Category: words

Cover artwork by @clya_lyren
Story written by “Jungle”

Traveling by horseback is a decent enough way to get around the Emerald Ring. Not everyone would agree with me, though. A Darterfly or a reliable ship would make for a shorter trip in most cases. A team of Mirwolves could run just as fast and they wouldn’t fall prey to some of the predators that prowled the forests of the Eastern Wilds.

So why was I bothering with a horse? Simply put, convenience is kingly.

My horse was such in shape and function only. Surely no real horse could race along as fast as a falling arrow flung from afar while making less sound than a tumbleweed rolling along the slope of a dune in the desert sun. Better still, this horse was always at my side, even when it wasn’t. My faithful shadow, always one step behind me.

The beaten paths we floated over seemed seldom used, but the overgrowth yielded to an unseen force, drawn back like a hand that had just been bitten. So too, did the animals and insects make a path. The hunter spiders fell back to their boroughs and dens, peering out at us from the darkness with their bulbous red eyes. Even the shadows that the trees cast seemed to shrivel up as the morning dragged on.

I had lost track of the time. Looking up, all I could see was a quilt of leaves, rich green, and slender branches, long like some wisping tendrils of smoke rising up from a mahogany pipe. It wasn’t until we met the crash of rushing water that I found a window by which I could still see the sky. I judged the time to be 9 ‘o’ clock in the morning with a small margin of error given in either direction. It’d only taken me a couple of hours to make my way west of Dalmar, past the crags of the Broken Mountains and into the nameless green forest that swallowed up the churning flow of the Godfinger Rapids before the river wound its way up into the Graytop Mountains, far out of sight.

Of course, all of this was a long detour. There was a bridge connecting the trade routes between Dalmar and Athedia. It would have been much faster to go that way, certainly, but I don’t like bridges. Too many people and too much open space for my taste. Maybe on a moonless night, beneath a cloud-covered sky. Besides, I had other options. Here, at the edge of the forest, where the Godfinger Rapids raged year-round, there was another path, albeit more treacherous.

If one were so inclined, they could cross the rapids by jumping across the stones that protruded from the water. Sure, treading from one rock to the next might have been a daunting task to most travelers, but I had become something that was apart from your typical adventurer. My mount effortlessly glided along the path of boulders and large stones that dotted the white waters.

After crossing and making our way back out of the forest, tall spires atop flagstone castle towers began to jut up from the soft carpet of the abundant meadows that lay to the west of Athedia. Windswept red banners whipped about, still bound to the flagpoles they hung from, but just barely. A gale must have kicked up from the sea while I’d ridden around the bridge, likely the remnants of a more violent storm that had managed to twist itself free of the Tumultuous Plains. A distant clap of thunder to the southeast seemingly confirmed my thought. How fortuitous for me.

Instead of making a beeline for Athedia, I decided to lay low along the outskirts of the Rainbow Basin. The rough terrain did not hinder our travel, but the heavy mist surrounding its outskirts served to conceal our passage. Soon my gaze swept across the kingdom’s backside – a sheer cliff.

The castle keep was located on the top of a small plateau wrapped in a flagstone cape and adorned with a matching crown. The noble quarters and the more important establishments, such as the bank, the barracks, and the access to the aquifer, sprawled out along the south side of the castle, flanked by yet another great stone wall. Beyond that laid the villages situated along the road to the Dalmar.

By concentrating most of its battlements towards the more vulnerable south side and using the sheer cliffs as natural defenses, Athedia had proven itself a difficult kingdom to conquer many times over, or so I’d read. While an army might have a tough time scaling their way to the top of the northern face unnoticed, I was not an army. I was just… well, me.

Or more precisely, a lone rider in black, galloping headlong towards that seemingly insurmountable mass of stone. No sign of slowing down. At the last possible moment, I leaned back as we sailed upwards. At first, it looked like we’d smash into the cliff, but we defied gravity’s tyrannical grasp and began to run straight up the side of the cliff.  As we climbed upwards, I tilted my head to the side, relishing in the gentle crosswinds caressing my cheek.  

Without warning, we sailed off of the cliff face, flying higher still, past the great flagstone walls of the castle keep. Soon it was only the tallest of towers that could rival us, that being a single spire higher than all of the rest; the Steward’s private quarters, complete with a garden balcony. It was as good a landing place as any.

We landed atop marble tiles, amidst a sea of red roses that were complimented by crimson banners bearing a golden coat of arms: a lion brandishing a thunderbolt. The seal of Athedia. With the wave of my hand, the ephemeral mare faded away, allowing me to gracefully descend to the ground. I tapped the tip of my boot against the smooth tiles as I noted the impressive workmanship surrounding me before turning towards a pair of violet curtains.

“I have answered your summons.” I called out. A tedious silence followed. From somewhere I could not place came a rare scent, like lavender but even more subtle. I could recognize it anywhere: Silver Moonflower. Not to be confused with your garden variety Moonflower, this was its rare sibling, known only to grow in the deepest parts of the Lunar Woods, far from the reaches of the Emerald Ring.

“Are you going to invite me in or not?” I tried again.

“Thought you might let yourself in, Sildahan.” A strong, sharp voice answered me as the curtains were swept aside by a gloved hand. A pair of sparkling, amber eyes leveled with my own as a tall, slender woman stepped out to greet me. Before me stood Lazira, Steward of Athedia, in what was unmistakably her battle garb – an intimidating breastplate resembling a snarling lion with a gaping, toothy maw on the front side, expertly molded from some kind of black alloy. Her skirt and her bracers were fortified with the same material. Beneath that formidable shell, she wore a form-fitting jumpsuit woven from flexible, charcoal-colored scales that descended into tall, black leather boots that only served to accentuate her own height.

“Have I done something to offend you?” I smirked as I gestured towards her rapier, another fine work of art on display. A bell-shaped guard that seemed to be carved out of one massive bloodstone protected a grip lined with dark fur. A hefty ruby had been set into its pommel. The blade seemed impossibly thin, like it was one single, rigid thread of a spider’s web. This must be the famous black rapier, Myranir, wielded by Lazira of Athedia, practically invisible to the naked eye. Certainly a curious instrument.

“Hm? Oh. This little potato peeler?” She held up the sword. “N’er to fear, Sildahan. ‘Tis that time of day when a lady must practice lest age and idle hands get the better of her.” With that, she casually turned her back towards me and walked back into the tower. I waited a moment and then followed after her, maintaining a respectful distance. As the velvet curtains were swept aside, I was greeted by a decidedly austere chamber, adorned by little else but the drapes and wall-to-wall mirrors. I gazed upon my reflection for a moment and wondered if I wasn’t a bit dressed down for this occasion. No matter.

“What has led you to summon me, Lazira?” I saw no reason to make casual conversation. Not today.

“Ah, I see you’ve a mind to cut me to the quick.” Lazira turned on her heel to address me. She let her rapier hang down at her side.

“I have a busy evening planned.” No smirks from me, just a cold, hard stare which she returned in kind.

“So be it. Kill Kendo of Valikorlia. This I ask of you and only you, Sildahan.” She came right out with it. “Quick and painless, if’n you please. And discreet.” She added quickly. No beating around the bush. Just as expected. I turned away from her.

“And what has the good Steward done to earn your ire, Lazira?” I found myself glaring over my shoulder at her when I decided to answer her. She turned to the side, minimizing her profile and obscuring her rapier from my sight. She sighed.

“Can’t think of a thing at all. Just simple facts: Kendo’s life or a full-scale war throughout the Ring. Surely you, Sildahan, can see the scales tipped to one side?” She continued to stand still. Poised to act, but not yet on guard.

“I think if you add the lives that would be bought and sold as slaves to that scale, you might think differently, Lazira.” This time I turned to address her.

“Oh, Sildahan… who would have thought you to have a bleeding heart.” She scowled at me  as she continued, “My say makes no diff’rence. They’ll bring slavers back to the Ring whether I do or don’t, but you see, the diff’rence is, if they decide to come after this nation, we’re not sitting on the opposite side of the sea. No sir, we’re already fenced in – Gideon to the south, and Nesden to the north. They would cut off our trade routes by land and sea, and all of us would starve.” She articulated her points with a particular rhythm. I also couldn’t argue with anything she was saying, but that didn’t persuade me.

“I will not kill Kendo. He has done no wrong.” I folded my arms across my chest and stuck my chin out.

“Oho, now I see. You fancy a bargain, Mr. Sildahan. Now it all makes sense. Well, I havn’t the mind or the time for haggling, so name your price.” She was doing a good job of maintaining her composure so far. Hmm.

“Hate to say it, but I’m not interested in any of the treasure you’d throw at my feet to prevent this war from occurring.” I turned away from her again and she laughed outright.  

“Are you so certain?” She asked. “Our vaults have trinkets even you may not have laid eyes on.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I did let myself in once.” I knew that she was a tough customer, but so was I.

“I see you are also quite a joker as well as a waste of time, Mr. Sildahan.” I saw her nostrils flare a little through the reflection of the mirror before me. Finally. A crack in her armor.

“If I’ve wasted your time, then I’ve wasted my own, and as I’ve already said, I have a busy evening planned.” I allowed myself the smallest of smirks as I turned to face her. She cocked one eyebrow at me.

“Ah surely you must have a full itinerary if you plan on dragging all the armies of the Emerald Ring down to Melram before this day is done.” Now it was her turn to smirk. My lips puckered a little and I turned my head to the side as if I were about to brush a speck of dust off of my duster.

“That would be far too vulgar a display of power, Lazira.” I shook my head to accentuate my position, then continued. “Only three lives are needed to restore the balance.” Her expression softened as it dawned upon her.

“You’ll murder three Stewards then?” She asked, eyes bright with curiosity.   

“Inevitably so, and you are going to help me, Lazira.” I flashed her a smile, but there was no warmth to it. No, it was more like I was baring my fangs.

“I think not, Sildahan. If you want to get yourself killed, that’s fine, but you won’t drag my country into an early grave alongside you.” She still hadn’t dropped that subtle defensive stance of hers.

“I could try to reassure you that this will not lead back to Athedia or Valikorlia. After all, if I were found out, then the Emerald Ring would already be at war instead of teetering on the precipice of it.” I let my hands dangle at my side and began to walk towards Lazira. She didn’t budge.

“Oho? And how might you accomplish that? Seems far-fetched to me.” She narrowed her eyes and shot me an incredulous look. I chuckled.

“Without a doubt, but that doesn’t make anything I’ve said untrue.” I stopped advancing head on when I was just outside of her reach – more than several paces away. Instead, I began to circle around her, towards her left side, away from her dominant right hand.

“Seems we’ve become at odds then.” Lazira declared. “Know this, Sildahan; I will drink your blood before I let you harm my people.” As I circled, so did she pivot on the ball of her back foot, keeping her profile minimized. The duel was well underway.

“How about we break this stalemate with a friendly wager, then?” I extended my right arm out to the side, palm outstretched and waiting. From beneath the shadow of my hand rose up a long, slender object. To her eyes, it might have resembled a blade already, but once I closed my fingers around it, there would be no doubt. In an instant, a black longsword appeared in my hand, and while its blade offered a peculiar luster, it did not seem to reflect any light. No, if anything, the light seemed to shrink away from it.

Now she pivoted to the side, turning her sword arm towards me. The tip of her rapier danced in the air, all but impossible to see.

“Sounds interesting, but I’ll be damned if I lose my soul to a kaern such as yourself.” She spat the words out with a surprising amount of bite. She pivoted again, this time showing me her sword arm. The tip of her rapier was all but possible to see as she leveled its blade with me.

“I don’t have any use for such things, Lazira. I’m not a god. Just hold on a moment.” It was my turn to raise my blade. Despite its length, I was able to wield it with but a single hand, for the otherworldly material it was made from was lighter and sharper than any kind of steel you’d find around the Ring.

“This is what I had in mind – a duel, first to draw blood wins. If I win, you must light the signal bonfire to signal your dissent. That is all. If you win, I will assassinate Kendo as you originally requested and you will get to keep your false sense of security. How about it?” There it was, laid out bare on the table. Would she accept the terms?

“… Deal.” She hardly hesitated.

“Then let us begin.” As soon as the words had left my mouth, she lunged at me. Her blade lashed out angrily, as if she could barely hold on to it. I felt its tip float past my nose as I instinctively stepped aside. A follow up strike nearly tagged my leg but I kicked my foot back at the last second. Another follow up might have landed had I not batted away her expert thrust with my longsword. Behind her gritted teeth and focused stare I could see her sizing me up, taking note of how quickly I could swing my weapon, the way I evaded her first series of probing attacks. This could be difficult. Unless…

My stomach muscles flexed, becoming like a stern girdle as I forced a deep breath down into my abdomen. With my free hand still resting behind my back, I clenched my fist, seeing the current in my mind’s eye, watching it course faster as I continued to backstep and circle away before my opponent could maneuver in range. She began to grow emboldened. It wouldn’t matter.

That familiar prickling along the back of my neck, that burning itch deep inside my left eye. The curtains behind Lazira begin to flow like molasses all the while the echoes of the storm roaring outside remained constant. My foe tried to step inside again, but now it seemed as if she was stuck inside an invisible pit of quicksand. Everything around me was happening in slow motion. Even my own limbs moved as if they were struggling against an unseen floodtide, and yet I felt relaxed. Calm. All of these were sensations that I had grown accustomed to.

There it is. That almost imperceptible blade of hers, cutting the air as it billowed forward. I slipped inside, twisting my torso as I watched her blade cleave the empty space where my heart had been just a second ago. She really wasn’t pulling any punches. Nor should she have. If I had to guess, it felt like she was moving at only a tenth of her original speed. That was probably a good thing, as I wasn’t confident my luck would have held out otherwise. She was quite good, but I expected as much, given her reputation.

Alas, I didn’t have all day to play, nor did I have a desire to. After all, this wasn’t really fair. She was only human. I was… something else. Definitely not a “god,” because those don’t exist, and not necessarily “better than,” your typical human. Just different. Standing directly before her, I raised my free hand up and pointed my index finger towards her cheek. A strand of shadow wrapped its way down my arm and up to my pointed index finger, where it became a sharp talon. I raised it to her cheek and pressed it just lightly enough for a single bloom of red to well up from beneath the surface. I continued on, stepping past her, enjoying the shocked expression that had just began to form on her face from one of the mirror’s reflections.

With that, I had won the contest. The world snapped back to its normal, impatient self. I gestured towards her cheek as she turned around.  She side-eyed herself in one of the mirrors and spotted the little red rivulet, like a bloody tear. Her sword clattered to the floor, and so I dropped my own, allowing it to fall silently and rejoin the rest of my shadow. Now came the real question; would she uphold her end of the deal?

“How?” She asked, jerking her temple towards me as if the question would dig itself out of her skull if it wasn’t answered.

“Trade secret, I’m afraid.” I offered her a thin-lipped smile. “With that, I must ask that you uphold your end of the bargain. I need Nesden to see that red smoke and react to it.” I strode towards her and stood before her once again. The way her lip quivered said it all – she was afraid. Not necessarily of me, but of the consequences that this would bring upon her country.

“But… Gideon and Nesden…” She stammered a little bit.

“Leave Nesden to me.” I offered her a courteous bow.

“And Gideon?” She asked. I closed my eyes and replayed Gideon’s last moments. My grin spread from ear to ear, like a scarecrow’s.

“I think you’ll find that Gideon couldn’t harm a fly.” With that, I sank into the floor, leaving only the echo of my twisted laughter and the tiny pinprick upon her cheek as the only evidence of my visit.

Cover artwork by @clya_lyren
Story written by “Jungle”

Once upon the second day of spring, a blazing sun heralded the tides of war: a bloody phantom of smoke rising up from its grave, the horizon. The shade loomed tall and menacing – visible even from across the Medial Sea. An appropriate declaration of defiance. As I turned away from the saltwater spray of the docks, I felt a warmth I’d nearly forgotten as it washed over the scars on my back: the first rays of Dawn, embracing the day and casting the night’s cloak aside with her sweet refrain. I shivered at her touch.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spied an elderly gentleman with disheveled tufts of gray hair, matching spectacles, and clothing frayed in odd places, likely from sleeping on the cobblestone streets. He stood a little further down the alleyway, staring at the strange man who had just crawled out of his own shadow. I turned my head towards the gentleman, offering him a curt nod. His lip quivered and I saw my own reflection gazing back at me through his panicked eyes.

A few measured steps carried me over to the old man before his heart could finish palpitating. He looked as though he wanted to speak, but couldn’t grasp any words, only big, empty gulps of air that did little to calm his racing heart. He reminded me of a drowning sailor. I gently placed my hand upon his shoulder for reassurance. A stray strand of silver hair lilted to the side as I tilted my head, regarding the old man with my best impression of a warm smile shared between old friends.  

“Marvelous cloak you have there, my friend. May I offer you a gold coin for it?” Now I found the man tilting his own head to the side, much like the way a confused dog might look at its owner after an unfamiliar command. I almost laughed at the thought. With a quick flourish and the snap of my fingers, a single gold coin appeared in the palm of my hand, as if summoned from thin air. The bottoms of the old man’s eyes curved upwards with a hint of hope as he started to wrap his mind around the offer.

He reached for the coin, but I pulled it away first. His jaw went slack and I shook my head. He seemed hesitant, as if the deal was too good to be true. And why should it be? In many cases, he would be correct to mistrust a stranger. By my estimate, everything this poor fellow owned was probably worth less than one solitary silver piece. I casually cascade the gold coin over my knuckles, adding another, and then another. By the time he had seen the third coin, he was already hurrying to pull off his old rag and hand it over. The man’s eyes were so transfixed by the flash of gold that he did not notice the steady stream of what would appear to be rodents scurrying out of the back of my pant leg. Away you go, little denizens of the dark. Find that which I seek.

“Don’t spend it all in one place.” I took the garb and departed with a wink.

A couple of minutes passed and I found myself hunched over, wearing my freshly purchased, dirty, tattered cloak as I pretended to hobble my way down one of the main roads. West would take me towards the center of Dalmar’s infamous pleasure district, and so I kept walking, the sun nipping at my heels. Along the walk, I felt a dull pang in my chest, right below where my heart should be beating. What was it? Remorse? For the orphaned pickpockets that passed me by, figuring I had nothing? Or perhaps it was sympathy that I felt as I passed by the homeless mother sheltering her children? I leaned over and pulled a few more golden coins from the beyond before tossing them to her without a word, or even an acknowledgement. I simply carried on as she and her children stared at the coins with disbelief.

As my journey continued, the buildings grew more robust and lavish, as did the garbs of all those who would pass me by. Sport coats, fur coats, top hats, tuxedos, and all other manner of elegant formal wear flew away at the very sight of me, the homeless beggar hobbling his way into the upscale part of town. I suppose I shouldn’t judge them too harshly, after all – with every few steps I lurched, another black rat scurried off into the gutter, or scuttled inside of a bar or brothel. Every time I pretended to retch up a meal, a few more flies began to buzz around. As a party of nobles and other well-to-do’ers sneered and spat at me, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. To be ignorant and to be oblivious are two different things, but in this case, they were guilty of both.

I heard a shrill squeak in my ear and so I closed my eyes for a moment. One of the rats had found what I was after. The hazy image of a hanging sign emblazoned with, ‘The Dancing Doll,’ in elegant red script. Ah, Gideon. I should have known. He was a glutton, and the only thing he liked more than food and spirits was to break the beautiful and the elegant. There would be no shortage of any vice at the Dancing Doll, the brothel where only the ‘best’ dancers were allowed to perform, serve, or… service. I felt that familiar pang again. The muscles in my neck relaxed as I suddenly twisted my head from side to side, relishing the loud pop I received as a response.

I changed directions and set off once again, following the enthusiastic chirps of my little friend. Before much longer, I found myself standing underneath that same swaying wooden sign. I turned towards the door. The man standing guard there stared at me in disbelief for a moment before his brows furrowed. He puffed his chest out and glared at me.

“Beat it. We’re closed.” His voice was gruff, leathery. He smelled like smoke and piss. I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose. Some people have no respect for themselves, I suppose. No matter. I straightened my back, rising to my full height, before standing chest to chest with him. His eye twitched as I tilted my head down to meet his stare.

“I just want… one drink, mister…” I put some extra gravel in my voice, ending the last word with a growl. The man responded by planting his hand on my chest and pushing hard. I didn’t budge. Instead, I grabbed his wrist with an icy grip like a steel manacle as I looked him dead in the eye.

“I’m coming in for a drink.” My words fell heavy with the weight they carried; the unsaid threat lingering behind my empty stare. I felt my gaze getting hotter as a little spark of electricity leaped from the surface of my left eye before diving back in like a fish jumping out of the sea before rejoining its school. The door man was stupefied, absentmindedly nodding his head as he stepped back to let me pass. I resumed my act straightaway, cowering down as I hobbled my way inside, leaving the doorman to convince himself he had imagined everything that had just transpired.

The Dancing Doll greeted me with a nauseating wave of perfume and smoke. Ugh. At the very least, the place was only dimly lit by the many candles dotting the faded, yellowed wooden walls. The daylight was kept at bay by the many curtains still covering the windows, protecting from prying eyes. Plenty of shadows, plenty of places to hide. I’m not above redundancy. I spotted the bar a dozen paces away, the bright center around which this depraved little world revolved. As I approached the barkeep, I spotted a small crowd of soldiers and took a second glance. A dozen or so Dalmarian Royal Guards, all standing at attention as a few dancers writhed about upon the stage, keeping step to the rhythm of a single guitarist hiding in the corner. Heavy, rumbling laughter reverberated throughout the room.

I cleared my throat so obnoxiously that the bartender turned to regard me with a scowl.

“Yeah?” He looked back and asked from over his shoulder.

“Gimme-a drink! A drink!” I slurred and leaned up against the bar. “C’mon, mister! I’ll pay ya tomorrow!” I meekly offered him a thumbs up. The bartender was not amused, nor did he appear to offer credit for goods and services. I kept at him anyways, my act growing more belligerent by the moment. Soon my drunken slurs were the only thing that could be heard throughout the Doll. Before long, the sea of armed guards parted to reveal a grotesque caricature of a man.

This man was known throughout The Emerald Ring as Gideon, the Drought of Dalmar. True to his name, he could drink anybody under the table, provided you could find a stool sturdy enough to seat all sixty stones worth of his blubbery guts. Indeed, Gideon was not so much a man as he was a twisted personification of one of the famed great white whales that lurked amongst the deeps of the Medial Sea… and yet despite that, he was filled with a pride as boundless as his endless waistline. I found it hard to believe that at one point in his life, Gideon used to resemble one of those little pickpockets I’d passed by on the way here. In fairness though… for all my barbs, it wasn’t hard to imagine what kind of appetite could have turned a starving child into a monster like him. I’d seen enough of the world to know firsthand.

“Barkeep! What’s that racket?” Gideon bellowed, his lips puckering as the jowls on his neck shook with each word. Now I had his attention.

“He’s a stiff! ‘E won’t g-give me a drink!” I shouted back, gesticulating wildly with both hands. A hushed murmur fell over the crowd.

“A drink? You’d like a drink, you say? Well then, come over here and drink with me, your Steward!” The massive tub shook with laughter. My grin grew wider as I sauntered over. I started to wonder if it would really be this easy when two crossed battle axes suddenly barred my path.

“Whu? C’mon! I thought we were drinkin’! Gotta drink before we get to fightin’, ahar har har.” I dropped the cloak I was wearing to reveal my naked torso beneath it, and with it, all of the scars that dotted each inch of tissue like so many constellations of stars. They could see that I bore no weapons. One of the guards in front of me muttered something over his shoulder before they decided to let me pass. I sat down at the table directly across from Gideon and showed him my biggest, dumbest grin. Gideon responded in kind with an insidious smile, his eyes flickering with malice.

“I’ll make you a deal then, you old beggar. You best me in a game of poison cup, and I’ll let you drink as much as you want. All you have to do… is pick the drink that’s not poisoned. What say you?” Gideon leaned back, tracing the tip of his pointer finger around the rim of his goblet. My head wobbled a bit as I did my best to keep up the façade.

“A’right! It’sa… deal! Hic.” I squeaked. Gideon’s laugh was cold and cruel. He grabbed the drinks from each dancer flanking his sides, even cuffing the one who didn’t hand hers over fast enough. I felt my jaw clench for just a second. Relax, Trent. Not yet. Gideon pivoted in his chair, trying to conceal both cups from me. I debated whether it would be out of character to ask why Gideon carries poison around, but I decided it would be wise to keep my mouth shut. Better to play the dumb mark than to let on that I know his game.  

His forearm jiggled as he set both cups down on the table and pushed them forward, towards me. I convincingly lost my balance and fell forward onto the table, or would have, but I recovered at the last moment. Gideon and his guards laughed knowingly. Any fool could tell this was a trap, that both cups were poisoned.

I’d expected as much from the Drought of Dalmar, though. After all, his exploits as both a poison taster and a poisoner were all well known throughout the Ring. Rumor has it that it was a gambit like this that had allowed him to usurp the Stewardship of Dalmar in the first place. Surely, he was a cunning bastard in his right mind, but wine and spirits are not vices that lend themselves to sound thinking. Surely, even the Drought would be tipsy by the time the sun rose, and what’s more – I knew he had cause for great celebration on this particular morning.

I began to sniff both of the cups despite the fact that any poison Gideon had used would have been odorless. His laughter intensified as I seemingly took the bait. While he and his guards were too busy giggling over what they thought would be my last moments alive, a single black fly buzzed its way from my shoulder into the cup on my left. Nobody noticed it except for me. The hook was set. My expression hardened as I clenched my jaw and took the cup on the right before pushing the cup on the left forward. I raised the cup to my lips and the room went completely silent as everyone took one collective breath and held it.

“’Ey, ain’t you gonna drink that ‘un, ssir?” I lisped a little bit and jerked my chin towards the other cup. The laughter stopped and Gideon’s brow furrowed.

“I already have a drink. See?” He raised his goblet and a few of the rubies encrusted along its surface glistened in the pale candlelight.

“C’mon naw, if you dun’ drink… then how do I know you didn’t, hic, poison them both? Hic! S’not much of a game now is it.” My chest shook as I sold that last hiccup. C’mon, you pig. Nobody has ever had to twist your arm to drink. Why should I start now? As if he’d read my mind, Gideon leaned away from the table. I felt my catch slowly slipping away. It was time to double down.

“Unless… mabbe… yer afraid? Afraid? Bahaha!” My words sliced into him like a butcher’s knife. His wounded ego would be my skeleton key.

“Afraid? Me? Of a little poison? Hah! You really are an old fool. Fine. Let’s drink then. On three… oh wait, can you even count to three?” That last line got a good rise from his lackeys, and so Gideon’s smirk returned, but I could tell my arrow had found its mark. I simply nodded at him and raised my glass.

“One… two… three!” The guards chanted. We both raised our glasses and we each took a long swig. For a moment, all was quiet once again. Then my eyes started to water. I imagined my throat tightening. I clawed at it, desperately, as if trying in vain to extinguish an intense burning sensation I felt there. The chorus of laughter returned as I fell to the ground, kicking my feet into the air as I pounded my fists against the floor in agony. Excruciating pain, if only in my imagination. The chorus only intensified. Soon, my eyes stared unblinking as my struggling body became still.

“Hah! Old fool! Let that be a lesson to you in your next life, then!” Gideon’s cruel bellow is all that could be heard now. As he opened wide to guffaw once more, the black fly perched inside of his cup flew past his two rows of yellowed teeth and beelined straight for his windpipe, where it lodged itself.

“Ack!” Gideon coughed, realizing he had swallowed the fly. Nobody seemed to notice. Everyone was too busy having a laugh at the expense of my life. Nobody realized that it wasn’t a fly Gideon had just swallowed, either. No. It was a puppet, one wrought from the only thing that would follow me no matter where I wandered: my shadow. Now that ‘fly’ had grown to two times its original size. Three times. Ten times. Larger still. Soon the outline of its grotesque eyes could be seen bulging out against the fleshy prison of Gideon’s neck.

He tried to scream, but not a sound could be heard over the continued roar of laughter. He grabbed his throat with one hand, flailing the other blindly at anyone within reach. His pink cheeks tinged blue as his chest quaked, struggling in vain to capture even the smallest bit of air. To the rest of his party, it looked like he was just having a good time. A really good time. In fact, it looked like he was laughing so hard he might even fall out of his chair. Then he really did fall out of his chair, which only forced all of the royal guards to laugh all the harder. Even the bartender started chuckling. Laughter is contagious, after all.

As Gideon laid on the floor, dying, a break in the forest of legs and boots allowed us to lock eyes for a moment. He was panicked before, clearly, but now, with all of the color drained from his face and a huge lump in his throat growing larger by the second, he was clearly horrified. The corners of my mouth rolled up like two ends of an unruly carpet that refused to lay flat.

“Baal… za… bod…” He quietly mouthed the word, Baalzabod, a name given to me by the nomadic tribes that roamed the deserts far in the southwestern reaches beyond the safety of the Emerald Ring. Roughly translated, it meant, “King of the Rats,” a title I still find quite amusing. Gideon became still as the laughter began to die down. Finally, his entourage noticed his distress. They were already too late though. Gideon’s eyes had rolled backwards in their sockets, and his cheeks had turned a deep shade of purple. His tongue bulged out of his mouth like an overripe sausage forgotten in a dumpster.

Gideon the Drought was dead. With this realization, his guards began to shout and stomp about in a panic – so preoccupied with the death of their Steward that nobody noticed the corpse of the old man had disappeared, leaving only a tattered cowl and a small puddle of poisoned wine behind as the only clues to his crime.