Prologue

Ashley Riot -- Just Another Swordsman

Riskbreaker. Charged with protecting country and citizens, the VKP
(Valendian Knights of the Peace) agents skilled enough to earn that
name are few. Together, they form the Dangerous Criminal Task Force,
apprehending or sometimes just secretly "dealing with" major felons.
Consequently, Riskbreakers must have two things; well above normal
fighting prowess and the ability to make lightening quick judgment
calls on when to use their given right to murder. Of course, those
skills are only for use in cases of national interest.
In other words, a Riskbreaker is not his own man.
Were the Parliament, Valendia’s ruling body, and all the
organizations it commands assembled together into one gargantuan
living organism, the Riskbreakers would be that huge monster’s fangs.
An individual "fang" cannot act of its own will. It must act as the
"brain" dictates, biting into the game at which it is aimed, ripping
and chewing the flesh so that all parts of the creature may gain
nourishment. In that great beast that is national authority the
Riskbreakers are the piece aimed at its enemies, the "fangs"
disposing of them with a few quick snaps.
Such a system leaves no room for individuality. A Riskbreaker’s
thoughts must center around his loyalty to Parliament, all his
actions on preserving Parliament’s authority. He follows orders in
blind faith, unknowing of all the reasons behind them. It is not for
a simple "fang" to delineate between "right" and "wrong".
Yet no matter how willing a man is to kill off his "self", being human,
it is incredibly difficult for him purely to act as a "fang". True
"fangs" must squash their humanity into near non-existence, yet they
must also raise their will to survive to its uppermost limits. If
a man simply focuses on honing the physical skills necessary, shoving
the awareness of his humanity off to the side, his spirit will dwindle
and dwindle until it dies altogether. Then, no matter how incredible
his fighting abilities, when faced with true felons, each of whom
harbor a spark of chaos in their soul, that man will never come back
alive.
The capability to renounce both individuality and humanity, yet
retain spirit --- only those who can fulfill that conflicting,
contradictory requirement have what it takes to survive the life of
a Riskbreaker. That is what Parliament expects. Given simpler words,
they expect the impossible.
In all the years since the official founding of the Dangerous Criminal
Task Force, it has never escaped the chronic problem of a low average
survival rate. Only one agent breaks that curve, successfully and
safely completing mission after mission---
Ashley Riot.
About all anyone really knows about him is that he was once a member
of the Kingsguard, voluntarily forsaking that post and falling into
the lightless world of the Riskbreakers. To the VKP, he is the perfect
"fang". Even the most difficult missions--- the majority of which
involve acting as a "protector of the law", quietly silencing
anti-government factions--- he brings to a flawless close with an
iron will, coming back safely time and time again.
Since being assigned there, he has "handled" over 100 cases. While
the vast majority of other Riskbreakers have either lost their lives
or lost their nerve at the incessant slaughter, consequently being
stricken from all records, Ashley continues to complete missions with
unshakable indifference, raising neither complaint nor question.
An impossible, incomparable warrior. A perfectly loyal servant. The
impartial law made into living flesh. Ashley Riot is truly the
"unbreakable fang", the "unscratchable blade". All humanity
forfeited, all ties of companionship severed it is easy to believe
that he has ground even his heart into a polished sword.
Ashley Riot, the most reliable of all the VKP’s Riskbreakers is now
the prime suspect in the murder of Duke Bardorba. Two months have
already passed since the search for him commenced, yet not a single
trace of his whereabouts has been uncovered. Within the VKP, it is
widely believed, though unofficially so, that learning the truth
behind the whole mystery is impossible.
One week prior to the murder, a single event creates a tie between
Ashley Riot and Duke Bardorba. The Mullenkamp Cult, under the orders
of their young leader, one Sydney Losstarot, assaulted and
infiltrated the Duke’s Manor, and it was Ashley who was ordered to
remedy the situation.
However, the number of suspicious points is far larger. Firstly, why
was Ashley, an elite member of the Dangerous Criminal Task Force,
given that assignment instead of the Templars, a group specifically
created to deal with cults? Secondly, it has come to light that the
intervention by the Crimson Blades was ordered by the Cardinal
without the consent of Parliament. Thirdly, an unknown beast was
sighted within the manor proper during the incident. It’s reported
that blows were exchanged, but those who could further testify to
that fact either died during the incident itself or shortly
afterwards under mysterious circumstances. Word or whereabouts of
any other survivors is as of yet unknown.
In addition, Ashley’s specific assignment was the pursuit and capture
of Sydney Losstarot, not the Duke. Once he departed for the Manor
he vanished completely, only to resurface once, one week later, as
the final visitor received by the recuperating Duke at his Secondary
Residence. He had no communication with Headquarters at all,
completely unlike any of his previous missions. Hence, we have no
information as to what occurred during that one week period.
Only one subject will be avoided, the place to which Ashley pursued
Sydney; Lea Monde, the ancient and dark city 25 years destroyed by
the Great Quake. What happened to him there, and why the greatest
Riskbreaker ever became Valendia’s most wanted violent criminal---
we have no means even to suppose an answer.
From a mundane swordsman to a vagrant who bears the world on his
shoulders. Let’s step behind the eyes of Ashley Riot and discover
what really happened…………

§1 Loosing the Hunting Dogs into an Unknown World

Sydney Losstarot--- leader of the Müllenkamp Cult and manipulative
terrorist acting under the supervision of political powerhouse Duke
Bardorba. The moment Ashley received the order to capture that
enigmatic man, a curious premonition began to form in his mind.
Ostensibly, Ashley was chosen for that mission because the Cult was
recently discovered to be more than simply an extremist religious
cult. Accused of being an anti-government organization that had gone
as far as to attempt regicide, Müllenkamp was deemed dangerous enough
to warrant a Riskbreaker. Or so the official story says. In reality,
Ashley was deployed on the orders of a small group of politicians
plotting to take advantage of the recently-snapped secret bond
between Sydney and the Duke. Though officially long since retired
from politics because of poor health, the Duke retained a firm hold
on the hidden goings-on of Parliament as well as his power as a
manipulator of the Dark. Ashley was chosen by those plotters to be
certain of completely severing the squabbling Duke and cult leader
from any power.
Ashley himself had no interest in passing judgement on the political
maneuvering. He had long ago left all decisions on "right" and "just"
in the hands of the VKP, not once thinking on the whys or wherefores
of his orders. Once a mission begins, his soul is completely sealed
off. His brain is used only to assimilate exterior information and
transmit it to his body. A soulless doll acting purely in the best
way to successfully complete the mission--- that's Ashley's "style".
Thus, his spirit is always wrapped in silent darkness. No matter the
situation or circumstances, to Ashley it's as if he's watching a story
that's unfolding page by page. His physical body stands on the stage,
disconnected from his will, following the script of the story to its
predetermined end. His soul sits, separate, in a quiet, dark
spectator's booth, watching his body dance across the stage.
Everything external is turned away. Nothing ever reaches as far as
the soul within.
The darkness wraps thickly around his soul, coccooning it in a false
sense of peace, armoring it from Reality. But on the night he broke
into the occupied Bardorba Mansion, from the second he and Sydney
met, that armor began to crack. No, perhaps it is better said that
the framework of Reality itself began to crack, things dismissed as
mere fantasy by common sense actually happening.
For example, Sydney is immortal.
Completely disregarding the demand for his surrender, the young
prophet grabbed for his sword, forcing a reluctant Ashley to fire
his crossbow. The arrow struck dead on with enough power to punch
a hole in armor plate, let alone a bare, scrawny chest. It drove clear
through Sydney, cleanly piercing his heart. At least, that's what
Ashley thought.
Barely phased by the crossbow bolt sticking out of him, Sydney stood,
and as an incredulous Ashley watched, pulled the bothersome thing
out. He then proceded to call forth something even more difficult
to swallow than an immortal, summoning a creature straight out of
the world of myth and legend-- a wyvern. The grotesque beast dropped
in from above on thick, leathery wings, it's long neck snaking this
way and that. The sheer size of the creature more than dwarfed Ashley.
However, fresh from feasting on the Crimson Blades outside, the red
painting its teeth and the reek of blood on its breath wre anything
but illusional.
The wyvern's flaming breath flickering about him, Ashley charged
forward and rammed his sword into the beast's breast. The sturdy sword
cleaved through scale and hard muscle, permanently halting the huge
heart underneath. The strange feeling of cutting stronger-than-human
flesh still echoing up his arm, Ashley had no time to feel fear before
the wyvern died.
Unfortunately, that small gap was still enough for Sydney to get away.
He gathered those of his followers still alive and made a clean escape
from the chaotic wreck of the Manor.
Ashley then also withdrew. But having seen unkillable prophets and
killable wyverns-- his machine-like coolness and soulless calm had
been cracked to their very foundations.
The situation had obviously escalated beyond the scope of a single
agent. The Riskbreaker part of Ashley wanted to return to VKP
Headquarters immediately and report what little information had been
gleaned, and then wait for further orders. The occupation of the
Duke's Manor dealt with, the necessity of Sydney's capture became
questionable. Besides, would conventional methods of search and
capture even work on Sydney, with his strange powers?
But the rest of Ashley was ensnared by the reality-warping aura of
magic that surrounds Sydney like a cloak. His decision to pursue the
Müllenkamp Cult to Lea Monde was inevitable.
He went like a hound loosed on a fox. This scent he would follow with
pit-bull tenacity, until his teeth sink into his prey's neck. And
in this particular case, personal interest has sharpened his sense
of smell to blood-hound keenness.
Yet, just who, or what, it was he chased, Ashley had no idea; a mystery
that was pushing him, the VKP's greatest Riskbreaker, to bring out
his best. The goal of this hunt, then, was not the capture or kill,
but discovery. Ashley wanted to know the true face of the man who
had cracked the armor around his soul, and even more disturbingly,
actually touched it.
The hunting ground is Müllenkamp's base of operations, the ancient
city where the legend of a priestess still lives-- Lea Monde.
Ashley sets out as the morning sun rises, cutting away the last
shadows from the nightmare in the Duke's Manor. What he doesn't notice
is the halo of darkness still lurking about him that those bright
rays don't sweep away. That darkness is a "present" left behind by
Sydney. What lies hidden in its depths, a simple hunting dog doesn't
know. He simply presses on.
What will Ashley find in Lea Monde? Perhaps this "Dark" that's
manipulated by immortals. Or perhaps he'll find a shadow of
himself...
Exactly according to premonition, the Wheels of Fate have begun to
turn.

§2 The Sealed Memories of a Warrior

Once, Lea Monde boasted the some of the best wineries and finest wines
in all of Valendia. Likely, they were once stored, a rack for each
type, in that hall. The cellar is man-made and exceptionally large,
the light from the torches left behind by the Cult followers not
enough to chase the shadows from all the corners.
There, with darkness flickering in his peripheral vision, Ashley felt
an involuntary shudder.
It was one not caused by Lea Monde, nor its denizens. Indeed, the
magical creatures that run rampant in the blacker spaces of the
ancient city, the walking corpses and ghouls, the uncountable
bodiless spirits and all the other monsters; none of them inspired
any terror in Ashley. Even he himself was mystified at his lack of
fear at things that would panic a normal man.
No, what scared Ashley to the core was the truth about himself, of
which he was just starting to learn.
Was it truly simple darkness hovering about the edges of his vision?
Or was it truly not "darkness" at all but something cloaked in
"Darkness", following him just outside of his awareness? Since
entering the cursed capitol, Ashley had begun facing off with the
unfamiliar foes "doubt" and "paranoia".
Then Sydney Losstarot began his "game," taking Callo Merlose hostage
and luring Ashley ever further into the depths of Lea Monde. With
every step closer to the city's heart he took, the inner unease about
himself grew. It felt as if another Ashley Riot, one different and
unknown, was coming forward from the ruins around him.
That thought struck fear into Ashley like nothing else could. If that
"other" wasn't illusionary, that would make him, the Ashley Riot he
had always thought himself to be, the illusion. All he believed the
world to be would turn false.
------So just who is Ashley Riot?
Still plagued by doubts that were admittedly illogical, a sudden,
high pitched squeal stopped him. A shriek fit to send shivers down
a man's spine trembled through the air of the huge room in which Ashley
found himself-- a steel blade being drawn across a stone floor. Soon
the deep, hollow thud of metal armor joined it, creating a chilling
cacophony that filled the air.
Ashley had already seen the fallen Crimson Blades raised as zombies
by the Dark. As this new monstrosity began to lurch out of hiding
and he felt the extent of its hatred for all living things, he
strangely felt his cool composure returning.
There was going to be a fight. That, he could immerse himself into.
His self as a Riskbreaker and Agent of the Valendian Parliament could
come to the fore, would become more real. It didn't matter if his
opponent be man or monster, Ashley could shove all unnecessary
thoughts and worries to the back of his mind and bury himself in the
fight. For at least a little while, he could be simply a weapon,
nothing more. As the death-match with the whatever-it-was across the
hall ticked closer, an odd sense of peace descended on him.
It wasn't long before the "whatever-it-was" stood revealed. Another
squelching, half-rotted zombie it was not. Flickering torch-light
glimmered off a suit of armor. Once, it must have been custom-designed
for a knight of huge stature, each metal plate painstakingly pounded
out and embossed, then assembled into a stunning whole. Well, whole
except for a helmet.
But a helmet wasn't needed. The creature had no head on which to put
it. Nor did the shoulder plates rest on living shoulders. In fact,
there was no flesh at all within the thing. Peer through its joints
and all you would find is an unmistakably empty cavity.
The Dark that permeates every inch of Lea Monde had seeped into old
armors long ago drenched in the blood of foes, possessing them, giving
the dead metal a semblance of life. So was born the monster
"Dullaham." The living muscle that once moved its limbs is long since
rotted away. No bones support its frame. Instead, the Dark attached
marionette's strings to the armor itself, manipulating its impromptu
puppet like a master.
The "living" armor slowly turned to face Ashley. Gathering power in
the tip of the huge blade in its hand, Dullaham struck the floor,
leaving behind a deep gash in the stone. Almost as if it'd been waiting
for Ashley, a deep red light began shining from within the cursed
metal, more power pouring into it from the Dark.
What it did next, no one would have thought possible. Moving several
times faster than any living creature of the same size, it closed
to within two steps of Ashley. A bare fraction of a second later,
its sword, easily longer than a man is tall, swung down like a
lightening bolt.
Ashley did manage to block the strike and his shield did not crack,
but the arm holding it felt on the verge of doing so. Numbness shot
down his arm, every muscle fiber quivering with the stress of the
blow.
Yet such a massive, sweeping attack left Dullaham wide open, an
opportunity Ashley promptly pounced upon. While the greatsword still
swung with the momentum of the slash, Ashley stepped into the space
created, quickly closing the last two steps. Aiming for the joint
in the armor's right arm, he struck. Steel met steel in a clash that
sent sparks glittering into the dim light.
Surprisingly, Ashley's attack didn't stop there. Throwing all his
strength into it, he hit the same place again. Dullaham staggered,
unable to bring its sword back into position to counterattack. Five,
six, seven times Ashley's sword connected with cursed steel, the
metal visibly deteriorating each time, becoming much weaker.
Cushioned in the white haze of no thought brought on by the fight,
a new worry suddenly bubbled into Ashley's peace. When did he learn
how to chain attacks together like that, not allowing even the
slightest chance of counterattack? He'd never done any such thing
before setting foot in Lea Monde. But now it was like he'd practiced
the technique for years upon years, until the pattern had soaked all
the way into his bones.
The armor having taken more damage than it could handle, the Dark
abandoned Dullaham and the empty metal started to crumble. Another
cold shiver of fear sliding down his spine, Ashley stepped back and
asked himself;
"What am I?"

§3 Steel Fangs, Fragile Soul

Lea Monde-- a castle town with 2,000 years of history. At its height,
over 5,000 people lived within its walls. However, 25 years ago, a
very large, very localized earthquake struck with no warning. In one
night a thriving city whose strong walls had never been breached was
reduced to a ruined haunt of the dead.
The city's beginnings lay in the Kiltian Age, legend attributing it's
founding to a sorceress of extraordinary power named Mullenkamp. The
price for fooling with the evil magicks she possessed came in the
form of a great earthquake, visited upon her descendents. Ashley
remembered hearing that when he was a young boy.
Young Ashley had thought that a very strange thing to say. How could
one be punished for using something that didn't exist?
But God existed. Yes, Young Ashley was a very devout believer in God--
an omniscient, omnipresent, benevolent deity who watched lovingly
over the doings of Mankind. That God would not stand for evil magic
like that which Mullenkamp supposedly used. That God would have
destroyed such darkness instantly. Young Ashley absolutely would not
believe that his God would meet out any retribution that looked like
a "curse". Besides, present Lea Monde was the heart of the pious Iocus
sect.
Supposing it were true that Mullenkamp existed, then the sublime
being that lived in Heaven, whose omniscience the church priests
always preached about, would most certainly not be omniscient.
The guileless Young Ashley who had so fully believed in a just, kind
God had long ago vanished into the realms of the forgotten. The Ashley
who lived with the harshness of Reality didn't believe one whit in
god or miracles. He had understood that both were simply tools by
which priests controlled the uneducated masses. In a sense, that made
the clergy similar to Riskbreakers, warriors charged with keeping
the peace, albeit they used religion and faith instead of swords and
bows.
Yet now, having stood in Lea Monde and witnessed the magic, the Dark,
that permeated every pebble, Ashley began to think believing in God
might be a good idea. Not an all-seeing, all-knowing nice God mind
you, simply one that was a counter-power to the Dark.
Hence the tragedy that struck Lea Monde 25 years ago may well have
been divine retribution, just from an imperfect god. But whatever
that punishment was, Ashley was convinced it wasn't some natural
disaster like an earthquake. Something else set all 5,000-plus
inhabitants of Lea Monde to standing on the banks of the Styx. Why?
Because for an earthquake that theoretically killed everyone in the
city, it had left the buildings surprisingly well intact. An
earthquake assuredly had happened, but it wasn't one of a great enough
scale to annihilate an entire city. Another, far more abominable
disaster had fallen upon the place and turned it into a haunted wreck.
The power to snuff out several thousand lives in an instant--- no
matter how evil that power was, mankind would certainly hold it in
awe, naming it the manifestation of a god's divine might. As for the
true reasons for it's use in the unjust slaughter of a city, others
could search for it at their convenience.
Perhaps that reason was the otherworldly power of the Dark itself.
Whoever could attain it would, in the eyes of the superstitious
masses, become a god. It would not be a far stretch of the imagination
to believe that the Cardinal had sent his Crimson Blades, led by Romeo
Guildenstern, into Lea Monde in defiance of the Parliament for just
such a reason. Capture the sorcerer Sydney and torture all the secrets
of the Dark out of him, then make its might the property of the Church.
That would make the Church even more powerful than all of Valendia.
Of course, the VKP would not just sit idly by and watch that happen.
Thus they sent Ashley to permanently silence the voices of all who
knew of that plan, down to the last Crimson Blade.
In the end, this whole trumped up affair in Lea Monde boiled down
to something no different from a normal mission; a lethal battle
between men. So Ashley thought as he examined the battered edge of
his sword. He didn't have to listen to Sydney's confusing words or
fear the hallucinations of his past. All he had to do was take
sharpened steel to the enemies of the VKP.
Discovering the city's buildings intact held an unexpected bonus for
Ashley. In the residential districts, the Cultists had found and
restored several places that were indispensable to any militant
organization; workshops. With the fire laid in the forge, the shops'
interiors looked almost as they would have prior to the Great Quake.
In the process of his fights with monsters and especially the
armor-clad Crimson Blades, Ashley's weapons had sustained
significant damage. Striking the metal armor had left countless nicks
in the Fandango's blade and warped the head of the Tovarisch enough
to seriously affect the weapon's balance.
Even the Seventh Heaven's string was stretched to the point where
the crossbow's piercing strength was severely lessened.
Finding an unoccupied workshop, Ashley promptly set about repairing
his arsenal. Fortunately, the Cultists had been considerate enough
to leave behind plenty of neatly arranged tools.
First, dismantle the blade by removing the thick nail holding the
blade to the grip. Exchange the damaged grip for a new, better one.
Repair the damaged blade simply by heating it in the forge and
pounding out the flaws. Sharpen the new blade with a whetstone and
reaffix it to the new grip with a new nail to replace the one bent
by the initial removal process. Secure it tightly enough so that the
blade did not rattle.
Ashley gazed into the silver flat of his repaired sword. That ritual
was one he always followed before any mission, so that he could find
the right frame of mind to kill--- so that he too could become simply
a sword. Holding on to that idea, he set to work repairing all the
weapons he carried to better-than-new condition.
In the mirror-like face of a blade he caught a glimpse of his own
dead eyes. Then, as if they stood behind him looking over his
shoulders, he saw the eyes of his murdered wife and child. They too
stared down at a sword that had drunk gallons of blood. Just polished
it gleamed red in the forge's light, as if it had just been pulled
from another dying body. But the body wasn't that of a terrorist and
the wet blood red was not that of a fallen knight.
It was the body of a beloved wife and the innocent blood of a son…
A wordless scream echoed hollowly off dead stone walls.

§4 Souls that Cannot Die-- Hell in the Waking World

The Crimson Blades' young priest, Grissom, was beyond a doubt dead.
Surrounding Lea Monde like the sea surrounds the island upon which
the city sits lies the Snowfly Forest. Droves of the white insects
that give the forest its name flutter wildly all through out it, a
living blizzard. In the deepest glades Grissom made his stand,
intending to show Sydney just how far his skills with the Dark
extended. He attempted to summon a defender powerful enough to drive
off both the black-clad priest and Ashley, who suddenly stumbled upon
the scene.
But, as Sydney had warned, Grissom overstepped himself. He called
more power than he could handle, being devoured by the very strength
he'd hoped would save him. By summoning a being far exceeding what
he had imagined, the extra strain on his mind and body likely caused
sudden cardiac arrest. Obviously, the sorcerers the Cardinal thought
to train in secret still had a long road ahead of them before they
could reach Sydney's level of mastery.
Yet Grissom had barely fallen before he stood once again, for all
appearances completely revived. High on the new life and power the
Dark had infused in him, Grissom triumphantly raised his voice and
called forth a living armor greater than Dullaham, this time intent
on killing the two interlopers. Perhaps it was the influx of power
from the portal to the Other Grissom's first summoning had
half-opened that triggered his surprising revival. Or maybe, in the
second that he died, the Dark already in his system gained an
opportunity to infect his entire body, morphing into a different sort
of fell strength.
Quickly appraising the situation, Ashley chose to fight with Sydney,
an opponent he was only supposed to capture, in order to destroy
Grissom and his summoned defender, who were both actively attempting
to kill him. Slamming his sword through Grissom's heart, he felt it
still for a second time. Once again dead, the priest did not rise
a third time.
For those humans stained by the touch of the Dark, death means one
of two things. One is simple inconvenience, as in Sydney's case. Even
with a crossbow bolt running straight through his heart, he was
capable of swift and total recovery. In other words, Sydney posessed
"complete immortality". However, not just anyone could attain it.
Ashley was certain there was some other secret to it. A secret for
which Grissom and all the rest of the Cardinal's forces were
searching. They would have no easy time finding it, he was sure. Was
that missing piece simple to attain, the Crimson Blades would not
have been able to hunt the Cultists into near annihilation. Likely,
Sydney's complete immortality was something only one man could posess
at a time.
All the other souls bearing the Dark's stain were assured the other
death-- "incomplete death". When a soul merges with flesh, the
resultant state is called "life". Upon "death", the soul is freed
from the flesh, returning to the Other. Likewise, the moment a new
flesh is conceived in the womb of a mother, a soul comes out of the
Other to merge with it. That is the proper cycle for all things of
limited life-span.
Souls touched by the Dark have been yanked out of that cycle. Even
after the body has perished, the soul is not allowed the peace of
the Other. Bearing the taint marking it as part of the Dark, it is
condemned to walk the world of the living for eternity. Bodilessness
alone brings on indescribable agony for the damned soul-- a soul which
cannot die. That is "incomplete death". Those bearing that cursed
fate slowly go mad, their sense of "self" fraying to shreds.
Desperately, they seek any suitable body to posess, so that they can
escape their torment even for a short time. A "suitable body" is one
which lacks a soul; a corpse.
All the zombies and skeletons Ashley had seen rambling about ever
since setting foot within Lea Monde were undoubtedly manifestations
of that theory. Long since having forgotten who they were when they
had lived, driven relentlessly by a jealous hatred of the living,
they attack anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path.
Once the body they posessed decomposes, or is otherwise rendered
unusable, the souls are once again forced out bare into the pain of
the Waking World. Immediately, they begin to search for another flesh
cage to lock themselves in, fighting others of their kind viciously
for the chance. And so on, forever.
That, Ashley thought, was a pretty good picture of what he'd expect
Hell to be like. Grissom failed to achieve complete immortality. That
left only the path of incomplete death for him to follow.
Given what Ashley had witnessed thus far, the deeper the Dark's stain
upon a creature, the faster its body turns to dust upon death. In
many cases, mere seconds passed between the striking of the fatal
blow and the complete disintegration of the body. Killed by his own
summoning, Grissom should have crumbled to ash within a few moments,
his soul stripped of self and left to prowl the confines of Lea Monde's
bespelled walls.
Emphasis on should have.
But he once again found his way into Ashley's path in the broken and
sunken alleys of Undercity East, far from the wild green and dancing
white of Snowfly Forest. His body was stone cold and his blood
sluggish, but Grissom was still unmistakably himself. By some tragic
fall of Fate's dice, he'd re-posessed his own body. He was completely
unaware of his own death. Wondering at his body's strange
unresponsiveness, he did not even think to name it what it was; rigor
mortis.
Then Neesa and Tieger arrived, a pair of the few surviving Crimson
Blades. It wasn't until they-- his sworn companions and fellow
commanders-- told him, that Grissom realized the truth. As if that
revelation was the trigger, madness erupted within his mind. Voices
from nowhere whispered to him that his "friends" were only after the
hard-won flesh he'd so recently possessed. They were just another
group of condemned souls, the incomplete dead, and thus just more
ways to split the few available corpses. Grissom's self began to
unravel, the coldly polite priest disappearing under the ravening
jealousy of the living felt by all the undying souls of Lea Monde.
Voicing a strange noise, the thing that once was Grissom moved far
faster and smarter than expected of a zombie, quickly retreating into
the labyrinthine ruins of Undercity East. First, he needed to gather
up some more of the Dark's power… …then he could come back and drag
his "friends" down into his new world---
If existence meant only constant pain and an unending search for
corpses to posess, that was certainly Hell. But to discover suddenly
that you were already long dead, and only sheer chance had thrown
your soul back into your own body-- that had to be Hell's deeper
levels. Ashley decided then and there that he wanted nothing to do
with immortality, neither Grissom's or Sydney's variety. He sent up
a quick prayer to the god he'd chosen temporarily to believe in once
again, praying that death would bring him nothing but an end to
everything. When somebody died, it was best and proper for all of
that person to die, both body and soul.
Ashley paused for a moment. Was he really all that different from
Grissom? The past he had thought was his was slowly being torn away,
new memories and skills floating out of the darkness of his mind.
Was the "Ashley Riot" he had believed himself to be for so long, was
that man already dead? Did some unknown pain-mad soul sit in the back
of his head, manipulating his corpse to kill the living Crimson
Blades? Was he truthfully just another of Lea Monde's innumerable
zombies?
Be that as it may, it was still too early for him to give in to eternal
sleep. So Ashley told himself, pulling together the frazzled edges
of his self. He hadn't the right to flee into agony-provoked insanity.
He had a mission to complete.
It didn't matter how brutal the Truth hidden in the Dark heart of
Lea Monde, Ashley would face it. As one whose soul bore the taint
of the Dark, he would hunt that answer until his body faded to black
dust on the wind. He would follow it like a hound on the scent, until
he recovered his true self.

§5 A Quickening Within the Dark's Ancient Capitol

Jan Rozencrantz. A former Riskbreaker, yet a man still true to himself
and his pragmatic machiavellianism. Human to the core, he used
everyone and trusted no one in the pursuit of his desires. Of all
the people wandering around Lea Monde, groping after the Dark's
promise of power, Rozencrantz's motivation for wanting it was perhaps
the purest of them all; simple greed.
So Ashley mused muzzily as he watched the other Riskbreaker's chest
part company with his waist, the two chunks flowering into a black
ash that invisible winds scattered throughout the Chamber of Reason.
But even Rozencrantz, fox-clever and grounded in practicality as he
was, believed -- impractically, foolishly-- that the Dark couldn't
touch him at all. It was a Dark-enchanted stone blade brought an end
to that empty fantasy, ushering Rozencrantz's Dark-stained soul down
the path to incomplete death, but it was that convenient, believable
lie that first doomed him.
So, given that, could it really be ruled out that Rozencrantz was
a brain-washed tool of the VKP?
Rozencrantz was a former Riskbreaker. Considering all the top secret
and highly sensitive information one needed to know for missions,
would the VKP really let him simply retire? Even the idea that he
got kicked out and was then left to roam loose was hard to swallow.
It was very, very likely that Rozencrantz had been brainwashed;
twisted so that every idea and action he thought to be purely his
own was instead precisely what the VKP wanted him to do. A sacrificial
pawn sent into the fray to catalyze certain events to the Parliament's
benefit, if you will.
Ashley's train of thought stuttered to a halt, then backtracked.
Wait, perhaps he was only wishing that's what happened-- a
convenient, believable lie that would bolster other thoughts that
might just be more convenient, believable lies…
Making conscious effort, Ashley gathered wits scattered by
Rozencrantz's nasty blow to the back of his head and tried to stand.
At the far end of his still-fuzzing vision he could make out Sydney,
near the doors leading out of Kiltia's Temple, and off to the side
tottered the newly awakened stone goddess.
"I give you the City, Riskbreaker!" Sydney intoned, aiming one
slender hagane claw of one empty, eldritch metal hand right at Ashley,
"All it's power-- all to you! Make haste! Join me! Already your powers
are close to readiness! Come!"
"Keep your cursed city!" Ashley shouted right back, pent up anger
and frustration suddenly welling up and spilling out.
Come to think of it, Ashley hadn't so much chased Sydney to Lea Monde
as Sydney had lured Ashley there, but for what reason the Riskbreaker
had no idea. The blonde prophet left behind a mile wide trail, and
he never ventured too far ahead of his supposed pursuer. At one point
Ashley even overtook Sydney-- only to be shunted off into the role
of Sydney's protector against the Dark Crusader. Sydney had summoned
a long parade of monsters to bar Ashley's way, and each was
undoubtedly formidable. But not a single one was so overly terrible
that Ashley couldn't defeat it with a bit of work. It was almost as
if Sydney could guess how good Ashley would be at which place, and
then summon a beast that would push that level ever so slightly.
Unfathomable behavior on the part of a quarry Ashley in no way
understood, until Rosencrantz blurted out the whole thing. Perhaps
thinking Ashley too muddled or unconscious, he laid the whole plot
in the open during his verbal sparring match with Sydney.
So Sydney never had any plans to kill him. No. Maybe it is better
said that Sydney was testing Ashley, tossing him into Lea Monde's
monster-infested mazes and watching to see if the Riskbreaker made
it out alive or not. Dying, of course, meant that he wasn't up to
Sydney's requirements. However, survival meant power. With each
beast he killed his weapons mastery grew and the Dark's roots sunk
deeper into his soul. Theoretically, once he reached the center of
the maze, he would have become Sydney's ideal… whatever. Put simply,
Sydney was training him, using repeated limit-pushing battles to
force Ashley's potential into a continuous, sharp growth. That was
the immortal's reasoning, his purpose behind the otherwise odd
actions he took.
And Sydney's ultimate motive: an Heir to the Dark. He needed a
successor to the Wellspring, and Ashley was it. The Dark was the last
thing Ashley ever wanted, and he was sparing in the use of what he
did have. Reason enough, according to Sydney, to give the Riskbreaker
power equal to that of a god. Consequently, Ashley-- long since
stained black with the Dark's touch-- would receive the only escape
allowed from a gruesome incomplete death. As Sydney's successor, he
would inherit Complete Immortality.
Everything Rozencrantz, Guildenstern, the Cardinal and the VKP were
searching so desperately for, and Sydney was handing it all to him
on a silver platter.
Ashley didn't want it. Any of it. Was it really possible for a born
human to live and function in a human world once he'd become something
entirely different? Ashley thought not.
When he'd lost the only things that let him enjoy a happy life as
nothing more than a man, he'd fallen into a hell of desire for that
which he could never again have, and there was no way out. The Dark
was no miracle. It couldn't sate that desire by bringing back his
family or the simple, quiet happiness he'd known. It couldn't even
tell him if he'd ever really had a family and a happy life in the
first place. It certainly couldn't change his past as a licensed
murderer in the VKP. No, the Dark was a saltwater drought that would
parch a throat further for every sip taken.
"Where's Merlose?!"
At least Merlose, he thought. If he could do nothing else, he wanted
to bring Callo Merlose safely out of this fairy tale turned waking
nightmare. He'd failed once before to protect his family, and even
if that memory was no more than a warped lie it did nothing to change
the guilt ridden self-loathing that ate at his heart. This time he
would not fail.
Almost as if he'd heard the whole of that inner monologue, Sydney
smiled a mysterious little smile and turned his back on the other
man. Striding out of the Chamber, he casually threw over his shoulder;
"You may be able to save them-- your wife and child. Should you meet
them, repent Ashley, repent!"
A multi-pronged barb driven straight into his deepest pain, all the
blood drained from Ashley's face in a rush. A second later, his tired
brain finally processed the meaning of what Sydney had said.
-----he could save Tia and Marco?
He had to know what Sydney really meant by those words. Shoving
himself all the way to his feet, Ashley started after the blonde's
retreating figure. He'd gone no more than three steps when something
interposed itself between him and his quarry.
Kali. The living statue. Carved into the likeness of an ancient,
foreign goddess of war, it had been in a convenient place at a
convenient time for Sydney. Using a small bit of the power coveted
by everyone excepting himself and Ashley, he'd brought the stone
demoness to life.
She'd been waiting patiently for the chance to strike, body torquing
in a strangely snakelike, hypnotic fashion. Three beautiful faces
looked out from atop two sets of shoulders, the entirety of the
Chamber of Reason well within her field of vision. Four slim arms
belied their weak appearance, each holding aloft a huge, wickedly
sharp weapon. One arm swung in wide arcs the great sword that had
cut Rozencrantz in two. Another held a gargantuan, forklike sasumata
ready to rend. A mace so big that one blow would likely smash every
bone in his body, and an axe that could probably slice his shield
and his self in half in a single swipe hung poised in the other two
arms, ready to strike the second an opportunity presented itself.
Magic wound through her twisting, dance-like step, drawing the eye
and sapping strength.
For all that she was just a stone likeness of the old goddess, the
power of one deified by present day believers had been poured into
her. She would not be easy to destroy. Not easy, but not impossible
either. Sydney would not have given her life if he did not think Ashley
capable of taking it from her. His strength had grown to the point
where he could go toe to toe with a god and win--- just as Sydney
knew it would.
In pursuit of the immortal bearing the mark of the apostate, the
Riskbreaker clashed with the Goddess of Slaughter. Dark slammed
against Dark and the air itself trembled, a shockwave rippling
through the whole of the Wellspring like the first contraction of
labor, foretelling the birth of a new Ashley Riot---------.

§6 To a Realm Beyond the World of Human Knowledge

The lovely, pale skin of Commander Samantha slipped from sight, the
cold, dawnless black of Lea Monde swallowing her whole. One red rose
blossomed on her breast, the inked lines of a tattoo, and another
--still blooming-- blood crimson rose colored her stomach. At it's
center glittered the blade of a short dagger, stabbed nearly to the
hilt in her gut. The man she loved and whom she had believed loved
her, the man she trusted completely and never once doubted, had stuck
it there. Already mostly dead, Samantha fell from the dome of the
Great Cathedral in a graceful arc, like a flower petal sinking with
the rain towards the hard stone ground so far below.
Ashley saw her, in that single second she dropped past the Atrium's
window. He'd been about to climb the stairs leading up from that
chamber of secret sacrifices. Black dust drifted from her body, the
disintegration process already begun. Likely, only the dagger that
killed her would hit the flagstones below.
Such was the fate of every Blade Guildenstern led into the Dark
maelstrom at the heart of Lea Monde.
Even after the Commander's corpse past his line of vision, Ashley
was still completely aware of her. When the Dark first touched both
their souls, an uncanny connection between their senses opened.
Whether it was simply that they had a "like rhythm", or some other
unexplained cause that created the bridge spanning their minds,
Ashley didn't know. However it happened, it gave him the power to
see through her eyes and hear with her ears. That link to Samantha's
mind, and the similar one leading to Callo Merlose, provided handy
insight into the movements of the enemy's top ranks.
Her body dissolving and her soul starting to slip away, one last
thought ran through Samantha's mind and across the bridge to
Ashley's, where it rang clearly. It wasn't a shriek of rage against
the betrayal that made her a sacrifice for another man's gain, nor
was it a wail of regret over her own death. It was fear--- fear of
the bleak, blood-drenched future her lover was chaining himself to
in his desire for the power of an ultimate dictator.
Save him! she cried to Ashley. Her enemy. Her lover's enemy. Their
only possible savior.
Ashley intended to do so.
He'd already accepted the duty of stopping Guildenstern from Sydney,
the blonde prophet's life bleeding through his fingers from the
gaping swath where the Blood Sin's inked lines once twined.
Shouldering both pleas, Ashley stepped out into night air saturated
with the rain and the Dark, all of Lea Monde stretching out below
him.
He walked into it calm. Any anger he may have felt at Sydney and the
way the other man had provoked him, manipulated him, had evaporated
long ago. All of the eavesdropping on pasts, the prophesying, the
warped truths, even his charismatic façade as the Mullenkamp Cult's
leader; all of it was part of a meticulously tailored plan to save
the ones he loved. But that plan hadn't worked. So he placed that
burden on Ashley's shoulders, trusting the Riskbreaker as his chosen
successor.
It had been a conceited and entirely inconsiderate thing for Sydney
to do. Never mind that Ashley wanted nothing to do with the Dark,
the now-mortal Sydney had taunted him with the "hunt", playing on
the Riskbreaker's fidelity to a mission and buried need to save his
family in order to grind him into the desired form. Despite that
callous disregard, Sydney's hidden hopes and desires were something
Ashley could understand.
Where "law" forms solid pillars that regulate and stabilize mankind,
"emotion" creates the crossbeams that link the pillars together into
the latticework called "society". It was "emotion" -- love for one's
parents, affection for one's children, passion for one's spouse,
trust of one's friends, even the strange "best enemy" respect for
one's eternal opponent-- that held the human world together. So
Ashley believed. In a world without those soft "emotions" it would
be impossible to value human life. Solemn laws and strict punishments
alone lead only to cowering fear and stacks of corpses. Guildenstern
was looking to create just such a world, binding the admittedly
weakened pillars of law into one hard column and placing himself at
the very top.
Crouching on the rain-drenched Cathedral roof, the man who would be
a god completely ignored Ashley's entrance. His back to the
Riskbreaker, Ashley got a clear look at the stolen Blood Sin tacked
onto Guildenstern's bare back. No, not "tacked". The black-inked
swath of skin had melded completely onto his back, now as much a part
of him as it had been of Sydney.
Amidst the oppressive, evil-tinged, power-drenched air, Ashley
yelled;
"Guildenstern!!"
The man who'd unhesitatingly consigned his lover's soul to an
eternity of half-living hell lazily spun around. The eyes that looked
upon Ashley with black glee were nothing but cloudy whites.
"Come, Riskbreaker…"
Elation danced in those foggy orbs, latching onto Ashley's eyes with
a mad intensity.
"Your death will be my rebirth!"
With that announcement, the huge mass of Dark the ritual sacrifice
of Samantha had called to the top of the dome suddenly began to
condense into Guildenstern's right hand. Power flowed into the small
area at the pinnacle of Lea Monde, almost as if it were soaking in
from the entirety of the broken city below. The air became so thick
with the heady force of its presence that goose bumps started crawling
up Ashley's arms.
Lightening brightness flared and Ashley instinctively protected his
sight from the eye burning glare with an upraised arm. When his vision
finally cleared, the being that stood in front of him was not the
Guildenstern who had been there only seconds before. While there were
similarities, the Guildenstern he looked at now was, on some
fundamental level, wrong.
Purple bolts of pure energy slithered across skin dyed midnight
black. It was not a simple case of his skin changing color. Muscle,
blood, bone, organs-- every last cell in Guildenstern's body was
drenched in the Dark, it's color staining his skin from the inside
out.
His right hand held a gargantuan sword; a melding of three blades
made into the shape of the Blood Sin. A few moments before, it had
been atop the Cathedral's roof as a simple decoration in the shape
of the Iocus priesthood's symbol, the Holy Win. But Guildenstern had
changed it, vaporizing the mundane metal and then instantly
recondensing it with ample amounts of Dark mixed in. The result--
a super-dense, super-tensile alloy called Damascus.
Flipping the giant weapon about like it was no more than a willow
switch, the man-turned-god laughed once, a harsh burst of sound that
rolled out with a palpable wave of force.
"Come help me celebrate my ascension!"
Guildenstern lifted his rood-blade high and the sword immediately
doubled in size, white light gushing from the tip then instantly
freezing, an icicle of power. The next second it had whipped around
him completely and smashed into Ashley's defenses with frightening
strength.
The Riskbreaker's eyes registered one strike, but the rest of him
felt at least three. Had he been even the slightest nanosecond slow
with his counter, his fate likely would have been similar to
Rosencrantz's.
Faster than a surprise attack, strong enough to slice six unprepared
Ashleys in half, Guildenstern was simply probing at his opponent's
defenses. A thought and he was behind the other man, the rood-blade
flicking out and slicing through both magical and physical shields
like neither was there. Left behind was a not-shallow gash across
Ashley's well-toned abdomen.
Ashley slapped a 'heal' on the wound before he could lose too much
blood. The cantrip summoning the power had barely left his mouth when
Guildenstern's words echoed through not only his ears, but every
nerve in his body.
"Well parried, Riskbreaker. You truly are the greatest bloodhound
--blood-drenched, hell hound-- that the VKP has ever turned out. But
you cannot destroy me. Lea Monde is mine. I am a GOD!"
"……Oh I'll kill you, Guildenstern. You belong in this world no
longer."
As a Riskbreaker, Ashley had made it his mission to eliminate
Guildenstern. Not for Parliament or Valendia would he destroy the
power-mad creature of the Dark that the Crimson Blade Commander had
become, but for all the people the world over, so that they could
continue to live peacefully, as people. Shouldering the hope of
humanity, Ashley brought to bear a power that transcended mortality.
In the skies above Lea Monde, two different "Darks" began to
intertwine----.

Epilogue: Shouldering the World-- A Vagrant’s Story Begins

Where do Dark-stained souls go when they die?
The mantle of Master of Lea Monde passed to a new bearer, and in the
process many new souls felt the touch of the Dark. All --excepting
one, of course-- were sent into the arms of an incomplete death.
Before, the spell songs etched into every wall of the City would trap
them within its bounds, forever confined on this side of Oblivion.
Insane and vicious, those rotted souls’ very presence served to
entice more of the Dark into the Wellspring, their hatred and pain
feeding it.
But Lea Monde burned. Already in ruins before the blaze, the
fire-gutted corpse could no longer be called even a shell of its
former self. Unfortunately, those wretched souls once stuck within
it were not allowed the freedom brought by destruction, though their
cage was now gone. So where do they all go now?
And what will happen to the survivors? That handful of people who
survived the fires and earthquakes that leveled the old City yet bear
the Dark’s taint. What will happen to them when they die?
Ashley knows.
A living bridge between the world of the Dark and the world of Mankind;
successor to pure power, Ashley Riot knows. The logic of Life, the
meaning of Death, and the Fate of those forever trapped in
between-------

It was late on a rainy evening, precisely one week after the extremist
religious cult “Mullenkamp” staged an attack on the estate of Duke
Bardorba. In the trading city of The Graylands, at his secondary
residence, a lone visitor begged an audience with the recuperating
Duke. It was hardly an appropriate hour for any visitor, let alone
one requesting personal audience with Duke Aldous Byron Bardorba on
his sickbed. Were this visitor anyone other than who he was, the
Chamberlain would have told him politely, but coldly, to call again
at a more suitable time of day, and have him shown out.
However, this visitor showed the credentials of a VKP agent. This
was not someone the Chamberlain had the power to admit or dismiss,
he had to ask the Duke himself.
Thus it was that the visitor --Ashley Riot-- gained entrance to the
Duke’s bedchambers.
Looking back, all the servants mentioned how the entire evening had
been somewhat odd, an air of vague abnormality suffusing everything.
Usually, the Duke was long asleep by that hour. Yet that night he
made no move to dim his candles, sitting up the whole evening as if
he were waiting for someone he’d long expected to come.
Upon showing Agent Riot in, the Chamberlain did as the Duke ordered,
having every servant within and nearby the Duke’s private apartments,
including himself, withdraw. Predictably, of what then happened
between the two men there was not a single witness.
Four and a half hours later, the Chamberlain returned to the rooms
to inquire after the situation. Suspicious at the complete lack of
sound from within, he entered without waiting for permission. Ashley
was nowhere to be seen. The Duke’s body, hours dead, lay serenely
upon his bed, looking more at peace than he had in years.
The VKP’s reaction to the Duke’s demise was swift. Their spies within
the residence had barely finished reporting the death before the
Coroner’s Squad was knocking on the door. Scant minutes later, the
Duke’s apartments were cordoned off and the autopsy begun. No signs
were found of either external injury nor poisons. Given that he had
been ill for an extensive period of time, the logical conclusion was
that he’d finally succumbed to it.
Answer enough, as far as the public would be concerned. Yet there
remained the matter of Ashley’s presence at the time and, unbeknownst
to most, his mission. The Riskbreaker may have found it necessary
to assassinate the Duke and, to avoid later troublesome
investigations, made the murder look like a natural death. Ashley’s
position as the last man to see the Duke alive was evidence enough
of that possibility.
Were this incident truly an extension of his mission concerning the
Mullenkamp attack a week prior, then it had been Ashley’s judgment
that, for the peace and safety of Valendia, its most revered National
Hero needed to die. To do so for such reasons was well within his
rights as a Riskbreaker, so of course he would face no charges. In
fact, the VKP would throw all its might into a coverup, even going
so far as to brainwash any possible witnesses.
Thus, the entire residence was shut down and sealed off, the VKP fully
expecting a report from Ashley inside the hour, informing them of
a situation along the lines of their supposition.
Twelve hours later, there was no report. There was no Ashley either,
VKP Headquarters realizing it could no longer locate its foremost
agent. In that instant, the VKP’s attitude towards the situation made
a sudden about-face. Ashley had gone AWOL. It had become more likely
that the Duke’s assassination was not for reasons of national
security, but for Ashley’s own personal reasons. Given that, the now
former-Riskbreaker’s license to kill was rendered null and void. His
actions were no longer considered the erasure of a national threat,
but the premeditated murder of a high noble and renowned public
figure. The VKP immediately assembled and deployed a
search-and-capture team.
Twenty-four hours after the Duke’s demise an official, public
announcement labeled Ashley Riot the foremost suspect in the most
foul murder of the beloved Duke Aldous Byron Bardorba.
Yet, counter to the expectations of the VKP’s top brass, the dragnet
they believed had been set up with lightning speed failed to capture
even the slightest trace of Ashley‘s whereabouts. It was almost as
if he’d vanished from the Duke’s bedchambers in a puff of smoke.
The entire search yielded only one lead, and a tiny one at that. A
sentry mentioned that while on routine patrol duty the night of the
murder, he came across Inquisitor Callo Merlose, Ashley’s assigned
partner in the Mullenkamp investigation, loitering on the outskirts
of the Duke’s residence near the time of the murder. Prior to that
sighting, Inquisitor Merlose’s last report had come a week earlier,
mentioning the decision to pursue the cult to Lea Monde. It was
possible that she had been an accomplice to Ashley's crime.
Unfortunately even that small lead came to a rapid dead end, for after
that single sighting she too disappeared just as thoroughly as Ashley
had……

A steady, cold rain pelted the cobblestones. Ashley stood at the mouth
of a dim alleyway, quietly watching the Duke’s bedchamber window.
He stood patiently, waiting. Sydney Losstarot had borrowed his face
and his name for one last visit to the Duke, and he would be returning
shortly.
And return he did; in soul, anyway. His body had turned to black ash
a little while before. With him came the Duke, their deaths
intertwined, as decreed by their unique compact with the Dark.
Lea Monde was gone. Its rune-carved walls destroyed, they could no
longer bind the Dark-cursed dead. Instead, as one they flowed into
a new vessel--- Ashley himself. Accepting an uncountable number of
souls, an uncountable number of lost dreams, Ashley provided a
peaceful haven for every last, condemned one.
He’d come to terms with being Master of the Dark and his duty, as
he saw it, was not to rule, but to stabilize. Unlimited power had
been granted him not to use as he pleased, but to enable him to smooth
out the wrinkles where the world of the Dark collided with Reality.
As Master of the Dark, Ashley knows. The path the survivors of Lea
Monde will take is as plain as day to him. Callo, Tieger, Neesa, even
young Joshua; any road they choose will inevitably lead to him. If
not in life, then of a certainty in death. Their flight to paradise
could go no other way.
Under the black leather trench coat, his destiny inked fine lines
across his back. Shouldering the burdens implicit in that contract,
Ashley turned away from the now-bustling residence and began to walk.
The rain-drenched alley ran ahead of him, the beginning of an endless
path into a place of eternal twilight, a place unfathomable to the
mortal mind; the seam where Reality and Magic melt together.
And so begins the story of the wanderer---- the vagrant.