Chapter 1, working title

An aroma of cinnamon and fresh bread filled the Black Velvet Inn. Its walls, made of Thrall ash wood, glowed against the dim candle light. The Inn could hold over forty patrons, and its tavern entrance could have twice that many. Pastries and ale could be found at every table among side a group of cheery patrons, usually traveling merchants coming and going between the cities of Thrall and Gier. This past week, however, the Black Velvet Inn had held a different sort of clientele.

A group of bandits and thieves who called themselves “Warwings” sat huddled together in the center of the bar. No other patrons could be found enjoying the famous Black Velvet treats, and not a single bed had a customer in it. The bar tender, who was also the owner, and his wife sat behind the counter, waiting on any service the Warwings called for.

A gathering of increasingly irritated and hungry travelers stood outside the Inn’s front door. They pounded on the hard wood and demanded to be let in. A few called out curses and complained that their families had not eaten in days. A large man by the name of Drake unlatched the door and fiercely swung it open. His face, full of scars, and a tattoo of a wing stretching from under his left eye around the eye and to the bottom of his slicked back greasy black hair. He scowled at them and the crowd fell silent. He slammed the door and latched it again.

“Ahh Drake, you killed the music.” Complained a tall red-headed man sitting at a table with a group of his fellow Warwings playing a card game.

The table held the members who had been with the Warwings the longest, even their original founder, Fayne. Though the Warwings consisted primarily of large bulky men, Fayne was toned and slender. His demeanor was not like that of his drunken companions who always made a scene in every public setting and cause fear in women. Fayne was calm, mellow. His face did not hold any markings of the wing they all shared. His was stretched across the left side of his back. His ink black hair was clean and short, unlike the others. His face was shaven and his hazel eyes were still sharp and young. He looked down at his hand of cards with deep contemplation and then threw in a pile of gold to the center of the table.

“Vatch!” a few of the men threw their drinks on the ground and glared at their cards. One by one they handed their cards back to the dealer and watched as the winnings were raked over to Fayne.

Fayne’s cards would not have won him this hand, and many of the men knew this. But, not one of them would ever take away such a large pot from their leader. Though these men were made like brick towers, they had learned that the averaged size man that called himself Fayne was an ungodly force of deadliness when he wished to be.

“Well men,” the red haired man stood up. “I think we’re out of money to sport another round.”

They all grumbled and lifted their beer and drank heavily. A few of them retired to the upstairs and crashed onto beds in the open rooms. The rest of the men went outside to see if there were any women still waiting. Bickering and threats could be heard as some who had continued to wait tried to request entry. One woman could be heard arguing with one of the bandits asking not for entrance, but an audience with Fayne.

Fayne raised his look from the pile of gold in front of him to the door and listened as he heard one of his men argue with the woman.

“What you be wanting to meet with him fer? He ain’t got any interest in you, wench. But if you want to stay the night you could make a proper place in my bed.”

“I’m not looking to bed a brigand. Now I demand you let me see the leader of you pathetic scoundrels.”

There was a loud slap followed by a solid thud. The crowd booed and hissed at the man.

“You’ll be holding your ruggard tongue in my company woman.”

Fayne got up and made his way quickly to the door. He swung it open to see the woman, dressed in a delicate green dress, lying on the ground with her hands against her face. She let out a muffled cry from between her fingers. Drake stood over her, using his presence to keeping her from getting up.

“Drake!” Fayne’s tone was stern. “Get inside.”

The crowd made way as Drake stomped back into the Inn.

“Vatched whore.” He muttered as he passed Fayne.

“Gerald” Fayne pointed towards the girl and made his way back inside.

The red haired man kneeled down by the girl who had tears streaming through her fingers. He gently raised her up and guided her inside.

“What about us?” challenged a finely dressed merchant. Gerald swung his left fist into the man’s face as they continued walking by. The man flopped onto the ground and laid silent.

“The rest of you should move on. No more visitors today.” The door banged close behind Gerald.

Gerald placed the woman at a seat across from where Fayne sat, her face still covered by her hands. The owner’s wife raced over with a wet cloth and helped pull her hand to hold the cloth against the red streak across her face. Besides the mark, her face was quite elegant. Her skin was refined and her silky blonde hair streamed down to her shoulders. Her eyes matched the lush green leaves of the ever pine trees though they were a bit red from her tears.

“You demanded to see me, so now we are here.” Fayne waved over to the bartender to bring a drink.

“Others have demanded the same yet you leave them to fend.” Her voice was delicate and a bit hoarse.

“Others do not attract the attention of my men like you have.”

A glass of milk was set on the table and the woman mouthed a thank you to the bartender. She lowered the cloth from her face and brought the sweet mil to her lips. Her eyes ventured towards the large pile of gold near Fayne. Fayne took a coat from behind his chair and threw it over the gold.

“You do not seem very rushed to talk to me for having made such a point to see me.”

“I do not normally consort with men in your profession and to be quite honest, I’m rather weary to do so now.” She lowered the cup and gently placed it on the table, as though it were made of a fine glass. Fayne recognized this behavior from a Duchess he had once met.

“You are not normally in a position, I imagine, were you have to consort with many at all.” Fayne looked over at Drake, who sat slouched in the corner of the bar, watching the woman. “And I doubt you have ever had a physical confrontation such as the one my man gave you.”

She breathed took a deep breath and flared her nostrils. She tenderly put the cloth back against her face and winced as the fabric rubbed against the mark.

“It shames me, but I must request aide from you.” Her nostrils continued to flare as her breathing remained harsh. Her face had begun to take on such a red that the mark was almost unnoticeable.

“I do not believe you understand what it is my men and I do.” Fayne leaned in, examining her petite face.

“Being as young as you are, barely an adult, I cannot blame you for being ignorant. Though you should understand that where you sit is a very dangerous position for a young lady of your looks and stature to be.”

The woman slammed her fist with the cloth clenched within, against the hard top of the table.

“There is no safe place anymore!” Her manner no longer held elegance about it. Her eyes were vehement. “You have heard of what has happened in the cities have you not? There is no haven for the rich or the poor. There is no home or property to which we can return. And where we seek refuge, men like you, men who have hidden away in the shadow of trees and caves, now sit with an entitlement you don’t deserve. You cowards, you vatched traitors, you pathetic thieves.”

Fayne continued watching her as she slammed her fists against the wood and screamed. His calm uninterrupted, he leaned back in his chair and let her breathe a moment.

“You speak of these things, as though they should shock me.” His eyes, cold, watched as she fell back into her chair, exhausted. “We each here have been abandoned by the cities that we once called home. We have been stripped of our honor and property long before these plagues reached across all of Progrea and infested its cities. We were marked outcasts as our blood spilled for this countries freedom by rule of men more horrifying than any creature or story I was told of as a child. You tell me an entire country has now seen the world as I’ve seen it and ask why I believe I hold entitlement? Your gods have forsaken you and what is left is violent and corrupt and horrifying. What are left are those who can and those who cannot survive. What are left are me and mine, and those who are not mine.”

“Gods have not forsaken us.” The woman regained her poise. “The gods are the reason these events pass.”

Drake let out a booming laugh that echoed across the timbered walls.

“The gods are real.” The woman’s face turned a rosy red.

“Of course they are!” Drake apologized. “Where else does magic water from the sky fall or how else can a man tell who should be made king? The gods will make it so.” Drake continued his howling. “How can we sit and listen to her any longer? She’s obviously mad. Sha’Ra’La.”

The woman glared at the man for a moment then shot her eyes toward Fayne again. “Your men speak Dru’ganai?”

“Only enough to trade and threaten.” Fayne gave a quick look over to Drake, who slowly stopped his laughing and went back to being silent and watchful.

“You seem very assured of yourself, young… I am sorry but I have conversed with you to long to not know your name.”

“Minervia” she bowed her head slightly addressing him, for the first time, with respect.

“Minervia, I am sure that these rumors have terrified many, but there has always been talk that the gods come in time of distress such as these and these rumors always fade away as the illness subsides.”

“Have you not heard of what is happening?” Minervia now seemed genuine and not aggressive. “It is not simply some sickness that is spreading like wildfire. Men have lost their sense of humanity. This providence of Thrall has seen only the tip of what the other providences are reporting. Cities, wiped off the map by fire. Men sacrificing one another and cutting on themselves in peculiar matters. By Hedyira Balan has completely disappeared!”

Drake’s grin evaporated from his face, he looked over at his leader to see if he showed any sign of concern. Fayne kept his composer, though he reached underneath the jacket and produced a single coin that he began flipping between his flingers.

“We had a man just yesterday from Balan at our front door saying the same thing of Thrall…”

“Liar,” Minervia interrupted.

Fayne continued playing with the coin and thought to himself. It was true; they hadn’t seen anyone from Balan, or anyone from the Grunewald providence at all for that matter. In fact, he couldn’t remember a single person that hadn’t been a citizen of the capital city of Thrall that had come in the last week.

As though Minervia could read his thoughts she chimed in. “No one is making their way north to Thrall, they are all heading east to Rovak, the only providence we have not yet heard rumors fly out of.”

Could there really be something more to these plagues? Fayne contemplated. Had they been so detached from what those outside were saying that they had missed all this.

“Even if what you are saying is true, it does not mean gods are at work here. Man is just as capable of creating fire and destroying cities. But, assuming you believe all powerful beings are at work here, what is it you could possibly need from us?” Fayne’s curiosity was not building.

“My brother, only a year older than I, was called to send a message to the Duke of Sedilar. From what rumors have come out of Sedilar, the people are mad. They tear at one another and have become obsessed with fine metals. My brother has yet to return from the city and I have no assistance to send for him.” Minervia rubbed her hand softly against her cheek, soothing the ache.

Fayne waved his hand to the side and shook his head. “You are asking that we leave here, and give up this shelter to go across the country to check on a man you believe to be in a city full of lunatics? That trick I will not fall for.”

Minervia reached underneath her dress and began to fidget. Drake’s eyes shot over and leaned over to try and get a better look. Minervia retrieved a dagger from beneath her dress and placed it on the table. Its hilt was made of fullrite, a signature rare ore from the southern providence of Dru’ganai.

“These are ancient Dru’ganai military weapons. As I’m sure you are aware, they are illegal to barter with or sell. So how you have one is indeed interesting.” Fayne reached over and felt the cold blade, its side inscribed with an ancient Dru’ganai prayer.

“My father was a collector of fine weaponry and armor during the war. I’m sure you’ll recognize the language inscribed on the side since you seem to be familiar in Dru’ganai.”

“So, you are willing to trade us then? Your father’s collection for our service?” Fayne now had a reason to seriously consider the proposal.

“Not only his collection of Dru’ganai goods, but all the armor and weapons he had collected. Even the blade and armor of the fallen King Desmound himself.”

“Where is this assortment of fine weaponry you are proposing handing over?”

“A caravan with a small group of guards just down the road not an hours ride.”

Fayne looked over at Drake, whose eyes were fixated on the blade in Fayne’s hands. “Fetch Gerald and Roderick; check on this caravan to see if it exists.”

Gerald and Roderick came down the stairs, having heard the conversation, and made their way hastily out the door.

“If they find what you claim there to be, then tomorrow we will set off to find your brother. Till then, you are to stay in a room here, the maiden will attend to any needs you have. Once we have our fee and are rested, we will leave.”

Minervia bowed her head in agreement. “And I will be accompanying you.” She stated plainly, leaving no room for argument.

She gracefully stood up and watched Fayne, who remained seated, not caring for formality. She headed up the stairs and paused for a moment on the first step.

“Have you ever met a traveler by the name of Trenton?” She slowly turned to face the back of Fayne’s head.

“Can’t say that I have. Though I’m not in the business of getting to learn people’s names.”

“This man was tall, with hair red as fire and eyes blue as the summer sky. He made a route once near this forest and was taken from me by a desperate mugger.”

“We don’t mug lone travelers and we don’t work alone, so I doubt highly it was any of my men who harmed him.”

“No, that’s not what I meant at all. But, if you do happen to know of anyone who has been through this forest, who it could have been, would you tell me?” Her voice shaked as she asked.

“I don’t know of anyone like that in these parts. I would assume if there ever was a competitor in our area, they would avoid having us know they were here. Sorry.”

Minervia turned back and gradually climbed the stairs. “The man who saw him do it said it was like watching lightning. Never had he seen such speed or precision. Like an unholy creature, he said.”

Fayne turned to watch as Minervia made her way into a room and closed the door behind her. He stood up and snatched the coat up that was covering the gold. He shoved it into the hands of the Inn keeper as he passed.

“Burn it.”