His name was Veneir. He didn‘t tell me his surname. He had been a merchant once, a member of a trading company based in Kort, a coastal city in the south of the Empire. And the first major city to fall to the hordes of the Wyldlings, after the Margraviates had been overrun. Veneir had been taken outside, leading a caravan filled to the brim with produce meant to bring the city through sieges and winter. But the Wyldlings had been so much faster than anyone in the Empire had anticipated. The people of Kort had heard of the falling Margraviates, but there were numerous baronies between the Divide and the coast. No one expected the nobility and their sworn men and standing armies to just roll over and die.

Veneir had been taken early in the campaign, and as luck, if you could call it that, would have it he spoke the language of the Wyldlings. And thus was spared the death that awaited everyone under his command. They had sliced their throats on a rock, pressing some sort of crystal into the pumping wound, dyeing the stones black.

For reasons Veneir could not begin to understand, a leader of the Wyldlings, Barak of the Snake Clan, took a liking to the fat merchant. It had saved his life and made it hell on earth. He did not speak of it, but I remembered the dead eyes and recognized the pain in his voice, as he matter-of-factly told me his story. As soon as Kort had fallen, the Wyldlings had pressed humans into their service, boarded stolen ships, and came here.

Ever since Veneir had been tasked with managing the logistics of this enterprise and more for the Wyldlings. Which had recognized the benefits of order and bureaucracy, but were above learning for themselves.

"How did the Empire fall?“ I asked as he was finished.

Veneir rubbed his wrists, they still were chaffed, even after I had cast [Reinvigoration] on him. Scars would stay forever. He had bound a handkerchief around the lower part of his face, ashamed of his wound, and had calmed quite a bit as soon as his face was no longer visible.

"How do they always fall? A rolling stone setting other stones in motion, until the avalanche can no longer be stopped.“ He said with sadness. I had given him water to drink. He had turned and lifted his veil, even thrown back his head, and still, water had been spilled over his face and breast, because he had no lips to close his mouth with.

"The hordes were one thing. No one expected them to breach the Divide. The rest was not ready. And not only did they not react in time, but opportunists also used the hour to grab what they thought of as theirs. There was infighting in the nobility. The Emperor remained silent. Fear and desperation drove the masses to madness. Riots and uprisings followed. The gods did not answer our prayers. And instead, those preachers came around, talking of the end, the dark tide, and a dragon that rises. The mindless flogged to these prophets, whipped up into frenzy and fear. As I left the Empire 47 days ago, there was nothing but turmoil.“

"The hordes could never hold the land they have taken.“

"Ah well, I fear you are wrong. The hordes were massive. I traveled with 40.000 Wyldlings. And that was not the force of Sarhain, the Grim, but those of his second in command, Barak. Of course, the Empire could have fielded many times that amount. But they did not. Religious fervor and fear is the noose on which the Empire will hang. The Snake Lord, Sarhain, is wicked smart. He knows how to divide, to instill fear, to delegate, and to usurp. I have seen Lords bending their knee to avoid the knife and the stone.“

"Traitors!“ I spat in anger. "Weak fucking plain lords! We would have never surrendered. And we didn‘t! We chose death over treason.“

He sighed. "If the nobles had found it in them to face a common foe as one...wait. Are you a noble? Are you a Margrave?“ Forsaken gods, that was quick thinking.

I hesitated. Why? Why was it so hard to say the words? "Yes. I am. I am the Raven. Hannibal, son of the Bulwark, Margrave of Ravenrock. Lord of rubble and the dead.“

I could see his thoughts working in his eyes. His look jumped all over me, appraising me, seeing me again as if it was the first time.

"How?“ He finally whispered, not able to connect the dots. "How are you here?“

No, don’t. Not now. We have more pressing matters to discuss.“ I tried lamely. To my surprise he accepted it.

"Like what?“

"Like how we throw out the Wyldlings and save every slave we can.“

He sunk back, raising his hands just a little bit, reflexes taking over. "No. No, no, no! There is no hope in this forsaken den of evil. You do not know yet, but you will learn. Fly, young Raven! As long as you can still use your wings.“

I grabbed him at the shoulder. "What? What are they doing here?“

"They feed the shadows below with the blood of the living. They bring the slaves, let them work for as long as they can and then throw them to the wyrmspawn below.“

"Wyrmspawn? What are you talking about, man?“

"Below, under the waterfalls, is a vein of this stuff.“ He gestured to the chests full with Dragonamber. "A few of the Wyldlings can fly. One is a lizard-person that stucks to the wall. They bring this up for their troops, to shield them from the energy here. I have such a stone myself. But in truth they use the dying slaves to feed the wyrmspawn. They eat the stone and change it into black stone, dark as the night. Those stones are worn by Bloodbraid and his elites. I think they need it for their magics. We all came here just to die.“

"All the more reason to rise up and fight!“

"You have not seen what Barak can do when he is angry.“ He cried. "You just don‘t understand. We all would welcome death with open arms. It would mean the end of our suffering.“

"I can help you. And the other slaves. I am not without means, either. We can throw them back into the ocean. If we work together.“

"How? You are a [Lord]. A powerful class, for sure. But how many levels do you have? I have seen the most powerful [Lords] in the south of the Empire fall. And those had twice your age and were useless against the forces that Barak Bloodbraid wields.“ He argued.

"Because I am a Twice-Born!“ I finally shouted, mainly to shut him up. "The Wanderer chose me to be his Twice-Born. I am a godling. I am not constricted by mortal classes and standards. I can beat him, I know it to be true.“

Something else was in his eyes now, something I dreaded even more than the respect a Lord commands. Reverence. "A Twice-Born? Half mortal, half god? Can it be true?“

"I was at the Last Flight of the Raven. We all fell down the Abyss. I alone was granted another chance. I have climbed up from the deepest and darkest pits of the earth, clawed my way back to the light. I wandered the Wyld and the Broken Lands, and I will not be stopped by a cheating [Shaman] of the fucking Snake Clan. I will set you free and I will make them stop hurting you and the others.“

"We...we might have a chance, then.“ He whispered, clutching his heart. "Ouch. Hope. It hurts. But feels so good.“

"Now, we have the night to ourselves. What do I need to know?“

He raised himself, eyes glinting in the light of the lantern. He was all business now. "There are 424 Wyldlings in this camp as of last evening. Barak led his 34 best [Warriors], [Hunters] and [Shamans] to the Broken Lands. 56 Wyldlings are on board of the frigate, to guard the human crew, which are 14 officers and 151 crewmen. There are 42 slaves inside this ship pile we are in, to cater to the needs of the Wyldlings. 578 work at the pier and the waterfall. 498 wait at the base of the rock to be led into the flying mountains again, to resume their mining and building of pathways, working with the plants and animals, and provide the ropes and wood.“ He was checking his fingers, counting every item he listed.

"Barak has a fleet under his command. He considers the Grinning Skull, the frigate out there, his personal vessel, because it is the fastest and biggest. But he has dozens of smaller vessels, mostly longboats, and caravels, and a few cogs for bulk transports, that are on their way back to the Empire, to bring more slaves and provisions. The last count of the smaller ships was at 46, but none bigger than the Grinning Skull and none more heavily armed.“

He was pacing around, thinking hard. "Ah!“ he said finally, his index finger raised. "And I guess he has a couple of prisoners you would find very interesting, I would think.“ His expression darkened suddenly. "Those that impressed him during the campaign. His personal toys.“

We entered the hold of the ship we were on, the ship that was on top of the pile. Our heavily swaying lanterns threw strange shadows over the old wood, illuminating something I had never wished to see again. The stench hit me like a gut punch. It was like walking into a wall of smell. Blood, excrements, and death. Rotten and burnt flesh. Deep in the bowels of the ship, we found a pile of mutilated corpses. I retched. I had seen a pile of corpses before,

I had been reborn on one. But these bodies were hacked to pieces, tortured, and discarded. Behind them stood a table, with chains and manacles to hold the victim in place. A woman was bound there, naked and caked in blood. Her left eye had been gouged out, a slim red line of a fresh scar cutting across the hole and the face. She was breathing shallowly, every now and again hissing in pain. She was unconscious.

Behind the pile of corpses, behind the woman on the table was a grating to another compartment of the hold. And behind those bars were humans, one more woman, and two men, hanging in chains, dripping blood and worse. Naked, mutilated, beaten, tortured to an inch of their lives. All of them more dead than alive. Every one of them wearing a Dragonamber amulet. He wanted them whole.

"Spirits!“ I whispered while Veneir gripped my shoulder for support. But he wasn‘t shocked. He had been down here in the darkness. He had been bound on that very table. He was just overwhelmed by the horror of this place and the memories it brought back to him.

How many bodies were in that pile? Dozens? Cold anger rose up in my throat like bile I could not spit out.

There were no more decisions to make. No more plans to discuss. Faced with evil this vile, faced with odds this bad, there was just one thing left to do. Fight. Die trying, if nothing else, but fight with tooth and nail, fight with every last breath, fight till you have no arms left to strike with, no teeth left to bite with.

I cut them loose, carried them upstairs, and found comfortable places for them. I commanded Veneir to watch over them, to do for them what he could. I used [Reinvigoration] with minimal Mana on each one of them. The wicked bastard had tortured and maimed them, but he had been competent in his vile endeavors. Barak had made sure his toys would survive. I needed the Mana, but I could not let them lie there in such a bad condition. I had to try and heal a few of their pains, give them a little strength to recover. I could not spend more, because I needed it for the night to come. A night for swords in the darkness and ice-cold revenge. And at the end...death or freedom.