Bloodwalk

Had they seen her, she wondered, huddled over their teacups, fevered and chilled as they looked for signs of the future? The heavy wooden doors stood open before her, a stylized eye carved into the frame overhead. She walked in boldly, as much to spite Talmen's misgivings as to satisfy her own curiosity and audacious nature. Stained glass lined the walls to either side of the sanctuary, depicting scenes of daily life and terrible battles. None seemed relevant to the history she'd studied, but perhaps they were images of the future. Before the altar, Khaemil stood like a shard of night, his thick black robes wrapped around him. He seemed almost a void amid the colorful glass and the bright marble floor, mirroring a small statue of a one-eyed sage set behind the altar, an image of the god Savras. Her darkening mood in the presence of the oracles' sanctuary brightened as she approached her favored champion. She leaned in close, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing in his strange scent and soothed by its familiarity. "Talmen says you shouldn't be here, pretty one, that you blaspheme against Gargauth." Her tone was mocking and light, but she enjoyed the tensing of his broad shoulders. No love was lost between him and Talmen, and neither cared to hide the fact much. Khaemil did not move except to incline his head in supplication. "I remain your servant as ever, Lady, and will obey no other. The high priest has no respect for the rewards of faithful service." His voice was deep, rumbling from his large chest and seeming to shake the stained glass on either side. Morgy

The query hung like a blade in the air, razor-thin and cold, full of possibility. Morgy

Behind her, she could feel the heat of Khaemil's change, her blood responding empathically as his quickened. His form shifted and condensed, settling into the shape of a great black dog. Morgy

Snarling quietly, he sniffed at the chill air, his keen senses picking up the scent of the ogre's monstrous companions to the south, a pack of gnolls on the edge of the deep forest, growling and clearly uneasy.

"Mahgra," Morgy

CHAPTER THREE

Evening approached, bringing more dark gray clouds. Birds began searching for steadier perches in the strong winds that rolled in from the Lake of Steam. A humid mist hung over the tall grass growing tenaciously on the hill between sea and forest, its mass interrupted only by the worn cart path that led to the town gates. The mist shifted slightly, rolling in on itself, swirling in ephemeral drafts as a faint figure appeared in its depths. It was tall, this silhouette materializing in the agitated mist, a shadow taking form among shadows. He was wrapped in a gray cloak with a high collar and wore a long-used, wide-brimmed traveler's hat. The spi

It was tender but closed and healing quickly now, a benefit of the shadowalk's swift corridors. The moisture in the air chilled him, driven by cool gusts of wind. He pulled his cloak tighter across his shoulders and surveyed his surroundings. He spotted the crude stone walls of the small town before him, noting the closed gates though it was barely sunset, or seemed so from the faint light illuminating the heavy clouds overhead. A signpost identified the town ahead as Logfell. A raven perching on the sign eyed him suspiciously, its wings raised. Quinsareth replaced his gauntlet as he studied the town, something alarming him, triggering the abstract senses of his celestial blood and stirring the restless darkness in the pit of his stomach. He absently patted the scabbard of the slumbering Bedlam at his side. Although not truly asleep, the blade's magic lay inert and silent, allowing him a measure of stealth as he approached the gates.