Edward Lorn- Occupied Snowcrest Township

  Edward’s tears had run dry long ago; he was focused on the long, sad tones of his violin. Sweeping pulls of his arm sent out haunting, sorrowful notes cascading around the tavern for the amusement of his captors. The warm room was scattered with round tables overflowing with mead and most of the town's food stores.

  The staircase to his right had a pair of drunken men laughing as they tried to get to their rooms on the second floor. Edward grimaced as he saw a golden-clad warrior sink his axe into the side of a keg behind the heartwood bar, putting his face right up to the gushing liquor and gulping it down like an animal.

  Edward slowed his song slightly, trying to not let his emotions win. The deranged eyes of the Rembrand Bishop sat just a stride away, staring straight at him. The gaunt man was waving his hands in sync with the melody, a sick, satisfied smile on his face.

  Edward looked back with hate that had turned to resignation and fear. They didn’t deserve this. The woman they were going to burn never caused harm. She wasn’t a heretic; she was a healer and weaver of the weather. The zealots hadn’t cared, and when the townsfolk tried to protect their own, shuffling Blair from home to home as the savages searched for her, things had turned violent quickly.

  A wonderful older baker named Lila had been shoved so hard from a doorway that she had broken her shoulder on a table. Her grandchild, one of the few warriors in town, had tried to defend her. He was buried in a shallow grave out back now.

  After that, things had descended into madness, scattered fights across town ending with everyone beaten and stuffed into previously unseen jailers' carts and Blair tied to a post in front of the inn awaiting an unjust and brutal execution. The more Edward wondered why they had brought the carts for one suspected Witch the more he realized they hadn’t; they were never going to leave with just one person. He had been hauled from the cart a short while ago and thrown onto the short stage in the tavern; apparently the sick bishop in charge named Malay was a fan of the musical arts.

  Edward couldn’t do much, but he was an [Emotion Weaver], and the violin was his medium. For now he was infusing the slightest soothing energy into every stroke of his violin, hoping to spare his people from more beatings. Playing for the raucous “men of god” before him was the best he could do to soothe his people’s suffering.

  The clink of glasses and crude laughter was overshadowed for a moment by a loud conversation at the door.

  “Hey, who are you?” Came slightly slurred from a door guard.

  “Arthur, now step aside.” Came in a resolute, weary voice

  “Great, what squad are you with? I don’t recognize you. And what the hell happened to your armor?” The guard countered. People near the door were starting to look towards the disturbance.

  “Step aside; I must speak to your commander.” The voice had a dangerous edge to it. Edward let the slightest hope bloom; maybe their commander had come to stop the madness. There was the sound of a sword being drawn and then a blistering sudden flash of pure white light followed by the thump of a man's head bouncing off the doorframe. The guard tumbled bonelessly through the door as a large figure walked in, stepping over the unconscious guard, rage plain on his face.

  Arthur was another paladin of Rembrand from what Edward could tell, but there was something off about him. His travel cloak was so tattered it was nearly useless, and where the bits of his grimy golden armor were visible, the bowing man symbols all across the armor appeared to have melted, dripping down like a waxed seal left over the fire. His hair was matted, and his eyes had a hard edge that startled Edward so much his song faltered for just a moment.

  He slowly looked around the ransacked tavern and let out a sigh that expressed so much sadness it shocked Edward. “It’s all true...what you do here is absolutely unjust. How could you possibly explain burning a woman at the stake and ransacking these people’s homes!” Arthur shouted, putting his hand on his sword as he locked eyes with Malay, who had a cruel sneer across his features, his hands still waving to the music.

  “Boy, we are burning a witch, a heretic, as is willed by our gods’ justice, and the heretics that sprung to her aid will be allowed the chance for redemption, the chance for supplicance!” Malay spat out, half turning back towards the stage like Arthur was no more than an annoying child who didn’t understand his elders.

  Arthur looked around the room, his face flickering with fear before settling back onto the bishop again. He slowly drew his sword, his hand noticeably quivering slightly. “I can’t let you do this. It’s not right.”

  Malay almost spit out the sip of wine he had taken, looking utterly incredulous at Arthur. “Boy, anything our god wills is right. These heathens will be reformed. Now I don’t know what happened to you, but grab a stein and settle in; I will forgive your outburst just this once, as it looks like the mountains spat you out.”

  “No. It’s not justice; it’s nothing but domination veiled behind lies.” Arthur said with a shaking voice, emotions visible on his face as he was faced with the truths of his order.

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  They stood there for almost a minute. Edward’s song having taken a more somber, dangerous shape. He had stopped pushing out soothing tones and was now dipping into fears, hoping maybe this man could somehow save them. Malay sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “Are you stupid? What will you do with that sword? You are outnumbered ten to one.” Mana flared briefly in the bishop’s eyes. “I alone would be enough to end you, boy…” Malay said dangerously.

  Arthur took a deep breath. “Everything she has shown me so far has been true...and she told me I wouldn’t be alone if I came here.” Arthur charged with a determined battle cry, rushing towards the Bishop. Threads of golden light swirling from every sconce and lantern in the room to wrap around his sword in a purifying light.

  The bishop finally turned to face him, sheer scorn on his face, as a malignant golden light practically dripped from his throat. “KNEEL” rolled from his mouth like a lance of intent washing across Arthur’s form. Arthur struggled against the compulsion, taking another stumbling step, and then two before his body betrayed him and he slammed to the floor on his knees, panting, sword still held in hand. “Good SILENCE. Now I wish to finish this musical piece before we address your need for re-education.” The contemptuous man turned back to Edward, golden mana still trailing from him and into Arthur's immobile form.

  “Well, on with it!” He said to Edward in annoyance, waving his hands. Edward jolted back upright and began playing again; he hadn’t even realized he had stopped. At some point when Arthur charged, he had leaned forward with sheer blissful hope. He let the hope drift away, and he eased back into the song. Tears began slowly falling down his cheeks again as he played.

  Edward lost himself in the song, looking out the upper windows to the snowy darkness beyond. He wasn’t sure how much time passed as he flowed with the music, but motion jolted him from his trance as a shadowy figure melted almost silently through the roof of the upstairs floor, dropping lightly down onto the balls of his feet in a haze of green-black mana. Edward could just barely see him from his angle. He was doing something odd upstairs before he crept towards the railing, and a barely conscious warrior of Rembrand half slumped into his soup.

  Edward had to steel himself to not stop playing; the man radiated malice, and his armor seemed to pulse with the beat of his music. Their eyes locked briefly, and the man put a finger up in a “Shhhh” motion in front of the wicked maw of his helm before sliding right next to the warrior. He carefully angled himself, and Edward saw a dark green-black flash before the man's headless corpse was lowered from his chair onto the floor, where it dripped an unidentifiable dark substance.

  Edwards eyes locked onto the black liquid mold as it dripped from the edge of the balcony and slid down the wall in a disgusting slurry of what used to be one of his captors. Edward felt the tinges of defiance rising again as he played, letting a small smile dare to creep onto his face.

  The man reached into a satchel and started dusting the floor and walls with something. Even sneaking a few handfuls through the railing to drop down to the tavern floor. Then he stood up straighter and pulled a spear from his back before throwing a small bracelet off the second floor down at Edward. His violin hit a horrid off-key squeal in surprise. And the tavern jarred at the screech.

  Edward looked blankly at the bracelet; it was woven from forest fern and had a slight glow to it. He reached out with a shaking hand and picked it up. It was comfortingly warm to the touch. “Put it on,” rasped from the figure as he began slowly descending the stairs, his gaze sweeping over the surprised men.

  Edward looked around briefly; weapons were being drawn, and the mix of fear, revulsion, and even anger at the sight of the figure was a palpable force. He slowly put the bracelet on; a shiver ran through his spine like when the eyes of a predator are on you on a trail in the darkness of a moonless night.

  “I never thought I would find myself agreeing with the self-righteous lantern... But you have gone too far; this crossed from zealotry to evil long ago.” "The figure said," pausing halfway down the stairs. A fog of green mana began pouring from him in heavy wisps that crawled around the room. The powder he spread earlier began blooming into a moss such a dark green it was nearly black as it inched its way up walls and down the stairs.

  Arthur thrashed even harder against his invisible bonds, a stunning look of confusion and anger on his face. Light nearby him trembled with his every movement, but whatever Malay was doing to him prevented him from gathering it as a weapon again.

  Malay set his glass down and made a distasteful sucking sound with his teeth. “The Forsaken Paladin…” What brings you to the north? Even I have heard of your godless ways. I thought you were busy haunting the woods and savaging initiates.” He looked nervous, his hands flickering hand signals to the warriors around him.

  The paladin calmly kept walking down the stairs, the moss creeping out past him like a carpet with every step. “I was…dispensing heresy and feeding the faithful to my pets, the normal, but everyone needs a vacation now and then.” The words were in jest, but the cold tone he had made each scrape out more like a threat. He kept his posture neutral but ready as he walked nearly up to the bishop. Malay took a half step back, already readying a spell.

  “So you told the misguided do-gooder over there he couldn’t stop you.” Vrax gestured at Arthur loosely, then leaned in a bit, the moss around him starting to roil as his stigmata burned away at the carpet of greenery. “Do you think YOU can stop me? Or more importantly, are you as brave as you think?” He stepped back as a horrid dark shape slid from the rot on the wall, pulling itself free in a smooth motion of bladed hands and spines, its maw impossibly layered and dripping shadow.

  The draconic abomination let out a deep chuffing laugh as it slid free from the wall. It oozed behind the counter in a disturbing flash of motion before reaching its head over the bar to survey the room. The horrible cries of a troll hunted past the edge of sanity warbled out from her open mouth, slightly distorted by her amusement at the sudden spike in fear in the room.

  The room went dead silent other than Edward, who pulled himself together for long enough to pick up his violin and activate his other skill [Dance of Death]. His bow pulled across the well-worn strings of the violin, and an impossibly loud note that carried the promise of finality sprung into life with a flare of black mana. His note seeped out to cast fear and doubt across the assembled warriors.

  Then a dark whispering chant leaked into the room from somewhere outside. Each word felt like you were being exposed to things beyond this plane, and as suddenly as it started, it stopped, and the room was plunged into darkness. The only sources of light were a faint golden glow dripping from the mouth of the Bishop and the burning seams of the forsaken Paladin's armor.