It took a few more days for the ship to arrive at Dimwell. When it finally did float into port, the sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows across the quaint wood structures that dotted the small town. The road which ran through its center was just simple packed dirt. Not the elegant cobblestone that sprawled all throughout Rahk Sur, and most of the Sarket Empire. The road ran straight through the town, connecting the river to the dense treeline of the forest. It wouldn't take more than ten minutes to walk it from end to end.

This is a vast difference when compared to Rahk Sure, Soren noted. How these people can live in the Wilderun is beyond me. Even if it is only the outer edge. Soren turns and looks back over the deck and across the water where he sees the opposite shoreline. This part of the river is much narrower. Perhaps half so as it had been before the fork. Although, Soren thinks, that really isn't saying much, as the Irona river's widest portions are several kilometers wide.

Soren turns again to face the village. He sees a number of the town's inhabitants milling about, just business as usual, no doubt. Soren hefts his pack and strides over to where Dorian and the captain are standing, watching the crew unload the ship's precious cargo. As he approaches he calls out, catching the attention of the two lone figures. "I suppose you will be expecting quite the earnings after this trip? From the looks of this payload I've very little doubt you will be pleased."

"Not to mention your proceeds from us." Dorian added. "You have done an outstanding job, captain."

"Aw, it twas nothing. It has been my honor, young gentlemen. If you ever need my services again, don't hesitate to ask." Grail's lips part in the broadest of smiles.

As the rotund man speaks, Dorian produces a thick piece of parchment, bearing a fresh wax seal. "This is your payment. You may take this bank note to any bank that calls the Sarket Empire it’s home, and they shall exchange it for the sum that has been inscribed here." Dorian indicates just where this amount was written, and as he does so the captain's eyes gleam like never before.

"Oh ho! Thank you very much, good sir. I will keep this close, right above my heart." Grail delicately removes the note from Dorian's hands and places it within his jacket.

As the little group begins to make their way to the gangway, Soren voices his concern for the crew of the ship. "I must admit I am a little worried about your return trip, captain. You will have to pass through that den of Arachas yet again, won't you?"

Not even breaking stride the captain smiles and lets loose a hearty laugh. "Haha! Worry not, friend. We will be travelling with the current this time, meaning we will pass through the forest much faster." The captain rests his hands on his round belly, letting no trace of apprehension escape from his voice. "Besides, my men are no pushovers! We'll be ready this time. We know where they are and what they are. It should pose little threat now."

The captain's words did ease Soren's worry, but only a little. "Well, take care captain. We might just have need of your services again one day."

Grail stops, just at the edge of the gangway, only a few steps short of the dock. "You've made a lifelong friend here, gentlemen. Don't you ever forget that." Grail smiles and clasps hands with Soren as he says so. Still smiling, Grail releases his grip and sets off towards his cabin. No doubt heading to secure Dorian's bank note within the ships strongbox.

"Well," Soren looks over to his friend, who returns his gaze, craning his neck to look the taller man in the eye. "We are nearly there my friend. I believe the hardest part yet lies behind us."

"Oh Soren," he responds, as he fiddles with his tinted glasses. "Don't you know you're not supposed to say such things? It's bad luck."

The two young friends disembark, each carrying rather empty travellers packs. "We need to restock our supplies. I am not too keen on the idea of heading into the Wilderun with what we have." Soren speaks as he casts his eyes about himself, searching for a place that might carry the provisions they need.

"Oh come now Soren," Dorian responds. "We left the heart of the Wilderun far behind us. We're less than a day's travel from the open plains." No sooner had the last words left his mouth could Dorian feel Soren's discontent radiating like the heat from the noonday sun. Without ever even needing to look at the young man. "Alright, fine. As you wish. Just remember, it's not your gold we're spending here, now is it?"

"It's not yours either! The Institute gave you that gold. Don't even try to act like it's some great personal loss for you." Soren rolls his eyes and crosses his arms as he walks.

"I like to think that I earned that gold. I've done a lot of good work for them you know." But Soren was right about one thing. Dorian didn't really feel like it was any great loss to spend the gold. He had very little sense of value, being raised as he had been. He'd never bought a thing in his life. Truth be told, he probably paid Grail far too much for their voyage. "We'll find what we need then set off. We could probably ferret out some information while we're here as well." Soren nodded along in agreement, having been appeased.

As the two go about the town they meet a number of people that warn them of the dangers of travelling in the Wilderun. They hear of creatures, and even worse, people, that make the dense forest dangerous. One old woman urged them to stay on the road and never wander from it. "You see, the road winds throughout the forest, meandering wherever the trees are thinnest." The old hag had said, "And one might expect that leaving the road behind and venturing straight through the forest would be the quicker option, yet that thinking often costs men their lives."

Soren had been thoroughly distressed by much of what they heard, yet Dorian's attitude of nonchalance never broke. Often he seemed downright bored. It isn't natural, Soren had thought. It's like he has no fear. I sometimes envy that about Dorian. Soren was watching his friend, yawning with not a care in the world.

Soren had caught his friend's attention as he stared, "What? Is there something in my teeth?" Soren only chuckled, amused by his friend’s attitude.

"It's nothing. I was only thinking that perhaps it is time for us to set out? We shouldn't waste any more of the daylight. Are you ready to hit the road?" Soren stored away the last of the provisions they had purchased for the trip and lifted his pack.

"It's about time! I am more than ready." And with that the two made their way back to the main road and began walking towards the edge of town where the forest lay untouched. Just as they were about to enter the forest they heard the clip-clop sound of hooves on dirt and the monotonous squeaking of axle and wheel approaching from behind.

Soren turned to see a horse towing a small, covered wagon rolling up behind them. A bald, elderly man sat at with the reins in his hands and a young girl peeked out from behind. Not much more than blonde curls could be seen of the little girl, but the old man could be seen clear enough. He was whip thin and wore only simple clothing. He was smiling as the wagon rolled to stop a few paces away.

"'Ello dere good sirs! I see you too are making th' trek out of town." The man smiles and leans over, resting his elbows on his knees. He speaks joyfully though with a thick accent. Almost slurring his words together. "I thought I was th' only one brave enough to travel this road! What brings two young men such as yerself out this way?"

As Soren ponders what exactly he should tell the man, Dorian beats him to it and speaks first, "We're from Rahk Sur and we've stopped here on our way to Eisenrahm." Again his voice is filled with his usual apathy and disinterest. Hardly even looking at the man as he spoke.

"Ahhh, the great Tower of Draghiem, eh? Well, it just so happens that me and my granddaughter here are headin' that way 'rselves! If'n you please, you're more'n welcome to join us! Th' more th' merrier! S' long as ya not make any trouble, that is." The man raises his eyebrows and gives them a stern look.

Before Soren can politely decline the invitation Dorian again speaks up, "Sounds good to me." He looks over at Soren and, seeing the look on his friend's face, he shrugs. "Walking the whole way sounds tiresome." And with that he moves to join the old man on the wagon.

"Alright fine." Soren joins the others, partly glad to have a ride and partly angry that Dorian had so easily accepted the offer. Dorian sat beside the old man, making Soren sit back in the wagon which was partially filled with crates, barrels, and even large sacks. The little blonde girl was glued to her grandfather, with both arms firmly wrapped around the old man.

"This 'ere is my granddaughter." The old man spoke and put one hand against the little girls back, pushing her to face the others. "Marga, be polite now. How do you greet others?" The man spoke with a firm, yet loving tone. He was clearly used to scenarios similar to this one.

A second or two passed until the girl unfurled her limbs from her grandfather and introduced herself, "Hello", she said, with a beautiful, meek, little voice. "My names Marga. It's nice to meet you."

"And I'm Daniel," the old man added as he took the reigns back into his hands. "Little Marga and me were just on our way back to the city. I transport goods to and from Eisenrahm. On occasion at least."

"Thank you very much for the ride." Soren knew better than to let Dorian do the introductions. "My name is Soren, and my terse little friend there is Dorian. We're mages from Rahk Sur on our way to Eisenrahm."

"Ah, mages you say? Don't see many of them wonderin' around. What brings you this far from home? Rahk Sur is a mighty large city. Even Eisenrahm pales in comparison."

Soren was careful not to divulge too much. To be honest, he probably couldn't even if he wanted too. He didn't truly know why Dorian had felt so compelled to travel all the way to Eisenrahm. But still, I need to tell him something. And so, Soren told him as close to the truth as he could. "To study. The Towers are fascinating. And where better to study Towers than at the largest of them all?"

Daniel seemed content enough with that answer. He simply nodded his head as they rode on down the road. "I don't know much about what would interest a mage such as yourself, but for me and little Marga here Eisenrahm is much the same as any other city. Tower or no Tower, a man's gotta eat, and to eat a man's gotta work." Daniel might not be a mage, but he has wonderful spirit. Soren quite liked the down-to-earth mentality the man displayed. It seemed far-and-away different what he was used to dealing with. Members of the Institute were far from those like Daniel.

As the quartet ride on they speak of experiences and the different journeys they've had. Soren tells Daniel and Marga what it is like in Rahk Sur. How the air is thick with the salt from the ocean, and how the cityscape sprawls in every direction. Marga especially enjoys the stories of magic. She sits across from Soren, knees pulled up to her chest with her arms wrapped around, each hand clasped in the other. Her eyes full of wonderment.

The Institute has rules when it comes to what their members can and cannot say to outsiders. For most in the world, the Institute of Magic doesn't exist. None but the most powerful and influential people in the world know of its existence. Which is by design. Ever since its inception, the Institute has gone out of its way to ensure their very existence is kept a secret. As such, Soren is bound by a covenant of secrecy. Which means he cannot willingly tell anyone of the Institute's existence. However he can tell of his own experiences with magic. It's a rather tight rope to cross, yet Soren finds Marga’s reactions more than worth it. Her face lit up with every story Soren told of magic.

It was in the middle of one such story that Dorian finally spoke up. "Quiet! Soren, something is coming." The sudden outburst from Dorian shocked Soren, but only for a moment. Just as he began to understand the meaning of the words, his world turned end-over-end.

Before he knew it, Soren was suddenly no longer sitting on the wooden floor of the wagon. Instead, he lay sprawled across the forest floor. Wood crates lay all around. Many with their contents spilled out. The wagon had been meandering along the dirt road when something had crashed into it. The wagon very nearly split in two, and only just managed to hold together. The wagon's covering had ripped in many places. One rip in particular was vaguely Soren-sized.

It took several seconds for Soren to finally right himself. His head swam as he lifted himself up on his hands and knees. His ears were somewhat muted, yet he could still hear the sound of breaking wood and the rummaging of boxes. Soren tried to look for the source of the noise, only to find himself falling flat onto his face. Again he tried to get up, fighting to clear his mind and get his body under control. Something...is...wrong, he thought. It shouldn't...be this hard. Someone....interfering...with my mind. The realization came to Soren as again he fought to get to his feet. Someone was using magic. There must be a mage that used some sort of mind altering Script. That was the only explanation.

Soren ceased his efforts to stand and began to sharpen his focus instead. He now knew that they were under attack. And even if he could get to his feet, with this Script scrambling his mind, he would be of no use. Thankfully, this wasn't the first time Soren has come up against this type of Magic. He knew that if he blocked out every other sensation, and focused only on his mind, only on the Ruha flowing around him, he would be able to use his own Script to break the mind altering effects he was now under.

And so, he lay there. Several seconds passed, then a minute or two, until he was finally able to wrest control of his mind away from his attacker's Script. The moment he was able, Soren countered with his own Script. One he knew would cause the attackers to panic. Just as the last Command was spoken, the entire world went black.

"What the hell?!" Came a gruff, deep voice, astounded and caught off guard.

"Shit, one of 'em is a mage!" Another man spoke. This one higher pitch than the last.

"What the hell kind of magic is this??" A third man, far more frightened than the others.

"It doesn't matter," The first man said. "Grab what we want and let's scram. Diega, you know what to do. Cover our retreat."

"You've got it boss." This time a fourth man spoke. Cool and calm. Just the sound of this man's voice sent shivers up Soren's spine.

By now Soren had managed to get to his feet, though he crouched low, unsure of what was about to happen. He still couldn't see, in fact, no one could. That was the purpose of the Script he'd cast. A rather brilliant piece of Magic. It removed all of the light from the area. Being assailed by sudden darkness is usually enough to rattle even those adept at arcane arts. The fact that the fourth man was so calm under these conditions truly worried Soren.

Only moments after the fourth man spoke, Soren could hear him again. Only, this time he wasn't speaking Common. Or even Sarketian. Soren didn't recognize the language he spoke, yet it sounded more sinister than any he'd ever heard before. He must use this language when he uses Scripts, to confuse his enemy. That isn't good, Soren thinks. That means he's used to fighting other mages. Moments later the man finishes his incantation, and just as he does so an ear-piercing sound erupts into the air. Soren clutches the sides of his head, trying desperately to muffle the sound, yet to no avail. The horrible screeching continues, constantly changing pitch and tone. The sound is like a cacophony of thousands of out of tune birds. Soren soon finds himself paralyzed by the sound. Unable to move. To even think. He can't stand the horrible shrieking. After only moments, Soren loses consciousness. Succumbing to whatever magic that had been unleashed upon him.

Dorian lazily lifted himself to his feet, still not fully aware of his surroundings. His vision was blurry, almost as if someone had spilt a cup of water on a fresh painting. The colors were washed, lines bled together, and then there was the light. Brilliant starbursts pulsed and flowed around him, sometimes so bright Dorian winced. Yet he could not escape the light. Eyes open or closed, it made no difference. Dorian could shut his eyes as tight as he wanted, yet he would still be unable to escape the dazzling light of the Ruha.

Dorian’s head ached, feeling as if he had been bludgeoned over the head before being trampled by horses. He shook his head, desperate to retain some semblance of control. Ugh, shouldn’t have done that. Dorian clutches his head as his world explodes into pain. The dizziness returns and soon he can feel the ground rushing up to meet him. Dorian steadies himself as he feels his body approaching collapse again. Damn that bastard. I never would have thought I’d run into a Banshee’s shriek, he thought. Or at least, a very close facsimile to one.

He couldn’t help but be impressed by the mage that been the cause of this current predicament. Creating a Script that so closely replicates the creatures signature howl is most impressive indeed. Dorian thought to himself as he fought back the feelings of dizziness, nausea, and the splitting headache. I’ll have to remember that one. Who knows, it could come in use somehow. Dorian might not have been able to understand the words the man had used to create the effect, yet nothing escaped Dorian’s eyes. Even in the darkness created by Soren’s Script, he had seen how the Ruha had acted. The changes that had taken place.

“I have half a mind to hunt down those bastards and give them a taste of their own medicine.” He muttered to himself, letting only a hint of scorn penetrate his characteristic brand of apathy. “But first,” he said as he raised his head to survey the surrounding carnage. “I must find Soren and the others. It wouldn’t do to chase after them by myself only to end up lost in this damn forest.” As he spoke to himself Dorian pushed to his feet and began hobbling past the overturned wagon. “Ah, Soren my friend. There you are. Sleeping on the job again are we? Yes, that’s just like you isn’t it?” Dorian had seen his friend in a crumpled heap just on the other side of the wagon.

“Ha bloody ha. You’re a real laugh, you know that? Now, get over here and help me up, you little shit.” Soren moved, doing his best to untangle himself from his limbs. His face was contorted into a constant sneer of pain. No doubt suffering much the same as I had been, Dorian thought to himself.

Dorian made his way over to his friend while Soren tried his best to get his unruly limbs under control. If it hadn’t been for the dire circumstances that had led up to this, Dorian might have dropped to the floor laughing at his friend’s inability to maintain control over his own appendages. Hell, circumstances be damned. Soren looks downright comical, flopping on the floor like a fish. Dorian stopped just out of reach, cocking a sly grin at his friend.

“Don’t just stand there grinning like an idiot, help me up! My head is spinning, and I feel like I might lose my lunch at any moment.” Soren spoke through grit teeth as he worked his way onto all fours.

“We haven’t head lunch yet, so I wouldn’t be too worried,” Dorian replied, through his cocky little grin.

“Ugh, there really is a time and a place for jokes, Dorian. And I don’t think right after being attacked by highwaymen is either.” Soren finally managed to lift himself into somewhat of a kneeling position, panting as if he had just run the Imperial Marathon.

“If we can’t laugh then what else can we do?” Soren clasped his friend’s hand in his own as he spoke and helped lift Soren to his feet.

“Mmm.” Was Soren’s only response.

“Marga?” A weak voice called out from somewhere near the broken remains of the wagon. “Marga….where…?” The sudden, pitiful voice caused a touch of dread to settle upon Dorian’s heart.

“Daniel? Where are you?” Soren called out for the old man as he and Dorian walked nearer to the wagon, searching.

“Where...is...Marga? She….needs...me….” It was obvious from the faintness of his voice that Daniel was hurt, and desperate.

Soon, Dorian found the old man, bloodied and bruised. He had somehow managed to get his legs caught underneath the side of the wagon. Both legs were pinned under the wood, and the old man had a nasty cut above one of his eyes. Daniel lay on his stomach, with the cart laying across the backs of his thighs. The old man clawed at the ground, desperate to escape from the overturned wagon. Blood covered his face, obscuring his vision.

“Soren! I found him, come quick!” Dorian hurried over to the man’s side and quickly began surveying his condition. “It’s okay Daniel, I’m sure Marga hasn’t gone too far off. Let’s focus on fixing you up first, okay?” Dorian inspected the man’s head wound as well as the wagon pinning the poor old man.

“No, find Marga...please...she must be….” The old man pleaded, desperate for his granddaughter’s safety.

“It’s okay Daniel. Everything is going to be fine.” Soren’s calming voice reached out as he knelt down by the old man’s side. “We’re going to find Marga and make sure she’s safe. I promise.” The old man tried to look up at Soren, but couldn’t open his eyes all the way with the blood flowing into them. “But first, we need to take care of you. We will have you out from under this cart and back on your feet in no time, just relax and let us work, okay?” Soren’s words must have had the intended effect, because the old man stopped his scrambling and lie still, letting the other two do their work.

Dorian had been the first to find the old man and had more time to examine the wreckage than Soren. Dorian already had a good idea on how to get the old man out, but first he’d have to explain to Soren. “Look, since the wheels lay outside the edge of the cart, they are keeping it from pressing all of its weight on his legs.” Dorian pointed to the front wheel as he spoke. “However, the rear wheel is broken in a few places, which is why Daniel is pinned as tightly as he is.” Again Dorian pointed, this time to the rear wheel which lay in the dirt in several pieces. “If we were to raise the rear wheel, say a dozen centimeters or so, we should be able to gently slide him out from under the wagon.”

Soren nodded along as his friend spoke. “Yes, I agree. Could you use Violet Ruha to lessen the weight of the wagon? That’d make this whole ordeal quite a bit simpler.”

Dorian paused as he thought about the idea. Could I? It would make this far more simple. Dorian’s brow creased as he dove deep into thought.

“Well?” Soren’s impatient voice broke his friends reverie.

“No, I don’t think I can. I’d need to know how much this thing weighs. I could guess, but I might be way off.”

“Alright, looks like I’ll find a way. When I get the rear end up far enough, help pull him out, got it?” Dorian nodded, signaling to his friend he was ready.

Soren moved to stand by the broken remains of the wheel. He eyed the wagon for a bit, laying his face against the ground to get a better look underneath. After a few moments, he began chanting his Script. Dorian could tell it was something simple. He was creating a stone block, in the gap between the ground and the wood of the wagon. Once that was done, he began to chant again, this time creating a heavy stone rod, which he then wedged between the block and the wood.

Ahhh, I see, Dorian thought. He’s going to use the bar to leverage the wagon up. Hmm, not very elegant, but effective, I suppose.

“Are you ready?” Soren grasped the bar which stuck out from between the wagon and stone at a somewhat high angle. Dorian simply nodded, readying himself to help pull the old man free of the crushing weight of the wagon. “Here we go.” Then Soren began to chant again. This time using Life Ruha, amplifying his own strength.

Soren’s face contorted as he pressed his weight upon the bar. He grunted and flexed, pushing with all his might. The block of magestone dug into the ground, and then the wagon began to move. Ever so slightly at first, but then more, and more, until Soren held the bar almost entirely against the ground.

“NOW!” He shouted, straining to keep the wagon lifted.

Dorian gripped the waist of Daniel’s trousers and pulled as the old man clawed at the ground trying to crawl out from underneath the wrecked wagon. They only had to move the man just enough to get the rest of his legs free and only took the briefest of moments. Yet it felt like an eternity. Soren pushing with all of his might, Dorian and Daniel scrambling in the dirt.

And then it was over. Soren released his grip on his conjured magestone rod as Dorian and Daniel collapse into each other. Soren sat there on his knees, hands in the dirt panting. “Well,” he said. “Glad that’s over. Now then.” He huffed. “Let’s look at those injuries of yours.” He spoke as he crawled to Daniel’s side as the old man lay on his back, hands raised to his face, barely contained tears in his eyes.

“I thought for sure I was a dead man.” The old man croaked, between grit teeth and painful breaths.

“Not as long as we’re around, isn’t that right Dorian?” Soren spoke with a reassuring tone in his voice and a hearty smile across his face.

“So you say. I was already starting the man’s grave. I just needed to know what kind of flowers he’d prefer left by his gravestone.” Dorian sat at the man’s head, letting his sarcastic tone drift through the forest.

“Ha!”, the old man laughed. “I ain’t ready to be put in th’ ground jus yet.” The old man had regained his composure and sat up, resting on his forearms. “Hurry up with your blasted magic so I can go find my granddaughter and bash in the skulls of whatever guttershite did this to my wagon!”

“Easy there old timer. Dorian will have you fixed up, as good as new. It’ll take a little while though. But don’t worry, he’s very good at what he does.” The old man nodded along as Soren laid out the plan. “In the meantime, I’ll look for Marga. I’m sure she just hid herself when we were attacked."

“Yer probly right. I trust ya. Just, please, bring back my Marga.” The old man looked up at Soren, desperation clear in his eye.

“I will. I swear on my life, I’ll find her and bring her back to you.” Soren’s voice rang out with a conviction as hard as steel. And the embers of a cold fury could be seen in his eyes.

“Maybe we should go together.” Dorian spoke quietly, a touch of fear breaking his usual stoic reserve. “There were many of them. And they seem dangerous. They might still be nearby” He looked up and locked gazes with his friend.

“I know, my friend. But if I run into our friends from earlier, I doubt it would end without the need for violence. And I won’t put you into that kind of position. Killing a man is entirely different than killing a few overgrown spiders.”

“What about you?” Dorian’s voice was quiet, yet filled with anxiety.

“I’ll be fine. It won’t be the first time.” Soren was stern as he spoke. Perhaps a little too stern. Even so, it was necessary. The last thing he needed was for Dorian to follow him into the woods.

Dorian’s eyes dropped to the dirt, his face clearly stricken with worry. “You haven’t been that person in a long time. It’s been years since the pits”

Soren sighed before he spoke again. “I’m sorry my friend, but once you’ve done what I have you are changed forever. I can do what is necessary. But only what is necessary. I promise.” Soren stood and dusted himself off. Then he pulled his focus rod from his robes and set out into the forest. Taking care to keep his eyes forward, and to not look back.

Soren scoured the forest, looking for any sign of little Marga’s presence. He started near the site of the attack calling the young girl’s name and fanned out. Constantly looking at the leaves and other foliage. So far the only signs he’d found were those of their attackers. That is not good. He thought to himself. The only explanation I am left with is that she was taken. A lump formed in Soren’s throat. Not only at the thought of the poor girl being in the custody of these men, but also at the thought of confronting them. It is almost certain to end in violence. Something Soren truly wished he could avoid. I said I would do what’s necessary, and by the Mother I will.

Moment flowed into moment as Soren followed the tracks of the four men that had attacked them. Every passing second he thought about what he would do. How he would confront them. Soren struggled with the knowledge of what he would have to do. Within himself his feelings warred. His value for life, along with his willingness to do what he must. He knew that if he hesitated, even for a moment, he would lose. He desperately wanted to talk with the men. Convince them to leave the girl and his friends in peace. But he knew they wouldn’t.

Men such as these only care for themselves. Nothing would change that. The day they chose to prey upon others was they day their fates were sealed. Soren could make no concessions. Not here, not now. Not this time. He would offer the men an out. Offer them gold to just leave them be. But he knew they wouldn’t take it. But in order for Soren to justify it to himself he had to try. Maybe he felt so compelled to end things peacefully because deep down he wanted this. He knew they were bad men. Bad men that would go on to prey on others. Even if they took the gold and left his friends alone. What about the others? Those that these men would no doubt go on to hurt.

Soren had the power to stop them. He knew it. That other mage might be powerful. Even sinister. But Soren had been trained by the best in the world. Combine that with being trapped in a corner and Soren knew he could do it. He could kill them. Probably as easily as a butcher slaughters his cow. But who was he, Soren, to determine the fates of men? Only the Mother could judge those who lived on the earth. Only She had the right to determine who lives and who does.

Yet, does She not work through men? Could she not have set Soren on this very path, knowing exactly what the outcome would be? Shouldn’t that be all the proof he needs to do what must be done? There is no doubt that this is Her will, and Soren has been chosen to enact her will upon these men. He is but a single piece which has been placed on this spot to do but one thing. There is no other way to interpret it. I must do what must be done. And with that Soren steeled himself for what was to come. I will offer these men one final chance to be gone and done with us. And if they choose to forsake my offer, then it will be clear to me that this is the Mother’s will. And I shall be the instrument with which She will use to judge these men.

As Soren ceased the two warring sides within his soul, he heard the distinct sound of laughter ring out through the trees. Soren followed the sound, and soon, more noises could be heard.

“What the hell are you so chipper about?” The gruff voice of the leader broke out as he berated his man. “We’ve gone and lost all of our product to this godforsaken forest! Yet here you are, laughing like a school boy.” Soren crept low and hid behind a tree. He poked his head just enough to get a look at the men in their camp.

There were four men. The one that had just spoken, clearly the leader, was giant of a man with thick muscles. Scars crisscrossed his bare arms and shoulders, upon which rested a thick neck and hairy face. The man’s head was as bald as could be, yet his face sported the most impressive beard Soren could ever remember seeing. Thick, braided brunette hair stuck out in every direction, all the way down to the man’s stomach.

“Aww don’t be like that! We’ve got ourselves a pretty little thing now!” This second man was the polar opposite of the other. Incredibly scrawny, with scruffy patches of hair sprouting from his head. His voice was grating and high pitched. “Sure, we’ve lost a lot, but you know how much those stuck up rich Sarketians love cute little girls! Besides, we’ve got a long way until we reach Rahk Sur. And there’s that little town not too far from here. I bet we could pilfer quite a few from around there. Some are bound to wonder a little too far from home.” The sound of the foul man’s snickering made Soren’s blood boil with hatred.

“Wade does have a good point.” Soren recognized this voice as the mage from before. His cool, uneven tone made the hairs on the back of Soren’s neck stand on end. “The girl will fetch a high price. And we might just be able to grab a few more our way to make this trip worth it. Dimwell isn’t a particularly well defended settlement. A group such as ourselves would definitely be able to grab a few, perhaps women and children, and then steal a boat and sail down the Irona.” The calm manner in which this man spoke of stealing these people from their homes infuriated Soren even more. There were few in the world who hated slavers as much as Soren did.

As the others spoke the fourth member of their team just sat around the fire in silence. He was a big man as well, though his size was mostly due to his many layers of fat, and not the hard chiseled muscle of the group's leader. The man just sat by the fire, staring blankly into the flames. Soren wondered if the man was all there in the head.

All the members of the group wore rather simple clothes. The only thing resembling armor was a leather jerkin that the mage wore. The leader wore a vest, with some kind of fur exposed at the neck. The skinny man wore a simple shirt, sleeves cut off at the elbows and a leather belt wrapped around his waist.

It’s now or never Soren. Keep your resolve. Whatever is about to happen is the Mother’s will. So it shall be. With those final words to himself, Soren stepped out from the tree’s shadow and approached the four men.

“Excuse me.” Soren spoke with as much conviction as he could muster. Trying his best not to let his anxiety broadcast itself to his enemies.

“What in the hell?” It was the skinny man that spoke up. All four men jumped to their feet, reaching for their weapons. The leader brandished a large, dual-sided battle axe, while the skinny man drew two curved daggers from his belt. “Who the hell are you, ey?”

Soren raised his arms, doing his best to seem nonthreatening. “I am the envoy of my lord. You attacked our caravan earlier. My lord has sent me to offer you gold for the girl. I assure you our gold is good, and all we wish is that you return home without causing any further mayhem or bloodshed.” Soren’s voice was level, even cold, as he spoke. He was determined to not let any fear show in his voice. But at that moment, a memory came to Soren.

It was a memory from long ago, during his early years in the fighting pits of Rahk Sur. “Always seem like less than you are, Sorensa. The greatest error a man can make is to underestimate his foe. The less you seem, the more likely you are to be underestimated.” The voice belonged to his mentor, all those years ago.

Just as the memory struck Soren, he shrunk before the men. “P-p-please sir.” he stuttered. “We only want the girl back. No harm, sir. Please. She is only a little girl.” Soren did his best to seem meek and little before these men.

“Hahahaha do you believe that?!” The skinny man shouted out in glee. “A sarketian noble here? In the wilderun? Ha! I’d believe you were my dead nanny before I’d believe that!”

“Shut it Velor!” The big man eyed Soren for a moment or two before a big grin split the man’s face. “Alright then, mister envoy. I want ten thousand pieces of gold for the girl! What do you say boys? That seem like a fair price?” All four men chuckled at their leader’s mention of the outrageous sum of gold.

So it is. This is the way it must be. Soren thought to himself just before he responded. “I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly pay you ten thousand pieces of gold” Soren carried on his ruse, acting the part of a scared little slave.

“Well, isn’t that a pit-” Before the last word could even pass the grisly man’s lips, his head disappeared in a detonation of heat, wind, and blood.

Each of the remaining men’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. Their leader was dead before they ever even knew they were in danger.

“Mage!” The skinny man screamed, equal parts shock and terror.

“Raahhhh!” The other large man roared his anger at Soren as he charged the lone mage, brandishing a massive greatsword easily as large as Soren himself.

Before the man could even make it three steps, he was pincushioned by a half-dozen large spears, piercing him from every direction.

“Dammit Diega! Kill the bastard!” The skinny man’s face was full of fear. As he yelled, he threw one of his curved daggers at Soren. The deadly weapon flew towards Soren’s chest, yet was deflected by Soren’s metal focus rod. “He’s gonna kill us all if you don’t do somethin-” and just like that, the man’s head fell from his shoulders as a spray of blood shot into the air.

“What the hell are you.” The last man had a look of pure terror emblazoned upon his face. His skin was white as a ghost, all hope drained from his eyes. “Using magic without a Script. I-I never thought… Take her! Take the girl!” Soren had begun to walk towards the man, causing him to frantically back way. In his haste, he tripped over his own feet, and fell into the dirt. “I’ll leave! I’ll go anywhere you want me to go! You’ll never see me again! Just please, don’t kill-” And in another spray of blood and bone, the final slaver was laid to rest.

“I am just a man.” Soren said, with cold, dead eyes as he stepped over the lifeless corpses.