20 Chapter 20: Direstead

One of Remon Butchers first memories was being carried by his older sister in the winter snow. Growing up in Khollon meant you almost never saw the snow. It's white powder made his hand burn when he first touched it, and he became deathly afraid of it. It was silly to be so afraid of something so beautiful. His sister noticed his reluctance to play outside on that winter day and she carried him into the fresh air and open sunlight. That was just before the red cough had taken its toll on them. There were many red cough plagues, but that one was his to experience.

Even when he became a man, seeing the snow made him remember how much he had been afraid and how much he had lost. He was reminded of all of that the morning he was required to submit his newest creation to their lord and master Erebus. It wasn't the snow that reminded him however, they were a long way away from winter. What reminded him was a woman, a woman with white hair and a fiery will that would captivate him into being late for the most important meeting of his life.

It was a rainy day, like most were as of late, and he had just left his private house. It was more of a shack than a house, old brick and severely damaged. The holdings of Direstead were cramped and full of people who were not much of interest to him. On this particular morning, nearly a hundred were waiting in line for rations. Most were men and a few children. There were few women who walked outside, Erebus had a nasty habit of arresting them and forcing them to serve him. A small harem had been housed in the central hall under his care. There were multiple attempts to break them free, all ending with brutal savagery and even more enslavement.

It had become apparent that they all were his slaves, that or his personal police force. You served at his pleasure, and in return you were spared the horrors of the outside world. The woods had gotten darker over the past months, more villages had been conquered by an insane cult led by something that seemed to come from nightmare. They spread some form of corruption that was even eating away at the capital itself, which only meant that the cult was seeping into the world outside the woods.

Direstead was the only bastion that was safe, for now at least. But for however long that would last he didn't know.

The mud was a perverse thick cake that bordered on quicksand. His boots were being sucked further into the thick soup, sticking and fighting to be freed. The rain only made it more miserable. The smell was the worst part, and he new it wasn't just mud.

Safety for suffering, that was the cost to live within the old walls of Direstead. His suffering was a luxury, for it allowed him to improve his inventions. His toil was rewarded with increased rations, wine, and on the rare occasion women. His newest creation was something he had been working on for years but never quite got right. It wasn't originally his idea, that credit belonged to his father who had learned how to forge metal capable of withstanding condensed explosions from the dwarves.

The weapon was one of the first firearms he had ever finished, but it had so much more to improve. The oak was a poor choice of wood, and warped over time. The dark iron was also prone to small cracks inside the barrel which could prove incredibly dangerous. The copper grip was too thin, the screws too edged. The hammer was a small piece of bronze that also would morph after so many rounds. But despite its shortcomings, it worked. And for now that was all the mattered.

He held the weapon in his hands, despite its many faults it had become his treasure. Something to be proud of at least. But there was that hint of concern that kept scratching at the back of his mind. What if the metal was too impure? His forge was a complete mess after all. Or what if the wood wasn't strong enough? Half the wood they dragged from outside was rotting and soft. He had struggled to find the right pieces to nail together, that had taken the longest time.

He entered the courtyard where dozens had created a circle, cheering and gambling what passed for currency within Erebus's small domain. Some seemed to spectate in wild jubilation, others grinned and clutched the wood of the fighting pen with fierce disapproving eyes. There were always contenders in the fighting pits. Some fought for food or coin, but most fought for recognition. The best fighters would be offered employment by lord Erebus where they would be offered the spoils of raids, food, and women of course.

There was something different about this fight however, something that struck him. One of the contenders was a woman. The first thing he noticed about her was she was small, barely meeting a mans chest in height. The second thing was her dark grey skin and luscious full white hair dancing in the wind. She was nearly naked in her combatant garb, her skin was decorated in vibrant white tattoos that covered her back and arms and part of her waist and abdomen. They were elaborate and intricate weaving lines that were just as unique as herself.

He had never seen such a woman before, she danced against a much stronger bare chested man who he had recognized as a miner from the westlands. Like everyone else he was homeless from the cult and had been fighting to gain notice by the lord for days. He should have easily defeated her, but she dodged each blow with a grace and skill that made it difficult to capture. She landed each of her punches against the mans core, her right arm blocked a harsh left hook. She was strong, but her strength had limits.

Remon found himself next to the fighting pen watching the exchange. The silver haired beauty used her opponents weight against him, goading him to strike her only that she could parley and find an opening. His attacks were strong but clumsy, hers quick but precise. After several minutes both seemed exhausted, it was slowly becoming a battle of pure will.

"That little divas fast but she needs to use her left hook!" A tall man in a black garb seemed just as fixated on her as himself.

"I can't watch this..." another spectator said. Her voice barely audible amid the crowd.

Remon watched as the rain and clouds made the fight seem more of a poetic epoch then a simple bout. The woman received a blow to her face forcing her to the ground. The burly miner raised his fists in the air as if triumphant.

"That hurt," one of the spectators declared as he cheered.

It took her effort to stand after that blow, but she did and her yellow eyes flared at him in furious rage. She charged him as if abandoning all pretense of careful defense. Surprise was on her side as her contender barely noticed, his back to her. As his head turned and noticed her rapid advance he barely had time to move before she leapt in the air and grabbed his shoulders.

The miner tried to shake her off him which only made the entire attack seem more comical than anything. She rode him, her arm wrapped around his neck, as he tried to reach behind and grab her. Her short frame, which before was a disadvantage, had saved her. He couldn't grab her, and he couldn't shake her. So he did the only thing left he could do, he tried to slam his back to the ground.

This she had been waiting for, during the split second he started to jump backwards she let go and kicked herself just out of reach. The man hit the ground hard, pushing the air out of his lungs, and the woman rolled over to get on top of him. There she bore her bare knuckles into his face, each punch focusing on his temple. The giant was winded, confused, and disoriented. He did recover however, his bull frame more than powerful enough to force herself off. He grabbed her arm and violently pulled her until she was nearly thrown into the edge of the pen.

She cried in pain as something gave in her arm, it hanged loosely at her side as the man stood up. His eyes were swollen, his nose bleeding down his face. A gash had been cut into his forehead and within moments of standing something wasn't right. The man took only one step before passing out, his body hitting and partially sinking into the mud.

All this Remon watched in complete fascination. His eyes never leaving the woman who had single handedly defeated a bear of a man three times her size. But it had cost her, that much was evident.

A cheering crowd erupted as cursing losers threw their money on the ground. Their anger would lay seeds to further conflict, and more than likely new contestants. The woman stood, she was grasping her left arm with fevered eyes. Her hair seemed to glow in the wind. A few of the crowd went to her to celebrate, and one helped her raise her other arm in victory.

Remon didn't realize how much time he had spent watching the competition. It wasn't like him to care about the gambling or gladiator style fights. He was an inventor, a man who didn't waste time on such brutality. But the woman had captured him.

"Remon!" The guard came out of nowhere, a lanky dark haired foot soldier with dark green leather armor that had been crudely patched together. Judging by his movements, he had been looking for him, "The master has been patiently waiting for you, you dare make him wait any longer?"

The question sent shivers down his spine, "Of course not, my apologies." He dared not look him in the eye, keeping his attention to the musket he had been cradling.

"You best follow me then, or a wipping will be in order." He got closer to intimidate him, "Or better yet a trial..."

No one lasted long during Erebus's trials. The man seemed to relish them as much as he did the women he surrounded himself with. It had been a few weeks since the last so called trial, the lord was certainly due to force another one on someone unlucky enough to make a mistake. He swallowed as a dark fear gripped him.

"My apologies, let me speak to him at once," he spoke as clearly as he could.

"Best follow me then, I wouldn't want you to get lost." He grabbed his shoulder firmly and led him away from the fight. The beautiful woman had emerged from the crowd to be embraced by some of its members.

He wondered if he would ever see her again? He wondered if he would see anyone ever again as he arrived to the black hall and saw Erebus perched on his throne. His annoyance was palpable in the room.

"You're late," his voice was cracking and drawn out. He had been a slaver of the wretched isles, a raider of the old empires shores, and a broken king of lost woodlands. Despite this he had every bit the air of a man seeking authority. He was disciplined and cold hearted when it came to achieving his ambitions, but above all he was practical. Because of this trait he kept those of value alive to serve him until they ceased to be of any service. Or at least he tried.

"I apologize my lord," he paused for a moment to properly frame him words, "But I have completed what I promised you. Behold the weapon to break armor." He presented the musket to him. It was every bit as alien as the woman he saw earlier. A strange creation that at first glance didn't seem like anything more than a thick rod and wood handle.

"This is what you brought me?" He chocked on his spittle as he said the words, "This is what you wasted so much time on? Tell me how many months has it been that I've kept you safe under my roof."

The question felt like a knife to his throat, "My lord, I have had the pleasure of being in your service for three seasons."

"Three seasons!" His voice rose, "I granted you food, drink, and many of my most lovely thralls for three seasons! And this is how you return the favor?"

"My lord this..." The look in his lords eyes was enough to stop him in his tracks. It was clear that Erebus had wanted blood, and he didn't know what to say to change his mind.

"Remon Butcher, such a strong name for such a weak child." He got up from his throne and walked toward him. His iron boots clang against the broken stonework, "Did I ever tell you how your father died?"

The question haunted his nightmares. His father had been with him when they first came here desperate to escape the plague and the cult that followed it, "No..."

"Well too bad, because I'm going to tell you," it sounded like he enjoyed taunting him, "His trial was so simple, and yet he was so terrible at it...he screamed for so long until he so selfishly died." Lord Erebus was now at arms length.

"I wonder if you will do better?" Erebus sounded like he was speaking sarcastically, but there was an edge to it that sounded more serious.

"My lord, What I have brought you will work..." Remon fought his fear to not sound too desperate. But he couldn't betray how he truly felt. He was terrified.

"Then show me," Erebus's voice was a growl.

A few minutes later he had loaded the musket, primed the charge, and aimed it at a target crudely fashioned to the wall. As he pulled the trigger, the primer ignited causing the sprout of flame to travel the base of the receiver to detonate the charge. He had tested this mechanism over and over again. It should work.

This time however as the charge detonated, the irons impurities gave out. The gun barrel shattered into dozens of pieces, and the wood splintered in his hands. Remon barely had time to register the pain in his broken fingers, and splintered skin before his lord demanded retribution.

"Drag him to the pits, and tell the thralls below that a trial shall be held tomorrow." Despite his anger, there seemed to be a hint of excitement at that proclamation.

Remon could do little to fight his captors before being thrown into a cell. Unlike most castles, the cell was not fashioned with iron. The cell here was under ground, in an open pit with only one entrance from above. It was a five foot drop as he was thrown into it. His splintered hands hitting the rock to block the fall. There were two torches lighting the pit, which casted the small room in a orange light.

He thought he was alone at first, but as soon as he turned himself over he discovered he was not. On the opposite side someone was sitting against the wall. The same woman that had caught his attention so completely was sitting patiently.

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