Strozazand fished short black mustache hairs out of his cowbra soup. His face was flushed red under his thick beard and mustache, two of the “perks” he had gotten when he was reincarnated as a dwarf. The glow of the campfire only served to accentuate the harsh scowl carved into his face.

When Stroz had been reincarnated by the magic spell that Paint the Horse, the Horse of Destiny had cast for Kegar, the natural dwarf had been shocked to see Stroz come back to life as a dwarf, with a full dwarven beard and mustache. It was as if the dwarven gods had taken pity on the dargonman and blessed him with a luscious hirsute body. Kegar was very jealous. It wasn’t that Kegar’s beard was in any way scraggly or sparse, but Stroz had clearly been blessed and Kegar didn’t like it when blessings went to others.

Unfortunately, everything seemed harder to Stroz. His mind wasn’t used to such a short body, so he stumbled and tripped when he walked unless he was giving each step his undivided attention. They had passed through an orchard and when he had tried to reach a low hanging fruit, it had been so far out of his reach he couldn’t even get it jumping like a fool. Now, he couldn’t even eat his hard won dinner without the, to his mind, dwarven curse infiltrating his meal.

Ellen watched his frustration and felt impotent. The reincarnation had brought him back as a different race and had made some of his memories hazy. He claimed, and Ellen had no reason to doubt him, that he didn’t remember the keep with the troll at all. He had learned some things from the Divine realm, but even those memories had been foggy. Although, who knows if that is because the memories were made in the Divine realm or if the reincarnation effected them?

Ellen surveyed the frustrated and angry youths that sat around the fire. Stroz’s first words, “Why is there a dog on my face?” Had upset Kegar, who felt like Stroz was insulting his heritage. Broden had laughed, which had upset Kegar further. This had meant that the near two weeks they had been walking since had been filled with barbed comments and threats.

Ellen sighed, setting aside her empty bowl. “It’s been a while since I told you guys a story. How about one?”

Strozazand immediately perked up, “Can you tell the one about the vampire cloak you made?”

Kegar snorted, “That’s not real. She’s just pulling your leg.”

Shandra shrugged, “I don’t see how it could be real; vampire skin turns to ash when the vampire dies.”

Lizzy shook her head, “Vampires have been extinct for hundreds of years. Even if she could have done it, there aren’t any vampires to skin.” She plucked her lute, as if to remind them that she had studied these things and knew more than them.

“It is real!” Stroz insisted petulantly. He had asked a great deal of questions about that story; it was his favorite, so she had gone into far more detail with him than with the others. According to her, because she had skinned the vampire while it was alive the creature didn’t turn to ash. There had been a number of strange rules she had to follow: she could only work on it under the starlight when the moon was dark, it had to be rubbed with humanoid blood every night without letting any light touch it, and she had to sew it with a needle made from the fang of the vampire she had skinned.

Ellen waved a hand, dismissing their comments. “No, no. I’ll tell you about my exploits another time.” She poked the fire with a stick, “No. This is a story from long ago and far to the south.”

Strozazand settled his back against a wooden log. His wings had retreated into his back, once again simple tattoos. Mary picked up her blanket and joined Stroz at the log. The blanket started on her, but through the course of the story, it would migrate to cover them both. Even Katrina and Cole, who had been eating some distance away, came closer to the fire to hear the story.

Ellen waited until everyone – even those who pretended not to want to hear – had settled down before she began. “A long, long time ago, long before Capita had been built or the Northern Kingdom had broken off from the kingdom to the south. Long before even the dwarves of the northern mountains had left to make their homes in the Deep Mount; there was a kingdom a long way to the south of where we are now. It was further south than the river that separates our lands from Talasht’s kingdom and it was east across the inland sea where the great kraken lives to destroy ships and the dreams of sea merchants.

“There was a city made of black glass. It was a city known throughout all the lands as one of great learning. Anything you could hope to divine from the universe could be sought out there… for a price.

“For no magic is free and their city had a darker price than most. The founders of the city of black glass had enslaved a demon. Luckily, not one of the Viarte, or things would have gone far worse for them. Nor was it one of the demons that led one of the courts of hell, but the demon was strong all the same and demanded a steep price for its power.

“Any citizen mage in the entire city could cast magic endlessly it seemed, but few knew what their part in the demon’s pact was. Every day the city had to sacrifice a virgin elf maiden to the demon so that he could drink her blood and feast on her soul.”

Shandra interrupted, “That’s three hundred and sixty-five elf women a year. That’s unsustainable. Elves don’t reproduce fast enough for that.”

“They decimated the elf population which used to be much more prevalent.” Ellen glared at Shandra, before continuing the story, irritated about the interruption, “This angered the elven nations to the north who quickly grew tired of their women and children being kidnapped and enslaved or sacrificed.

“But in the way of many nations, it wasn’t until the elf king’s newborn daughter was stolen that the elves mobilized in earnest. The elf king had, in all the time the black city had stood, never bothered to understand humans and their pride. So when his daughter was kidnapped he mounted an assault on the city to free her; but what he didn’t understand was that the humans’ desire to keep their city would make them sacrifice the elves they already had in droves. Long before the extricating elves penetrated the black glass walls of the city, the little princess’ blood had been poured out on the altar for the demon to lap it up.

“The rage that burned through the elves for their children – which are precious to them for they have so few – doomed the city as soon as the attack began. Every mage in the city had been called to the walls to defend their livelihood from an attack they didn’t understand. The people of the city didn’t know their power was bought through the blood of elves and the masters of the city were not willing to enlighten them. So as far as the mages knew, the elves were monsters that were attacking for no reason. This is why the humans of the Northern Kingdom still hate all elves to this day.

“However, one mage didn’t come to the walls. He was something of a recluse, so when the summons went out for him to join the defenders on the wall, he never acknowledged it. The mage, whose name has been lost in time, cared only for a friend of his. A courtesan. She was lovely; dusky skin, voluptuous hips and blessed in every physical aspect.

“But as beautiful as she was, she still had her problems. Her make up would run in the rain, when strong winds came it would tossle her hair unpleasantly, or when the men she was with became drunk and ran through the streets she would turn an ankle in her high heeled shoes. It was after one such ankle turning that she had told that mage about her frustrations. He spent weeks secluded away from the world crafting a beautiful necklace that would flatter her. He had a list of enchantments: one to keep her make up from smudging, one to tend to her hair, another to keep her clothes unrumpled and unsoiled, one to keep her perpetually clean and nice smelling, and lastly to prevent her ankles from spraining in heels.

“It was a silly trinket. Certainly one that would help the woman in her work… but it was nothing of substance.” Ellen nodded at Shandra, “But as Shandra knows, every enchantment placed upon an item serves to compound not only its value, but its cost. Just because the mage didn’t have to pay the cost of the necklace, didn’t mean the cost wasn’t being paid. There was a great deal of magical energy being poured into that decadent trinket.

“The mage was unaware that the elves had defeated the wizards on the wall and were slaughtering everyone in the city. They were specifically looking for any wizards. So when they found his spire, wrapped in enchantments so no one could bother him in his great work, they thought they had found one of the leaders of the black glass city. They thought they had found one of the men responsible for the kidnapping of their beloved children, their princess. So they attacked his spire. Many of their elven warriors fell to the magical protections wreathed around his tower, but their anger drove them like wild beasts and they continued to throw themselves at his defenses until the final one buckled and fell.

“The mage wasn’t even aware of the elves when they broke down the door to his work room. He wasn’t even aware of them until one of them planted a long knife in between his ribs. His death disturbed the magical working and released all the power he had been gathering for the necklace. The entire city was leveled as the power burst forth.

“That’s why the lands to the east of the kraken lake are largely desolate. Few people have returned to the lands cursed and ravaged by the release of the demonic energy.” Ellen finished her story.

Stroz had fallen asleep curled in a ball, his head resting on his sister’s lap, his beard tangled around one of his hands. Stroz always fell asleep during Ellen’s stories and she didn’t take it as an insult. He loved hearing them and always asked for them, but no matter how hard he tried, he always fell asleep at some point during the tale. He claimed that it meant it took five tellings of the story for him to not hear something new and while Ellen believed that was probably true, she didn’t agree with his assessment that this was a good thing.

Faute, needing to make a snide comment, answered the pleasant silence, “What? No magical artifact for us to find on our journey?”

Mary glared at Faute, “There aren’t magical items in all her stories.”

Ellen chuckled, throwing off Faute’s ire. “Didn’t I mention the necklace? When the spell was interrupted, it leveled the city but the jewelry was still completed. In fact, some say that the mage’s death acted as a sacrifice and his soul was placed in the artifact itself.”

Kegar shook his head emphatically, “You made the whole thing up. None of it happened.”

Even Lizzy was eyeing Ellen with skepticism. She normally enjoyed Ellen’s tall tales, but she couldn’t get over the plot holes. “How could anyone know that story? Everyone who was there died and if they weren’t directly there, then they wouldn’t have known about the mage making the necklace!”

Ellen shrugged, “What can I say; knowledge has a habit of escaping from even the most guarded lips.”

That was enough for most of them. Not only was her story improbable, if it were true, it would have been impossible for someone human to learn the truth without making a pact with a demon or using some other nefarious means of seeing the past. Ellen told wild stories, but at least they were fun.

Ellen stretched, “Well, if you won’t believe my story then the least you can do is let me sleep through the night.”

Katrina chuckled, “So that was your game? Sure. I’ll take first watch.” Katrina waited to see if anyone would protest. When no one did, she began walking around the perimeter. She kept her eyes looking away from the fire so that she wouldn’t ruin her night vision.

The night was long and the dark was thick. She sat listening to the sounds of insects chatting and the occasional pop of the fire. The story, that had seemed so improbable before seemed to become more likely as she turned it over in her mind.

“I still don’t know how she could have known about the story…” She murmured to herself, an eye trained on the perfectly ordinary raccoon that was warily approaching the camp to see if their dinner could become his.

She pulled out her knife, everyone with half a brain carried a knife even if they didn’t use it much, and carefully began to run it against the whetstone honing its edge. She didn’t make any unnecessary noise, but she didn’t try to hide the sound either. The watch often used the long hours to tend to their more tedious needs.

When it was time for second watch, Stroz stretched and stood up without being awoken. His beard, still entangled around his hand, was clearly frustrating him but he was keeping his swearing to a minimum in an attempt to not wake anyone.

Katrina watched him as he made his way to her. It’s odd to look him in the eyes when I’m sitting down. “I’ve never seen you with a beard before. It’s weird.”

Stroz’s frown deepened. “I don’t care what dwarven culture says, I hate it. I want to cut it off!”

That came as a bit of a surprise to Katrina. “Then why don’t you?”

Stroz’s frown disappeared in a flicker of confusion, “Huh?”

“You aren’t a dwarf now anymore than you were a human before. You’ve always told us you were a dargon, so be a dargon. If you don’t like the long beard, don’t wear it.”

Stroz smiled, pulled out his knife and cut off a huge swath of hair. After some careless hacking, his movements got slower and less sure until he finally stopped. “Uh… do you mind trimming it for me? I think I won’t shear myself completely, just leave a bit, and I can’t see it.”

Katrina pulled out the knife she had only recently sharpened. “If I were you, I’d pick one way or another; it’ll be harder to keep it at a specific length on the road.”

Stroz nodded, “Yeah…” he seemed to think about it for half a second, and “I’d still like to try out the short beard.”

Katrina shrugged, What do I know? I don’t have a beard and don’t intend to collect one. “Sure thing.”

Stroz turned his face toward the fire so Katrina could see it clearly while she trimmed his beard to a manageable amount. Freshly groomed, his beard accented his jawbone nicely and made him look distinguished rather than the homeless mess he had looked like before. He rubbed his hand over his jaw, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Kegar is going to be pissed.”

Katrina’s face blanched in the darkness. I don’t need him any angrier with me. It was likely that he would murder her if she stood up to him again. Murder, as in kill his childhood friend. He had threatened to when she insisted on finishing their mission before resurrecting Stroz. It was hard for her to wrap her head around. He had said, in front of everyone, that he was the leader and if she disobeyed him it would be mutiny in war time and that he would have no choice but to exercise military justice.

In fact, his exact words at that point were, “If you don’t obey me, you will be making me force Köttur to kill you. How could you do that to Köttur? He adores you.”

She had reminded him that without her, Stroz’s corpse would lie on the ground and no one would be able to pick him up. They would never bring him back… but Kegar didn’t care. He had wanted her obedience and the stupid horse had been prancing around, crowing about how it could bring Stroz back.

It was of little surprise, given how guilt stricken people were, that they had gone with the option that didn’t lead them into additional conflict. Mary had even praised Kegar’s efforts for trying to resurrect Strozazand as soon as possible… in spite of the fact that both Katrina and Cole had clearly laid out that Kegar’s plan would mean that Strozazand would be dead and Katrina would have to carry him for an additional week.

Katrina’s thoughts went round and round in circles like a mouse caught in the bottom of a glass jar, finding no purchase on the slick walls. No way to process her friends’ choices or the person that Kegar was turning out to be.

She laid in her bedroll sleepless, worrying at the problem through Strozazand’s watch, until exhaustion claimed her when Cole took third watch. Her sleep was not restful however. Nightmares of Köttur crying while he gnawed her limbs mingled with dreams of Kegar mocking her as her friends fell into obedient step behind him.

Perhaps, if she had been older or wiser the answers wouldn’t have eluded her. But, perhaps not. After all, Ellen didn’t seem to have any answers either and Ellen was the granddaughter of the courtesan in her story that night. Not that anyone in Pode knew or would have believed that if Ellen had told them. For a town that had the flotsam of the world constantly washing up on its shores, it was surprisingly unwilling to accept the histories people brought with them.