrath of the Lord of the Nine that encompassed his swing. In a shower of crimson that cascaded across the stonework, the life of the magister was at an end.

From the top of the stairs Willow could see a contingent of guards led by Iron Sam charging their way. She flipped down the stairs and quickly scavenged the magister’s belongings, taking his wand and the few curiosities that lined his pockets. A strained wheeze had her looking up, as she watched the blood slowly draining from Pellius’ face. He was swaying on his feet, his eyes unfocused and his breathing staggered. She carefully yet quickly guided Pellius down the ladder and into the tunnel, where she saw Teelee standing in wait. She helped him slide down the wall to the floor before closing the secret door and standing in silence, listening intently for pursuers.

As she stood in silence for a time, she tried to ignore heavy smell of death that lingered around the innkeepers’ body. She had forgotten they had simply stored the body within the dark passage, thinking it safer than remaining unseen in an attempt to bury it. Willow couldn't allow herself to think on it, it still did not sit well within her, but it had to be done. There was no way around it. It was as she was listening to the muffled sound of the guards in the vault, that she heard a ghostly whisper in her left ear.

“Why?” the whisper asked.

Willow closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. She would not let her mind do this to her. She focussed on the other sounds; the guards in the vault, Pellius’ panting breath, Garvana’s quiet healing words.

“Why?” the whisper asked again, “Murderer.”

Willow took a deep breath and hissed it out. She heard Garvana murmur an incantation as light flooded the tunnel. She watched the shadows recede along the walls and saw a pair of shadowed hands retreat into the darkness. As the sounds of the guards retreating back into the forge, Willow turned on her heel.

“Let’s go,” she snapped.

As they walked away from the corpse, she swore she saw it move its head to face her, cold dead eyes staring through her soul. Only once it was out of sight she grabbed Pellius by the arm and looked into his eyes. She didn't care if he saw how frightened she was, she didn't care if he saw weakness, she needed his help.

“What do you know of spirits and hauntings?” she asked quietly, “Why do they stay in this world and how do you appease them?”

With a curious eye he replied, “The sole target of the haunting must to be the one to appease the spirit. If the body remains, it must be buried formally, to allow the spirit to move on to Pharasma’s realm.”

With a sigh and nod, she knew what she had to do. She asked for his help to carry Bellum’s body out of the tunnel. As they trudged down the passage, the corpse over Pellius’ shoulder, Willow and the others following closely behind. The others did not see what her own eyes saw. Images of Bellum, staring at her with accusatory eyes she passed them.

Willow slipped in front when they reached the cellars secret door. As she open it, she inhaled sharply as the racks of wine began to shake and rattle. Willow stepped lightly towards the stairs, narrowly dodging a bottle that came flying towards her head. She grabbed a bottle from the racks and sured her courage. As she strode up the stairs, only sheer force of will stopped her from screaming aloud in fright as the lightening and thunder cracked and the foul wind flung the window shutters open. She swung the front door wide and marched towards the forest. It was the dead of night no other sound could be heard above the roaring fury of the sudden storm. The trees and shrubs whipped and tore at her face and arms, each branch seemingly reaching for her, clutching at her limbs and clothing. The rain pelted down, seeping dread and guilt through her skin and deep into her soul.

When they were far enough from town, they laid Bellum’s corpse down and Pellius handed Willow the shovel. She began to dig into the solid ground, the shattering feeling throbbing her hands with each plunge. The larger the hole became, the more water filled the grave, and she found herself standing knee deep in mud as she continued to dig. Her hair clung to her face and the rain poured an endless flood in her eyes, making it near impossible to see. It took her almost three hours to complete, but finally when the grave was large enough, she climbed out the side and walked solemnly towards Bellum.

She struggled to pick his corpse up and teetered towards the water filled grave, lowering him into it as gently as she could. She could hear Garvana and Pellius saying their own prayers, though she could not hear the words. She watched the corpse float for a minute, lingering atop the body of rain, before it slowly sank to the bottom of the grave. Hundreds of images of Bellum had formed a tight circle around scene, and they watched, as Willow turned her sight to the sky. Only then did she speak, and only at a whisper.

“We wage a war against a nation, in the name of what we believe, of what I believe. A war to change the nation, to change the world. His world… You my friend, are but the first of many innocents to fall. Sacrifices for the greater good. I do not take these sacrifices lightly. I… do not take yours lightly.”

Willow grabbed the bottle of wine and uncorked it, holding it up high.

“To Bellum,” she exclaimed into the stormy sky, “The first stone in our pathway to Infernal Glory! Go now, to the side of whatever god you may find peace with!”

She drank down the wine and passed the bottle to Pellius, each of them taking a sip and speaking his name. As the bottle returned to Willow she took a final swig, staring into the eyes of one of Bellum's images. She placed the rest of the bottle into the grave. The sky seemed to sigh as she stepped back from the grave, with sore and tender arms she began to fill it in. The clouds cleared and the rain ceased. The stars glittered in the distance, the wind only gently caressing her while she shovelled away. Each image of Bellum slowly faded, one after another. They looked at peace, no resentment nor hatred. As Willow tapped down the last of the dirt and stood back, she sighed. She knew she would not forget Bellum Barhold anytime soon.

Still soaking and muddy they wandered back into town and returned back to the Brassbell. Willow looked the group over and strongly considered simply bidding them goodnight and retreating to her chamber alone. She sighed, and offered to share their room. She and Pellius disguised their mess and walked through to the suite while the others snuck in through the back window to their bedchamber.

Willow combed through the worst of the knots in her hair while Garvana told her story of torture and interrogations. By the sounds of story, she was quite good at giving her captors misleading gibberish. While Garvana spoke, Willow couldn't help but notice the change in Teelee. She was quiet and withdrawn, staring into thin air as her eyes barely blinked.

“And what of you Teelee?” Willow asked softly, “What happened to you?”

Quietly, she told her story; playing innocent, misleading the interrogators and a single broken finger. As she spoke Willow could feel the anger building, each word becoming more forceful than the last. She knew not if the words she spoke were the full story, or if she had suffered such indignation that she would not speak of it. Willow put a comforting hand on Teelee’s shoulder.

“It is over now,” she said gently.

Teelee nodded sharply, turning away from the group.

Willow frowned, but did not want to push things any further.

“So where did you get to after we risked ourselves to come and rescue you?” Willow asked Garvana curtly, “I certainly hope it was worth the risk.”

Garvana forced a smile, speaking through clenched teeth, “I went for my belongings, since you did not think to find them before.”

“Oh!” Willow scoffed, “My, how grateful you are!”

It didn't take long for tensions to strain. Willow was still saturated and muddy, she had twigs stuck in her filthy mane of hair, and all she wanted was to be alone so she could work through the moral dilemmas of tonight by connecting with her Infernal Lord. After a few snapping comments back and forth between Willow and Garvana, Pellius stood up and stepped in.

“Enough!” he snapped, pulling a scrolled parchment from his pack, “You two! Read this!”

“Pellius…” Willow began.

“Read, this!” he demanded viciously.

The fiery command within his tone, soothed the rebellious flare within her. Her brow arched as she revelled in the strange wish to follow his words and obey his orders. She took the parchment from his hands and skimmed her sight down the page. He had written a reminder of their loyalties, and why it was they were together along the mission. Furthering the Infernal Father, his goals and his glory. Willow read the lines he quoted, drafted by their master, Cardinal Adrastus Thorn. As her eyes drank in the words, it was a small smile that graced her lips.

“I'm sorry,” Garvana said sincerely. “It has been a rough few days.”

“I do apologise too,” Willow sighed, “My behaviour is unacceptable. Look, let me bathe and get clean. I despise being filthy, it is so hard to be polite while you're covered in mud and shrubbery.”

Willow gave a small bow to the group, and turned to locked herself in the bathroom. She bathed and washed away the layers mud and filth. As she soaked in the tub, she dressed her hair, finding comfort in the soothing ritual of combing and the familar smell of the cassia oils. When she was clean, she knelt in front of the window and prayed in silence. Although she could almost beg for guidance today, she never did. Asmodeus was not a god to give comforting words and coddled encouragement. She knew his will, she knew what he wished of her. She was stronger than let on, she was stronger than even she knew. She smiled through the comforting heat of her Infernal Prince; she knew always she was on the right path when He was here with her.

Once she was clean and dressed in her nightwear, she returned to the living area where the group was still conversing. Willow pulled out the house fine crystal tumblers, pouring five double nips of the whiskey. She handed each of them a glass and took up a perch on the arm of the embroidered couch Pellius was seated in. As they spoke, she felt his hands pull her closer to him, so her back leaned against the side of his chest.

“So what did you actually find up in the keep?” Willow asked Garvana, “And what in hell’s name was that shrilling alarm?”

The group sat sipping their drinks, listening to Garvana retelling her adventure. Willow laughed as she told about her quick dashing escape from the ice golem and the infinite struggle to open a simple lockbox. Willow perused the magister's book titled The heart of all flame, a book dedicated to all things fire, mostly written in magical rattlings she couldn't understand. Though her interest piqued as she looked up from the book when Garvana spoke of the chest with an alarm in the commanders meeting room. The treasury of Balentyne, Willow guessed. Upon their return to the tower, she was planned on detouring to that. When Garvana told the group of the portrait of the woman she had burned – the room went silent.

“It must have been his wife,” Willow said quietly, “A harsh thing to do, but a most effective way to mess with his head.”

Lastly, Garvana handed Willow a book she found in the commanders personal chambers. Flicking through the pages, she realised it was his personal family bible. Sermons and Mitran chants; words of apparent wisdom. Willow read through as she wandered over to retrieve the bottle of whiskey for a second round. As she poured four more drinks, she came across the Havelyn family tree, a list of names she partially recognised.

“Sir Richard Thomasson Havelyn,” she read, “Son of Commander Thomas Havelyn. He is known as a Holy Knight of Mitra. One of the apparent great heroes of the current age.”

It was the name to the left of the commander that had Willow’s eyebrow arch high. A name that had been scratched out furiously, barely recognisable.

“Samuel Havelyn,” Willow said quietly, more to herself than the others, “Cardinal of Mitra, Brother to Commander Thomas Havelyn.”

Willow vaguely remembered having heard of Samuel before, but only as a curse spoken under the breath of fearful townsfolk. She didn't know who he was nor what he did, for his crimes were well before her time. Yet, she could not shake the feeling that she truly needed to find out.

As she woke with with the dawning of the sun, Willow rose quietly from the bed, carefully stepping over the sleeping bodies sprawled across the floor. She dressed quickly and ordered breakfast to be served in the sitting area, ignoring the odd looks the servants gave when she ordered enough food for five people.

Over breakfast they discussed the possible plans of attack and priority targets. Willow’s work in the mayors office had her sometimes working run sheets for the local military and militias. She had enough experience to make a rough judgement on how well the bugbear army would fair if they were to attack with the present state of the watchtower. They needed to wipe more of them out, they needed to further thin the ranks. Much to her distaste, they came up with a plan to fake a ransom of Bellum Barhold, in order to lure his brother away from the keep. After much deliberation, they agreed on an anonymous ransom note, delivered by a local courier.

Their plan was simple, Pellius would disguise himself as Bellum, Mathias would play the ransomer, and the rest of them would hide in wait. Willow would hide closest to the keep, back into where the enemy lines would be, set up with poison should she get a clear shot with her bow. Once all in was in play, she watched silently as Captain Samuel Barhold and six of his men approached the change over sight, far from the keep. Sam exchanged a few tempered words with the old man before throwing in the ransomed amount of gold. As soon as the gold had been collected, Garvana let lose a fireball from the west, and as it impacted, the soldiers that had trained their crossbows on Mathias let loose their bolts. Willow smirked as she watched him deftly dodge out of their path, only taking a single clip to the shoulder. She prowled from the top of the trees, laying in wait for one of them to come close enough that she could silently take them down. She watched the soldiers rush forward to the man they thought was Bellum and cover him with their shields, guiding him back into their line. Pellius waited until he was well behind them to strike.

“Now!” Sam roared, as four archers sprang up from the shrubs, poised and ready.

One of the first guardsmen stepped forward around the tree to get a better shot at the old man, stepping right underneath Willow. She silently dropped in behind him, slicing her dagger across his throat. Willow heard Pellius groan, whipping her head around to see him spit out a mouthful of blood as an arrow pierced through his shoulder. Willow ripped out a vial of healing from her belt, weaving through the fray as she ran straight for him. She threw him the potion, pushing him behind the cover of a nearby tree and quickly assessed the worst of the wounds. She grabbed a firm hold on the arrow sticking out of his shoulder, holding the gap open as she pulled with all her might. The arrow came out cleanly, iron tip still attached as the armour gap closed, and she saw the magic working as it knit his flesh back together.

Suddenly, the ground shook as a large booming rip sounded. Every head snapped towards the south where the Mathias’ body lay limp and lifeless. Willow had not even seen him fall. As a veil ripped the seams of the material plane open, she couldn't stop a moaning screech from escaping her lips. Her body soared and scalded, her blood raced so fast and hot it felt like it would explode out of her skin. Her knees buckled and she had to clamp her thighs together and lock her legs to keep from falling. Hell was on the other end of that portal. Willow knew that with every fibre in her body. Her limbs throbbed, her breathing becoming tortuous as she was barely able to contain the moans and whimpers that were trying to force their way out. She had never experienced anything so raw and intense.

Willow watched the portal open, and a fifteen foot devil step out. Scarlet scales layered across its skin, oversize eldritch bone wings protruded from its back, tall twisted horns shattered out from its head. He paid no attention to the cries and shouts of the humans that surrounded him, shrugging off the torrent of arrows as if they were nothing. Willow had to close her eyes tightly to gain her composure. Breathing deeply, she embraced the burning pain, pulling it deeper inside her, to a place she had never known she possesed. Her eyes flew open as she felt the devil’s gaze on her. They made eye contact for a mere moment, before he snapped his sight and head away, almost in deference. Curiously, almost forgetting the raging battle around her, she watched the devil lift Mathias’ limp body as he dragged him back through the tear.

As the portal began to close, Willow’s chest eased. It began to fade, when suddenly, a large creature dove through. In desperation, a half-orc dressed in rags, landed with a thud and clawed his was from the veil. Stark and alert, he scrounged around for anything he could use as a weapon, grabbing a thick branch from the ground and brandishing it towards them.

As she turned back to Sam and his men, Willow knew her smile was bigger than it should have been. It was not that the battle nor the death of these men made her happy, it was that her blood was singing and her body was soaring. Her connection to her Infernal Lord was more powerful than it had ever been, she felt his power surging through her veins. She charged at the archers, dancing across the field, almost as if she was floating. She laughed with glee as she hacked one through the throat and another through the torso in seconds. She landed with a pirouette as her enemies fell, missing limbs and entrails flowing to the ground.

“ASMODEUS, GUIDE ME!” Garvana yelled, as she let loose a wave of horrifying wrath.

Willow saw the captain fading, struggling to block Pellius and the orc’s onslaught of attacks. With her mind still racing and her heart pounding in her chest, she sprinted towards the captain. She leaped through the air and hacked blade through the side of his stomach in a fatal shower of crimson gore. She landed in a crouch and swiftly stalked up to him, thrusting his head back, baring his throat. In one swift curve, she took his life with her blade.

The questions quickly turned to the large half orc, adorned with Asmodean tattoos, who had some how just escaped from hell. He introduced himself as Bor, yet said little else. When Willow asked of his origins, she received only a two worded answer.

“The wall,” he said, a furious intensity to his words.

“Well Bor,” she said courteously, “I am Willow. You will have to forgive me if I am a tad suspicious, for one to escape the realms of hell, it is… unheard of...”

“Don’t know what else I can tell you,” he shrugged, “I don’t remember anything, except being there and seeing an opportunity to escape.”

Willow looked to Pellius, whose brow was furrowed low.

“What do we do?” she asked him.

Pellius sighed, rubbing his forehead with his hand.

“You cannot have escaped unnoticed,” he responded firmly, “The Lord of the Nine has allowed you to escape. But, why?”

The bestial man shook his head, “I do not know.”

“I do not believe in fate,” Willow said quietly, “I believe that we make our own, the gifts we receive and the consequences we face are of our own making. If the Infernal Father has seen fit to put you in our path, then I will not question his will. Perhaps you are to aid us in this perilous undertaking.”

“Let us return to camp and we shall speak of it further,” Pellius concluded.

As they turned from the carnage of the battle, Garvana said a final prayer to Mathias.

“I wish you well,” she said solemnly, “Though I will not mourn your passing, for you are now beginning your afterlife of servitude to the great and undying Lord of Hell.”

They had decided to make a base outside of the city, Pellius led and found an alcove along the edge of the lake, about a mile from town. While they set up tents and built fires, Willow filled in Bor with the details of their current mission and status of the fair country of Talingarde. For now, she left out the details of their master. Bor seemed as if he would be a most helpful ally, but it was not her place to judge who was worthy in the cardinal's eyes. When she asked if he would join them, he laughed.

“And where else would I go?”

Willow smirked in response, “Where indeed.”

The smell of batter had Willow’s head whip around, to the sight of Pellius leaning over the fire, flipping golden brown looking pancakes. Willow excused herself from Bor and sauntered towards him. She looked down at him as she approached, hands on her hips as she cleared her throat. He looked up at her with raised eyebrows.

“And what is it I have to do to get pancakes?” she asked him suggestively.

He piled two onto a dish, dropped one eyebrow into a smug expectant look as he held them out to her. She laughed, giving him a wicked grin as she snatched the plate from his hands.

“You don't need to bribe me with pancakes to get that,” she said cheekily, “But it certainly helps...”