Logan, in his Bloodletter guise, looked over the corpses of the slain traitors and over those he had knocked out for capture. The few that surrendered made the attack easier, this new form allowed him an air of danger that “Logan” wouldn’t, the unknown. If he could take down a whole ball like this, who was to say he couldn’t take on the rest?

  The survivors would at least tell of Bloodletter, taking some heat off Logan as he went around to complete other tasks. As he moved to pile the bodies he would transport away, Logan felt a twinge up his arm as if he pulled something vital. Dropping the body to the floor, Logan looked over his glamoured arm. Black veins had pushed to the surface, like a weightlifter deep in their set.

  “What the hell is this?” Logan thought to himself.

  “I believe this is an effect concerning your demonhood, Logan”, Fol responded in Logan’s mind, the personalised System that Logan had carried since arriving in Avanar.

  “I got that, but why now?”

  “It is possible that other stages of demonhood are attained through feats. This is the most people you’ve killed in a short period of time.”

  Logan flicked his arm to remove some of the strain, the black veins slowly fading away. “As long as it happens out of combat… Another thing to research when we get back.”

  Logan finished piling the bodies up and began his teleportation antics, hiding his head as he went to and fro, as only his enemies would know of Bloodletter.

  With everyone moved over, Logan returned to his normal visage as he addressed Jirango. “Here’s the list of people I was able to get in those locations, in full”, Logan said as he handed a folded piece of parchment to the captain of the guardhouse.

  Jirango looked over the writing, his expression turned from its normal “Too old for this shit” look to a more relaxed one. “Plenty of parchment work, but this will sort a lot of issues out. Some of these people have been out and about for far too long.”

  “Have any of the others spoken up?”

  Jirango nodded, “A lot speaking of how all their buddies are dead”, he laughed, “It’s the same story though. Like our hunting boards, they have boards for jobs to take. Yours is from a mysterious client working through a network of middlies. I did, however, find something out about those scrying magi.”

  Logan opened his eyes a bit wider at this. “Names? Locations?”

  “Even better. The Sect of Alaska.”

  “What?” Logan thought.

  “A group of magi and other classed beings that is more like a cult to my mind. It seems they are a bunch of mages who were excommunicated from the towers, never allowed entry or were spurned in some other way. Along with the Wizards and Sorcerers, many Devout who lost faith in their chosen deities joined them, as well as sympathetic Fighters and Rogues.”

  “What is this ‘Alaska’ they are named after?” Logan asked, knowing the Earth connection but hoping it was just a coincidence.

  “A man-turned-prophet of sorts. It might be easier if the parrot repeats himself to you.”

  “Lead on.”

  Jirango stood up from his desk, moved to one of the back doors, and led Logan through the rows of cells again. It had been some time since Logan really walked down here; the last visit was to Drustan, and that was a quick step. This time, Logan was led through thicker walls and gates to where the stronger or more violent criminals were kept.

  Wrapped up in chains with several sigils and eyes blinded by a dark cloth, a man was strung up and seemingly asleep.

  Jirango banged a club on the cell bars and awoke the prisoner.

  “What? It isn’t eating time yet”, the inmate replied.

  “I need you to recount what you told me before, about Alaska”, Jirango asked.

  The inmate bit his lips, “Your ears aren’t strong enough to hold his knowledge, his wisdom. Barely a day—”

  Jirango interrupted the man with another bang on the bars, silencing the inmate for a bit before he recomposed himself and began again.

  “The Sect of Alaska is no mere group of roving warriors and casters. No, we are the ‘chosen’ ones. And you—you—you will never understand until you’ve seen what we’ve seen, felt what we’ve felt. Alaska, the prophet of Oracles, the hand of Madamra. His touch elevates us to heights unknown, power unattainable by what was granted by the hand of fate. We are no longer tied to our birth; those with clouded minds but granted magic are granted the clearest of minds. Warriors whose arms could barely hold a sword could now hold a mountain.

  He brings out our potential—the power that was stricken from us and given to those unworthy. Deep in our bones, deep in our spellforce. Rectifying the wrongs of those who are not divine enough to write in stone our lives.

  I was the same. My hands were unsteady, my mind a mess of fog and croaks. But—but his hand, his touch. When I could barely muster a flame, I can now muster an inferno. I was scared; you’d be terrified, too, if you knew what they could do.

  To know of his majesty is to know divinity. No Devout in the whole kingdom can do what he can do. To feel the pulse of magic in your veins when it was just a thought blown to the wind in the past, it is exhilarating.

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  The power of Alaska, it makes us more. We are no longer avanarians, gashriek, saebers, or diglaeta. We are Alaskans. You think it impossible, do you not? That a single man could make us all heroes?” the inmate spits on the floor.

  “You don’t know what Alaska can do. You don’t know how he has rid us of the foulness of randomly attributed roles. I couldn’t hold a hand against my father, but Alaska, he allowed me to burn my sire to the ground for my mistreatment. Then and there, I swore allegiance to Alaska. Transformed as I was. No one can take this from me.

  Those who stand against us, those who are blind, deaf, and numb to the ways of Alaska, are nothing. Nothing but rabbits awaiting an arrow in the neck and fried on the communal campfire of our home. The followers will dine on the power of our foes and grow as one. Casters, martials, and those without, all together. Chosen.”

  The man let out a long gasp of air as if speaking the doctrine and path of his sect was his purpose in life.

  Logan then asked, “You speak so… devoutly about this man Alaska. But, you have revealed his power and aims, have you not? Isn’t that blasphemous?”

  The inmate spat again. “Alaska’s name is to be known. His power witnessed. No matter who hears it, it only emboldens him. The name Alaska shall be carved into your soul, the ever-present word as you pass on.”

  “So, Alaska does not employ parrot-traps?”

  “Has my tongue been severed? My mind exploded? No. Alaska fears no one. Hear him and know him!”

  “So the saeber that attacked us before wasn’t going to rat out Alaska, the ‘m’ has nothing to do with him”, Logan thought to himself. “Has Alaska ordered hunts on anyone or anything?” Logan asked.

  “Alaska does not employ the under markets if that is what you’re worried about. But many in our group were asked to use our powers, and some of us took on the bounty of Logan and Vip. The captain already asked as such.”

  “You weren’t ordered to attack Vip then. Was it just money that persuaded you to scry them?”

  “Some of us heard in hushed tones, the name, Logan Hall. They were not friendly words, they were filled with bile. We took it upon ourselves to rid the world of one that brought disgust to our saviour.”

  “How many of you?”

  “Still out there? A dozen or so”, the inmate laughed.

  “The way this guy talks about Alaska, it’s like he is another PC. But as far as I could see, you can only have one partnered NPC at a time. Either he is at a much higher level than I am, or the below PCs have different restrictions. I can’t edit someone’s status like I can do for Marcus, but Alaska is going further than what I can do. It sounds like he is setting their attributes to 13 instead of 8. Reallocating their points. I need a respecialization pellet to come close to that”, Logan thought to himself.

  “Did you speak with Alaska about hunting Logan and Vip?” Jirango pushed.

  The inmate shook his head as much as he could. “No. It was to be a surprise gift. He had given so much we wanted to give back at least a little.”

  “The question now becomes: Do I take down these dozen and possibly incur the wrath of the whole Sect of Alaska, or do I try and reason with Alaska?” Logan thought to himself before asking, “Who mentioned Logan Hall? It wasn’t Alaska?”

  “A strange man. His accent was foreign but not of Helm or Sabaton. He was cloaked in endless shadow, roiling and waving like the ocean. He is bound to be from afar, a small island, or maybe even the eastern continent spoken of in myth.”

  “Shadows?” Logan thought aloud, “The same ones that attacked us during the plague worm incident underground?” he thought quietly in his head.

  “An effect I’ve not seen before. He was strong. His power lies elsewhere, not like Alaska’s.”

  “Is it the same one I saw at the tournament? He had a shadowy aura. If so, it could be connected, but then, anyone can use ‘shadows’, it isn’t concrete. If he spoke of me with hatred, it doesn’t seem to be a coincidence though”, Logan calculated in his head. He then asked, “Why do you call Alaska, the prophet of Oracles, the hand of Madamra?”

  “His is a line of Oracle-born. He has powers beyond our kin and ken. To bring out the power in others, and to create such effects that are of another plane. He is no Wizard, no Fighter. His is also the wrath of monsters. Many are at his beck and call. Goblins, spirit beasts, demons, and orcs. They lend ears to his words and arms to his commands.”

  “Fuck. He is a PC, then. Or, he has a lot of the Call to War skills”, Logan cursed in his head. “If he can reallocate points like that and is working with another PC, there’s little chance of him not being at least a Partnered NPC. But, if he is the offspring of a PC, he should just be a normal classed being, like those not part of the ‘game’ the deities are playing.”

  A wave of voices then emanated in the cells, the nearby followers of Alaska chiming in with a choir of, “Alaska comes. Alaska heightens. Grant unto him worship and be granted the removal of chains! Cold, spite, and unfairness alike. Dispel and become your best self! Alaska! Alaska!”

  Logan looked around at the other chained-up individuals, they couldn’t do much in their states, the magical bindings making most skills and spells close to impossible to enact. But the sight did give him a hint of fear. The dedication was strange and abhorrent.

  Jirango then leant toward Logan, “When they get like this, they are a bit… unsociable. Let’s go back.”

  Logan nodded, following the half-hand out of the prison cells.

  Back in the main hall of the guardhouse, Logan scratched his head and paced in front of the desk. “This just got a whole lot more complicated.”

  Jirango nodded as he puffed on his pipe, transparent green smoke accompanying his speech, “At least they aren’t all against you. But going after the remaining twelve might bring the whole sect down on you.”

  “I know that”, Logan sighed, “But with that many mages against me, scrying is going to be a constant issue.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of Alaska. They work in the shadows”, Jirango smiled at the joke, “any choice comes with a different set of pros and cons. There are an uncountable number of under market locations. Simply removing the hirelings is a long and arduous task. Going against the twelve may bring down hundreds more on you. And, talking with this Alaska fella may end up worse yet if it leads you to their den.”

  “The shadowy figure has been in Gauntlet, too. I saw them during the tournament. So they aren’t a monster or a marked individual that the barrier would keep out”, Logan informed.

  Jirango puffed again, “There’s always an adversary. Be they small or large. I can look into all these avenues for you; think it over in the meantime.”

  “Thanks, Jirango. I need to look into them too. I at least have a few leads”, Logan accepted.

  “Though, first, I need to update and pay you for your work”, Jirango spoke as he held up a hand.

  Altering the numbers on Logan’s signet, updating the hunts to 150, Jirango handed it and a bag of gold to Logan. The Spellthief thanked the half-hand for the payment and left to ask others about the most recent additions to his troubles.

  “Will Orichalcum even tell me about that PC?” he thought to himself.

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