Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 1

I rubbed my hands together and picked the last nail from my mouth, then stepped up to the frame of my new bed while holding on to an oversized hammer. If it turned out to be an exquisite piece, I’d never have another bad night’s sleep in my life.

“What a day,” I whispered with a hint of pride.

The backyard of the Midnight Bounties was in full bloom thanks to Opius, our resident vampire druid. The trees had grown tall and lush, offering blissful shade against the setting summer sun. Swarms of colorful butterflies flapped about the myriad flowers and plants; birds sang in the canopy, while fresh water sprinkled from the pissing gnome statue at the center.

Wolf, my deviltail mount was snoring happily in his haystack after Garfor fed him the back end of a small deer. It was a serene moment, a fleeting one, sure, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

I twitched and clenched my teeth as I heard the door of the outhouse slam open.

“Oh boy, oh boy! Frank! We need your help!” Spif yelled, panting hard and holding on to his horns.

“How the fuck—how long have you been in there?”

Spif turned around to look at the outhouse then shrugged. 

“Fey’s in trouble at the university. She fell in with some proper mean fellows and, and—we need you, Master Frank!”

He didn’t even try to answer my question. I’d been in the backyard half the day and I hadn’t seen a single Midnighter. But as with all things Spif, I simply accepted things at face value.

“She fell in with some mean fellows?” I said, not taking anything the satyr said too seriously.

“It’s for real reals, boss! I swear!”

“Sure it is, Spif.”

I faced the bedframe again fully, intending to finish what I had already started. With the new responsibilities around my new clubs, not to even speak of the Midnight Bounties itself, I could hardly cut out some Frank time. This was just that: Frank-time and no horny Quinta satyr was going to stop me.

“But—she…umm,” Spif mumbled, then went quiet behind me and just as I was about to hammer in the last nail, his shrill voice erupted from behind me.

“They’re going to hurt her if you don’t come with me! Come! Please!”

I looked to the skies in exasperation, mumbled a few curses, and dropped the hammer.

“Fine, but I swear, Spif, if you’re fucking with me, I’ll pin you to this bedpost. Nails and all.”

“I’d never!” the satyr claimed, but we both knew that wasn’t very true as he liked to play pranks on everyone now and then.

I whistled Wolf awake, glanced at my unfinished bed, spat, then marched for the backdoor of my club as Spif pranced behind me. The dance poles were emppty of dancers, the different lounges, tables and chairs were empty of patrons, and even the bartneder—no, he was there. Only the ever-present gloom of my vampire was there, just like always. He was busy polishing some glasses to a high shine.

“Trouble, sir?”

“There always is, isn’t there? The Duke,” I said and Ragul pulled the two-handed sword from behind the bar and handed it to me. I looked it over and shook my head. “On my day off. The only freaking day in the week.”

“Brooding over the inevitable, sir,” Ragul said dryly then fixed his tie.

It already sat perfectly, and we were alone in the club except for Spif, but Ragul was a creature of severe, excruciating, and immutable habit.

I opened my mouth to say something, but but just sighed instead. He was right. The drow was always right.

“Spif said Fey’s got into some mischief at the concert,” I said as Wolf pushed his way through the club. Despite his size, the mount slinked between the furniture like a cat barely even grazing anything. Ragul watched the deviltail walk out into the square as Spif held the door open then focused his red eyes on me again.

“That satyr, sir,” he said, shaking his head subtly.

“You think he’s lying?”

“I fear that he himself can’t tell the difference most of the time.”

“Well, be that as it may,” I said, sheathing the Duke. “I can’t take the risk.”

“Prudent, sir. Do you need my help?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks. See you later.”

Wolf already waited for me outside in the Ashpit where a small group of dirty orc children admired him. The large, dark blue mount sniffed at one of them and then looked up at me.

I shook my head.

“Frank boss! I bet you be going head-splitting today, are ye?” one of the orclings said wide-eyed.

“Frank boss is gone feed some elf to Wolf, I bet! Are ya, Frank boss?”

I saddled my deviltail and pulled Spif up, then tossed the kids half a king’s head and winked at them.

“We’ll see. Now git or he might eat you!”

The orclings laughed and rushed off as I spurred my mount on, leaving them brawling over the spoils.

I had to meander through the myriad stands, carts, and refugee tents sitting in the Ashpit as of late, making sure Wolf didn’t trample anyone. With the war in the north, much of the villages and towns there moved to Sankta Varath for safety. The lucky ones had family around town, but the poorest, most desolate schmucks ended up in the Ashpit, of course.

Fuck us, right?

The refugees were mostly human too and at first I thought it’ll all end up in a bloodbath considering the Ashpit dwarves and orcs weren’t big on us humies. But for one reason or the other—the other probably being Nergat’s orders—there was harmony. Well, as much as that word could be applied to the Ashpit.

“Lord Ashpit, mercy, please!” one of the refugees begged as I reined Wolf in not to crush him and his tent. I sighed, rolling my eyes and tossed the man a king’s head. He grabbed it hungrily before another downtrodden drag jumped him from the back and tried to pry it from his hands.

I decided not to interfere as I’d already done my part.

I did hate hearing that title though: Lord Ashpit.

Word travelled quickly around town, and I didn’t want the real lords of the realm to know about it. If someone like me held the same title as they did, well, then such unfathomable perversion of hierarchy would probably award me the gallows. Don’t mess with the ego of nobles, Opius once said, and he was on point with that one.

It wasn’t all gloom and doom, though. With all the chaos around the Ashpit and since I started paying the blackhelms to avoid our particular little corner of hell, the square was blooming with commerce. The Ashpit had turned into a sort of haven for every black-market trader, Shen’tar spicer, grave robber-turned jeweler, slave merchant, and similarly aspiring businessman. Though they were all getting nice and fat from the money I was kicking upstairs to the Lord Watcher, I didn’t really mind. People had to make a living, and I was doing pretty fine considering I owned two more clubs. The Lusty Lion alone brought in enough dough to keep us all clothed and fed like kings.

“Lord Ashpit! You must try this!” one of the sandrack spicers yelled as I rode past his stand. “Wiggly Frog sweat, dried and crushed!”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” I muttered more to myself than the one-legged spicer.

Loud explosions rocked the city of Sankta Varath as dozens of spells washed over the evening sky from the direction of Krak’s First and Only University. The mages put up a big show for the 500th birthday of their school for the magically inclined and mentally unstable.

I was happy to hear everyone was going because it meant I’d have some peace and quiet on my day off, but no. They had to drag me into it one way or the other.

As soon as we reached Fairygrave Street and I saw the crowd outside the Arcane Abby, I hopped off Wolf and tied him to a lamppost.

“Stay put, boy,” I said, patting the deviltail. “Don’t eat anyone unless they attack or try to steal you.”

The beast nudged me with his snout and whined as if unhappy with my orders, but I knew he’d obey.

“Spif. Come,” I said, helping him off.

We pushed through the crowd as quickly and aggressively as we could. The poor satyr was banging his head against crotches and getting stuck between people’s legs so often, even he didn’t seem to enjoy it. If Fey was truly in danger, then some sacrifices had to be made.

More spells rocked the sky and washed the streets in blue, red, and white while loud music played from deeper into the magical campus. Disgruntled passer-byes mumbled insults as I shoved them aside pulling Spif along. All kinds of folks had come to see the celebrations: hard working dwarves, gold-fed elves, drugged-up sandrack, troupes of angry gnomes, and everything inbetween. As I shoved aside one man after the other, the satyr offered excuses and apologies for my behavior promising free drinks in the Midnight Bounties as reparation.

“Hey, wait your turn, asshole!” I heard a voice yell then grab me by the elbow. I turned around to be met by a face full of shock.

“Lord Ashpit—I…I didn’t know it was you.”

“Don’t call—ugh, as you were, son,” I said then looked down at Spif.

“Where are they?”

“Further up, closer to the main stage,” he said in a panic.

As we reached the main entrance, I was met with two big orcs whose faces I immediately recognized.

“Frank boss!” the first one yelled and slapped his chest.

“Ragebrick’s Ragekids? What are you doing here?”

“We security,” he answered with a tinge of annoyance in his voice. “Captain says boss mage pay good coin.”

A red meandering spell climbed into the sky like a giant snake then exploded into a hundred little sparks showering the crowd beneath. The levitating stone chunks from the different, grotesquely looking towers surrounding the square, seemed to rock and shake from the explosion, threatening to crush the crowd beneath.

Nothing happened except more applause and cheers.

“Orcs as security for mages,” I muttered and blew air out through my nose. “Now I’ve seen it all. I need to get inside. My friends are in some kind of trouble.”

Just as I said those words I realized how unlikely that scenario was. Not only because Ragebrick’s Ragekids would never allow a scuffle to break out without them joining in, but also because Fey had Wort and Matis with her. I shot Spif an angry look and the satyr shrunk in on himself.

“What?” he asked, looking as guilty as can be.

“What’s your persuasion skill, Spif?”

“It’s about five.”

“Five what? Adept, expert, master?”

Spif grinned then grabbed my hand.

“Come on, they’re all waiting for you!”

Ever since I reached adept level of persuasion, the Deeproot would chime whenever someone of a lower rank tried it on me. Nothing like that happened when Spif dragged me out of the Midnight Bounties, though. Was I just that dense or did the satyr hide yet another ability?

I paid the entry fee and pushed through the crowd. It wasn’t difficult to find the other Midnighters. Wortimus stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd. With a little more pushing and shoving, I reached Fey and the others while a small choir of angry voices behind me protested to no avail.

Fey nudged me in the shoulder and smiled.

“I didn’t think you’d really come.”

“Yeah, right. This little asshole told me you were in danger.”

“I lied,” Spif said, grinning from ear to ear.

“I didn’t tell him to do that. Spif! That wasn’t nice.”

“Oh,” the satyr’s ears drooped but I didn’t find it cute anymore.

I caught him the other day rubbing his crotch against my pillow. He did the same I’m-just-a-goofy-buffoon face so I let it go, but the very same evening I heard Matis yell at him for the same reason. We had to burn both pillows that night.

“Well, you’re here so might as well enjoy the evening, don’t you think?” Fey said, winking and leaning her head on my shoulder. We both felt the arcane tension between us, it was hard to miss. Our every touch was loaded with it. “Look, the Grimy Dead are about to play.”

“Great,” I muttered.

The band was famous in Sankta Varath though I never cared much for them. Or any band for that matter. Mostly because I never had the coin to go to any of those shows and now that I did, it felt like I was betraying my old self. Stupid thoughts, but then again, I wasn’t a smart man.

“Never figured you for a grime head,” Matis said with a smirk.

“I’m not,” I said and pulled out a cigar and lit it. A young-looking elf next to me coughed demonstratively, so I blew the smoke directly in his face.

“Don’t mingle with the common folk if you can’t take it, kid.”

He snorted indignantly and moved away from us.

Since you’re here, you might as well enjoy it. Fey says. What a bunch of crap. I could have finished and installed my bed by now and eaten supper in my bedroom like a god, but no. Instead, I would go deaf while choking on other people’s sweat and farts.

“You have that face, Frank,” Fey said, cutting off my meditative hate session.

“It’s the only one I have.”

“Once Grimy Dead starts playing, you’ll brighten up. I promise.”

With one last surge of colorful spells, the festive mages bowed and made room for the musicians. The sun was setting behind the large main building of Krak’s First and Only University which was a small walk north of the stage. It’s giant archways and towers overlooked the entire celebration.

A wave of cheers and applause erupted throughout the crowd as the first member stepped up. A half-naked dwarf the size of a barrel with a large drum hefted to his belly. Next came a group of gnomes with different instruments in ridiculously lavish clothing, broad shouldered jackets with colorful frills, and long cloaks that dragged across the boards.

But nothing could compare to the singer who came up last. He didn’t even walk on stage, instead, the group of gnomes summoned a portal that hung vertically in the air. The singer dropped out from within with a bang as his gold-green leather boots connected with the wooden boards. To my surprise, it was an elf. Curious thing. Elves were seldom entertainers. Things like that were beneath them.

“Sankta Varath!” he cried out and Fey tightened her grip on my arm. “Are you ready to grime?”

A cacophony of voices suddenly bound in unison roared in response.

“We are ready!”

The dwarf smacked the drum and the gnomes strung their…whatever those were. Fire erupted at the edges of the stage and lightning came down from a cloudless sky as the singer opened up with the first line,

“I want to go to Hell!”

He basically screamed the words and I instinctively twitched. But that seemed to only be the innuendo to something I definitely didn’t see or hear coming.

Down the Redmaw to the bowels of fire,

That is where I will take my desire!

I am going to Hell!

Hell!

The crowd sang along including Fey and Spif who somehow knew the lyrics. I just stood there scratching my chin.

And when I see the lord of all dread,

I’ll know he will want to see me dead!
But what he doesn’t know is that I hungerrrrr!

I am,

the Spellmonger!

Spellmonger!

The cigar rolled right out of my mouth and dropped to the sticky cobbles below. The crowd repeated the last word several times together with that weird skinny elf.

“What the fuck is this?” I asked Fey but she either didn’t hear or didn’t care about my question. I looked around, feeling paranoia set in. Was someone watching me? Was someone playing tricks on me? Who was it? And why? And why did everyone know the lyrics?

Spellmonger!

The voice of that damned elf was like knives to my ears.

“Matis, what the hell is this song?” The swashbuckler looked up at me then shrugged.

“Spellmonger, Frank. It’s their most famous song.”

“I’m the Spellmonger, Matis.”

“Yeah, that’s what it’s called.”

“No, I mean—”

I looked around again. The crowd was completely entranced by the Grimy Dead, even Redbrick’s Ragekids, standing along the barricades to the stage and around the larger buildings, nodded along happily.

“Where the fuck is Tyfus when you need him?” I murmured but my words were drowned out by the music and the people around me. A sudden but not familiar chime rang out in my mind and I braced for the worst.

[WARNING: Souls begging for the Everdark 332/1000]

[DESCRIPTION: More souls wish for the Everdark with every passing day, month, and year. Spellmonger, you can ignore a whisper, but can you turn deaf to the wailing cries of a thousand souls?]

The sound of hundreds of tortured, crying souls filled my skull head and I clenched my teeth. My whole body tensed up and I couldn’t even focus enough to remain standing on my feet. I could sense Fey propping me up and that was the only thing I was aware of aside from the wails. I felt my muscles go limp and then there was just a blank nothingness followed by a sudden, uncomfortable tug back to awareness.

By the time I came to my senses, the Grimy Dead were walking off stage to a cacophony of cheers and cries and I was hanging in Wort’s embrace.

“You alright?” Fey asked with a concerned expression.

“Great,” I muttered, rubbing my face.

The calls to go to the Everdark had become very difficult to ignore. At first, I’d just waited it out and continued whatever I was doing. But once the two-hundred souls threshold was breached, I’d black out for minutes or more. I couldn’t even imagine what it’d look like once I closed in on a thousand.

“The quest again?”

“Yeah, the fucking Everdark quest,” I said. “It’s getting a bit worse every time.”

“A bit? You were out for almost an hour, Frank. Wort here has been holding you up telling the Ragekids you were just drunk.”

“An hour? No fucking—”

“Esteemed guests of Krak’s First and Only University,” a voice boomed from the stage. It seemed to penetrate every corner of the campus. I got back on my feet and cracked my neck, back to my old self, unharmed as always, but a little more mentally dented. How long could I keep this up? I had no freaking clue.

This shit can’t happen again.

Matis gave me a sip of whiskey from his flask and I lit another cigar, spat on the ground, and cleared my throat.

“I’m alright,” I said again, though Fey’s expression hardly changed.

“It is our great pleasure,” the tall mage standing on the stage continued. I recognized him immediately, Archmage Onan Killwind, the Dean of Krak’s University. Onan was an elf, as most good mages were. Gnomes would probably see me lit afire for the thought alone but then again, fuck gnomes.

Some said the dean was a thousand years old, but he looked barely two hundred. Between the pointy mage hat and the ankle-long white beard, one could hardly even see his face. He was dressed in long, blue-gold robes with glowing runes stitched into the hem. The image of a rich, powerful Sankta Varathian.

“To see you in such numbers for this great anniversary of our humble institution and so on and so on.”

He smacked his lips then licked them. For a moment, the archmage seemed lost, unsure of where he was standing or what he was doing.

“Five hundred years!” he barked with a deafening volume. “Krak’s First and Only University stood tall as a place of learning, understanding, yes, and so on and so on. We all remember a time when there were many universities in Sankta Varath.” He trailed off again, looking at a point beyond the crowd.

“Listen to that guy. We all remember a time five hundred years ago,” Matis laughed.

“But all the others fell to corruption and insanity!” Onan Killwind boomed, causing half the crowd to flinch.

“No wonder that we had to burn them all down, yes. Kill the other teachers and students, steal their tomes, leave no witnesses, my mentor the good Archmage Istian said. And we had to listen or we’d face the same! You people don’t know, you weren’t there. Yes, yes and so on and so on. What? No, I’m not done, Tailfire, you’ll get your turn.”

Another mage, perhaps half his age tried to get the mumbling old man off the stage, but Killwind wouldn’t budge.

“Tailfire, get your filthy fingers off me or I’ll turn you into a tree just like I did with those apprentices in Willow Street!”

“He’s jokin!” Tailfire yelled as more senior mages jumped on the stage and began dragging the old dean off. The audience went silent as the fiasco on stage unfolded. I laughed, though. Pretty loudly to be honest. The story of Krak’s First and Only University was the worst kept secret in Sankta Varath.

“And now, enjoy the great Tombob Hovelfoot!” Tailfire said as a large human mage climbed the stage. The crowd offered confused applause as Tombob, a well-known Varathian entertainer, took the to stage and opened his box of tricks.

“Here,” I said, returning the flask to Matis. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wha—”

The suave swashbuckler didn’t finish his sentence before I disappeared using [Rift Walk] to teleport next to the stage, then again to get behind it. Purple mist dissipated around me as I appeared in front of the members of the Grimy Dead. I caught them in the middle of packing their instruments away.

“Security!” one of the gnomes barked.

Four of Ragebrick’s Ragekids standing not too far off reacted immediately, moving forward with deadly intent. I raised my hand.

“It’s just me, Frank boss.”

“That Frank boss?” one of them said.

“It’s Frank boss,” another confirmed with a hint of disappointment.

With a round of sad grunts and shrugging shoulders, the orcs returned to their positions. I knew they were bored out of their minds and were probably hoping for some bloodletting, but I wasn’t a smart target for the orcs by any means.

“What? The dude is armed! What the hell are you talking about, orc?”

“Calm down, gnome,” I said. “I’m not here to harm you. I just need you to answer a question.”

“Man,” the singer began, blowing smoke from a long pipe. “Not cool. If you want an autograph, you’ve got to wait your turn.”

“Do I look like I want your fucking autograph? I need to ask you a single question and you better answer properly, dillweed.”

“Hah!” the half-naked dwarf roared.

“You’ve got to mellow out, brother. You’re tense as fuck.” the singer continued.

I really wanted to stuff that pipe down his throat, but then I doubted he could give me the answers I needed.

“Your song, Spellmonger—”

“I am the Spellmonger,” he corrected.

I bit my tongue and continued.

“Where did you learn that word. How do you know about the Redmaw and the Everdark? Where did you find those lyrics?”

“What? I thought you weren’t a fanboy.” The lanky pipe-smoker said and chuckled self-satisfied. “Alright, alright,” he continued, probably sensing the murder in my eyes.

“How can I explain my creative process? Sometimes I just see the words floating in front of me, you know, man? Like it’s a sort of trans-like state and I’m like—”

“Son,” I said, pulling my Star Wraith free as if to inspect it. The jagged bone dagger changed his expression rather quickly.

“Don’t!” He swallowed and quickly looked to the dwarf. “Fine, the… umm… Portal Master told us about it.”

I heard one of the gnomes clear his throat loudly, but that wasn’t much of a hint compared to the fact that my Deeproot chimed with a warning. He was trying to use basic persuasion on me. Although Portal Master Weider did mention the Spellmonger during one of insanity laden rumblings, I highly doubted the old maniac could string together enough meaningful words to make a song.

“Son,” I started again, ramming the Star Wraith into a nearby empty barrel. The jagged blade dug deep making the whole of the Grimy Dead twitch. “These are serious matters, so you don’t want me to ask again.”

“Why would I tell you?” the singer barked with some newfound but ill-placed bravado. “Who the fuck are you anyway?”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. I was growing tired of having to choke, stab, cut and bully my way through this labyrinth of questions, but as with all things in Sankta Varath, violence seemed to be the best answer. I narrowed my eyes on the singer and cast [Dread Mist].

[Dread Mist]

[DESCRIPTION: Bring upon the night of the Everdark to your victims.]

[EFFECT: Cast a large area into complete darkness. Everyone but the caster will be affected by the horror of the Everdark for 60 seconds or until it has been dispelled.]

The stage, the campus and all of the crowd together with the sky and the rest of the city drowned into a deep dark blackness. Only the band remained around me and their faces turned to sheer terror. One of the gnomes screamed. Another jumped up and barreled into one of the boxes, knocking himself out.

“Mum!” the dwarf cried, grabbing his beard.

“Answer my question,” I said, letting the Everdark course through my every word.

My voice filled the darkness like that of a demon from my nightmares and I knew the effect it had on one’s mind better than anyone.

“Who told you of the lyrics,” I said, grabbing the singer by the neck and raising him off his feet careful not to snap the skinny fellow.

“Snow—snow.”

“Snow what?” I snapped and the singer’s eyes rolled back as he blacked out. I grunted and dropped his unconscious body.

“Snowdog!” the dwarf cried out. “Snowdog told Walter our singer. They’re related. Me swears it’s the truth!”

“Snowdog of the Three of Steel? He’s related to Snowdog?” I asked, pointing at the limp body of that bony singer.

“Me swears!”

I let the darkness around us dissipate and just as everything vanished, so it returned, the rumble of the crowd, the stars in the sky, and the many fires billowing smoke from the Ashpit half a mile away. The gnomes were huddled together and crying, the dwarf was clutching a barrel and shaking, while the singer was slowly coming to his senses.

“Nobody knows where Snowdog is,” I said, still unsure if they said the truth.

“He’s south,” the dwarf claimed. “At the border with the Shen’tar in a small enclave. He goes by the name Peacespeaker. Please don’t hurt us.”

“Peacespeaker,” I whispered, letting the words roll over my tongue. Their answer was just mad enough to be believable.

“We apologize for our bosses’ behavior. Please come to the Midnight Bounties and have free drinks on us, all night,” Spifykon said hurriedly. I didn’t know how he appeared next to me, when, or why, but he did.

“Wha—what?”

“There, there,” Spif said patting the trembling dwarf. He leaned into his ear and whispered something and the poor drummer emptied his bowels a second later. Spif shrugged and looked up to me smiling.

“I have no idea why he did that.”I rubbed my hands together and picked the last nail from my mouth, then stepped up to the frame of my new bed while holding on to an oversized hammer. If it turned out to be an exquisite piece, I’d never have another bad night’s sleep in my life.

“What a day,” I whispered with a hint of pride.

The backyard of the Midnight Bounties was in full bloom thanks to Opius, our resident vampire druid. The trees had grown tall and lush, offering blissful shade against the setting summer sun. Swarms of colorful butterflies flapped about the myriad flowers and plants; birds sang in the canopy, while fresh water sprinkled from the pissing gnome statue at the center.

Wolf, my deviltail mount was snoring happily in his haystack after Garfor fed him the back end of a small deer. It was a serene moment, a fleeting one, sure, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

I twitched and clenched my teeth as I heard the door of the outhouse slam open.

“Oh boy, oh boy! Frank! We need your help!” Spif yelled, panting hard and holding on to his horns.

“How the fuck—how long have you been in there?”

Spif turned around to look at the outhouse then shrugged. 

“Fey’s in trouble at the university. She fell in with some proper mean fellows and, and—we need you, Master Frank!”

He didn’t even try to answer my question. I’d been in the backyard half the day and I hadn’t seen a single Midnighter. But as with all things Spif, I simply accepted things at face value.

“She fell in with some mean fellows?” I said, not taking anything the satyr said too seriously.

“It’s for real reals, boss! I swear!”

“Sure it is, Spif.”

I faced the bedframe again fully, intending to finish what I had already started. With the new responsibilities around my new clubs, not to even speak of the Midnight Bounties itself, I could hardly cut out some Frank time. This was just that: Frank-time and no horny Quinta satyr was going to stop me.

“But—she…umm,” Spif mumbled, then went quiet behind me and just as I was about to hammer in the last nail, his shrill voice erupted from behind me.

“They’re going to hurt her if you don’t come with me! Come! Please!”

I looked to the skies in exasperation, mumbled a few curses, and dropped the hammer.

“Fine, but I swear, Spif, if you’re fucking with me, I’ll pin you to this bedpost. Nails and all.”

“I’d never!” the satyr claimed, but we both knew that wasn’t very true as he liked to play pranks on everyone now and then.

I whistled Wolf awake, glanced at my unfinished bed, spat, then marched for the backdoor of my club as Spif pranced behind me. The dance poles were emppty of dancers, the different lounges, tables and chairs were empty of patrons, and even the bartneder—no, he was there. Only the ever-present gloom of my vampire was there, just like always. He was busy polishing some glasses to a high shine.

“Trouble, sir?”

“There always is, isn’t there? The Duke,” I said and Ragul pulled the two-handed sword from behind the bar and handed it to me. I looked it over and shook my head. “On my day off. The only freaking day in the week.”

“Brooding over the inevitable, sir,” Ragul said dryly then fixed his tie.

It already sat perfectly, and we were alone in the club except for Spif, but Ragul was a creature of severe, excruciating, and immutable habit.

I opened my mouth to say something, but but just sighed instead. He was right. The drow was always right.

“Spif said Fey’s got into some mischief at the concert,” I said as Wolf pushed his way through the club. Despite his size, the mount slinked between the furniture like a cat barely even grazing anything. Ragul watched the deviltail walk out into the square as Spif held the door open then focused his red eyes on me again.

“That satyr, sir,” he said, shaking his head subtly.

“You think he’s lying?”

“I fear that he himself can’t tell the difference most of the time.”

“Well, be that as it may,” I said, sheathing the Duke. “I can’t take the risk.”

“Prudent, sir. Do you need my help?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks. See you later.”

Wolf already waited for me outside in the Ashpit where a small group of dirty orc children admired him. The large, dark blue mount sniffed at one of them and then looked up at me.

I shook my head.

“Frank boss! I bet you be going head-splitting today, are ye?” one of the orclings said wide-eyed.

“Frank boss is gone feed some elf to Wolf, I bet! Are ya, Frank boss?”

I saddled my deviltail and pulled Spif up, then tossed the kids half a king’s head and winked at them.

“We’ll see. Now git or he might eat you!”

The orclings laughed and rushed off as I spurred my mount on, leaving them brawling over the spoils.

I had to meander through the myriad stands, carts, and refugee tents sitting in the Ashpit as of late, making sure Wolf didn’t trample anyone. With the war in the north, much of the villages and towns there moved to Sankta Varath for safety. The lucky ones had family around town, but the poorest, most desolate schmucks ended up in the Ashpit, of course.

Fuck us, right?

The refugees were mostly human too and at first I thought it’ll all end up in a bloodbath considering the Ashpit dwarves and orcs weren’t big on us humies. But for one reason or the other—the other probably being Nergat’s orders—there was harmony. Well, as much as that word could be applied to the Ashpit.

“Lord Ashpit, mercy, please!” one of the refugees begged as I reined Wolf in not to crush him and his tent. I sighed, rolling my eyes and tossed the man a king’s head. He grabbed it hungrily before another downtrodden drag jumped him from the back and tried to pry it from his hands.

I decided not to interfere as I’d already done my part.

I did hate hearing that title though: Lord Ashpit.

Word travelled quickly around town, and I didn’t want the real lords of the realm to know about it. If someone like me held the same title as they did, well, then such unfathomable perversion of hierarchy would probably award me the gallows. Don’t mess with the ego of nobles, Opius once said, and he was on point with that one.

It wasn’t all gloom and doom, though. With all the chaos around the Ashpit and since I started paying the blackhelms to avoid our particular little corner of hell, the square was blooming with commerce. The Ashpit had turned into a sort of haven for every black-market trader, Shen’tar spicer, grave robber-turned jeweler, slave merchant, and similarly aspiring businessman. Though they were all getting nice and fat from the money I was kicking upstairs to the Lord Watcher, I didn’t really mind. People had to make a living, and I was doing pretty fine considering I owned two more clubs. The Lusty Lion alone brought in enough dough to keep us all clothed and fed like kings.

“Lord Ashpit! You must try this!” one of the sandrack spicers yelled as I rode past his stand. “Wiggly Frog sweat, dried and crushed!”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” I muttered more to myself than the one-legged spicer.

Loud explosions rocked the city of Sankta Varath as dozens of spells washed over the evening sky from the direction of Krak’s First and Only University. The mages put up a big show for the 500th birthday of their school for the magically inclined and mentally unstable.

I was happy to hear everyone was going because it meant I’d have some peace and quiet on my day off, but no. They had to drag me into it one way or the other.

As soon as we reached Fairygrave Street and I saw the crowd outside the Arcane Abby, I hopped off Wolf and tied him to a lamppost.

“Stay put, boy,” I said, patting the deviltail. “Don’t eat anyone unless they attack or try to steal you.”

The beast nudged me with his snout and whined as if unhappy with my orders, but I knew he’d obey.

“Spif. Come,” I said, helping him off.

We pushed through the crowd as quickly and aggressively as we could. The poor satyr was banging his head against crotches and getting stuck between people’s legs so often, even he didn’t seem to enjoy it. If Fey was truly in danger, then some sacrifices had to be made.

More spells rocked the sky and washed the streets in blue, red, and white while loud music played from deeper into the magical campus. Disgruntled passer-byes mumbled insults as I shoved them aside pulling Spif along. All kinds of folks had come to see the celebrations: hard working dwarves, gold-fed elves, drugged-up sandrack, troupes of angry gnomes, and everything inbetween. As I shoved aside one man after the other, the satyr offered excuses and apologies for my behavior promising free drinks in the Midnight Bounties as reparation.

“Hey, wait your turn, asshole!” I heard a voice yell then grab me by the elbow. I turned around to be met by a face full of shock.

“Lord Ashpit—I…I didn’t know it was you.”

“Don’t call—ugh, as you were, son,” I said then looked down at Spif.

“Where are they?”

“Further up, closer to the main stage,” he said in a panic.

As we reached the main entrance, I was met with two big orcs whose faces I immediately recognized.

“Frank boss!” the first one yelled and slapped his chest.

“Ragebrick’s Ragekids? What are you doing here?”

“We security,” he answered with a tinge of annoyance in his voice. “Captain says boss mage pay good coin.”

A red meandering spell climbed into the sky like a giant snake then exploded into a hundred little sparks showering the crowd beneath. The levitating stone chunks from the different, grotesquely looking towers surrounding the square, seemed to rock and shake from the explosion, threatening to crush the crowd beneath.

Nothing happened except more applause and cheers.

“Orcs as security for mages,” I muttered and blew air out through my nose. “Now I’ve seen it all. I need to get inside. My friends are in some kind of trouble.”

Just as I said those words I realized how unlikely that scenario was. Not only because Ragebrick’s Ragekids would never allow a scuffle to break out without them joining in, but also because Fey had Wort and Matis with her. I shot Spif an angry look and the satyr shrunk in on himself.

“What?” he asked, looking as guilty as can be.

“What’s your persuasion skill, Spif?”

“It’s about five.”

“Five what? Adept, expert, master?”

Spif grinned then grabbed my hand.

“Come on, they’re all waiting for you!”

Ever since I reached adept level of persuasion, the Deeproot would chime whenever someone of a lower rank tried it on me. Nothing like that happened when Spif dragged me out of the Midnight Bounties, though. Was I just that dense or did the satyr hide yet another ability?

I paid the entry fee and pushed through the crowd. It wasn’t difficult to find the other Midnighters. Wortimus stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd. With a little more pushing and shoving, I reached Fey and the others while a small choir of angry voices behind me protested to no avail.

Fey nudged me in the shoulder and smiled.

“I didn’t think you’d really come.”

“Yeah, right. This little asshole told me you were in danger.”

“I lied,” Spif said, grinning from ear to ear.

“I didn’t tell him to do that. Spif! That wasn’t nice.”

“Oh,” the satyr’s ears drooped but I didn’t find it cute anymore.

I caught him the other day rubbing his crotch against my pillow. He did the same I’m-just-a-goofy-buffoon face so I let it go, but the very same evening I heard Matis yell at him for the same reason. We had to burn both pillows that night.

“Well, you’re here so might as well enjoy the evening, don’t you think?” Fey said, winking and leaning her head on my shoulder. We both felt the arcane tension between us, it was hard to miss. Our every touch was loaded with it. “Look, the Grimy Dead are about to play.”

“Great,” I muttered.

The band was famous in Sankta Varath though I never cared much for them. Or any band for that matter. Mostly because I never had the coin to go to any of those shows and now that I did, it felt like I was betraying my old self. Stupid thoughts, but then again, I wasn’t a smart man.

“Never figured you for a grime head,” Matis said with a smirk.

“I’m not,” I said and pulled out a cigar and lit it. A young-looking elf next to me coughed demonstratively, so I blew the smoke directly in his face.

“Don’t mingle with the common folk if you can’t take it, kid.”

He snorted indignantly and moved away from us.

Since you’re here, you might as well enjoy it. Fey says. What a bunch of crap. I could have finished and installed my bed by now and eaten supper in my bedroom like a god, but no. Instead, I would go deaf while choking on other people’s sweat and farts.

“You have that face, Frank,” Fey said, cutting off my meditative hate session.

“It’s the only one I have.”

“Once Grimy Dead starts playing, you’ll brighten up. I promise.”

With one last surge of colorful spells, the festive mages bowed and made room for the musicians. The sun was setting behind the large main building of Krak’s First and Only University which was a small walk north of the stage. It’s giant archways and towers overlooked the entire celebration.

A wave of cheers and applause erupted throughout the crowd as the first member stepped up. A half-naked dwarf the size of a barrel with a large drum hefted to his belly. Next came a group of gnomes with different instruments in ridiculously lavish clothing, broad shouldered jackets with colorful frills, and long cloaks that dragged across the boards.

But nothing could compare to the singer who came up last. He didn’t even walk on stage, instead, the group of gnomes summoned a portal that hung vertically in the air. The singer dropped out from within with a bang as his gold-green leather boots connected with the wooden boards. To my surprise, it was an elf. Curious thing. Elves were seldom entertainers. Things like that were beneath them.

“Sankta Varath!” he cried out and Fey tightened her grip on my arm. “Are you ready to grime?”

A cacophony of voices suddenly bound in unison roared in response.

“We are ready!”

The dwarf smacked the drum and the gnomes strung their…whatever those were. Fire erupted at the edges of the stage and lightning came down from a cloudless sky as the singer opened up with the first line,

“I want to go to Hell!”

He basically screamed the words and I instinctively twitched. But that seemed to only be the innuendo to something I definitely didn’t see or hear coming.

Down the Redmaw to the bowels of fire,

That is where I will take my desire!

I am going to Hell!

Hell!

The crowd sang along including Fey and Spif who somehow knew the lyrics. I just stood there scratching my chin.

And when I see the lord of all dread,

I’ll know he will want to see me dead!
But what he doesn’t know is that I hungerrrrr!

I am,

the Spellmonger!

Spellmonger!

The cigar rolled right out of my mouth and dropped to the sticky cobbles below. The crowd repeated the last word several times together with that weird skinny elf.

“What the fuck is this?” I asked Fey but she either didn’t hear or didn’t care about my question. I looked around, feeling paranoia set in. Was someone watching me? Was someone playing tricks on me? Who was it? And why? And why did everyone know the lyrics?

Spellmonger!

The voice of that damned elf was like knives to my ears.

“Matis, what the hell is this song?” The swashbuckler looked up at me then shrugged.

“Spellmonger, Frank. It’s their most famous song.”

“I’m the Spellmonger, Matis.”

“Yeah, that’s what it’s called.”

“No, I mean—”

I looked around again. The crowd was completely entranced by the Grimy Dead, even Redbrick’s Ragekids, standing along the barricades to the stage and around the larger buildings, nodded along happily.

“Where the fuck is Tyfus when you need him?” I murmured but my words were drowned out by the music and the people around me. A sudden but not familiar chime rang out in my mind and I braced for the worst.

[WARNING: Souls begging for the Everdark 332/1000]

[DESCRIPTION: More souls wish for the Everdark with every passing day, month, and year. Spellmonger, you can ignore a whisper, but can you turn deaf to the wailing cries of a thousand souls?]

The sound of hundreds of tortured, crying souls filled my skull head and I clenched my teeth. My whole body tensed up and I couldn’t even focus enough to remain standing on my feet. I could sense Fey propping me up and that was the only thing I was aware of aside from the wails. I felt my muscles go limp and then there was just a blank nothingness followed by a sudden, uncomfortable tug back to awareness.

By the time I came to my senses, the Grimy Dead were walking off stage to a cacophony of cheers and cries and I was hanging in Wort’s embrace.

“You alright?” Fey asked with a concerned expression.

“Great,” I muttered, rubbing my face.

The calls to go to the Everdark had become very difficult to ignore. At first, I’d just waited it out and continued whatever I was doing. But once the two-hundred souls threshold was breached, I’d black out for minutes or more. I couldn’t even imagine what it’d look like once I closed in on a thousand.

“The quest again?”

“Yeah, the fucking Everdark quest,” I said. “It’s getting a bit worse every time.”

“A bit? You were out for almost an hour, Frank. Wort here has been holding you up telling the Ragekids you were just drunk.”

“An hour? No fucking—”

“Esteemed guests of Krak’s First and Only University,” a voice boomed from the stage. It seemed to penetrate every corner of the campus. I got back on my feet and cracked my neck, back to my old self, unharmed as always, but a little more mentally dented. How long could I keep this up? I had no freaking clue.

This shit can’t happen again.

Matis gave me a sip of whiskey from his flask and I lit another cigar, spat on the ground, and cleared my throat.

“I’m alright,” I said again, though Fey’s expression hardly changed.

“It is our great pleasure,” the tall mage standing on the stage continued. I recognized him immediately, Archmage Onan Killwind, the Dean of Krak’s University. Onan was an elf, as most good mages were. Gnomes would probably see me lit afire for the thought alone but then again, fuck gnomes.

Some said the dean was a thousand years old, but he looked barely two hundred. Between the pointy mage hat and the ankle-long white beard, one could hardly even see his face. He was dressed in long, blue-gold robes with glowing runes stitched into the hem. The image of a rich, powerful Sankta Varathian.

“To see you in such numbers for this great anniversary of our humble institution and so on and so on.”

He smacked his lips then licked them. For a moment, the archmage seemed lost, unsure of where he was standing or what he was doing.

“Five hundred years!” he barked with a deafening volume. “Krak’s First and Only University stood tall as a place of learning, understanding, yes, and so on and so on. We all remember a time when there were many universities in Sankta Varath.” He trailed off again, looking at a point beyond the crowd.

“Listen to that guy. We all remember a time five hundred years ago,” Matis laughed.

“But all the others fell to corruption and insanity!” Onan Killwind boomed, causing half the crowd to flinch.

“No wonder that we had to burn them all down, yes. Kill the other teachers and students, steal their tomes, leave no witnesses, my mentor the good Archmage Istian said. And we had to listen or we’d face the same! You people don’t know, you weren’t there. Yes, yes and so on and so on. What? No, I’m not done, Tailfire, you’ll get your turn.”

Another mage, perhaps half his age tried to get the mumbling old man off the stage, but Killwind wouldn’t budge.

“Tailfire, get your filthy fingers off me or I’ll turn you into a tree just like I did with those apprentices in Willow Street!”

“He’s jokin!” Tailfire yelled as more senior mages jumped on the stage and began dragging the old dean off. The audience went silent as the fiasco on stage unfolded. I laughed, though. Pretty loudly to be honest. The story of Krak’s First and Only University was the worst kept secret in Sankta Varath.

“And now, enjoy the great Tombob Hovelfoot!” Tailfire said as a large human mage climbed the stage. The crowd offered confused applause as Tombob, a well-known Varathian entertainer, took the to stage and opened his box of tricks.

“Here,” I said, returning the flask to Matis. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wha—”

The suave swashbuckler didn’t finish his sentence before I disappeared using [Rift Walk] to teleport next to the stage, then again to get behind it. Purple mist dissipated around me as I appeared in front of the members of the Grimy Dead. I caught them in the middle of packing their instruments away.

“Security!” one of the gnomes barked.

Four of Ragebrick’s Ragekids standing not too far off reacted immediately, moving forward with deadly intent. I raised my hand.

“It’s just me, Frank boss.”

“That Frank boss?” one of them said.

“It’s Frank boss,” another confirmed with a hint of disappointment.

With a round of sad grunts and shrugging shoulders, the orcs returned to their positions. I knew they were bored out of their minds and were probably hoping for some bloodletting, but I wasn’t a smart target for the orcs by any means.

“What? The dude is armed! What the hell are you talking about, orc?”

“Calm down, gnome,” I said. “I’m not here to harm you. I just need you to answer a question.”

“Man,” the singer began, blowing smoke from a long pipe. “Not cool. If you want an autograph, you’ve got to wait your turn.”

“Do I look like I want your fucking autograph? I need to ask you a single question and you better answer properly, dillweed.”

“Hah!” the half-naked dwarf roared.

“You’ve got to mellow out, brother. You’re tense as fuck.” the singer continued.

I really wanted to stuff that pipe down his throat, but then I doubted he could give me the answers I needed.

“Your song, Spellmonger—”

“I am the Spellmonger,” he corrected.

I bit my tongue and continued.

“Where did you learn that word. How do you know about the Redmaw and the Everdark? Where did you find those lyrics?”

“What? I thought you weren’t a fanboy.” The lanky pipe-smoker said and chuckled self-satisfied. “Alright, alright,” he continued, probably sensing the murder in my eyes.

“How can I explain my creative process? Sometimes I just see the words floating in front of me, you know, man? Like it’s a sort of trans-like state and I’m like—”

“Son,” I said, pulling my Star Wraith free as if to inspect it. The jagged bone dagger changed his expression rather quickly.

“Don’t!” He swallowed and quickly looked to the dwarf. “Fine, the… umm… Portal Master told us about it.”

I heard one of the gnomes clear his throat loudly, but that wasn’t much of a hint compared to the fact that my Deeproot chimed with a warning. He was trying to use basic persuasion on me. Although Portal Master Weider did mention the Spellmonger during one of insanity laden rumblings, I highly doubted the old maniac could string together enough meaningful words to make a song.

“Son,” I started again, ramming the Star Wraith into a nearby empty barrel. The jagged blade dug deep making the whole of the Grimy Dead twitch. “These are serious matters, so you don’t want me to ask again.”

“Why would I tell you?” the singer barked with some newfound but ill-placed bravado. “Who the fuck are you anyway?”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. I was growing tired of having to choke, stab, cut and bully my way through this labyrinth of questions, but as with all things in Sankta Varath, violence seemed to be the best answer. I narrowed my eyes on the singer and cast [Dread Mist].

[Dread Mist]

[DESCRIPTION: Bring upon the night of the Everdark to your victims.]

[EFFECT: Cast a large area into complete darkness. Everyone but the caster will be affected by the horror of the Everdark for 60 seconds or until it has been dispelled.]

The stage, the campus and all of the crowd together with the sky and the rest of the city drowned into a deep dark blackness. Only the band remained around me and their faces turned to sheer terror. One of the gnomes screamed. Another jumped up and barreled into one of the boxes, knocking himself out.

“Mum!” the dwarf cried, grabbing his beard.

“Answer my question,” I said, letting the Everdark course through my every word.

My voice filled the darkness like that of a demon from my nightmares and I knew the effect it had on one’s mind better than anyone.

“Who told you of the lyrics,” I said, grabbing the singer by the neck and raising him off his feet careful not to snap the skinny fellow.

“Snow—snow.”

“Snow what?” I snapped and the singer’s eyes rolled back as he blacked out. I grunted and dropped his unconscious body.

“Snowdog!” the dwarf cried out. “Snowdog told Walter our singer. They’re related. Me swears it’s the truth!”

“Snowdog of the Three of Steel? He’s related to Snowdog?” I asked, pointing at the limp body of that bony singer.

“Me swears!”

I let the darkness around us dissipate and just as everything vanished, so it returned, the rumble of the crowd, the stars in the sky, and the many fires billowing smoke from the Ashpit half a mile away. The gnomes were huddled together and crying, the dwarf was clutching a barrel and shaking, while the singer was slowly coming to his senses.

“Nobody knows where Snowdog is,” I said, still unsure if they said the truth.

“He’s south,” the dwarf claimed. “At the border with the Shen’tar in a small enclave. He goes by the name Peacespeaker. Please don’t hurt us.”

“Peacespeaker,” I whispered, letting the words roll over my tongue. Their answer was just mad enough to be believable.

“We apologize for our bosses’ behavior. Please come to the Midnight Bounties and have free drinks on us, all night,” Spifykon said hurriedly. I didn’t know how he appeared next to me, when, or why, but he did.

“Wha—what?”

“There, there,” Spif said patting the trembling dwarf. He leaned into his ear and whispered something and the poor drummer emptied his bowels a second later. Spif shrugged and looked up to me smiling.

“I have no idea why he did that.”