The Homunculus Knight

"It's different from the soul, or even the mind. Those are both things you possess, or at least you should. Identity is something external; it's born from perception and consensus. What the world decides you are is your identity, and people manipulate their own and that of others constantly. We are subject to it and must learn ways to either use it to our advantage or change how we are perceived. But no matter who you are, no matter how much people's combined consensus hurts you, remember that having an identity is a privilege, and one that should never, ever be risked." - Lecture by First Preceptor Leonid Lupa on the topic of esoteric psychic magic.

Yara stared at the jewelry box and tried to get her heart to stop beating so quickly. The damned thing sounded in her ears like a smith's hammer, and she was certain every ghoul in a kilometer would have thought it the dinner bell if she wasn't clad in the thickest cloak of subtlety she could muster.

Forcing herself to take a slow, steadying breath, ignoring the smell of wood rot and soiled linens, she reached out towards the box and ever so slowly opened its lid. Old hinges let out the tiniest clicks as she lifted up the lacquered wood top, revealing disintegrating felt and glittering gemstones. More money than what her entire family had made over several generations sat shining brightly before her, awaiting new ownership.

After flexing her fingers to stop them from shaking, Yara took a clump of musty wool and added it to the box before shutting it again. Now reasonably certain the contents wouldn't rattle, she picked up the jewelry case and slipped from the abandoned dressing room before fear overwhelmed her. What she was doing echoed one of the worst crimes a thrall could commit, touching their master's most favored belongings without permission. Even Dietrich had inflicted severe punishments on any of his servants who handled his weapons and armor incorrectly. But, as Yara kept reminding herself over and over again, her new mistress's orders were clear: she was to survive, and this box of baubles would help her do so.

Moving silently over moth-eaten rugs and water-warped floorboards, Yara reached the servant stairs of the manor house she was burgling. After taking them slowly, making sure not to step on the creaky one, third from the bottom, she reached the most difficult challenge, the scullery. Through the cramped washing room was the exit, but to reach that door meant avoiding the ghouls within.

Pausing by the smashed open door, Yara shifted her grip on the jewelry box and her knife. She'd done this once already by near complete accident; she could do it again. Relying on her ears and nose, she carefully stepped into the dark scullery, keeping close to the cupboards, staying as far as possible from what sat slumped and stinking in the room's far corner. Counting her paces, she got close to the corridor leading to the servants' entrance when a distant crash echoed through the abandoned manor. As the clatter and tinkle of breaking glass settled, other sounds replaced it, far closer sounds. Somewhere behind Yara, withered bone cracked, and dried sinew creaked, then a low sucking, gurgling sound filled the scullery.

Fast as she could, the thrall pelted out of the room and down the waiting hallway, towards the door she'd propped open, and- It was shut, the door was jagging shut. Heart leaping into her throat, Yara fumbled forward towards the door and groped at its knob, finding it to be just as she feared: locked. Beyond her, the shards of broken dishes crunched and crackled as dead feet dragged along the scullery floor. As Yara's pulse reached speeds comparable to a mouses, her ears caught another sound, one she'd until mistaken for her own hammering heartbeat. Someone or something was pounding on the other side of the door, with too much speed and regularity to be a ghoul. Not only had someone shut and locked the door she'd found ajar, but they were now luring the ghouls towards it, and her. This was an ambush, she could tell that much, even if she couldn't begin to guess the who or why.

Fear gave way to frenzy, and like all trapped animals, Yara decided her only way forward was through her pursuers. Sheathing her knife, she groped around in the dark, finding a footstool she'd noticed upon entering. Moving quickly, she headed towards the ghouls, trusting her mistress's blessing to keep them blind. With all her ancilla strength, she smashed the stool against the lead ghoul's head, sending it toppling back into the others. Yara leaped over the pile of writhing corpses and scurried down another hallway, hoping her guesses about the manor's layout were halfway decent.

As utilitarian stone gave way to wood, then carpet, she knew her gamble was the right one. Passing through another door, this one torn off its hinges, she reached what had once been the main foyer and found pale afternoon sunlight streaming in through a broken window. A fist-sized chunk of masonry sat in the room's center, halowed by glass shards. Picking up the rock, she crept towards the window and used it to knock away the frame's surviving occupants. Then, using a concerningly damp curtain, she hoisted herself up and through the window, landing in a dead flower bush with a barely audible grunt.

Pulling herself free and stumbling out onto the manor's front path, Yara looked around frantically. This has been another gamble; if the ambushers were still by the window, her actions might let them see through her magical protections. But luck was once again on her side, and the way seemed clear. Unwilling to waste another moment, Yara pelted down the worn stones, heading away from the manor with the speed of a frightened hare.

Taking a corner so fast she skidded along the cobblestones, the thrall recovered slightly and kept moving, following her original route back to where Kit waited. Heading down another alley, ignoring the large stains and bits of gristle covering much of it, Yara came to a sudden halt when she heard a voice.

"Strange, I think ye fox gotith away."

Yara froze, confusion and fear filling her. While she recognized the domineering arrogance in the speaker's tone, his accent was bizarre. It vaguely reminded her of Lord Glockmire and some of the truly old vampires she'd heard speak, but the words and inflection were just wrong. This strangeness, when combined with how the speakers talked openly in this domain of the dead, made her reach only one conclusion. These were vampires, ancient and foreign vampires, now unleashed in Harmas.

The thrall looked around desperately for another route or place to hide. Her last encounter with the duchy nobility had more than proved she couldn't risk being anywhere close to these newcomers.

But before she could act, another voice, slightly more nasal than the first, but carrying the same odd accent, responded. "Mayhaps, a more lively ghoul, tis be responsible."

Footsteps echoed down the alleys, and Yara pressed herself into the deepest, dingiest shadow she could find and tried to strengthen her subtlety, while also holding her breath. Soon, two men passed by her hiding spot, walking side by side with a near palpable swagger. Both were tall and lean, wearing the type of extravagant clothing Yara had first seen in Vindabon, except these outfits had seen better days, sporting clear rips and stains. Each carried a cane under one arm, but that detail almost missed Yara's notice as she saw their faces, or what hid them. The nobles wore strange masks, ugly things that seemed crafted in the macabre visage of a ghoul.

Watching the strangers for any sign they might have noticed her, she realized something that should have been obvious thanks to the sun hanging overhead. These weren't vampires. Even discounting them being out in broad daylight, they lacked all the tiny tells Yara was long accustomed to noticing.

Utterly befuddled, Yara sat and waited, listening to the two mundane nobles banter and argue without a care as they walked away. While much of it was layered in references and innuendo beyond her, Yara still understood, these two men had been out on a hunt of some kind, and she, or someone like her, had been the prey.

After fifteen minutes of silence, Yara got up and returned to her route, heading towards a tall, narrow building sitting between two other manor houses. Unlike the noble estates that formed most of this row of structures, her destination had a spindly, aged look to it, bringing to mind an old tree or an older man. Reaching the miniature tower, she went to one of its slit windows and found the hairpin curdly pressed into a stretch of exposed mortar. After soothing the spell bound to it with a touch, she hoisted herself up into the window frame and then into the building. Her shoes crunching slightly on the scattered shards of crockery and glass she'd placed here as another security measure.

"Did you find them?"

Kit was standing quietly nearby, and his conversational tone sounded like a shout to Yara's over-tuned senses, and she flinched terribly. Recovering herself, she found the magi stepping backwards, hands at his side, a worried expression on his face.

After thrusting the box into his hands, Yara pulled them both away from the window and towards the tower's kitchen. "We're not alone."

Cocking his head in momentary confusion, Kit started to ask a question when understanding dawned. "Oh!! Other survivors! That's-"

Yara frantically cut off his words with a hand to his mouth. "Not so loud."

Nodding, Kit, opened up the box and started examining the gemstones within while whispering. "Not friendly, I take it."

"Yes," replied Yara, "Are these good enough?"

Picking up what she thought might be a sandgrain-sized diamond, the magi squinted at the stone, then offered a tight smile. "They should work. Thank you for getting these."

Somehow, his genuine appreciation almost made her more uncomfortable than her close encounter with the ghouls. "You said they can help us."

"The magi who once lived here left behind their tools, so now, with some good materials, I can get to work. I'm thinking bolstering and extending your subtlety enchantment is the first step. After that, I've got some ideas on how to maybe contact our friends outside the city."

"How?" Yara tried to keep the skepticism from her voice. If an entire city's worth of spellweavers couldn't get word to the outside world, what made Kit think he might?

In answer, the magi tapped his lantern, now safely buckled to him, then changed the subject "Before then, tell me what happened out there, and I'll get you bandaged."

For a moment, Yara was confused, and then she noticed the gash on her arm, probably the result of the broken window pane. It was bizarre how injuries like that never seemed to hurt until you paid them some attention.

Sitting down on a rickety chair, Yara waited meekly as Kit rummaged through their makeshift supplies. Despite having spent less than twenty-four hours within Harmas, the pair had managed to collect a few useful bits and bobs; the lessons of their painful childhoods, once again proving valuable. While food was still an issue, Kit's had solved many of their immediate problems by finding the abandoned building they now hid within. Apparently, not even the most desperate survivors were foolish enough to risk whatever traps a magi might protect their home with.

Watching as Kit found a dusty but still sealed bottle of spirits and a roll of hopefully clean linen, Yara found herself once again wondering why she'd followed him. Just letting him fall into the portal alone would have been the smart option, the loyal option. If she'd done that, she'd still be at her mistress's side, and not trapped here. But… Kit would be dead. He'd made that fact abundantly clear yesterday and last night. While the magi knew how to scrounge and improvise, he just didn't have the right kind of fear in him. Curiosity ruled Kit, and in a city of corpses, one just couldn't take such blithe risks.

Yara didn't want Kit to die. That was why she'd fell into the portal with him, that's why she was here risking herself, like this; she didn't want to lose him. But why? Why did she care? Sure, her mistress found him valuable, and he'd been helpful, but Natalie's orders were clear: Yara was to survive. So why had she spurned a direct command just for this frustrating magi?

Kit leaned towards her, holding out a soaked stretch of linen, and measuring it against her cut. "It's not deep, so this should be enough."

Nodding jerkily, Yara felt herself tense up as Kit's dexterous hands got to work wrapping the wound. He was very close, and something about that had her feeling jittery. Trying to ignore his presence and how hard her heart was beating, Yara just stared at her feet. As she did this, something caught her attention, a small glistening stain on the dusty floor. Squinting at it, she near-instantly recognized the telltale spatter of fresh blood. It was her blood; she had been bleeding heavily, judging by the half-dried rivulets of red tattooing her forearm and hand.

Bolting up from the chair, eliciting a startled yelp from Kit, Yara turned to the room's door and the hallway outside of it, and her veins filled with enough cold dread to replace every missing drop of blood.

"Please be careful! I could've cut you even worse!" squawked Kit as he set down the shears he'd been using to trim her bandage.

"We need to go."

"What?"

"We need to run, now!" hissed Yara, panic filling her voice. "We need to grab what we can and leave this place!"

"Why? What's wrong?"

Pointing her maroon finger at the stains, she half-cried. "I left a trail! Whoever I saw out there could follow it!"

Quick as she could, Yara started gathering up supplies while explaining what had happened to her in the ruined manor. Upon finishing her tale, she looked back at Kit to find him still sitting down, now fishing through the jewelry box she'd stolen.

"What are you doing?" Not even trying to keep the fear and frustration out of her voice.

After plucking a large piece of polished amber out of the box, Kit started humming to himself while rubbing the stone against his lantern's central crystal. Strange purple and green sparks started cascading off the amber as the magi said. "No point in running."

Before Yara could ask him what he meant, a sound reached her enhanced ears, the crunch of heavy feet landing on broken pottery. Someone else was in the building, someone who'd climbed through the same window she had, someone who'd tripped both her and Kit's security measures.

A newly familiar voice cut through the tower, its every word dripping with sneering arrogance. "Cometh out, cometh out wherever thou art!"

The masked men had found them.

Eyes wide as saucers, Yara slipped towards the kitchen's cellar door, grabbing Kit's hand and trying to drag him with her. But, to her consternation, he stopped them both and got close enough to whisper near silently. "Hiding is too risky; they could burn the building down around us."

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

That notion sent a new wave of fear through Yara. "Then what do we do?"

A smile halfway between nervous and impish split Kit's face, making her insides feel strange. "According to Cole and Alia? We take back the intuitive. Which is where this piece of shoddy artifice becomes useful."

It seemed Kit hadn't been neglecting his studies, even if the topics of research and sources of knowledge had changed drastically. Holding up the amber stone, he tapped it gently, eliciting a strange warbling sound. "When they get close, I'm going to use this to distract them. Can you take advantage of that?"

There was hesitation in his voice and worry in his eyes. Kit knew what he was asking of her, and she did as well. Flashes of the deranged dwarf she'd killed deep underground tore across Yara's vision, but they didn't linger. Unsheathing her dagger, the thrall nodded.

The two got into position as best they could, both hoping what they'd learned from their warrior allies would be enough. Yara crouched low near the doorway, ready to jump out from the shadows, while Kit stood near the room's far wall, where he had good lines of sight on the entrance. More footsteps sounded in the hallway beyond, now recognizable as two sets, in close proximity, any moment now, and the fight would begin.

Another voice called out then. "Thou art guilty of both trespassing and vandalism. The consequences will be severe. Present thyself for judgment, and pleadeth for mercy."

Kit met her eyes, his expression beyond confused. He also didn't recognize the accent. The strangers were now right outside the kitchen, and the magi whistled a note that they must have thought to mean, "Here I am."

As the masked men started to step into the doorway, Kit whistled again, sending the now levitating piece of amber shooting towards them. Yara didn't get to see what exactly happened when the stone left the kitchen proper, but she certainly felt it. A flash of impossible color, mixed with a painfully high-pitched, yet still somehow musical note, erupted from the hallway. Flinching from the sensations, Yara was forced to steady herself against the wall, as her own sudden movement sent the world spinning. But judging by the mix of cries and retching coming from the hallway, her vertigo was comparatively mild.

Knife in hand, Yara managed to enter the hallway, finding both masked nobles lying on the ground, vomit spilling from the mouth holes in their masks. After the barest moment of hesitation, the thrall pounced, driving the dagger into the first man's neck, its thin blade sinking into skin and muscle, sending a gout of blood spraying out over Yara. Crimson bubbles seethed up from the wound as the man tried to scream, wasting his last breath. Yanking on her knife, Yara tried to pull it up and away from the dying man, but found the stargent-dipped stiletto stuck deep in her victim's throat. Hands slick with lifeblood, she couldn't get the right grip to remove the scavenged weapon.

Movement from the other man caught Yara's attention, and she looked up to see the stranger managing to stand up with the aid of his cane. Now keeping himself upright, leaning against the nearest wall, the masked man started to spit a mix of bile and curses. "Slattern! Doxy! Wretch!"

He then twisted and yanked his cane, drawing forth a sharp dueling sword. Frantically, Yara grabbed her victim's own dropped cane, trying and failing to unsheathe the blade hidden within. But before the masked man could get too close, something whizzed through the air and struck him with a mix of a clang and crunch. The stranger staggered to the side, groping at his head, where he'd been hit by a flying frying pain. Lunging forward, Yara brought her stolen cane down on the man's cracked skull, once, twice, thrice, finishing what Kit's telekinesis started.

Breathing heavily, Yara stared down at the two bodies and the small lake of blood spreading out along the floor. They were both dead, but here in Harmas, that wasn't enough. Moving quickly, before her stomach and sensibilities could catch up to her mind, she pulped the first man's brain as well.

"Smart, we have enough ghouls to worry about." Kit stood in the kitchen's doorway, looking a little green, but still holding a skillet ready to launch.

Yara nodded at the cast iron in his hand. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "You did most of the work. Now, the question is who those two were, and why did they talk like amateur actors?"

Seeing Yara's confusion, Kit gestured at them with the skillet. "Cometh out' and 'Thou art.' That's the sort of thing you expect to hear from kids playing at being old imperial knights."

Squatting down, trying to keep the blood from getting into her clothes, the thrall decided the masks were the best places to start. Carefully, she pulled the stained leather mask off the first stranger's head. What lay beneath was too much for Kit, and he wretched violently. Yara kept her stomach under control until she got a proper look at the mask's make. It wasn't a mask, or at least not any sane person would make. It was a face, a human face, peeled off a body and then treated so it might be worn like some horrific disguise.

Yara's gut heaved, but she forced herself not to be sick. Food was scarce, and she couldn't afford to waste what little they'd found. Looking away from the mask while making sure to only touch the straps that had been used to fasten it, she asked Kit. "What is this?"

After wiping away bile from his chin, the magi snatched the stolen face from her and examined it obsessively. Perhaps he sought a distraction via the details?

"You said they were walking about, uncaring of any ghouls, right?"

"Yes, they didn't hide or even move silently."

"But did you see any of the undead react to them?"

"No."

Flipping the mask over, Kit hesitated for a moment, then started wiping away the blood and filth encrusting it. "Then this might be some kind of necromancy, a way to walk among-"

He stopped mid-sentence and let the skinned face fall from his grip. It landed in the blood with a splat, but Yara could still see the freshly uncovered marks lining the mask's interior. There was a pattern woven into the leather, a twisting series of interlocking knots and whorls that brought to mind both tapestries and fingerprints. The pattern grew denser closer to the mask's eyes and forehead, eventually transforming into a pictogram. At first, the image was indistinct, the lines too messy to make anything recognizable, but the longer Yara stared, the more its odd shape resolved into something familiar. At first, it was a skull still clad in tatters of gore, then it was a great tree whose branches and roots spread out into the wider pattern, before finally it became a face, a strangely familiar face.

"STOP!"

Kit grabbed the mask out of her hands and threw it down the hallway with all his strength. Something popped behind Yara's eyes, and she blinked rapidly. The magi was now kneeling next to her, gripping her shoulders, a look of terror on his face. "What's your name?"

"What?"

"Tell me your name! Please!"

"Yara. Yara Algal."

Kit let out a sigh of relief and let go of her. "Oh, thank the Pantheon."

Slumping back a little bit, uncaring of the blood covering his hands and legs, the magi said. "We need to destroy these masks, and we need to get word to our friends as soon as possible."

"Is the necromancy that dangerous?"

Kit laughed, a high, almost hysterical sound. "Necromancy? Fixed stars that would be preferable. No, those masks contain stolen identities; that's forbidden magic, faerie magic."

Natalie's eyes shot open, and she started coughing violently, sending flecks of ashy tar everywhere. Sucking down a mold-laden breath, she let out a pitiful groan and sat up. As her mind groped at her surroundings, a familiar noise reached her ears, a gurgling moan followed by a wet crunch. That was the sound of a ghoul being put down, and as that realization pushed its way through her post-torpor confusion, it broke the dam, bringing everything back.

Springing up like a startled cat, Natalie looked around, finding herself to be a partially ruined attic, sometime just after dusk. Glancing at the hole in the roof and nearby splintered support beams, she guessed this was where she'd crashed. So far, that at least made sense, but little else did. Like, why was it night already, and more importantly, where was Cole?

Another crunch, this time followed by a clatter and thunk, pulled her focus to an open trapdoor and a dim silver light shining up from it. As Natalie clambered over to the hatch, she checked her body and cistern. Everything seemed to be normal, even her blood supply, which surprised her. If she'd been injured enough to require sleeping the whole day, she'd have expected to be missing far more blood. Had Cole fed her while she'd been in torpor?

Climbing down the trapdoor's ladder, Natalie found herself in a grimy hallway, leading towards a staircase, a staircase illuminated by a flickering silver glow. Following the light and the sounds accompanying it, she found exactly what she'd expected.

Cole stood on the landing, axe in hand, an avalanche of corpses covering every step down from him to ground level. As she watched, another ghoul clambered over the fallen bodies of its forebearers, only to meet its end at Requiem's edge. Memories of a similar slaughter, and what had pushed her partner to commit it, pressed on Natalie's mind. Had she done something to him while influenced by the curse? Something she couldn't remember?

"Cole?"

The Paladin turned, revealing his missing eye and terribly bruised skin. "Oh, thank the pantheon."

The relief in his voice spoke for both of them, and Natalie hurriedly embraced him, not caring about the filth splattered over his armor and cloak.

"Are you alright?"

"What happened?"

Their questions overlapped, and then after a pause, they exchanged answers. Natalie explained how she'd been weakened by the sunlight, forced into torpor, and only now awakening. While Cole spoke of their crash and how the noise of it had pulled a small swarm into the building, forcing him to fight them off while waiting for her to awake. That she'd not been roused by his blood, or anything else he'd tried, was worrying; and Natalie was struck by the terrible notion that perhaps by indulging in the Alukah's darkness she'd been stripped of her divine protections

When she voiced this concern, Cole shook his head. "Unlikely, considering you didn't burn in the sunlight, even while unconscious. That being said, I think using your curse is the cause."

Wilting a little bit at the mention of her gamble, Natalie said. "I'm sorry about what happened. I should have planned things better, so I didn't need to rely on that power."

Cole offered a half-hearted shrug. "All things considered, it could have gone much worse. You stayed in a semblance of control, and now we're in Harmas, relatively intact."

Natalie winced and reached up to his face. "Do you want to reset yourself, to fix your eye?"

"Yes, but I don't think we've got the time," he gestured down at the staircase, where a few more ghouls were trying and failing to climb the corpse ramp. "If I've attracted this much attention, then soon other, nastier threats will be coming. Now that it's safe to move you, we should leave."

Considering this, Natalie asked a very difficult question. "Then after that?"

The couple met each other's eyes and shared an unspoken understanding. They could leave Harmas, use the cover of night to fly back to their allies, and only return when they were properly prepared. Or, they could continue this rescue mission, regardless of the dangers, and get back those they'd lost.

After a moment's consideration, Cole said, "We head for the central island and the Almgrove. Once Yara and Kit are safe, we hunt down Wolfgang and rescue Isabelle."

"Okay," replied Natalie with a nod. For better or worse, they were united in their desire to push forward.

Turning from the staircase, Cole headed back towards the attic. "We'll need to leave the building through another route."

After clambering up into the damaged space, Natalie following right behind him, Cole picked up his pack from one corner and then eyed the hole their landing created. "Can you check what's around us?"

In answer, Natalie leapt up through the torn thatch and landed upon a section of more stable roof. The building she'd crashed them into was a tenement of some kind, a place for the poor but not destitute to live. As such, the neighboring structures were close by, and it wouldn't be much of a leap to reach the nearest one in the row, or at least it wouldn't be for her. Light and nimble, as Natalie was, the ill-kept thatch roofing still sagged beneath her feet. Cole, with his bulk and armor, would have a harder go of it.

Reaching the roof's edge, she peered down at the street below and winced. A small crowd of maybe fifty or so ghouls were struggling to fit through the building's narrow main doorway. Heading over to another side, she found more promising results; the buildings here were set in tight rows, and the alley between them was crisscrossed with abandoned laundry lines. Winter and all its related hardships had snapped some of the ropes, their tattered lengths now, stretching between stories instead of between buildings. These lines, combined with the windows and mountings they stretched from, might just be enough to get Cole to ground level safely.

Upon hearing Natalie's plan, Cole offered a series of Alia-esque curses but still clambered up onto the roof with her. Sure enough, the thatch and timber groaned ominously beneath him. With Natalie's guidance, he managed to reach the roof's edge without anything collapsing, and they started the climb down. With her claws and inhuman agility, Natalie could more or less scuttle about the wall freely, which was a good thing, because Cole needed all the help he could get.

"I'm telling you, it's a perfect handhold, just a little more to the left."

"No, the other left!"

"Can't you see the rope there? It's sturdy, I gave it a- okay, maybe not that sturdy."

"I'll get the ghoul away from the window, you just focus on climbing."

"You're almost there, just mind that one ledge, it's slick."

After a few minutes of descending the dark alley wall, Cole arrived on solid ground and groaned. "Fire and iron, that wasn't easy without depth perception."

Patting him reassuringly, Natalie said. "Well, it's done. Now let's find somewhere for you to grow your eye back."

Moving quickly and quietly, they slipped out from the building's shadows and headed east along one of the cobble streets. All around them, the city was dark and dead, but not silent or empty. Ghouls shuffled about, some listlessly, others gravitating to the noise the couple made.

"We're going to have a trail of them following us," muttered Cole, as they turned another corner and found a small pack of ghouls, clustered around a creaking tavern sign.

"I'll handle it," replied Natalie as she stepped forward and cast her will out in the form of psychic chains. The bindings easily slipped between the hungry dead, and with a little effort, Natalie sent the herd shuffling down another street, clearing the path for them.

By now, one of the great chain bridges that Harmas was famous for had come into sight. It would take them to the central island, where they'd hopefully find Yara and Kit's trail. After a few more minutes of dodging and redirecting ghouls, the couple stood by the span's start. Broken barricades and signs of old violence decorated the bridge. People had made a stand here against the corpse-tide.

Axe in hand, Cole crept towards one of the splintered walls, a deep frown on his face. Seeing this, Natalie quickly grew her claws. "What's wrong?"

"The damage isn't right," he muttered, while prodding a piece of splintered timber. "Ghoul's shove, bite, and claw, they don't take an axe to things."

Glancing behind her, noting the few corpses still shuffling in their direction, Natalie asked. "Other types of undead then?"

"Perhaps," he replied, clearly unconvinced.

Past the barricades, they found more marks of death and destruction. Splintered bone fragments resting amidst old dark stains. Piles of ash and burnt debris, some marking abandoned firepits, others uncontrolled blazes. An overturned barrel that still contained a dozen rusted and broken arrows.

Picking up one of the damaged shafts and prodding its disintegrating fletching, Cole cursed. "Jagged edges! People did this, people fighting other people."

Seeing the stained tip of the arrow, Natalie understood. "You don't use arrows, especially steel ones, against ghouls."

Dropping the arrow, Cole nodded. "I think Harmas had enough time to experience a civil war before the plague and ghouls killed it."

"Wonderful," replied Natalie, bitterly, before heading farther along the bridge, only stopping when her eyes caught a strange glimmer. There was a faint line running along the bridge laterally, a line composed of an odd, barely glistening residue. Grimacing, she knelt down and prodded it, finding to her surprise, no strange texture or smell. "Hey, come look at this."

Cole approached. "What?"

Natalie gestured at the line, earning a confused look from him. "There's a mark on the ground, but I guess it's too dark for you to see it."

Fishing out his amulet, Cole let a soft glow escape the hourglass. To both their surprise, the line reflected the light brightly. Actually, the lines reflected the light brightly. Other strips of the strange resin marked the bridge, each roughly two meters away from their fellows, giving the stone an almost striped appearance.

Then a noise cut through the night, a whizz followed by a wet thunk. Claws ready, Natalie looked all around, finding no source for the strange sound. "What was that?"

Then her gaze settled upon Cole, and her still heart sank. An arrow shaft stuck out from his throat, its ebony fletching quivering as the paladin groped at the waterfall of blood spilling from his neck.

"Cole!" she shouted, and she tried to grab her toppling partner. But instead of letting her, he violently shoved Natalie back, sending her sprawling to the ground. A second arrow struck him then, right in the empty eye socket. She heard the shaft's tip clank against the inside of his helmet, from where it had pierced all the way through his brain and skull.

Turning to look at her, expression frantic, the Homunculus managed to mouth one word before he died. "Run."