Écorché - Beneath the skin of Karsten Mannerheim

[TheBrogueadier]

It's been a few days now since I landed here in Sundren, and the first time I've had a proper moment to put pen to paper and record my thoughts.

It's an interesting place, and I expect given time to stabilise myself, a place that will offer a great deal of opportunity and intrigue.

I've met a few interesting people so far, Arlock; a self proclaimed necromancer who is apparently from Thay. As befits both his profession and heritage he seems very single minded and determined to do as he sees correct. This is no bad thing, I've met plenty of sheep in these lands so far and it is nice to encounter a goat.

Speaking of sheep we have the small band of 'Red Blades' I encountered recently. An interesting bunch who have, in the stupidest sense of the word, noble aims. The bespectacled cretin I've heard called Sarah seems intent on replacing common sense with brute force and a reckless disregard for sanity. Their actions in seeking to protect a werewolf over the general welfare of this land speak volumes of the hearts ability to blind a mind to all but the most self serving acts.

They also remind me of a point made by Ergar so long ago; Unrestrained and devout goodness is a plague upon these lands every bit as deadly and corrupting as any evil.

Unfortunately I've yet to secure the funds needed to rent a room in a remotely decent Inn and am making do as best I can here, as terrible as this place is it won't be the first time I've needed to resort to slumming.

On the plus side I've seen no sign of Eleanoora since landing here.

[TheBrogueadier]

Beneath the skin.

The woman laid out on the slab would have been beautiful if she still had her hair, instead her close shaved scalp rendered her somewhat surreal and alien. Her face was soft, even here in this place a small smile sat upon her lips as if she was quietly enjoying a joke that no-one else would understand. She was utterly naked, even with the gathering of men around her there was no urgency or need to cover her sex or save her modesty. It was, Karsten reflected, a great waste of a beautiful body.

“Mister Mannerheim” Dr Symonds voice snapped Karsten out of his thoughts, “If you'd care to spend a little less time admiring the woman's assets you might actually manage to learn something today”

“Well... I wasn't...”

“Save your breath Mister Mannerheim.”

Karsten flushed slightly as he fumbled for words, the doctor had a reputation for fierceness towards his students, especially those who'd had the good fortune to be born into privilege. He fixed his eyes on the doctor as he prepared to start his work.

“Today gentlemen we will be concentrating on the nervous system, that is of course after you tell me what caused this woman to die” The doctor paused and glared at another of the assembled men “Mister Gladritch, is that a notepad in your hands? Tell me, how do you expect to learn anything if all you're going to do is write notes?”

Karsten made a mental sigh. This was going to be a long lesson.

....

The group filtered out of the basement, even the smells of this unpleasant part of the city coming like mountain fresh air after the smells of the autopsy and dissection. It wasn't so much the biological smells that bothered him, not unless an incompetent student hand nicked a bowel or full bladder, but the pervading acidic stench of vinegar. Each corpse was washed with the stuff, and following each lesson the students and the room were washed with a warm vinegar to lessen the risk of picking up some noxious disease from a cadaver. After months of lessons with Dr Symonds it had got to the stage where Karsten was mentally transported to that basement at a mere sniff of the stuff.

“Mister Mannerheim” Dranbere, clapped his hand down on Karstens shoulder, mocking the studied tones of Dr Symonds “After an evening exploring the inner workings of a cold fair maid would you fancy joining us for a try on a warm one?”

“Ah, Mister Dranbere, what would we do without your infamous tact and compassion?”

“I believe you'd most likely be suffering from total lack of female companionship, or waste away pining over some silly girl or other” Dranbere slung his arm over Karstens shoulder, grinning broadly as he guided him towards a waiting carriage “Now. I'll hear no excuses, the Tar'vian are back in town and you know it'd simply be a crime to miss that act. We'll eat at the club and ready ourselves for a truly entertaining evening”

Karsten chuckled “When you put it like that I'd be a fool to say no, although I really don't understand your obsession with elves”

“That's simple enough old chap” Dranbere nodded to the carriages driver who'd hopped down from his seat to open the door “All the experience of an older woman and with the arse of an eighteen year old, now get in and stop asking silly questions”

[TheBrogueadier]

Journal II

What to write?


Sadly not much, these past few days have been a tedious blur of slaughtering goblins occasionally interspersed with visits to the inn.


Even these social visits are becoming somewhat tiresome as it seems these lands are mostly filled with people from the most common stock, in order to fit in I've been keeping up the appearance of being like them and acting like little more than some over confident street urchin.


There has been one noteworthy event, my acquaintanceship with a man named Deacon has begun to pay off. He recently introduced me to a half elf by the name of Zorien, a dour fellow I initially took to be a monk or other religious type on account of his stern expression. Further encounters with this half elf have allowed me to change my mind as it would seem he is in fact a mage of some type, not one who learned his art through the study of books and times, he seemed to share my opinion on the tedium of most arcane teachers, but one who can call upon the power of the weave through sheer force of will alone. A valuable ally to have and no doubt worth putting up with his sour expression to keep, so far the only time I've seen a smile warm that cold face is when he is watching his rodent familiar.


Deacon also introduced a brutish half orc to us, although his name has since slipped my mind. I've had the displeasure of meeting a few of these half-breeds and throwbacks before, and have learnt that with rigorous training and beating they can become almost useful members of society, so long as the task is not to taxing, with a rare few managing to make something of themselves.


The one Deacon introduced however showed none of these qualities, and in all honesty, was a prime example of why many of the Northern tribes exterminate such monstrous blood lines. Unintelligent, brutish, ignorant, rude and frankly a waste of air - And that's being generous to the simian faced creature.


Zorien spoke highly of Deacon, although truth be told I'm unsure as to where his loyalties lie: Deacon signed to Zorien that I could be used as a patsy or fall guy if a job turned south, yet Deacon knows full well I can understand cant. Still, I believe it is in my best interests for now not to let Zorien know I understand it.


Deacon has a job in mind for the three of us, maybe the four of us if we include the orc - although I fear the orc is more of a liability to us rather than any help.


He's found a house in Aquor that looks as if it may contain something interesting, the place is built like a fortress, the hope is it's to protect some valuable property from people like Deacon and the rest of us, property we hope to make ours.


My sole worry, aside from the trust I am placing in people I barely know, is that it is not built to keep people out, but to keep something in - considering it's proximity to the Thayan Enclave this may not be an idle worry.

[TheBrogueadier]

Journal III

Another encounter of note;

I had thought the day to be another prime example of mediocrity; a brief encounter with yet another band of would be heroes out to vanquish tiresome goblins and mess their clothes while claiming ears. Indeed that is how the day did start, a beige and uninteresting trip with an arrogant elfin mage and a quiet swordsman put me in a fairly foul mood, her demands, and worse her method of payment for my assistance (the payment was the privilege of watching her wiggle her arse like a 2 copper whore every time she cast a spell. Apparently I was to be grateful for this). I did consider leaving her down in those caves, see how much use her arrogance and small selection of spells helped her without my not inconsiderable assistance.

In the end I decided not to, it was a chance to flex my arm, measure her worth (I estimate this to be less than a dead dogs), and grab a few coins for my trouble.

Now, given that start it was going to take something highly entertaining to lift my spirits, a few hours in Jimmys Den did nothing to lift my spirits; while I may have won a few coin I spent as much on drinks.

I ventured back to the Exigo encampment at the foot of the goblin infested hills, hoping to meet a group that fancied some entertainment. This is where the gods smiled upon me.

Normally those who I have met there have been a certain sort; either mired in a perverse desire to 'Do Good' or have been brimming with arrogance. Imagine my surprise then when I encountered a rather singular woman.

I cannot write much about her, for clad as she was in some scaled hide and her face hidden in the darkness of a large hood there was little to see to note, of her companion however there was a lot to note. At her side she had a large dinosaur (I failed to note exactly what type) a fine specimen indeed and the first time I've encountered such a thing in the flesh. It was lean, fierce, and in those yellow slitted eyes was an alien intelligence, a pure predator. The closest thing I believe I have encountered to that is in feral cats, but even that is not close enough.

The creature moved with a stunning grace, the fine scales of it's hide fair rippling with taught muscle underneath, when it moved it did so with determination and focus. While it had the predatory sense of a cat it lacked the arrogance and showmanship that felines seem so full of.

With little encouragement I persuaded the lady to demonstrate the beasts abilities in combat against the hill goblins, and what a demonstration it was.

Perhaps I have become a little staid in my approaches to combat, taking the time to evaluate a foe and use almost ingrained tricks to open their defences and allow myself to strike effectively at weak points. I suppose that comes of having such a strict fencing master.

But this beast... By the gods, it was a tidal wave of power; it's claws were unerring, tearing through the goblins chain as if it were mere paper; it's jaws must have more power than any vice as on more than one occasion I saw it twist with stunning speed to grasp the arm of an unlucky foe and tear it from the torso.

I'll admit I was more than a little afraid the first time it took a goblin from under me; as I moved to strike the goblin this dinosaur near flew under my arm, it's jaws snapped around the goblin and with a brief flick of it's head sent the creature mewling wetly a good few feet into the air, before the wretch could find it's feet the dino was on it again, those hind claws were a blur as they tore the goblin open.

I believe then, just for a moment, my eyes met that of the creatures and that in the brief heartbeat that passed it had summed up all my weaknesses and flaws, decided precisely how I was best to be overcome. If it had decided to attack me I believe I would have been almost powerless to stop it. Then, at the command of it's mistress it was gone again, tearing through another screeching goblin. Watching this thing fight so effectively and mercilessly was inspirational.

I will keep my eye out for this woman, I'm interested in what kind of person can keep command of such a creature, have it behave around her like the best lapdog at one moment and a brutally effective killing machine the next.

I do not know much of her, not even the hint of a name. She moved as gracefully, and with as much purpose, as her dinosaur companion and I'm sure she is not a local girl, although I could not place her accent (she does have a rather seductive mispronunciation of her S's). Hopefully we will meet again and I will have the opportunity to get to know her better, after all I suppose I've always enjoyed the exotic.

[TheBrogueadier]

High balls - Low life

The ball was in full swing, a few hundred select individuals splayed in and around the D'Garscan summer house and it's grounds, every man and woman dressed to out-do all others, a bewildering mix of costumes and colours swirled beneath the great candle laden chandeliers, the glimmer of hundreds of multihued jewels and jewellery, each chosen to accentuate an outfit or face gave the hall the air of an animated dragons horde.


Some moved to the slow rhythm of the small orchestra, currently playing a quiet waltz, but most stood talking, discussing politics, intrigue, affairs or the latest up and coming artist. Others were watching one of the handful of acrobats, contortionists or mages who had been employed to provide entertainment for this early part of the evening.


Karsten stood near one of the long tables weighed down with a mixture of meats, fruit and drinks, watching a nearby mage attempting to explain it really was magic and not just sleight of hand to a determined looking young girl.


"Now now mister Mannerheim, not worn out already I hope?" A soft feminine voice sounded by his ear.


"Of course not Eli" Karsten grinned at the sound of the voice, turning to address the lady who'd spoken "I was simply saving my energy for you"


"Eli!?" She smiled broadly as she feigned outrage "Mister Mannerheim, must I remind you this is a formal ball!"


"My apologies fair lady" Karsten exaggerated a sweeping bow "I meant no offence or overfamiliarity"


"Better, Mister Mannerheim" Eli fluttered a white feathered fan coquettishly in front of her face, the skin around her eyes wrinkled slightly, betraying the broad smile she was trying to hide "Now, what else should a gentleman do when faced with a proper lady?"


Karsten smiled and looked her outfit over, a white bodice detailed with opal, lead crystal glass and diamonds all set into threads of white gold, her delicate neck was clasped about with a lace filigree choker hung with white gold threads and pearls, a single delicate black lace flower was set into the choker to the right of her throat, highlighting the perfect place to kiss. Her head was further framed by plumes of swan feather, rising above her head like a corona, below the bodice her long dress was made of more swan feather, kept in check around her hips by a lattice of fine white gold chain. Karsten couldn't help but think of her as some bejewelled cloud.


"Compliments of course, and my dear lady I can think of no greater compliment than to say that you look as if Sune herself plucked a cloud from the sky, decorated it with love and coddled it about your body with grace"


She nodded, seemingly happy with his appraisal "You are looking fine as well Mister Mannerheim, although a touch military, your fathers doing?"


"Yes" Karsten tried not to let bitterness drag at his voice, the extravagant black and silver braided officers uniform would not have been his first choice for the evening, but his fathers insistence coupled with the upcoming fencing lesson with the man had forced him to wear it "You know how he is"


"I do indeed Mister Mannerheim, a fine fellow who raised a fine son, you'd do well to remember that"


"It must be very hot in that dress with all those feathers"


"Now that all depends on what you wear underneath," Eli grinned, raising one eyebrow "And you shouldn't change the subject so blatantly."


Karston chuckled and shook his head "Must we really discuss my father now?"


"Of course not, I'm just teasing Kars" She grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the dance floor "Now, let's enjoy the music before the blasted trade minister tries to corner me again"


…




"How in the hells do you loose a sword?" Eli chuckled as Karsten investigated his empty scabbard.


"It's not the sword that bothers me, it's the damn epaulette, I look stupid with just the one"


"Kars my dear whatever you do you manage to look stupid"


"A fair point, and well made for someone who's managed to loose at least half of a swan so far"


They sat slumped in a set of kissing chairs, arranged so that Eli could watch the party over Karstens shoulder. The party was entering the more raucous part of the night where to much drink had been consumed and the dancing had not yet managed to burn away everyone's energy
"So Kars, you managed to pluck up the courage to ask for my hand yet?"


"Mmm.. You decided to give me a clue what you'll say if I do"


"A lady never tells Kars, you'll have to ask to find that out" Eli waved a long white feather plucked from her dress under Karsten's nose "I'll think you a coward if you don't ask soon"


"Well, if you can wait a few weeks I'll see what I can do. You know what the Abswiths'll think if we announce an engagement prior to their ball"


"True" She grinned and leant forward to stick the feather in his hair "Although what makes you think there would be an engagement to announce?


"Mister Mannerheim?"


Karsten glanced up at the sound of the new voice, looking somewhat confused when he saw who'd spoken.


“Dranbere?”


The man bowed slightly


“The one and the same”


“Well, that's a turn up for the books. I must say I don't recall seeing your name on the invite list”


“That's because it wasn't on it my dear chap, but when you enthused about the splendour of the event after out last lesson with the Doctor I thought I'd do my best to attend” Dranbere smiled “I'm glad I did, this is quite the party”


“Now now Kars, don't be so rude” Eli smiled at the newcomer “Any friend of yours is welcome as well you know, I'm happy to see you remain and enjoy what's left of the evening mister...?”


Karsten pushed himself up out of the chair, trying to hide his annoyance at the appearance of Dranbere, while the man had become a reasonable friend and was certainly good company following Doctor Symonds lessons having him gate-crash both the ball and an intimate moment was irritating at the least.


“This is Mister Dranbere, a recent acquaintance but a sound fellow” Karsten smiled “Mister Dranbere, this is Miss Eleanoora D'Garscan”


“Miss D'Garscan?” Dranbere took her hand and kissed it gently “Then I assume you are the daughter of our gracious host this evening, I am doubly honoured to make your acquaintance”


“And I'm sure I'm honoured to meet a good friend of Mister Mannerheim here” Elli chuckled and rose to her feet “I must say your choice of outfit is... Interesting.”


Dranbere looked down at his clothes, a simple but well tailored outfit that ran a bizarre line between corsair and manservent. In comparison to peacockish flamboyance of the balls invited guests Dranbere's mute costume stood out strongly, and seemed more lavish for it.


“I knew I could not compete with beauties and jewels such as yours m'lady, so did not attempt to do so”


“I see” She smiled slightly, still looking his costume over as if not sure what to make of the man. “I'm sure you two gentleman have much to discuss, Mister Mannerheim I am sure I will see you soon enough, Mister Dranbere I trust you will have a good evening”


With this she curtseyed slightly and moved off into the throng of the ball, leaving Karsten and Dranbere to talk.

[TheBrogueadier]

Journal IV

An interesting development has taken place; after a few days of travelling and 'adventuring' (how I hate what that word implies) together Zorien and Deacon have put a proposition to me.


They wish to setup a mercenary group, a gathering of like minded souls happy to forgo the worries of the conscience in return for a few handfuls of coin, Zorien wishes to be the brains of the group, Deacon is happy to take the role of the muscle, my role in this would to be the public face; the smiling well spoken gentleman who can assuage fears and promise a prompt delivery of service that ranges from guarding, delivery of goods and heads on platters.


While I am flattered at the proposition I must admit I do have misgivings about it, while the intention may be to appear as a simple mercenary operation to those who look upon us the plan also includes a less scrupulous element to the group; one where money is taken as payment rather than given.


Being the public face of such a group may be rewarding in the short term, it has some long term problems. If, for instance, some elements in the company were caught acting in some untoward way (let's say murdering, mugging, blackmail or burglary) it would be the public face, and public neck, that would face the noose.


While so far both Deacon and Zorien have been erstwhile allies I do worry about the amount of trust I can place in them; I've seen Deacon fly off the handle with barely controlled rage, Zorien remains an unreadable enigma who seems to care very little for anything save his rat, Ritz. What is certain is that these two trust each other, what isn't certain is the trust I can place in them. After all, men will betray each other mercilessly for anything; be it gold, women or other affairs of the heart.


I also worry about how effective the brains and brawn may be; It was decided that a good way to launch the public announcement of our band was to capture the wanted necromancer Arlock, with this in mind we laid a trap for him and prepared for his arrival.


The problem was, as I realised after what seemed like hours of crouching behind a rock, we had no idea where he was or if he would be heading our way at all. After much deliberation we gave up on the idea of simply waiting in ambush for a prey that for all we knew was sitting in a tavern enjoying a good meal with no intention of wandering into our particular spot.


As a foot note I saw the mental anguish and abject horror placed upon Zorien after a raid against the orcs went sour. His rat familiar, Ritz, was stamped on by an orc as we tried to escape, the last I saw of Zorien after leading him back to the druids grove was him nearly catatonic with heart ache, unable to speak coherently or do anything but be gently led to help. This would be worth remembering if our organisation does not work out as planned.

[TheBrogueadier]

Journal V

Goblins.


I'm sick of the sight of the damnable things, if it's not the sneering hill tribe then it's the snivelling bunch that makes it's home in the Viridale with the gnoll tribe. The sooner some way can be found to purge their infestation in these places the better, while there is some glee to be found in their slaughter it grows tedious rapidly.


I suppose in a way I can be thankful for them; while resting in the Viridale Legion encampment I came across a rather strange sight:


The woman I've previously mentioned, the seductive voiced hooded lady with the fearsome pet, was there warming herself on the fire along with myself and Zorien (who is looking much healthier now that Ritz has recovered from what we'd feared may have been a mortal wound) when a rather brutish fellow arrived.


After insinuating that we were all dirt to him he set to abusing the hooded lady, accusing her, of all things, of being some kind of animated corpse. She offered, if he had constitution enough to suffer the repercussions, to check her for life signs.


The man strode forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, having found this brutes attitude unpleasant so far I readied myself for combat fearing what this mans particular method of 'checking for life' might entail, and turned her to face him.


Over the crackle of the fire and the incessant drumming of the rain on the tent which was providing me shelter I could not quite hear what was said, but it seemed far from conforntational. The man simply stood and stared under her hood for a few moments, then stepped back, proclaiming that she was indeed alive. They talked on for a few moments, something about protection and help, although from what I do not know.


The woman left shortly afterwards, leaving me with the nagging sensation that all was not quite right with her. The next time I encounter her I think I will need to take measures to set my mind at ease.


As for the brutish fellow, we discussed the merits and pitfalls of diplomacy and rashness; something which we failed to see eye to eye on. He seemed well enough and of sound mind (or as sound as could be expected of a man like that).


All in all a curious evening.

[TheBrogueadier]

It's not all glitz and glamers

“The best way to think of the world and planes around is as an onion. We are the central core of the onion, above us and below us are many layer, or planes, of reality.”

Karsten could barely keep his eyes open, he'd signed up for these classes on something of a whim, enticed in by various stories of high powered magi able to contort the fabric of the world around them. That and the idea of being able to do some reasonable parlour tricks.

Unfortunately the lessons were proving more tiresome than a formal banquet with the Winsails; a family Karsten firmly believed to have undergone a strict breeding programme designed to remove all traces of both personality and chin.

“This onion is tied and wrapped around itself much like a ball of string, passing in and out of each other, changing places height and depth and location around us.”

It was like a torture, slowly having the will to live drained away by the power of bad delivery and a monotonous drone.

“If you imagine life as a drawing on a page, living within a circle and never knowing about a 3rd dimension. Now imagine as a creature that knows only two dimensions trying to comprehend a sphere. The sphere, or perhaps to them only knowing a circle they'd call it a 'Hyper-Circle' is almost beyond thought. The existences around as are as easy to us to comprehend as the sphere is to a drawing creature. But you must learn to comprehend this hyper-reality before you can begin to use it.”

Karsten had heard that before, better phrased, in a book by a Professor I.M.Banks.

He reviewed his notes, doing his best to switch off the continuing drone of the tutor. Apparently the universe was a giant stringy hyper onion that shuffled through time shedding layers. He sighed, half wondering if it would make good soup.

The worst bit was that the lesson was giving him time to think, time to mull over the contents of his jacket pocket and the thing within that dug away at his heart worse than any acid arrow could ever do.

He knew every word upon that object, every defect in the expensive paper, every mark on the embossed gilt from his constant thumbing and fiddling with it. When he closed his eyes he could see those gold leafed words as if burned into his retina.

Dearest Karsten,

You are cordially invited to celebrate the happy union in marriage of

The honourable
William Dranbere, Esq.

And the honourable
Miss Eleanoora D'Garscan

[TheBrogueadier]

Karstens mind surfaced from wherever it had been lurking, the soft narcotic cloud that had cradled him slipped away bringing the real world into unwanted focus.

On the wall opposite his bed a the first threats of a coming storm were playing out; dark clouds boiled and streamed below an angry sea where white crested swells plunged downwards and the wind harried and tore at their foaming tips.

It had taken him a while to get used to seeing the world inverted, a tiny pinprick drilled into the shutters one of Cliff Race House’s master bedrooms windows meant that once every other light source was closed out the world beyond the window was cast upon the wall. It was one of the more interesting tricks in the house, the architect who’d seen to the design and construction of Cliff Race had been full of them.

About now they’d be getting married, their friends, his friends would be clapping and laughing, throwing rice and wishing the two of them well. Just the thought of it made his blood pulse with a mixture of anger, hate, disgust and self pity. He hauled himself up, the effort of doing so threw nausea into the mix of feelings, and fumbled around on the bedside table for the black ribbed bottle and a glass.

“It’ll be the death of you” The words of the dealer echoed in his head, his scarred and permanently grinning face seemed to haunt the shadows around the storm for a moment.

He filled the glass and raised it into the light, the clouds and sea distorting through the glasses contents, black flecks of chopped flower danced in the liquid casting crow like shadows.

“Here’s to you, Ahab” He knocked back the glass, the slightly viscous fluid felt like warm honey as is made its way down, he lay back and watched the brewing storm his head already beginning to feel lighter as the potent drink took effect.

[TheBrogueadier]

“Nnnnff!” Karsten just about managed to turn the hammer blow away, the grinning orc gave barely a split second before his other hammer came arcing down forcing Karsten to parry again.

What the beast lacked in tactical prowess it more than made up for in brute strength, both of its arms worked like windmills, each swing too close to the last to provide an opening for a return attack, each joint jarring blow sapped at Karstens strength; his legs and arms screamed from the excursion, a fearful numbness in his fingers threatened to throttle the life out of his daggers*, or worse see them knocked free from his grasp.

Three steps back, each one the result of a parried blow, then push, stepping inside of the next blow, biting down a yelp as the orcs arm caught his shoulder. It should have been textbook; step in, drive the dagger up through the stomach and twist until deadness is achieved, but bad luck, bad timing or fatigue saw the knife skitter across the orcs armour. In a flash the orc reacted, wrapping its arms around him and hauling him into a bear hug. Karsten grunted as the air was forced out of his lungs, and delivered a well aimed and fairly wet kiss squarely onto the orcs lips.

Confusion, shock, horror, disgust and finally and odd look of betrayal crossed the orcs face as it took a step backward. Karsten quickly completed the quizzical look by burying a dagger hilt deep in the creature’s throat.

In a world where so many people lived and died according to the Marquess of Queensbury’s rules, Karsten reflected as he ran towards the druid Annie, it’s only right that some fight according to the rules of the Marquis de Sade.




* His fencing instructor had driven the mantra “Your blades must be held like birds: Too loosely and they will fly away, too tightly and they will die” firmly into Karstens head.

[TheBrogueadier]

“Why do we do it?”

The thought flicked across Karstens mind as he slipped his hand under the body, whoever the fellow was he hadn’t fared at all well against the mountains defenders. He’d gotten ahead of his friends and had been cut down by two of the Veritas’ heavy swordsmen.

“Nobility? Honour?”

He slipped a small canister under the body, tied a small wire between the collar of the man’s shirt and a small pin, and then slipped another pin free. He held his breath for a moment, ready to spring away if the canister triggered. No man who’d placed a deadly trap under the body of another could claim to fight for honour or nobility.

“Truth? Justice?”

He looked over the faces of the men and women on the slope, certainly there were those here who fought for those ideals; the ones empowered by the counsellors rousing speeches; the ones who believed that defending the ruined grandeur of the Veritas mountain hold could somehow lead to a better future. Down in the valley a few brief flickers of arcane energy caught his eye. They’d be coming for their fallen comrade soon.

“Freedom?”

His comrades had seen the flashes too, a quiet began to settle over the slope, the bodies of the previously fallen defenders were placed reverently down; the wounded were hushed. The only sounds now were those of weapons being checked and readied as the young and the old, the veterans and the greens all prepared amid a susurrus of death. Freedom, in Karsten’s experience, was something that everyone offered, but no-one ever gave.

“Then why?”

A yell went up from the cliff top crossbowmen, followed by the rattle of bows and a volley of flaming bolts. A single figure ran steadily up the mountain path, the air around him shimmered and moved with energy, the occasional detonation sounded as he triggered hidden charges, blowing dust and dirt dozens of feet into the air. Through it all he came on, hacking down those who defended their home without a word.

“Love?”

Sara. He half smiled as he loosed his first arrow, a second following close behind, the satisfaction of a good aim turned sour as the first deflected off of the energies around the attacker, the second glanced harmlessly off of his granite-hard skin. She’d been with the Veritas since birth, not a noble of course, but not a mercenary like him. They’d met after a banquet to welcome a new influx of members and had talked until dawn, as the first of rays of dawns light had turned the mountains top to orange fire they’d found a bard to play a song so they could welcome the day with a dance. Since then they’d found excuses to be together, talked about everything and nothing or simply sat and watched the fire burn content with each other’s closeness. She believed strongly in the Veritas’ cause, she believed that they did offer a better future and because she believed so strongly he found he wanted to do the same. They’d shared nothing more physical than a kiss, and for one of the first times in his life Karsten had been happy to wait, it was as if rushing into bed would somehow cheapen what they had. For now they were happy to curl up together, to dream of a better place and the life that free from civil war they might have.

“Love.”

No. Not love. A man who fought for nobility or honour, someone who’d battle for truth, freedom or justice, they were the people who fought for love. Karsten tossed his bow aside, the attacker was now too surrounded by the mountains defenders to get a clear shot. He drew his two daggers and pictured her smile one last time, memorised the way she made him feel and felt his pulse race. To survive you had to know how to fight, and to fight well you had to know yourself. So why did he fight?

He grinned and ran into the melee, his daggers flashing towards the chinks in the mans armour.

“For a nice smile, nice tits and a sack full of gold”