Lingering Shadows Part 1 - Campaign Stories

Read for fun, or for ideas in your own campaign!

This story comes from the community-created Share Your Campaign series, where the Eternity TTRPG community shares their games' stories. To see more from this series and others, visit the Share Your Campaign page.

Main Characters

Vatra: born of a wealthy family, Empyrean, secretly - killed his own parents

Drogi: ex-soldier, Human, cursed to not use legs (stabbed in the spine) and in a wheelchair

Iceliat: one of the few original Ateri, owns human slaves

Soudce: chancellor

Beatrix: ex-Supreme Company soldier, suspected to be dead

Ekern: Vatra’s house guard, witness to Vatra escaping

Shield: a master blacksmith in the party’s service

Vatra

“Do you have anything to say in your defense, Vatra?” Chancellor Soudce, an older Empyrean, sat elevated behind a podium with a look of stoic indifference. His robes were a gentle mix of dark blue and violet with transitions depending on how the light hit. His hair was long, white, and thinning, slicked back and tied to expose all the sharp angles of his face. His eyes were a storm cloud shade of gray now, with spider web-like wrinkles expanding from the corners. His frame was softer than it was decades before, though it hinted at a history of well defined muscles. Despite his age, he held himself with a commanding presence. When he spoke, it felt like a crime to interrupt.

The courtroom was an older house of worship repurposed to accommodate large gatherings such as this trial. The stained glass windows had been removed and reused for the new structure, so the space remained empty allowing the elements, birds, and noise to flow through uninterrupted. The weathering of the sill curved and cracked with white splotches left by perching birds. The light, at this moment, showed through to highlight where Vatra stood. A wooden box with a simple bench for him to sit and listen to the accusations placed upon him. It was warm and calming despite the predicament. Vatra made sure to look at everyone in the room before speaking. His face was calm and relaxed, but he could feel the muscles underneath try to tighten into an expression of concern. His crimson robes hid his small frame and his shaking muscles. The spectators couldn’t see it, but to him it felt like the world was quaking.

Vatra steadied himself the best he could. Inhaled deep and began to speak:

“You all know my family. They have been here for generations and grew to be an affluent, contributing part of this town. We have been charitable and generous. We have helped feed the hungry and clean the ones who call the streets and narrows “home”. I don’t say these things to brag, but to express the kind of stock that I have come from. My parents were well established and educated Empyreans. Many of you knew them. Ate with them. Laughed with them. Cried, even. They were wiser and more adept at spells than I. To me, they were like gods. Now look at me. One thing I've learned during my time away is that I'm a fragile being. I have had to go into my Lich form at least five times since being gone, and a few of those times were during a.friendly sparring match. I am physically weak and my magic has a tendency to miss.

I didn’t hear of my parents’ death until six days ago, and how I’m the prime suspect. I came here with my party as soon as I could. I'm told that my parents were killed by a blade. Now, imagine me trying to take on two powerful Empyreans, leaving without a drop of blood on my hands or clothes, then jumping out a second story window, as this so-called witness proclaims. And during this time, not once did I go into my Lich form? None of this fits what I'm capable of.

I'm told it was my family's guards who came after me, making a raucous outside.. I was under the protection of city guards, who told me only what they knew: there were bandits causing havoc. Why would my family guards just not tell the guards what happened? While in the cells, we were immediately attacked and our natural reaction was to defend. Had it not been for the guards who gave their life to protect me and my friend in the wheelchair, we were sure we would have perished. Once it was possible, we fled as far and as fast as we could to recollect and assess. Instead of going back and taking that risk so soon, I decided to help my new friend on his own personal quest to cure a curse that left him immobile.

This entire time I've been gone, I've done nothing but help try to cure a curse of someone I hardly know. Our lives have been in danger since the day I was chased away. I have gained nothing from the deaths of my parents. I have no riches. We got by doing odd jobs and catching what we ate. I have no power. No one knew who I was and wouldn’t believe me had I told them. I was wearing what I left with and looked disheveled. After running around this continent, we are no closer to finding the cure for my party member.

We live in a time where we can be cursed to not walk. When people can be cursed into becoming a lich and be cured a few days later. Ghosts inhabit armor and mock us while we fight. We were affected with hallucinations causing us to kill people who literally helped us ten minutes prior.

I can't tell you who did it. It could've been a house guard capable of using a knife properly and familiar with the house layout and passages. I’m told my Uncle is in control of my family’s assets. Could it not be a family member trying to use politics to trick the populace to love him with promises of goods only for his real purpose to come later. I do not accuse him of this. I only point out the possibility. I’m told a high wizard sensed my magical marker at the scene. Could it not be a wizard who was the only one to sense a presence similar to mine to gain access to the artifacts my parents may contain.

I want the same as my parents. I want the best for this town. This land. This world. And now, there is a reborn Phoenix reeking havoc in the skies above the Isles of Valerian. In its infancy, it has been able to create its own home the size of an island. We have seen the beast. It carried us out of the mountains without effort. We may be the only ones willing or able to battle it. But, here we are, wasting time on whether or not I killed my parents under impossible circumstances with no known motive.

Set me free and let me settle my familial affairs appropriately. Let me find cure to the curse of a soldier who helped fight for this land. Let us defeat this newborn beast. If you imprison me, kill me, because the world is at the whim of this beast. We were scratched and saw visions that resulted in us taking the lives of innocent, good men. Imagine what power would be unleashed once this Phoenix matures.

I've come back to town, peacefully. Using my family influence I'd like to prepare my party for the upcoming storm. If you stop me, then you've killed us all.”

Chancellor Soudce remained statuesque, but the audience silently murmured to one another in a fog of disbelief and skepticism. A few men and women could be heard whimpering in impending fear. The audience was divided by class and status. The nobler people were in the overhead bleachers, and the commoners were on the floor level and peeking through the windows. The commoners spoke of fear for their family’s safety. The nobles spoke of concerns over their assets. The commoners seemed to know more about the happenings over the Isles, but the nobles seemed more concerned over the worries closer to home.

Vatra took in the scene feeling more confident now. He felt if you can get people to talk, they’ve heard you. If you can get them to feel something, even fear, they remember you. His shoulders relaxed. The air felt different now: cooler. It almost felt like home again. Looking out the glass-free windows he finally had the chance to take in the world outside. He thought to himself, “How long has it been Fall?” The short, kempt ash trees still had all their leaves varying in differing shades of red and orange. Every tree was without a single green leaf. A gentle breeze made the trees lean slightly to the left with a soft, reciprocal bounce back to the right. Vatra could tune out the audience and listen to the rustling and a few birds singing.

No one was looking directly at him. He believed he could just walk out if he chose to, then remembered that the Chancellor was still watching over the room like an old fashioned, loyal kingsman. Chancellor Soudce closed his eyes and breathed in deep. Repositioning himself, he cleared his throat, and just like that, the room grew quiet. Everyone’s conversation halts in a domino-like fashion. Vatra thought it was awe inspiring to see. Once the room was silent, he gave the jury the order to enter the deliberation room to decide my fate. In reality, it was truly up to the Chancellor what would happen next. Allowing the jury to deliberate was more of a show of faith to the public that your peers were responsible for what would happen. Even if found not guilty of a crime, the Chancellor would give a punishment he seemed most fit. You could be found not at fault for domestic abuse by the jury, but the result would still be a type of community service or probation under the supervision of one of the more rough handling officers.

Chancellor Soudce’s gaze remained on Vatra as the jury left the stands and the room. Vatra returned the gaze in a mirrored stoicism. Two heavily robed guards followed the jury in the room and shut the door. A heavy locking mechanism could be heard engaging. “I don’t know what you’re up to,” Chancellor Soudce said in a lowered tone only Vatra could make out. There was no anger or accusation in his voice, just a factual statement. Vatra’s eyebrows twitched into a furrow for a moment, then immediately relaxed. The muscles around his mouth wanted to create a smirk, but he fought it off with aching success. Despite his confident appearance, he could feel his nerves begin to seize again. He thumbed and fiddled with the obsidian ring on his index finger.

Eyes still locked, Chancellor Soudce gave a quick neck cock over his left shoulder, signaling Vatra to come to the podium. Vatra stood and approached. The guards were told to allow him to pass, and they obediently side stepped enough to let him pass. The podium was made of a reddish wood, smoothed, polished, and waxed. It seemed to be the most well kept piece of furniture in the room. The Chancellor seemed even more stonelike up close. His skin was smooth and unblemished. His veins and tendons lay just under the skin as if he were still a young and dominant athlete. His face may carry his age, but the rest of him signaled that he could hold his own if he needed to. “Your parents were good people. They helped maintain this city. I agree that you don’t seem like one capable of taking them down, but I still have my uncertainties. Whatever the jury decides, I will honor for the sake of your family. I owe them. Know this, though, I do not trust you and if any new concrete evidence comes to light, you will not have the peace of being imprisoned.”

“Of course, Chancellor. My family spoke well of you and your kindness.” Vatra fought the urge to smile coyly. He maintained eye contact to continue the charade of confidence. The room began to murmur again, still about “what if” and “should we”. The noise drowned out the nervous breathing. Some people left knowing that these judgements can sometimes take hours, even days if the accused is unlucky enough. Vatra was certain he’d be freed. Not from his monologue he practiced so many times in his head, but by the concern he was able to create, about a bigger threat and the offer to take care of it. Even if he were to fail, he’d die in prison or die trying to save their world. This was something he never thought he would consider as a young adult: saving the world. Vatra is a nobody. A weak Empyrean, a less than beginner pyromancer, and average at best at all things business. What he was, though, at least to himself, was a defender of peace and balance. As a child he would put an end to fights amongst other children. He helped find the middle ground and got both parties a piece of what they were actually seeking. He got nothing from it, not even a “thank you”. He minded at first, but after a while he accepted that for things to be a good deed, you shouldn’t expect reward or praise. Otherwise, it becomes a job. Something for something. Growing up, though, he noticed that fights and arguments were harder and harder to find balance in. It was no longer who gets the bigger slice of a sweet or who gets to play with the ball next. Who owned the sheep roaming a certain property. Even older, who owned what property? Can you own a human: spouse or fellow man? Can you marry off your children as a means to barter? Everything got more complicated the older he got. Even harder when people whisper promises of goods and services if he sided with them, or if someone offers their view on “how things are supposed to be”.

“Go sit down.” Vatra nods and turns away.

Walking back to his temporary holding area, Vatra looks over the audience one more time to assess their feelings toward him. Nothing. Everyone is still held up in their own personal concerns. He wasn’t surprised by this. This is how people, regardless of race, are. Humans, Empyreans, and Ateri are all staying within their comfortable niche and mingling at a minimum. Vatra understood there is no changing this. People seek what is comfortable. Little do they know, though, comfort makes you complacent, and complacency makes you an easy target. Vatra began to think of his next steps, only to hear a thud at the jurors’ door. In the moment, he thought the door was being unlocked, but also noted that the sound wasn’t the normal metal pieces hitting. It may not have been metal, but a large object hitting the frame, muffling the true impact. Vatra would have thought that the jurors were having a good argument about the case, but was startled by the sound of a large shriek and another thud. A body being thrown?

The crowd gasped in unison at the sound. It was high in pitch and curdled, like a bird choking on its own blood. Everyone was standing now. Chancellor Soudce was immediately escorted by the two guards that separated him from everyone else. When Vatra went to look, the only thing he could see was the fluttering robes snaking through a now open hidden door. The lock disengaged. Two jurors ran out covered in blood. A single guard followed. His eyes were wide with fear and purpose. “Let’s go!,” he yelled to Vatra as he took him by the wrist. He noticed the main entrance clogged by the unorganized swarm of people trying to make their way out. Vatra pointed to the potential exit. The guard, without a thought, pulled and led. Vatra asked what was happening, but the guard could only huff and puff. “We need to get you to your estate!,” he was able to get out. Behind them, a few people must have seen them escape through this entrance and followed suit. He hoped that whatever was causing the fear and possible death did not join them.

The tunnel led everyone out in an alleyway. The exit was a shifted piece of wall made of cobblestone and mortar. It must’ve taken both guards to move it based on its size. The Chancellor and guards were nowhere to be seen. Despite the quiet anger and uncertainty of their relationship, Vatra hoped he was safe. The followers gushed out of the exit like a clogged pipe being freed. The guard took a long breath, reoriented himself, and led Vatra towards his estate.

At a normal, walking pace, it would normally take about fifteen minutes to get home, but they made it ten. They stopped at the entrance, both stooped over trying to catch their breath. The screams could no longer be heard. The estate was on top of a hill and looked over the town. They watched as the people, who now looked like panicked mice making their way through a maze, found their way to their homes or personal place of business. Still, there was no clear clue to what was happening. Vatra asked “What happened?”

The guard sat, still gasping, and leaned back against a pillar. His plate armor rose and fell in unison with his light wheezing like an off tune accordion. When he settled just enough, he said, “They were going to exonerate you.” He needed another moment to catch his breath and he signaled that by putting his hand up, palm facing Vatra. “When the other guard heard this, he,” the guard had to breathe again. “Oh god. I don’t know. He or she ripped off their robes. Pale skin. Purple tattoos? Blue? Can’t remember. So much blood. Ripped a juror's head off like it was an apple sitting on a table. Wings? Two, maybe four.” He stopped. “Gods! Please just let me into your home!” He was shaking now.

Vatra put a hand on his shoulder and met his eyes. “Thank you,” he said. “Come.” Vatra knocked on the door. It felt strange having to essentially ask permission to enter his own home, but he didn’t want to seem presumptuous. A house guard answered the door with eyes widened once he saw who knocked. “May we enter?” The guard nodded and chuckled as if the question were a joke. “Find someone to take care of this man. He is under our protection now. Send another to the Horsehead Inn and find my party, an Ateri and a Human in a wheelchair. Then, have someone have my uncle meet me in the study.” The house guard, Wyrm, nodded and guided the town guard away to a nearby reclining chair. A house servant was on the ready with a pitcher and glass of water. She began to head to Vatra, but he lightly smiled and waved with the back of his hand towards the struggling guard. The servant nodded, smiled and looked at Vatra up and down, almost tripping as she stepped away. “Still got it,” he said to himself silently.

Iceliat

Drogi and Iceliat were outside of the courtroom. Drogi, a human paralyzed from the waist down, sat in his chair, the backrest was up against the wall. Once a respected member of the Supreme Guard, he is now being used as a step stool. Looking back and up at Iceliat standing atop of the handles. “Well?” Drogi asked. “What’s happening now?”

Iceliat, a human-slave owning and selling Ateri, was peering through the window frame now bored. “I don’t know. Everyone is just standing around now. He gave a speech. People who were sitting are now moving to a different room.” He jumped down and to the side of Drogi and sat in the grass, back against the wall. “Do you think he did it,” Iceliat asked.

Drogi, angry and sarcastic, “Do I think he did it? Based on our travels, right, we had to save him multiple times. He hangs out in the back and blasts a fireball every now and then. He hits, maybe, fifty percent of the time. I don’t think he could kill a half dead beetle without legs even if it were in front of him and he had an iron pan.” He unlocked his brakes and turned to Iceliat, castor wheels almost hitting him in the shins.

Iceliat chuckled softly with his head turned away. “Yea, I don’t know. He knows something. He could have been playing us this entire time.” He raised both arms up, hands interlaced, and stretched side to side, spine popping with each lean. “Doesn’t matter. He’s helped you for nothing, so far. What’s he got to gain?”

Drogi, almost insulted, “Nothing! He wouldn’t have made it this far without us! Maybe check that asshole you call a mouth before you say something shitty again, huh?”

Iceliat wondered how someone so crass could have been such a respected member of the Supreme Guard. He thought that maybe a brain injury happened in conjunction with his inability to walk. “Hmm? How,” he paused, “human.”

Drogi tried to drive his leg rests into his shins only to be stopped by a foot pushing an arm rest and spinning him around. Backrest exposed, he kicked again, sending Drogi out of his chair and tumbling to the floor. He cursed, spat, and climbed back into his chair. Recentered, he turned to face him and said “You’ll get yours, slave owner.”

Iceliat side-eyed him and thought to himself how Drogi wouldn’t understand. There’s history, business, and cultural expectations that would just go over his head. He stood, picked up a stick and started plucking leaves and smaller sprouts. He was going to do something childish until a screech was heard. “Oh?” Iceliat turned, jumped to hang on the window sill, then pulled himself up to assess the situation.

Drogi cursed again, “You could’ve just jumped? Why’d you use my chair? What’s happening, asshat?”

Iceliat watched as the two guards protecting the Chancellor pressed a few stones on the wall behind the podium and the wall shifted and slid to the side. Bloodied people left the room the jurors entered, then a guard who bee-lined to Vatra. He was able to glimpse into the room where the torture was happening and saw what looked like a harpy leaping and ripping the jury apart. As much as he wanted to help, his body ready to fight, he knew this was beyond his ability alone. The monster was quick and vicious. The room would have prevented him from using his distanced abilities and Drogi was too hack happy. The swinging blades would most certainly get an innocent injured or worse. The guard and Vatra were heading through the wall opening, as were a few witnesses to the new exit. The juror room door burst into a shower of splinters exposing a figure unfamiliar to him.

Before he could get a good look, Drogi grabbed him by the leg and pulled down with a “What the hell is going on!”

Iceliat stumbled, feet crossed, fell to his rear, then readjusted. He stood and told Drogi it was time to return to the Inn. He took off before he could hear Drogi say something in protest or curse. Drogi, of course, did protest and curse. Iceliat jumped onto the main road that led to the inn and was shouldered by multiple panicking citizens. Shouldering back, he was able to make his way to a clearing. He turned back to see if he could see Drogi. He did. He was wheeling up the slight incline yelling and pushing a few of the people resulting in some eating dirt and rock. “Drogi can take care of himself”, he thought to himself.

The Horsehead Inn was simple in design. It was essentially a reinforced wooden box with square windows cut into place and open slatted window shutters. There was only one entry which acted as the only exit. It was a real fire hazard. The front door was colored in a chipping blue paint and had a door knob in the center. The inn’s wooden sign was hanging by a single eyelet, not because of age, but the wind unhooking the eye from its designated partner. Iceliat entered to be met by the innkeeper who had intended to step outside to smoke a pipe. They performed the awkward side-step dance before Iceliat sighed and motioned for her to pass. The interior was made of an unfamiliar wood plank. As with the outside, it was a simple design. There were only two rooms. One for the innkeeper to herself, and one large room with four bunk beds. Item security was not guaranteed and food was not included. For that, you’d have to go to the building next door to eat and drink. The bathroom was an outhouse behind the inn with a door that wouldn’t latch, so one hand was normally occupied holding it shut if the person required privacy. It was well kept otherwise, the waste catch was cleaned every other week and processed to be used as fertilizer. It was a process Iceliat’s servants were well aware of for the shared space.

Iceliat grabbed everyone’s items, potentially even some that didn’t belong to them. As he skillfully balanced everything out of the shared room, through the common area, and to the entryway, he was stopped by a man’s voice. “Iceliat?” he asked in a low, almost growling voice.

A second, more familiar voice, jumped in with, “Yea, that’s him! Take him in! He’s stealing all my things!”

Iceliat considered dropping everything and grabbing one of Drogi’s short swords. Before he could decide, the first voice asked, “Really?”

“Gods, you’re shit at this.” Drogi was slightly behind the stranger, but it was very obvious it was him at this point. “Iceliat, this is one of Vatra’s house guards. He’s been sent to bring us to him. Now be a good boy and carry my things. You know? Like a slave would.”

The guard grabbed a few of the items from Iceliat and placed them onto Drogi’s lap and around the handles on the back. Iceliat was able to shoulder and sling everything that belonged to him. He could now see Drogi eyeballing the guard like a bad joke. “Come,” the guard said. “I believe the master is in danger.”

“Whoa-ho! You hear that, Iceliat? ‘Master’ he says. All of a sudden murder suspect number one is a ‘master’.” Both the guard and Iceliat move past Drogi. “Oh-ho-ho! Let’s not keep the master waiting shall we?” By the time Drogi made the complete rotation the two were well ahead. “Hey, fuckers, come here! I’m being funny!”

Iceliat had to slow his pace from a glide to a light jaunt to allow the guard to lead the way at a more comfortable speed. He began to think to himself, “What have I gotten myself into? Alive hundreds of years, happily doing my trades, all the things I need. I was content. Why did I join these two? Now, I’m heading to the home of a potential killer. Potential, though? Sure, he’s not the best fighter, but he always has a look of plotting the next few steps and contingencies. What are we to him? Tools?” The guard tripped and rolled. Iceliat helped him up and they continued. “How much further, guard?” he asked.

The guard, between breaths, replies “It’s just up this last hill. You can see the archway. Go ahead. Thank you for helping me, but please don’t tell the others.”

“Humans,” Iceliat thought to himself, “so concerned about the opinions of others.” When he arrived at the front entrance, he was greeted by another guard. This guard led him through the house, up the stairs, and to Vatra sitting in a den of books, a fireplace, and refreshments laid on end tables.

Vatra placed a glass of water down and stood. He approached Iceliat and looked him over. “Are you hurt?” he asked. “Is Drogi with you?” He signaled one of the servants to bring Iceliat a drink.

“Drogi is on his way. You know why the delay.” Vatra nods and welcomes Iceliat to sit. A drink is ready for him in what looks like a silver chalice with engravings of filigree and embedded stones. He took a sip. Mead. A good, sweet ferment. He could tell the honey was made by bees that favored citrus plants as it gave a tangy sensation at the tip of his tongue. He closed his eyes and savored the drink. Vatra asked if it were to his liking and similar to what he would have at home. He nodded and responded with, “Our bees don’t have access to the flowers these bees are drinking from. It’s flavored more like a quince. Not better or worse, just different and inviting.” Vatra was looking into the fire, nodding.

“We haven’t really had a chance to relax somewhere familiar in some time, have we?” Iceliat shook his head and took another sip. “We don’t know anything about each other except surface details. We fought together. Almost saw death together. Even saved each other a few times. I’m including Drogi in this, of course.” Vatra’s eyes never left the flames. “I would like to tell you everything, but not yet. Not today, at least.”

Iceliat shrugged, “What I don’t know now is the same as what I didn’t know for the past few months. We are alive and I don’t sense any urgency.” He was staring into the flame now as well. “You’re a pyromancer. Do the flames speak to you?”

“You know, sometimes I wonder. I wonder if what I see in the flames is real or something I’m making up to convince myself and others that my skills are growing. The thing is, what the flames show are never set points. They’re more like ‘what could be’. Wouldn’t knowing ‘what could be’ make me decide to live my life in a way to make it true or false depending on how I want the outcome? What’s the point in looking into the flames if I could just make up what I want as I go along anyways? Besides, don’t the flames only show me what the fuel allows it? Right now, there’s a bird.”

“A bird?”

“Yea. Just some wings and what looks like glass breaking. But, look at the logs. The way they’re positioned allows for air flow to change the way the flame builds.” Iceliat grabs a poker and adjusts the logs into a different configuration. “Now, the image changes. If the image were a true sign, why would it change? Now I see a person in a box. Maybe made of glass.” Vatra takes his drink and throws the liquid into the fire. The sudden hiss and cracks of scorched wood now releases a light plume of smoke. “With the fire out, I see a ghost. What sense does that make? I’m not a smoke reader.”

Iceliat rolls the logs a few times and creates a small cave underneath, then gently blows. The air brightens the embers and soon relights the fire. Vatra looks with a surprised awe. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter what you see or what you think you see. It doesn’t matter what you hear or who you listen to. The only thing that matters is what you do. Regardless of what others may think, it’s up to you to decide if it’s the right thing for you.”

“Because what’s right for me, may be wrong for others.”

“Someone is always losing, Vatra. Sometimes we do bad, even terrible, things because of the final result. Yes, I own and sell human slaves. They’re great for business. Someone is always looking for a way to make their own life easier. If no one else is going to sell them, why not me? Are your servants free to leave? Where is the line that separates servants and slaves? Is the word ‘servant’ just a useful word to use because there is a stigma against the word slave? The prisoners of this land. Do they not break stones to make way for roads? They benefit nothing from this service. No time is taken from their sentence, no special privileges are provided. If they die during the work, then that’s one less prisoner to feed. Where is the line between working prisoner and slave? I don’t want to sell people. I don’t want to be sold. I know they don’t want to be sold. Families are being separated with every purchase. I also know that I, myself, don’t want to be starving in the streets. Not again. I try my best to vet the buyers. I try my best to sell these people to others who may still treat them like people. With some common decency. I know how it’s all wrong.”

“But, it’s business.”

“It’s business. It’s a damn, profitable, terrible business.”

Vatra calls over the servant girl who brought the drinks earlier. “Maili? It is Maili, correct?” he asked, She nodded obediently. “If I let you go today, what would you do next?” She looked as if she felt pressured and answering incorrectly would result in her going missing. “Speak freely.”

“Well, I-I don’t know, master.”

“Vatra. For now, you may call me Vatra. We are equals now.”

Maili couldn’t tell if she was being tested. “I-in truth, ma- Vatra, I believe I would die.” Both Vatra and Iceliat leaned in now. “Y-you see. This is all I know. I was born into this. Y-yes, we are not free in the fullest sense, but we are housed, fed, and cleaned.”

“Like dogs?” Vatra asked.

Not once looking up, she continued, “N-no no, mas- Vatra. We are free to have relationships. We are not beaten into submission or told to stop being who we are. This is merely a job with perks. When we do well, we are given more griever than promised and we may enter the town at night. I have seen friends find love. I have seen friends bought from their owners to be freed and start a family of their own. Yes, some are bought and transplanted to who knows where, but no one is trying to change who we are. Yes, slavery is a terrible concept, but we here are not slaves. We’re just workers who don’t want to disappoint.” She paused, smiled to herself, looked up then back down to her clasped hands. “I-I’m sorry.”

Vatra responds with, “No need, Maili.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin purse, then threw it into her lap. “Take the servants into town tonight. Enjoy safely. There was a skirmish earlier, but everything seems to be calming down out there.”

Maili stood without hesitation. “Thank you, Vatra, thank you.”

As she began to leave, Vatra stopped her once more, “Oh, Maili. It’s ‘Master Vatra.” She dropped her head, nodded, and left. “I must keep up the appearance to not seem weak. Kindness can only be taken so far before others see it as weakness.”

Iceliat finally snapped back into himself and thought about what he saw in the old church. “There was a thing in the church”

“You saw it?”

“No, not quite. It was human-sized for sure, but off. It had wings and, maybe, tattoos.”

“A guard told me it was another guard. You may have seen him downstairs in the reclining chair. Apparently, this thing was disguising itself to enter these judgements. Maybe it heard something it didn’t want to and just snapped.”

“You think it was after you then?”

“No. It could easily be a coincidence. My uncle told me there have been stories lately about a woman luring men into the alleys at night and ripping their heads off with clean cuts. These instances were happening before we arrived. These are also stories told by drunkards in a town where it is common for bears to enter, rummage through trash, and encounter an unlucky drunk.”

Before Vatra could continue his thought, noise was coming from downstairs. “Let me in, shit-ass! I was invited by your master.” Drogi wheeled in and saw the refreshments, “What’s a cripple gotta do to get a damn drink in this place!”

Author Credit

Sean Kuttner