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Featuring: Artazia Azinable


She’s bairly sobbing now.
Thats bad.
Next comes the panting. And then it will be over. Those sick animals at least wont take out their pleasures on a dead body, but they will hack off her head and send it to my father along with another ransom demand.
And that will just leave myself and mother.
Those animals.
Why does the light suffer them to live? Where are my oh so brave father, uncle and brother. Gone.
Gone like my maids. Gone like my friends.
Those beasts.
Over a month now. Every single night, every time any one felt like it, until… she… Two died in one night. Another lasted almost a week. But now they are all gone. It’s just myself and mother in the tent.
Mothers looking at me
“Bite your tounge,” she says. “Bite it and drown in your blood if they take you out of here next. Don’t let them have the satisfaction of raping your noble flesh.“
Fianly she’s acknowledged what the beasts have been doing. I can’t help it. I weep. All our plans gone. Everything ruined by the rumours of disease that sent us flying, only to fall straight into the arms of deserters.
One of them walks in now. I recognise him of course, I’d know all these bastards by now, but this one was once a guard in the mansion. When he’d gone missing, so had several nickel plated goblets. Mother and I had laughed at the time, laughed.
He reaches for my shackle, but then hesitates. “No I’ll take the old bitch first. You’ll be worth more to your father if your precious hymen is still intact”
At this my mother stiffens, then spits in his face. “All you’ve gotten from us is worth coppers, and thats all you’ll have!” he slaps her quiet, then unfastens her shackle form the tent peg and drags her into the camp. The bandits catcry at the sight of my noble mother, dragged by her ankle into the light of their fire pit.
I know what’s coming next.
And now I pray. Not to the light my family has served for generations. But to anyone, anyone at all, with tears running down my face. I hear the delighted calls turn to disappointed shouts, and the world turns cold
“Do not cry little one. The power to gain your revenge will be yours. Open your eyes and look ahead of you.” It sounds like Prince Arthus.
I open my eyes.
In front of me hovers an enormous sword, larger than my farthers, my uncle’s or my brothers. It is made of a greenish dark metal and blue runes skitter across the surface

“Your family has abandoned you. So has the light. You are lost. But your prince would not let such a flower of Lordaeron nobility suffer such indignities. Take the sword, and you will be granted power such as your uncle and your brother could not dream of.” The voice speaks again. It is the Prince.

I reach for the blade, my dirt smudged hand barely fitting around the wire wrapped hilt.

Instead of floating, its massive weight is in my hand. The sword pulses and the hilt contracts slightly giving me a better grip.
Almost effortlessly I swing the massive blade, sheering through the chain binding me to the tent pole “Kill them all.” commands the voice of my prince.
I obey.
With another effortless stroke, I cleave open the side of the tent, conveniently bisecting the bandit standing guard. I point at the foul deserter who lead these bandits and screamed his name in rage. Purple tendrils shoot from my hand, dragging him towards me. With a blow from the pommel of my blade I knock him to the ground, then stab my blade into him. A chill seems to drift over the clearing as he dies, the already barren ground seeming to wither further.
“FOR MY PRINCE AND LOREDON!” I scream, charging into the pack of bandits. Nothing more than animals to be slaughtered.
I hear his voice. It commands me to come to him. To bring those who I had killed. To serve.
“Arise” I command.
One by one, the bandit corpses climb to their feet. And then one by one, first the shade of my mother arises from her corpse, then the shallow graves in which my maids were buried also burst open. I am surrounded by ghouls. My mothers face, now a whispy and transparent white looks at me in horror.
“Fear not mother. We serve Loredon still. Now let us go. Our Pince awaits.”

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