At the very moment the arrow killed Mina, the witch just waited after she mentioned the Red Queen.

The veteran adventurers let the words wash over them. It caused them to pause for a moment. Jeremy and Rebecca were left wondering for a moment because the mention of the Red Queen brought flashes of stories told to them of the Bone Keep. Those stories would leave any room in ire quiet. Drovic began to feel restless, playing with his dagger in his hand. As if he, himself, was on a knife’s edge. Finally, the Storyteller broke the stillness and looked the witch in the eye. “I have heard tales of the Bone Keep, but those are myths and legends told by those who practise the dark arts of blood pacts.”

Ulrok’s fist cracked into the side of the witch’s face, and she looked up at him through a bloody grill of broken teeth. She seemed to be enjoying this, not the pain but the shock on the would-be heroes. “I warned you, you sea witch!” Ulrok screamed in her face. “If you speak untrue, I will make you regret it. You will pay for your transgressions if you play us as fools.” Jeremy could feel the anger coming from Ulrok, which was a darker side he had yet to see in the dwarf. Sure, there was battle rage, but this was different. He had watched Ulrok cave in goblin skulls without a second thought, but they had defeated this woman.

Drovic gave a little laugh to himself and thought, finally! Finally, these men are growing some spine to do what was needed. Well, not men, he laughed to himself, but you get my point. A grin flashed for a second over his face.

The Storyteller placed an old, withered hand on the dwarf. He took in a deep chilled breath. Drovic noticed that the Storyteller passed the smallest amount of mana into the dwarf. Ulrok welcomed the gesture of comfort from the old friend, feeling refreshed, and the anger seemed to drain out of him. Jeremy was happy to see that the group was supporting one another.

“I have heard of the legend of the Bone Keep.” Drovic walked up between the two companions. “It is said to be a realm between worlds. A purgatory, so to speak, is a place where souls are trapped. Basically, the theory is that Bone Keep, if it is real, is between life and death. I heard that the Red Queen lived there.”

“You are half-right, you handsome rogue,” the witch smiles, “The keep was created as a gateway between the worlds of good and evil.” The witch pressed at her bonds, leaning closer to Drovic, so the blood dripping from her broken teeth fell on his boots. “We found the pathways, used to bring forth the ones trapped by their pacts with dark forces, and used their bodies to reforge our army.”

Rebecca spoke up, with the glow of candlelight coming from behind her, “That is monstrous!”

“The dead should be left to rest, regardless of these pacts you speak of,” Kalven grumps more to himself than the others in the room. “What proof do we even have that she speaks the truth?”

“The book,” the witch states. Drovic followed her eyes, and an old black ruined book was resting carefully by the fireplace. Drovic, without a wasted second, cut the hag’s throat from ear to ear with a flick of his blade. Rebecca and Jeremy let out a short scream as the blood drained over the floor, covering Drovic’s boots in a congealed mess of red.

Drovic smirked at the group's youngest members, “It had to be done, or did you want to set her free to murder more." Drovoic paused for dramatic effect, "To create more monsters?”

“It was a quick death, better than the witch deserved. We should burn them, just in case.” Kalvan stated with dispassion. He grabbed the witch's corpse and dragged it outside into the cold of night. No one made a move to stop him. No one else argued with the two. Who would do the deeds that no one else in their party could? Drovic, flicking the blood from his boots, walked to the fireplace. On the book's spine in gold lettering was a name and a ruin. He did not know the rune, but he could read the name clear enough, Raven Von Bonewalker.

“Now, let us see what all the effort was for, shall we?” Drovic asked the rest of the group, opened the book to the first page, and began reading aloud.

A Raven, is there a more common but feared bird? The Raven is a massive solid black bird with the utmost distinctive crow, and in flight, they are more like a bird of prey, a hawk. Many different cultures from across the multiverse have some lore or literature around the foreboding plumage of the jet-black bird. The bird is common, but the symbolism is complex. I have taken the name of the Raven for the association of loss and an omen of ill timings because often I feel as if I am trapped between the material world but strangely connected with the spirits. Perhaps it is the fact that I am half-alive and half-dead. My history, or my mistakes, led me down a path of darkness I had never planned.

This is the end of my beginning.

I was a simple labourer in the eastern province. My life did not expand past a 30-mile radius of the farm I helped work. The odd time I would go into the local village pub for a drink, but nothing changed beyond the planting seasons. It was a peaceful time. It is funny now; looking back at my everyday life, I remember the days I would take a break. Clean the dirt off my face, look towards the far mountains towards the west, and dream about what might be.

I remember my boys’ faces as they played in the yard after helping their mother with the chickens or weeding our kitchen garden. They were fenced in on all sides by beautiful golden flowers my wife had planted. One would pretend to be a brave adventurer trying to save their mother from a horde of goblins or an evil werewolf. They could play for hours under that warm sun and under the loving eyes of their mother.

One day, a band of local adventurers were passing by our home. I had just arrived home from the day’s planting before the spring harvest. My boys had made a scarecrow to try and frighten off the ravens from eating the seeds. These so-called heroes came asking questions about some evil beast, and my wife tried to hide the children from these men. They seemed to be covered from head to toe in wealth and weapons, and my wife had a feeling that they would sooner see them dead than help someone in need. One casually carried a coin purse with more wealth than we would see in our lifetimes.

My wife was able to settle the boys down, but I could hear them in the loft above watching. I knew they dreamed of seeing the world and battling evil, but I had dreams of them falling in love as I had. Hoping they would live a long and filled life with people they loved.

I lost myself, oh yes, my wife joined me around our dining table, and we set out to answer these warriors’ questions. We hoped they would leave our home at peace.

Little did I know that this was all a ploy. Subterfuge.

In the middle of the conversation, answering questions about the area, I found myself asleep on the kitchen table. The last thing I remembered was the cleric waving his hands and mumbling something. When I came to, I was bound to the kitchen table with leather straps. My wife’s screams had awoken me from the magical sleep. The blue-haired sea witch pulled my boys down from the loft before my eyes, and she was binding their hands. I could move my head more than a few inches. That is when I saw the cleric with his hammer.

“We got to get things ready to summon the monster; we are being paid good gold from the magistrate to clear this land.” He patted me on the head, “I should say clear you from the land.”

I begged and pulled with all my might, “Please, we will leave and never come back; just let us live.” My wife’s screams became sharp and then stopped. The witch was dragging my boys into our bedroom, the only other room in the house.

“No can do, we gotta summon the beast and then kill it. We are heroes, after all.” The cleric smiled. “You know, let’s have a little fun before the main event.” He pulled out two silver nails from his pouch and drove them into my hands. I still remember the sound of the kitchen table snapping as the head of the nail went through my hands and into the wood below.

I called out with all my soul and even as my blood loss grew. I called out for anything to save my boys, my love and my life. It seemed at that point time stopped or slowed to a crawl. The only thing I could hear besides my heartbeat was the sound of those ravens in the garden. It answered my call. I could feel the bloodlust and malice coming from the creature.

“You wish to make a pact?” The deep voice whispered. “I have been watching these would-be heroes for some time. Nothing more than self-serving animals if you were to ask me.” It seemed that the voice was moving around the room. The life from the candles and fire seemed to flicker from every other word.

“I am sorry to say that I am too late to save your family. If only you had called out sooner to welcome me into your home. I might have saved them from that brutal consequence.” Tears began to stream down my face. These so-called heroes entered my home, not for some just cause, but I was too blind or powerless to see them as they were.

“Please, anything! Anything you want, if I can’t save my family, let me bring justice to the world by removing these greedy pigs from it.” An image of a wicked fanged smile appeared in my mind’s eye.

“As you wish. We have entered into our pact. You will be my undead servant. Feast.” With that last word, my body changed forever. My blood had drained from the silver nails, and my new master’s energy filled my weak human body with unbridled energy. The table under me crumpled beneath me. The same table that I had carved with my grandfather. I was free. Filled and changed by this pact. I dispatched the band of villains. Drained them of life. Feasted on their life force. When I was done, I opened the windows to let the ravens finish what I had started. I laid my two sons and beloved wife to rest by the old oak tree.

I do not remember how many years it has been since that night, but I travel now to fulfil my new life. I am keeping this in my journal now, so I will never forget why I hunger.

This was the beginning of the story that comes happily ever after.

There was a moment’s pause when Drovic stopped reading, and the others could hear a crackling of fire coming from outside. As the flames began to rise, the others could hear Kalven laugh. Ulrok grabbed a chair and moved it closer to the fireplace; it still had a few burning embers. Jeremy spoke for the others, held Rebecca’s hand, and spoke with sorrow in his words, “Why must there always be evil in this world?”

“Can I see the book there? I wish to study it tonight, and it might grant us the necessary information.” Drovic handed the book over to the old wizard.

“Better you than me. I do not wish to read this journal.”

With that, the part went about securing the place of rest, checking for anything else that might unveil the deeper picture.

Drovic gave a pat on the back to the old Storyteller, “I hope there is something in that journal besides some tale of forgotten bones because I think without a new lead, we might be at a dead end.”

That was when they heard the sounds coming from outside.