If you must break the law, do it to seize power: in all other cases, observe it.

- Julius Caesar

Alea reached for the carving rod fashioned of a very hard crystal, stabilized by magic, and with sure motions, began to carve the small metal plate that somehow had found itself before her. She was a bit unsure how it had suddenly appeared.

Nodding, Gallius, Alea’s grandfather, stroked his insubstantial beard. “Put more emphasis on the Sarn rune. It will have to do a bit of double duty to strengthen the material itself.”

“Yes, grandfather.” With a smile, she broadened her strokes just a bit. And added a small emphasis in the form of an additional line. With her new-found focus, it seemed right somehow.

“Mh. Just so. Would that I could grasp something, it was never my habit to simply be a supervisor.” The old man grumbled. But pride and affection shone in his eyes as he regarded his precious granddaughter.

Vanessa pulled her hand back before she became an unwilling part of the carving. She had finally found a suitable metal plate for the central engraving and put it on the table, only for Alea to blindly grasp it and begin to inscribe some runes, all the while talking to empty air.

What had she expected? The dream-spell was meant to do exactly what she was seeing. Concentrating she cast a few cantrips to better inspect the spells taking shape and then put some crystal dust in a jar in easy reach of Alea’s hands. She had to admit the enchantment seemed to be coming along nicely. So she grabbed some ingots they had prepared and began to form the spellwork to transmute it into a circle. A somewhat cumbersome and delicate process she would have happily delegated to a trained smith, if some were at hand.

And the adamantite infused steel would have needed a very hot flame to soften anyway.

A gaze to the side showed Alea in an animated discussion of which she could listen to only half. Vanessa showed a fleeting grin before arranging everything for the transmutation ritual.

Without the permanence of a physical object, the runes would fade too quickly, so she pulled a carpet to the side and was pleasantly surprised at the single great stone slab beneath, perfect for a casting circle. ‘As if we were in the laboratory of a mage.’ She mused self-deprecatingly.

“A body made of metal, a body made of unliving flesh.” The transparent old man waggled his upthrust finger, “Both have some of the same problems.” Gallius paced a few centimeters above the ground. “To have a sense of self, to feel and to have the necessary mortal desires and emotions. You need anchors for something as fleeting as a spirit.” As he mentioned each, he raised a finger from his closed fist. “The first is relatively simple. The law of similarity applies here. As long as what you fashion is somehow humanoid or even like an animal you can draw upon universal laws and make it into a whole with the sentience and soul integrating like into a normal body.” The bearded face split into a broad grin. “It’s actually a bit more difficult- for the same laws should keep a dead body from moving. But apart from that the second problem is like the first really and with undead not particularly problematic but it could nevertheless lead to a feeling of alienation and loss of function when the sense of touch, heat, cold, pain fades away. So we have to take care to strengthen that aspect. Emotions and void is a problem, however.”

Sigils took shape under the guidance of the old ghost. And the scene was very harmonious.

Vanessa shook her head and rubbed her aching brows as she tried to remember the specifics of the formula she had begun to inscribe.

Mireille saw Alysssa going through some fabrics piled inside a chest and knocked on the doorframe to get her attention. “I’m going to look in the upper story. Perhaps I can find something there.”

“Mh. Take your time.” Alyssa seemed absentminded, but who would blame her?

Mireille smiled wryly, pushed the doorframe, and walked up the next set of stairs. The house was cold, and her breath steamed before her face. Warmth. Something else Alyssa did not seem to have anymore.

The upper story did contain some guest rooms, some storage, and more rooms for housing servants. She got a good blanket and some coins for her troubles. The big silver candle-holders or crystal goblets inlaid with semi-precious gems were too cumbersome to carry, though she had to consciously keep herself from grabbing them nonetheless.

“Nirileth, forgive me. But it is said you love getting something more than keeping it. I can totally understand that.” She grinned and saw the ladder leading upwards. Curious, she climbed up and entered the attic. A labyrinthine series of chambers stuffed with old curios, nick-nacks, and nothing of worth. With a start, she raised her hands and nearly electrocuted a great brown bear's stuffed and mounted head. The moth-eaten fur shone dully in the sparse light falling through a small window caked with dust and cobwebs. Eyes made of glass gazed sightlessly while the mouth opened in a ferocious roar spoiled by a canine dangling on a thin thread.

Suddenly the air was too stuffy and full of dust, reeking of cold, moldy wood. The window was- unsurprisingly- stuck, and with a well-placed kick, she broke the rust keeping it closed. With sure and swift motions, she levered herself onto the roof, pleasantly surprised to find a platform with a low wrought-iron railing before she saw the small door inset in the roof some meters away. ‘That could have been easier,’ she mused.

A storm hung over the distant mountains, and she breathed deep of the clean, cold winter-air.

Stretching, she suddenly felt the oppressive silence around her, the loneliness of the close-to-empty town.

She looked at her hands and clenched them into fists. Sparks of lightning walked up the veins on her arms. Pushing her hands together and then pulling them apart, she formed a dazzling arc of light fluctuating with her pulse. The energy flowing from and into her flesh gave her a pleasant calm. It took nearly no mana, and each breath, each beat of her heart, made her and the lightning become closer.

Sometimes when a particularly bright flash blinded her, she saw the gigantic serpent flying through the sky on many wings wreathed by storm clouds.

Too big for this more grounded world she was living in, it seemed to be something from a tale, a story, an epic.

A giant eye turned in her direction and inspected her.

The game turns stale and new skies call.

Thunder rumbled, and in the cacophonous noise, nearly loud enough to drown out her thinking, there were words. Words she was hearing without her ears, feeling them in her blood.

There is not enough left of the enemy to savor their pain.

Lightning bolts thick as trees carved the darkness into lattices of light.

Bite the neck and release the prey from suffering. Thin as it is, you carry my blood.

End the game.

The remnants of the Unrepentant gathered in the secluded mountain valley. Their attack on the city of broken ivory had not fared well, as had probably been expected.

The Leaf-that-Fell grimaced at the tearing sensation in his left hand. The grafted iron blade was ugly but functional. He had gathered what remained of his army after seeing his druids turn the corpses of his brethren into soil. They would not gift the bounty of fresh bodies, bodies of the people no less, to the lich.

Only a handful of war beasts and three of the druids that had accompanied them were left. His troll slave had been slain, and when he took count, only about a hundred of his men were left.

He pondered what to do as old Solitary-Vine walked up to him. The old cyclops wore heavy furs embroidered and bound with copper chains. “Is this our last stop?”

Leaf-that-Fell rubbed the still bloody iron inset where his left hand had been. The blade was fashioned from the blade of one of his brothers cold-forged for lack of coal. Dented and chipped but still sturdy, it was a testament to Cyclop's weapon forging arts. “I don’t think retreating further will change anything for the better.”

“I will prepare the land to receive its due. Dead flesh long denied its proper rest.”

“I will see to the warriors.” Nodding his respect to the elder, he stood and walked to the campsite.

The barony of Kalbersheim was small but prosperous, nestled in the rolling hills south of the great road leading to Kronenburg from out of the coastal cities it enjoyed the traffic and trade that brought. The county of Saltmarsh lay to the south and, with it its prosperous mines and crafts.

All was well.

The baron von Kalbersheim, Helmut-Thadeus, was a fit man in his late forties and well used to respect and deference due to his stature and wealth. The latter was the cause of most of his pride, and- if he had anything to say to that- he would not remain a mere baron for all his life. And if all else failed, he could always marry off his disappointment of a son.

The castle was situated as part of the eastern wall built prominently on a looming rocky hilltop overlooking his domain in a most pleasing manner. The study he was working in had two large windows, a later addition when it became more and more unnecessary to keep up the pretense of a military fortress, and the light of the moon mingled with the glow of several mage lights.

Raising a wand, he intoned a short command word, and an amber ray of light bathed the scroll lying on the table before several glyphs materialized above the parchment and the seal. Adjusting his monocle, he frowned, murmuring the names of the glyphs under his breath. “Mh. Standard enchantments.” He sighed, taking the monocle and putting it back inside its small silk-clad wooden box. “At least it's not poisoned.” Scoffing, he continued his monologue, “The parchment, at least, the words…” Chuckling at his own humor, he cut the seal and unrolled the scroll. “...are you hereby reminded that continued tardiness in responding to the call of your liege, the Queen Lieseleta Ophelia von Margrinar, represented by her highness, the regent, Heloise…”

He rubbed his brows and cast the letter into a bin waiting at the side of the table. Everything was well made, and in good order, paintings of woodland scenes adorned the walls, and a fire burned without smoke in the small fireplace.

“What are they thinking? I made it clear that I required assurances and concessions. Do they really believe that I would risk the wrath of the other houses by coming to the aid of the maiden queen?” He laughed, opening a flask with a ruby-red liquid. Swirling it before sipping, he walked up to the windows before ringing a bell.

A well-dressed servant in dark grey attire entered and bowed. “Did Milord need anything?”

“Yes, actually. Please copy the reply I made the last time the queen asked for my aid. Make it a bit different but keep the meaning.” Shaking his head, he drank another swallow, his mood brightening at the taste. “And order some more of this wine.”

“I will hasten to obey.” The man bowed again and left. The door softly fell closed.

As he left, the servant turned and looked at the closed door, a faint sadness in his eyes. Brushing along his mustache as was his habit, he walked back into his own small study and grabbed a crystal tablet activating it with an injection of mana. “The baron refuses to reconsider. As per orders, I will leave the castle. I hope you can spare the staff.” A sparrow made of glyphs and sigils formed and then quickly darkened until only a vague shadow was left that darted through the window into the night.

The maid sighed and stretched. She had just finished cleaning beneath a particularly bothersome dresser and was tired and her back sore. Patting the dust from her knees, she turned to leave the small guest chamber. Her eyes widened in fright as a silhouette coalesced out of the shadows cast by the open door. There was an impression of many grasping vine-like limbs, and then there was a tall man in a hooded robe. Lifting his head, a pale face came into view with flesh drawn tight over sharply defined bones with eyes a pale white devoid of pupils.

“Go, leave the castle and never return here. Forget what you saw but remember your fear. Each moonless night see my face and dream.”

The maid shut her mouth, her eyes turned lifeless as she turned, putting away the duster with mechanical movements. She walked out of the castle with precise steps, staring straight ahead. Behind her came the other servants and attendants, a surprisingly large group. And behind them, the darkness came alive with great grasping limbs of shadow cloaking the castle in deepest black, and for years the people would tell the tale of the night baron von Kalbersheim was lost with all his most trusted retainers. The howls that could be heard as far as the town gave those that listened nightmares for years and years.

In the days that followed, the number of positive replies and apologies addressed to the royal palace increased sharply.