The soft whicker of a horse broke the early morning silence. A band of lightly-armoured warriors appeared at the top of a rise, peering around the gently sloping hillock. The sun slowly rose above the tree-line in front of them, mottled spots of light piercing the foliage that surrounded the area. The sparse trees and ferns were a poor defence against both sunlight and bandits, but the absence of the latter for another day in their small corner of the world was undoubtedly a cause of quiet relief for the group of horsemen. It was, after all, their primary job to keep the village of Tiaston safe from that kind of threat.

One of the horsemen shifted in his saddle impatiently, hand raised to shield his eyes from the rising sun.

"Do you think bandits are likely at this time of the year?" he asked, voice lowered as he turned to look in the direction they'd ridden from. Katai shifted in his saddle, the caution drilled into him by his Captain giving way to impatience.

His thoughts returned once more to his young wife waiting at home. Married these past six months, she still liked to surprise him with a delicious, hot meal when he returned from patrol. It was becoming such a regular occurrence in fact that he had come to look forward to the daily patrols, just because he knew what awaited him at the end. Of course, he looked forward to seeing his doting wife, but her Cooking skills made their simple, home-cooked meals something truly divine.

Salah’s skills and natural talent were so obvious to anyone that tried her food, that he’d started asking around to see what secondary class he could gain to best support her. Using his second class to help her main would benefit both of them, and the village as a whole. Their marriage would grow into a mutually beneficial Class partnership, producing high quality meals with greater bonuses and passive effects as they both levelled up.

Smack!

Katai grimaced and rubbed the back of his head. He looked up with a sheepish expression, expecting to see the Captain of the Guard glaring at him, eyes peering out from under a set of particularly bushy eyebrows, and unsurprisingly he wasn’t wrong. The leathery face that scowled at him seemed to promise Katai that if he drifted off again while on patrol, he’d sorely regret it. Hurriedly straightening up, Katai squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, gazing out alertly at the surrounding bushland, his thoughts and attention keenly focused once more on the task at hand.

Snorting quietly under his breath, Hiram checked the rest of his small Guard troupe. They were largely inexperienced men and women, used to scaring off the lone bandit or itinerant scavenger. But they were well trained, skilled with bow or blade and with a good understanding of mounted combat from many hours of practice and drilling. Looking over them with a critical eye, Hiram frowned at the sight of their equipment. Their clothes were well made, but the leather armour that most of them wore was hardly worth equipping.

The only Leatherworker in Tiaston had long ago specialized in footwear, leaving the other equipment they needed, such as armour and saddles, to be imported from the Capital at an exorbitant price. They were lucky to be mounted, let alone fully-armoured. Even luckier was the fact that they had a Bowyer, otherwise they’d only have the old and worn steel weapons that were handed down by each generation of the Guard.

Hiram glanced sidelong at the dark-haired young man on the horse next to him, his frown softening a fraction. He hawked and spat on the ground beside his mount, before wetting his throat with some water from a canteen.

"Well, it's not the usual time o' year for bandits to be roaming around looking for easy pickin's," the gruff voice of Hiram said, "but we been seeing a lot more travellers lately and they ain't been looking too honest." His weathered face turned a shade darker as he looked over at the young Warrior. "Rumours say that the Marshall’s struggling to keep the latest Noble spat under control. Won't be long before we start seeing deserters."

Katai barely moved as he listened to the older man, too afraid of the promised repercussions to take his attention away from their surroundings. He didn’t need to turn his head however to ask the Captain a question.

“The Marshall of the West? Doesn’t he have an army of his own?”

Hiram hawked again and spat disdainfully.

“Yes boy, that he does. He also acts in the name of our most noble Emperor when he’s here in the West, so he might as well be the Emperor as far as us lowly commoners are concerned. The fact that he’s still strugglin’ to keep the Nobles in line should tell you a lot.”

Katai opened his mouth, curious enough to risk a second question. Hiram however beat him to the punch.

"Alright, enough chin-wagging, let’s head back and report in. And make sure your mounts are brushed down before headin' home!" announced the older man with a stern look for Katai. The other Warriors shared knowing looks, snickers coming from some of the younger men.

Smiling happily to himself, Katai turned his mount back towards the village. They're just jealous, he thought to himself. Even that old stickler Hiram was taken with his wife. None of them could resist Salah’s charms, especially after they stayed for a meal.

Lost once more in his pleasant memories, Katai jerked in surprise when a voice cried out.

"Look, smoke over the village!"

Standing in his stirrups, he could see a faint haze of smoke drifting lazily over the tree tops in the distance. The smoke grew thicker and darker, spewing outwards with an ominous intensity. Faintly, the sound of a voice screaming, carried on the wind towards the riders.

Katai's heart thumped in his chest. Dread rose up to clutch at his suddenly parched throat, sweat breaking out in a sheen across his forehead. He knew there was no reason for smoke at this time of the day, nor even this season. There could be no other explanation for the scream and the smoke than an attack on the village!

Heart racing from a sharp spike of adrenalin, he spurred his horse to a canter and then to a flat-out gallop, his sudden terror transmitting itself to the normally placid mare. He heard shouts behind him as the rest of the patrol tried to keep pace, but his quick reactions and his steed's burst of speed left them behind.

His thoughts turned to Salah, his worst fears clouding his mind. Erratic thoughts raced through his head, each scenario he imagined more horrific than the one before it, setting his pulse to a wild, chaotic beat. His chest tightened, lungs struggling to pump air into his adrenalin-filled body, as he came close enough to properly hear the chorus of screams and cries of panic.

Eyes wide with disbelief, he caught glimpses of ragged, scuttling figures running in and out of the trees on the outskirts of the village. He was still too far away to make out who they were, but the sounds left little doubt that they were attacking the village. The village he was meant to protect.

He silently prayed for his wife as he approached the outer perimeter, fervently hoping she had found a safe spot to hide. He slowed when he reached the line of outer huts and unsheathed his sword with one hand, keeping the reins in the other, ready to respond to an attack. Eyes quickly scanning every which way, he aimed for the fastest path back to his home.

A dishevelled figure came screaming gleefully out of a smoking hut. Mace raised overhead, he ran unsteadily towards Katai, who quickly nudged his mount forward with his right knee, adjusting their course for a direct collision with the bandit. The mace flailed uselessly at the air, as the mounted warrior barrelled into the unarmoured man. Katai didn't stop to engage, instead swiping his sword over the back of the figure as he fell away, hoping it was enough to disable the man.

You have defeated Warrior (level 12).

Congratulations! You have gained 1 level.

Katai hastily waved away the familiar notification. He felt a dull ache in the pit of his stomach at the realisation that he’d just killed a man. The endless sparring had done very little to prepare him for the unexpected mental burden that came with his actions. Though they had proven effective at preparing his body to respond to a threat. Gritting his teeth, he raised his sword once more into a ready position. He had to stay focused until he found Salah and made sure she was safe.

Guiding his horse past an empty fire pit and between two larger huts, he leapt off his mount to land in front of a small, singed shack on the outskirts of the village centre. Heart screaming in his chest at the sight of the smoking wood, he thrust aside the hanging leather door to reveal a scene he could not have pictured in his worst nightmare.

Blood flowed in a glistening river, pooling gently along the uneven floor. Pale skin stood out in stark contrast, drawing his eyes to the figure that lay mangled in the spreading puddle of blood. Splotches of vivid red etched themselves across her delicate flesh, engraving the image of her lifeless body forever into his mind. His fears vanished, his head throbbing and filling with a strange empty static as he tried to process the horrific scene in front of him.

Katai rushed towards the body, not noticing his blade fall to the ground with a muted thump, or the sound of battle growing increasingly loud. His breathing choked up as he tried to contain his tears. Hands shaking, he reached out and gently clasped her cooling face against his heaving chest. Tears streamed down unchecked as he squeezed her body against his, unwilling to accept that she could be gone.

Their bodies gently rocked back and forth, locked in their final embrace, lost to the state of the world outside.

He had seen death before, but this was… something else. Nothing could compare to this heart-wrenching agony.

A piteous howl of grief echoed around the small building, Katai’s eyes screwed shut, face a twisted caricature of its usual easy-going expression. The feeling of the too-cold body against his drove him close to the edge of madness.

The swirling maw of negative emotions rose over him, trying to drag him down in to the depths of despair. The emotions peaked, almost overwhelming him, until thankfully the wave of pain and anger retreated, leaving him aching and raw.

Emptiness filled him.

Emotions drained until he could feel nothing at all, he almost felt weightless, empty. An awful emptiness that consumed him from the inside out. He wasn't sure which felt worse, the utter lack of emotion and the engulfing emptiness, or the sudden waves of dark emotion that battered at his fragile heart, threatening to send him down on a spiral of blame and self-loathing. He should have been there for Salah. He should have been there for the village. Why wasn’t he there to protect them?

A hand shook him, trying to reach him through a sea of inner turmoil. A familiar voice, strangely muffled, called out.

"We have to leave, there's too many of them!"

He didn't respond, long past caring. Death would be a welcome relief from the turmoil that kept ripping through his body, leaving him shaking and weak. Nothing could ever fill the void that Salah had left in his life.

"I'm so sorry Katai...but we must leave. I won't leave you here, you know I won't. Please, Katai please!"

The voice reminded him of happier times, but it wasn’t enough to snap him out of his dysfunctional state. His mind drifted off, the incoherent thoughts ringing through his head completely at odds with the situation he was in.

Slap!

Katai's face stung, and he blinked owlishly as he looked around in shock. He finally looked up, a pained expression flashing across his face, before the spark of emotion faded back into a glassy-eyed, vacant stare.

"Please Katai, we must leave," his friend pleaded, "if we can break out with the rest of the guard, then we might be able to save some of the villagers." Silas shook his friend, hoping to provoke some kind of a reaction, anything to snap Katai out of his shell-shocked state. "There's too many to fight off, we have to help people escape. Do you understand? Can you hear me...? Katai!" Silas' voice rose to a shout, fear and hurt causing his voice to turn shrill. He too grieved for the young woman clutched in Katai’s arms, but he had to be strong for his best friend. There was no way Katai was going to leave here on his own.

Unfortunately for him, and in spite of his best efforts, Katai’s headspace had worsened. He had returned to focusing on the body awkwardly sprawling in front of the two men.

The amount of blood splattered across Salah’s dress made him hope that her death had been quick. The sheer volume that had collected underneath him, sticking to his clothing and slathering his legs, was a shock. He felt like he was slowly sinking into the pool of blood, wallowing in the grotesque liquid that was already beginning to dry onto his rough, homespun clothing.

His eyes tracked the droplets of blood that trickled down the too-pale arm of his wife and dripped from her elbow into the pools below. How such a simple substance could spell the difference between the life and death of the most precious thing in his life...it was senseless. Utterly senseless.

And yet.

There was something about the liquid that he could almost feel. A depth to the film of redness, that spoke to him. Something was there, something he couldn't explain. His eyes drew closer to the pool of blood, the glistening fluid pulling him down into its hidden depths.

The world around him seemed to freeze.

You have met the criteria for the following class: Blood Mage.

Do you wish to select this as your second class?