“Alright so we have to gather everyone and te-” Palock stops mid-sentence due to his attention being drawn by the lack of reapers. “Where is everybody?”

Usually half a dozen of them would be darting through the corridor in a hurry but not even a single one is here.

Stepping up the pace, he sprints through the corridor, turning left at a junction and barrels into a large group of his fellow reapers.

Sending four to the floor as well as himself, he quickly is helped up by the others.

Quickly noting almost all fifty two members are present, he quickly asks what is going on that requires all of them.

Drychus points out the massive stone door and towards the sky, towards a small ferry with two passengers; Karon and a human, not dead by the looks of it.

Slowly, Karon’s ferry descends and lands in front of the door and this most bizarre passenger steps out with a bounce in his step.

“Hey there nice to meet you” The strange human walks up and offers a hand while the other carries a book tucked under the arm.

Shocked, most of them take an involuntary step back, and some take one forward in aggression.

They don’t really know or understand what this man is, but one could hazard a guess he’s a living breathing human.

Drychus, knowing full well what would happen to humans who touch the bare bones of a reaper offers his hand and shakes the man.

Instantly, the man collapses, dropping the book on the floor with a deep thunk.

“Drychus, what the hell?” Some call out; stupefied by the fact he just killed what was the first living human in Khthon since the end of the first age.

Drychus just shrugs his shoulders and they all watch the man’s corpse dissipate into light…

Speechless, that’s what they were. Only some of the older members like Palock knew what such a bizarre disappearance of the body meant: It meant that the Foreigners are back.

He had heard stories of foreigners die before, their souls unable to be taken and their lives restored almost instantly.

Foreigners were essentially not a problem for the reapers; honestly they made their job easier since they didn’t have to go collect their souls.

However he’d never seen a foreigner before and couldn't be sure he was right in his thinking, only the oldest member can confirm this.

Once the light died down, all that remained on the floor was a thick red tome with black pulsating lines.

Drychus bent down to grab it, as they younger ones looked curiously at the book and the older ones had small revelations in their eyes.

“Hooold it, that’s mine”

One of them shrieked and others rattled their bones out of pure shock.

The human turned round the corner, coming from the graveyard and strides towards them.

No one expected the man to appear so suddenly. Even Palock thought the man would return in a day’s time aboard Karon’s ferry, but apparently not.

While all were stunned to silence, the man picks up the book, flashing the cover to all, bringing down thunderous revelation to all.

The tome was as some of the older ones suspected, a prayer book to Norac, their Master.

Although this was revealed, it didn’t help much to lessen the shock of the man’s existence here.

Yirr, second oldest, walks out of the crowd and offers the cuff of his hood to the man.

The man gladly shakes the cuff.

“Wow, reaper’s touch really is a thing” He chuckles to himself.

“Yes, but seems like it’s not that much of a problem to you?” Yirr responds with his slow clacking voice

The man raises an eyebrow “Oho, so you know of my kind then?”

“We do. But never have we seen your kind in Khthon, so forgive our shock at seeing you here”

“Apologies for shocking you” he bows apologetically “So whose dimension is this?”

“Norac’s” Yirr, along with many others cock their heads in confusion.

The man, carrying a Tome of Norac should not have to ask such a question…this made some wonder…

“Shucks...” He snaps his fingers in shame “Karon, if I pay you, will you take me back?”

Everyone looks confused at the man, for they have no idea what he’s doing, why he’s just suddenly leaving. He is carrying a Tome of Norac ; this should be the correct place for him.

“Excuse me, but aren’t you here to become a reaper?” Yirr asks the question many have been wondering.

The only times they ever got living beings in Khthon was either to become a reaper or as a guest, and guests were almost always gods of some kind.

“Ooh, sounds good…but I kind of like being alive, plus that’d mean I’d have to work right?” His voice is gentle, although sprinkled with excitement.

“Err…then what are you doing here?”

He shrugs his shoulders “Exploring”

“Then why do you hold a Tome of Norac?” Yirr spurs on with the questions, wanting to know, to justify this man’s presence here.

“Picked it up a couple of hours ago and wait you know what this is?” He cocks his head.

They were confused about this man before, but now confused is too dull a word to describe their emotion towards the man.

“Who are you?”

“I’m a priest of Aegi, a pleasure to meet you all”

“Who?” Someone blurts out from the crowd and Yirr repeats the question.

If Yirr doesn’t know who she is then she must be quite the obscure being.

“Goddess of Immortality, though I think she’s only been that after the end of the first age?” His answer sounds rather like a question

“For a priest, you sure don’t seem to know much about your Goddess” Yirr points out

“There aren’t exactly many scriptures about her, just rumours I’m slowly gathering from people”

They all shake their head in disbelief at the man.

“So you were expecting to find knowledge of your goddess here?” Yirr picks up on the man’s intentions.

“Not exactly, but since I am here, might as well go find Norac, since hopefully at least he’ll know who Aegi is” He casually uses their Master’s name, which is shocking to all.

“I think you misunderstand, you can’t just talk to gods, much less ours” Yirr puts his hands together in thought, trying to figure out the man, who seems ever more confusing with every word that slips from his tongue.

“Yeah…I’ll find a way” He chuckles lightly to himself and to the dismay and confusion of the rest.

“If you want to learn of Aegi, there is no need to call upon Norac” A voice comes from behind Palock, and he turns around with the rest to see Kura walking towards them.

They make a gap for her and she walks through, stopping next to Yirr.

“Sweet, and who may you be madam?” The man bows courteously

“They call me Kura and I am the oldest of this place, and seemingly the only one to know of Aegi”

“The fact that you haven’t tried to kill me or make me leave suggests her and Norac are on livable terms?” He squints his eyes suspiciously, pulling a slightly worried face.

“Come, I’ll tell you more once you are fed and watered, it wouldn’t do to discuss such things non-chalantly” She motions for him to follow as she walks back inside “As for the rest of you, get back to work, there’s souls needing to be brought”

All of them begin to disperse, running to try make up for lost time.

Kura grabs Palock’s shoulder, stopping him from leaving.

“Not you”

He turns back around to look at her. “Why?”

“If he’s truly Aegi’s disciple, you’ll need to keep an eye on him, for our sakes”

Recovering his arms from Jeni, who snaps her fingers in shame before too hurrying off, he holds them in a cradle with his upper arms.

“Right, I need arms for that, so may I go to the repair room?”

“Sure, meet us at the guest room soon”

Palock rushes off to put his arms back together.

The man follows Kura around the corridors, whistling a tune while looking at the monotonous stone walls.

“Oh, while we’re walking, could you tell me what this tome is?”

“It is a prayer book to our Master, Norac. We use it in the ritual to create reapers”

“OH, so that’s why they thought I was here to become a reaper” he scratches his chin in realization

“Yes, usually a living being would come here with the tome as a sign of their near reaperdom”

“Interesting. So what language is it in?”

“Language? All tomes are written for the common tongue”

“Huh, well I never did learn how to read common…”

“A priest that cannot read? Never thought I’d ever know one” She chuckles a clattery laugh and walks into a room, quickly followed by him.

The room is a small square room with a stone table and a set of chairs.

“We don’t have guests very often”

The man just shrugs and pops onto a stone chair.

“Guess this means you have no food?”

“None and no water either, sorry” She apologizes before sitting down on the opposite end.

The man just rests the back of his head on his hands and relaxes.

A few minutes of silence pass, till Palock finally appears, arms attached once more.

He sits down on the third chair and alternates looking between Kura and the man.

“So, what would you like to know?”

…

“Guys guys guys!” Doronius bursts into the adventurer’s post, sweating profusely from his long run.

“We know!” Many shout out, already armored up with weapons at the ready.

The news of the worg pack had spread quickly and by the time it had reached Ronthar, another two villages had been massacred and the pack had been spotted running towards Ronthar.

No one knew why, but they had gone from the east side of the kingdom to the west in a straight line, killing mercilessly on the way.

Quests had been put up and a battalion of soldiers was being formed at the capital, but the speed of the worgs was unnatural, it took everyone by surprise.

Now, they had reached Ronthar, which thankfully was filled with about six hundred adventurers, which was about a fifth of the entire Annoldi kingdom adventurers.

Rumours suggested the pack was about fourty in size, which was a huge number, albeit nowhere near six hundred.

Though no one felt at ease, especially the newcomers in town; they did not expect to be raided on their first day in town.

Quickly, everyone got into a good position; the archers on the palisades and the warriors and thieves by the gates, tanks in the front and spears in the back.

Although everyone was in their own little party, they were being helped by Krugul: a thin warrior with spiked crimson hair and a few scars with a common sword and board, but with a loud mouth and a good mind for strategy and command.

No one saw it unfit to object to him giving ideas, much more so when it put him in the front lines and some of them in safety.

Now Krugul stands at the gates, looking at the mass of players who somewhat trust him.

“ALRIGHT LISTEN UP, THESE THINGS ARE FAST BUT SPEED DOESN’T MATTER IF YOU’RE NOT MOVING. SO LET’S STOP THEM AT THE GATES WITH OUR SHIELDS” He bangs his metal shield with his sword and the fashion is followed throughout the line. “LETS STAB THEM WITH OUR SPEARS” A shout comes from the spearmen “AND LETS FILL THEM WITH ARROWS” The archers on the wall give a yell of confidence “PREPARE FOR BATTLE”

He walk back into line, melding in with the half-decent shield wall and waiting with bated breath like the rest as they watch a small horde of worgs burst from the forest just a few hundred meters away.

The worgs are the size of horses, which is terrifyingly big.

Soon arrows pepper the sky and although some find their targets, most sink into the hard earth.

Within a minute they reach the gates pile in, crashing into the line of players, barreling through with pure strength, killing some due to the pure brute force.

All that look at the level just see ‘???’ above the worg’s heads.

The worgs were at least level forty, which was terrifying to the newbie level twenties or nineteens.

That realization quickly followed with the effect of forty level forty monsters in a mass of extremely underleveled players: massacre.

Every few seconds, dozens of players are slaughtered and all attacks don’t seem to have much of an effect.

Within a minute, almost half the players are dead, and the rest aren’t fast enough to flee so they die fighting.

The archers do successfully take down three of them due to almost a hundred arrows targeting a single worg at the command of an elven looking chap who had quickly taken control when hell broke loose.

Though the worgs quickly race up the palisade stairs, blitzing through a dozen players in the blink of an eye. All seems lost.

But then the worgs stop at the sound of a pained yelp, and turn towards the town gate where a greying man with rippling muscles drops a worg, it’s head a hundred and eighty degrees from where it should be.

Immediately sensing the danger, they all rush towards him.

Laughing heartily, he punches one, snapping its neck with the force of the blow and grabs another by the muzzle, crushing its jaw before using it to bat away two more that pounce towards him.

Immediately everyone focus fires on his location and after a few seconds, eight worgs lie dead but one finally pounces on him and all expect him to fall down with the weight.

The fellow just laughs as the worgs claws dig in and he rips its spine out, whipping it into the face of another while a third clamps onto his other arm.

A trio of worgs rush up the stairs killing over twenty people before the remaining thirty three melee pounce on them, literally throwing their bodies to the worgs, just buying time for the archers to kill the worgs down below.

Another few seconds, almost half the worgs are dead, but the man has both bite wounds and claw wounds and finally he goes under as three barrel into him.

Desperate, a lanky archer with dirty blonde hair jumps off onto the middle worg, sticking a knife in its eye, buying a split distraction, enough for the man to punch the throats of two of them, fist splattering the brain, before bashing the third one from either side of the head, flattening it.

But that doesn’t stop the rest piling onto him and archers suddenly inspired, charge off the wall into the fray, jumping onto the worgs and onto the man, literally using their bodies to shield the man as the worgs try to get to him.

Suddenly a group consisting of every killed player charges together flanking from the back and slowly surrounding the worgs.

They die in the dozens, but successfully stopping the worgs movement and then succinctly killing them.

Once it reaches the third minute, all forty of the worgs are dead, killed to the last one, but the causalities reached eight hundred odd, with more than half dying twice.

Though none cry at that loss, for everyone gained back a level and for the few that didn’t die, numbering six in total, they gained a level.

Those six crawled from the pile of almost a hundred archers which sacrificed themselves to keep the man alive.

They dragged out the man from under the quickly dissipating corpse pile and in a rush some players start shouting around town for a doctor.

Cheers spread throughout the town as the civilians come out in celebration and mourning at the extremely succint battle.

A doctor finally arrives to check on the mans wounds: they are deep and many; his chest is covered in deep scratches and his arms are bitten to shreds. Though somehow all his vital areas like his neck seem to be untouched and his heart seems to still be pumping. But his nose is broken and a claw mark runs over his face, probably what knocked him out in the end.

The local doctor patches him up with the help of a dozen enthusiastic archers who know first aid.

They stop the bleeding and bandage him up, but he lost a lot of blood so almost ceremoniously, they carry him to the adventurer’s post, getting a room without payment and quickly forming a rota to watch over him.

They don’t know whether the man is an npc or not, but they don’t want to take the risk, the man did afterall save their lives and for some he had instantly become an idol of worship.

While the town rested and buried their dead, little did they know a certain Dullahan was watching with an interested expression.

“Hmm, humans that never die, certainly my Master would be interested to know this”

Silently, he spurs his horse on, leaving Ronthar standing for another day.

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Author's Corner:

Anyways, please comment and review my lovelies

-TRUE NORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRD