And the next one!

Spoiler: Chapter 45 - Infernal Sanctuary - Part 1
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Wisping cracks that bellowed like lashing fire, ripping currents echoing in a battering flood like an ocean crashing upon stone, ear-piercing wails like the cry of a thousand souls. And then, silence. What had been deafening, had become serene and still. Where the atmosphere had been crushing in its oppressing weight, in an instant it had eased and relented. The Forsaken had stepped through the arcane portal, leaving behind the terror and deathly place that was the Cairn of Nithoggr, and stepped out into the safety and warmth of the parlour at Silkcreek. Garvana, Pellius and Willow appeared in the flame lit chamber, to see Traya pacing back and forth in anticipation. As she sorcerous saw them, she sighed in relief.
“You have what we went for?” she asked, wary of the servants within earshot.
“We do,” Willow nodded, dropping her pack upon the oak small table, along with the calico sack filled with chunks of raw and unworked amber.
“Leave us,” Garvana commanded the servants harshly, “We are not to be disturbed.”
The two women that had been cleaning the shelves in the parlour, had jumped back in fright when the three of them had suddenly appeared. They were quick to bow their heads and obey their orders, scurrying to the doors before sealing them closed behind them.
“You are unscathed?” Traya asked, looking over them.
“Barely,” Garvana scoffed, eyes wide as she shook her head.
“And the beast?”
“Furious and seething,” Willow replied, a small smile lifting the corner of her lip.
“Can he track you here?” Traya frowned.
“Not this far south,” Pellius said confidently, “Our scent shall vanish at the campsite.”
Willow chuckled as she unlaced the white fur cloak she wore, dropping it upon the leather couch, “Though we would do well to not revisit him anytime in the next century.”
“I had not planned to,” Traya smirked.
Willow grinned towards the sorcerous, before the smile faltered as her eyes drew to her leather pack. She approached it slowly, her lips drawing to a purse as she knelt down in front of the small table. With careful fingers, she unlatched the metal clasp, opening the flap to reveal the shimmering gold box hidden within. As the fire light pierced a ray along the shining surface of the box, hitting the carved patterns and reflecting it back in a spiral of glimmers along the parlour walls, the others fell silent in what could only be trepidation. With almost timid hands, Willow reached into the pack and pulled free the small yet heavy finely wrought golden chest, setting it down upon the table. She slowly lifted the lid, revealing the withered and charred human heart, pierced by razor sharp iron thorns.
“The Devil’s Heart,” she whispered, her fingers instinctively recoiling from the box.
For a moment, the chamber was quiet. The Forsaken simply gazed upon the decayed heart, curious eyes scouring the bloodless vessel. Though vile and repulsive, it did not seem the great artifact of evil that they knew it to be. It did not incite anger or fury, just a simple touch of pity. It was the heart of a soul so consumed in hatred, so enraptured in anger and vengeance, that its owner gave away every ounce of his humanity. And yet, as Willow’s mind curved along the dark and twisted story of Cardinal Adrastus Thorn, she could not help but see the similarities of their tales. Two souls condemned to death, rescued and given a second chance. Two souls battling to the last of their strength to see their almighty and undying lord reign supreme upon the mortal planes. Though they shared much, still they turned upon one another. She could console herself with the knowledge that it was his madness that had driven him to suspect disloyalty where none had lain. His unquenchable thirst for destruction and revenge had tainted his sight and forced him to see enemies among his own number, among his own servants. And it was for this, that he had to die. It was the unhealthy obsession with revenge even where it was not fit to be served. Yet, he had saved them. He had given them another chance at their vengeance, another chance to prove themselves worthy. He had lifted Willow from the furthest she had ever fallen, from the premature death, having accomplished nothing even worthy of note. He had paved the way for her victory, he had guided her to the path she was to walk in the name of the great Asmodeus. It was with a bitter turn of her tongue that she realized, his usefulness had expired.

“Do we destroy it now?” Traya asked quietly, interrupting the silence that hung in the room.
“Not until we are certain of our next move,” Pellius said sternly, “We must not give him a chance to recreate it. This is the one thing that will assure our victory, we must not play our hand until the time is right.”
As the metal clicked as Willow closed the lid to the small chest, a strange familiar smell wafted through the room. Suddenly, in flash of hellfire and brimstone, a beastly visage appeared within the chamber. Standing far larger than an ogre, scaled in crimson plates bristling with barbs and razor-sharp layered scales. Its massive head crowned with cracked horns, only matched in number by the vicious fangs that fell from its venomous maw. Two jagged wings draped from its back, leathery webs edged with sharp dagger-like bone-spurs. Clutched in its hand was a vile heavy chain of wrought iron, littered with hooks and barbs draped with caught scraps of flesh and stained dark by blood. The wickedness of fire in his eyes lifted his wry smile as he spied the Forsaken. In the blink of an eye, Willow snatched the golden box from the table, throwing it to the chair behind her as she backed up and drew her blades. As the others followed suit, the fiend did something that none of them could have expected.
“Wait!” he called out, throwing his hands out to halt them, “Thorn has sent me, but I do not wish to attack you. If you wish to speak, you must help me with three tasks. First, bring before me something I can kill. Quickly now!”
All eyes in the room narrowed upon him, blades primed to carve through flesh. But for a small time, none moved towards him.
“Jonah!” Garvana called aloud, as her slow steps took her warily towards the door, keeping her sights on the devil, “Get in here, now!”
As the young servant quickly entered through the door, the colour washed from his face as he saw the towering beast that awaited him. The loud thud of the door slamming shut seemed to crush into chest, as the terror overwhelmed the small man. Before he had time to turn to flee, the devil grinned in feral glee. He launched towards the poor soul and cleaved his vicious claws through the weak flesh in a shower of blood that cascaded throughout the chamber. It was with relish and joy that he devoured his victim, too quickly for even a cry to escape the lips of the man before he was splayed before the Forsaken.
The beast turned towards them.
“Now that you have seen me slay something,” the fiend grinned, wiping blood from his scaled chin with his forearm, “Would you all agree that you have been taught a lesson in bloody slaughter?”
Willow’s brow arched, as her mind slowly followed the devil’s curious behavior.
“Indeed,” she said in satire, “The harshest lesson.”
“Very good,” he smiled shrewdly, looking between each of them, “Lastly, all of you must prick your fingers and let me taste your blood.”
The other brow was quick to follow the first. Though the devil spoke with a casual ease, as if he were asking a mere question, Willow knew the power of a human’s blood to a devil. Yet she was undeniably curious. It was with eyes that narrowed tightly upon him, staring back into his deep and sinful gaze, that she sliced her finger with her blade, squeezing the bare taste of cold congealed and blackened blood, holding it out to him. His tongue lashed like a serpent, coiling around her finger as it slid across the dark taint. When the others offered the same, the devil turned to them with a sly and wicked grin.
“Delicious,” he rasped, with a prideful tone, “I have done as my master commanded me. I have found you. I have slain. I have taught you a lesson in bloody slaughter and tasted your blood. My mission is near its end. I must also report back and bring him his phylactery, but he didn’t specify when. I think I’ll get right on that in a century or two… assuming the master still survives.”
The fearsome devil stretched out, powerful muscle rippling beneath hard scale. He sported a toothy smile, clearly pleased with his own guile.
“It is my understanding that Naburus has appointed one of you the new high priest of Asmodeus. Is this so?”
“It is,” Garvana said warily.
“Hah!” the devil grinned gleefully, “Excellent. Send the Marquis of the Fourth Misery my regards when next you see him.”
“And whose regards are those exactly?” Willow asked, arching her brow.
As he spoke, the Forsaken slowly sheathed their weapons, though Willow refused to move any further away from the phylactery she guarded behind her.
“Ah, pardon my rudeness,” he said dramatically, inclining his head, “I am Zaerabos, Emissary of the Duke Zaebos, exalted and immortal lord of the seventh suffering. And you all need no introduction, I have heard much of your deeds and long desired to meet you. Lord Pellius Albus, The Fist. Lady Garvana Forthwise, The Prophet. Lady Willow Monteguard, The Nameless One. And the newest of your illustrious rank, Lady Traya DeMarco, one who is yet to earn her name…”

He looked over them as he spoke, clearly holding much more knowledge on the four of them than he said. But as he did, he smiled.
“Truly you serve Hell well, and I admire the many atrocities you have authored in your wake. I have just come from the Agathium. It is Thorn’s belief that you will be visiting him shortly. Is this so?”
“We have a few things to discuss with the master, yes,” Willow said slyly.
Zaerabos laughed, “No doubt it will be a grand family reunion.”
“While it is a pleasure to meet you, Zaerabos, Emissary of the Duke Zaebos,” Willow said cordially, with only a touch of acid, “I assume you have concocted a way around Thorn’s orders for a purpose, not merely a polite chat with new friends.”
The devil grinned as his sight drew to her, looking her up and down with a slight tilt of the head.
“The lashing tongue I have heard so much about,” he said quietly, before inclining his head once more, “You are correct of course. I have come to make a deal. As I said, I have just come from the Agathium, a place that I have spent much time. A place, you are planning to infiltrate. I know the location and layout of the cathedral, and I know much of those who dwell within its walls. I could provide you with much to arm yourselves with before you take on such a task.”
“Such things sure come at a high price,” Willow commented, arching her brow.
“Not a high one,” he smirked, “But a fair one.”
Zaerabos strung his great chain on his hip, clasping his hands behind his back in a relaxed position. He smiled, continuing easily as he spoke.
“I ask two things. First, Thorn possesses a silver amulet with something dear to me inscribed upon it. I will require a solemn oath that you will return the locket to me, unopened, unread and unscryed.”
“What is on this amulet?” Garvana frowned.
Before Zaerabos could answer, Willow replied for him.
“The means for Thorn to send him to us,” she said, a small smile lifting her lip.
The devil eyed her for a moment, an intensity in his gaze although his grin never faltered.
“The second thing I require,” he continued, “Is a place on the council of whatever kingdom you establish once you have taken control of Talingarde.”
“What would you want with that?” Garvana asked, her frown burrowing in suspicion.
“You are devoted servants to the darkest power of them all,” he said earnestly, “You are primed to overthrow a country dedicated to the enemy, and raise the Undying God-Fiend in his place. What servant of hell would not wish to be part of such a noble and legendary venture?”
“Quite a shining notch to add to your belt,” Willow smirked, “To have had a hand in such a thing. But what is it you could do for us upon the council? I see no fault in trading the amulet for information on the Agathium, but a long standing position of power in the running of Talingarde? What benefit would we gain from it?”
“I would make a fine assassin,” he said with a toothy grin, “Just be sure to be specific with your orders.”
“Specific, detailed and exact,” she scoffed.
“Precisely,” he grinned.
Willow turned to the others, brows arched high. She gave a gentle shrug as she spoke.
“If the information on the Agathium is as useful as he claims, I see no reason to not accept his offer.”
“I would add a clause,” Pellius said coldly, “That under no circumstance would you aim to do the four of us any harm. That any orders given or contracts taken, anything pertaining to one of us being harmed, the orders be made void. That your position on the council be valid only as long as your loyalty to us remains.”
“That is fair,” the devil nodded.
Pellius frowned heavily, shrewd eyes tracing over the fiendish creature. The distrust was clear in his face, but it seemed that he too could not fault the possible gain from agreeing with the devil. As he nodded, so too did Garvana and Traya.
“We have a deal,” Willow said, “The location of the Agathium, a sketch of the layout and everything you know about every person or creature, alive or undead, who resides within its walls – for a position on the council of the new reign of Talingarde, granted valid only as long as your loyalty to us stands, and the return of your amulet.”
“Unopened, unread and unscryed,” he insisted, arching his scaled brow.
“Unopened, unread and unscryed,” she agreed with a smirk.
“I have your solemn oath?” he asked, “On the Infernal Might of Asmodeus, facing all his wrath in consequence of breaking your promised word.”
“You do,” Willow nodded.
“And all of you?” he continued, looking to the others, “I have your oath?”
“Indeed,” Pellius said curtly.
“Yes,” Garvana agreed, though the suspicion still laced her tone.
“You have mine,” Traya nodded.
The beastly fiend grinned a large and glee smile, clapping his hands together firmly.
“Very good,” he chuckled, looking to Willow with dark and sinister eyes, “You shall not regret this…”

Zaerabos had been truthful, he did indeed know much about the Agathium and those who dwelled within its walls. Thorn had called his servants home and set them to defend him at all costs. Yet, if the devil’s information was to be trusted, Thorn was truly being consumed by madness and paranoia. Trusting no one enough to call them together and mount a true defence, scattering his forces within the chambers – giving the Forsaken an advantage that they would make fine use of.
The fiendish creature had warned them that frost giants had been called to guard the upper cathedral, including the monstrously dangerous frost giant king, Ingolfr Issox. He warned the Forsaken not to bother with words, laughing that the king was far too daft for treason. Always at his side, was Queen Ellisif. A much more cunning and intelligent giant, wise and crafty behind her humbled smile. Zaerabos revealed that she was not happy with serving Thorn, and if presented with the right offer it was possible her loyalty may be swain.
He spoke of a pious man, venomously loyal to Thorn, stubborn and unbreakable in his servitude. He warned them that Marcel Wolfram would die for the cardinal, that he would wield his mace Engelhammer, an artifact of hell itself, in Thorn’s name to the bitter end.
And lastly, he told them of a man who seemed to leave a sour taste in the devil’s mouth, described as a weedy cretin who reeked of death. A coward, who was sure to teleport and flee at the first sign of trouble. Yet one whose loyalties may very well shift with the changing winds. Grigori Shirkov, a necromancer.
With the crudely drawn map passed between hands, the devil gave a final grin to the Forsaken, before the white puff of smoke enveloped him. With a final drift of brimstone, he vanished.


The slow flicker of flame danced through the chamber, the soft warmth from the fire place drifting through the night air, thawing the cold chill that settled after the sun had began its slumber for the evening. Garvana had retreated into the fields to train with Pellius, echoing the clash of metal across the lands, accompanied by the strenuous grunts and sharply lashed commands. After counting the treasures they had pilfered from the great dark beasts lair, Traya and Willow remained in the parlour, resting in the comfort of the waltzing flames.
“Where are you from, Traya?” Willow asked conversationally, gently pulling the large amber chunks free from the calico sack, grazing her eyes upon the rarer and more perfect shards before lining them along the small table, “You are Talrien, yet I cannot pick the dialect. You have the manners and mannerisms of a noble born, yet I have not heard of House DeMarco...”
With the long flank of luxurious silk in her hands, Traya’s eyes narrowed, looking up to Willow. For a moment, Willow could see the suspicion and what seemed almost like fear in her gaze. But as quickly as it had come, an internal decision seemed to pass across her face. A small sigh escaped her lips.
“You have opened your home and shown me hospitality better than I have known in a long time,” she said gently, “So, good manners alone dictate I satisfy your curiosity.”
As she spoke, Willow put down the amber piece, leaning back into her chair and tilting her head slightly as she listened.
“Firstly,” Traya began, “You should know I bear you or the others no ill will, we were never truly enemies, and as you have seen by my actions, I am no devout Mitran.”
“That thought has long passed,” Willow smirked.
“However,” she continued, “Unlike you, I have come to this life not entirely by my own design, so you must forgive me as I have seen and done much recently that I would have never dreamed of in my past life…” A small smile lifted her lips. “Or perhaps I am deceiving myself and I have always been on this path, our patron seems to have a way of putting us in the right place at the right time. To break a true believer like Sir Richard is something I never thought I would witness, let alone provoke...”
For a time, the sorcerous stared away into nothing, thoughts dancing across her face like words written in a book, while Willow remained quiet and simply observed. After a moment, Traya refocused her sight on Willow and smiled, shaking her head as if to clear it.
“But enough of such serious matters,” she said with a slight lift, “You wish to know of my life and I have a suspicion that we are somewhat kindred souls. Forgive me, but I must make some assumptions about your life too. Like yourself, I am from a wealthy family, privileged and powerful. And I believe, much like yourself, I could think of nothing worse than simply being married off to a simpering fop as a trophy to be displayed at formal events.”
Willow grinned, arching her brow as she nodded gently in agreement, indicating for the woman to continue.
“I left Daveryn when I came of age - you should ask the Baroness for the juicy details, I am sure as there was quite the scandal at the time.”
“You hail from Daveryn?” Willow asked curiously, searching her memory for word of the noble house, “I have never heard of DeMarco of Daveryn…”
“No, of course not,” Traya chuckled, “I was forced to take my mothers maiden name when I left. I was stripped of my title. Perhaps you know of House Parvellyn…”
Willow could not stop the sudden laugh that escaped in shock, “Parvellyn? You are Trayania Parvellyn?”
She laughed in reply, sighing a heavy breath, “I was Trayania.”
The sly smile lifted Willow’s lip, as the pieces of the scandalous story seemed to fall into place, “Now that answers a few questions.”
Traya smirked, shaking her head gently, “Not that it matters now. The successes your... our ally has had...”
She drew her face away for a moment, a slight ashen tinge overcoming her profile. Willow knew where her thoughts were trailing; if her family had resided in Daveryn, it was likely they had died in waves of bugbears as they took the fair city. But she knew there was little she could say to appease her sorrow. It was a quiet moment, but when she returned her gaze it was filled with a stoic acceptance.
“Well,” she shrugged, far more nonchalantly than her eyes could muster, “I shall not be visiting with my family again.”
Willow smiled gently, nodding her understanding.
“I suppose it was fated that I got out when I did,” she chuffed.
“Did you ever marry?” Willow asked, “Before you left?”
“Marry?” she chuckled, “No, I have never been married. Well, I suppose you could say I am now...” She turned in her seat, gently pulling the shoulder of her dress aside to reveal a small pentagram burned into her skin. “I left home to escape being trapped in an unequal union, and I seem to have found my way into another.”
Willow laughed at her lopsided grin.
“At least it is one of my own making,” Traya said firmly, “I am confident at least that this union will prove exciting nonetheless.”

“So what of you?” Traya asked, bringing a lighter air to her voice, “I know much of your past, well at least that which traveled the vines of rumours among the nobles.”
“Most of that is likely rubbish,” Willow laughed.
“Most likely,” Traya grinned, “I am sorry to say, though terribly beautiful, your eyes do not quite light up the night sky.”
A laugh burst from Willow’s lips, a true and hearty chuckle that tickled her tongue.
“What are you saying?” she giggled, “That my black luscious locks do not cascade on an ever-blowing wind?”
“It is more like a gentle breeze,” Traya laughed, relaxing back deeper into the chair.
“What is you wish to know?” Willow asked, the grin still tugging at her mouth.
The sorcerous looked at her for a moment, curious eyes searching her face, as if considering how far to push Willow’s open and easy manner.
“What did you do to end up in Branderscar?” she asked, “I was long gone from home when it happened. I remember hearing word of some great atrocity, but no one spoke of what it was.”
A wistful smile fell upon Willow, as her mind churned back upon the lead up to her greatest downfall.
“I planned the death of the dear Princess Belinda,” she replied, a small chuckle following her words, “Though of course, I did not know what I know now. My plan would have been folly.”
“An ambitious idea,” Traya commented slyly, “What did you wish to gain?”
Willow laughed softly, “Ambitious, but daft and barely thought out. I had thought that by ridding the country of the heir I would weaken the monarchy, and when the time was right, I would have every member of the Darius line assassinated. My long term goal was short sighted at best. I had dreams of House Monteguard ruling the country, yet I had no real plan how to put them there. I was young, even though it was not all that long ago. I was… a child, playing with powers that I did not understand.”
Traya frowned, tilting her head slightly, “What do you mean?”
A sudden memory flashed through Willow’s mind. Hidden in the depths of shadow, clad in slick raven armour, blazing scarlet eyes of fire piercing like blades into her soul. His hand, greedily reaching for her throat. Her throat, offering itself willingly, almost desperately. As she blinked, she looked up at Traya, the easily smile gone from her lips.
“You mentioned before,” Willow said softly, “That you had not come to this life entirely by your own design…”
“You speak of the vision?” Traya asked quietly, a wariness coming over her features.
“Much more than that,” Willow replied, a defeated laugh expelling from her chest, “It is all connected. I have been playing with powers that I do not understand from the moment of my birth. Even now, I am still parading with more confidence than I feel…”
Willow sighed as she sat forward in her chair, delicately rubbing her eyes in an exhausted frustration.
“Have you thought anymore on that vision?” she asked curiously, looking up to the sorcerous who sat straighter backed in her chair.
“Do you believe in fate Willow?” she said quietly, looking off into the flickering swell of the fire, “Do you believe that all things happen for a reason or that we are simply acting out a grand play devised by the gods for their amusement?”
She paused for a moment as her sight returned to Willow and her eyes narrowed in dark intensity.
“I believe that what I was witness to in that vision...” she continued, “Well... I believe it was fated. I believe you are a being of true fate, and you always have whether you knew it or not. I do not pretend to understand what that fate might entail in the coming times, but my intuition tells me simply toppling this kingdom is barely the start...”
For a moment, Willow stared a blank gaze towards the sorcerous. Her words mirrored the very thoughts that had run through Willow’s mind. Whether fate was the correct word to describe such a thing, she did not know. But it seemed that every move she had ever made had been designed and crafted by one with the unending knowledge of how time would play out.
“The green eyes,” Willow said finally, in a soft and quiet voice, “I know who he is…”
“Those eyes have haunted my dreams,” Traya replied, grimacing at the thought, “I have never seen such… evil.”
A small laugh from Willow had her looking up, arching her brow in question.
“I have known him for more than a decade,” she responded, “Though it is clear he has known me for far longer. The same man who has seemed to have a hand in everything I have done. He was the assassin I hired to eliminate the princess, the lover I took while I still shared a bed with my husband. He was the one who set my fall from grace into motion, he was the one who trained me to become an assassin myself. He has been there, every step of the way. If your vision was true… he was there long before the beginning.”
“You have no clue what he wants from you?” Traya asked cautiously.
“He is an Infernal Duke,” Willow laughed, a tint of maniacal frustration in her tone, “One of the darkest souls crafted by the very pits of hell itself. His plans seem more complex and intricate that I could ever grasp. Yet, I am at the centre of this. I have dreamt of being a power far greater than my ambition could possible stretch, and there he is… always.”
As Willow looked up to Traya, she saw the curious smile lifting her lip. Her eyes were reading far more into Willow than she was comfortable with.
“What is it?” Willow asked, narrowing her eyes and slightly lifting her head indignantly.
“Forgive me,” Traya said, wiping the smile from her face, “I am overstepping my place.”
“What is it?” Willow demanded.
“It is simply…” she said carefully, “You have… feelings for him.”
At that, Willow laughed. She shook her head gently, expelling a long breath.
“I have many feelings for him,” she laughed, “Revulsion, hatred, anger, fear, disgust, abhorrence… And lust. Uncontrollable lust. An attraction far stronger than anything I could ever deny. We have a connection, completely volatile and eruptive. Yet, I crave it. I crave him...”
Willow snapped her head towards the sorcerous, piercing her with a flaming gaze of warning, “If you ever speak of this to anyone, I will cut out your tongue.”
Stunned silence greeted her words, then to her surprise, Traya laughed. Though her eyes widened slightly, she simply smiled back at Willow.
“I believe that you would,” Traya smirked lightly, “As distasteful as that concept sounds, you can be assured your thoughts are safe with me. I have no intention of betraying your trust.”
Willow’s eyes narrowed for a moment.
“I…” she said through pursed lips, “I apologise, though the truth of the threat still stands. I have never had someone to confide in… Trust is not something that comes easily.”
“That is clear,” Traya grinned, arching her brow, “But tell me… do you love him?”
“Love?” Willow laughed, falling back into the cushioned chair, lifting her feet and tucking them beneath her, “No. He is not a creature to be loved. I could never love someone, or something, I despised so much.”
For a moment, a calm silence lingered in the chamber, the sounds of the crackling flames whispering through the stone walls.
“You are not still troubled by the vision you saw?” Willow asked curiously, staring into the dancing lights.
“No,” Traya replied easily, “Who am I to judge you based on a vision? I have had a mountain fall on me during the banishment of a demi-god, I have wielded the raw power of Hell in the quest for vengeance, I have fought heroes of the realm and been victorious and I have grown in power far beyond anything I could have possibly imagined… How can I consider your conception stranger than my life?”
Willow laughed, conceding to the sorcerous’ point, unable to refute it, “Well, when you put it that way…”

When the sun rose over the mountains to the east, returning daylight to green and lush farmlands, the Forsaken rose from their slumber with it. They had almost everything they needed to complete their next task. They had an exact location of the foreboding Agathium, they knew exactly where Thorn awaited them. And in their hands was the means to defeating him. The heart pierced by thorns, the phylactery bound to him.
“How does one destroy a phylactery?” Willow asked, frowning as she watched Pellius pull the withered husk from its golden chest.
“With strength alone,” he replied, pushing aside the box to lay the heart on the table.
As Garvana and Traya gathered around the table, they simply looked at the decayed heart. Alone on the surface of the wooden plank, the dark and powerful artefact of evil seemed so much less. A human heart, shrivelled and burnt flesh wrapped in callous wire, long and thin thorns of charred metal piercing it from each side. It seemed only a swift breeze away from crumbling upon the treated wood. But Willow knew well how deceiving appearances could be.
She placed the leadlined box by its side, using careful fingers to lift the vile heart and arrange it inside the cushioned padding. The box was smaller than the golden chest, easier to carry with her as they traversed the city in preparation. Though they had a guard of almost fifty at the manor, she would not risk the Forsaken’s chance at success by leaving it in their care. As she looked to the small chest that had housed the phylactery, she was struck with an idea. Though she had planned to give Jeratheon a large chunk of raw amber as his reward for service, she found the golden chest a far more fitting prize. Finely made of pure gold, it reeked of death and darkness. Though it lay empty, it had held the heart for an age, its evil seeping into the layers of silk and clinging to the solid walls. Even without the sight of magic, Willow could feel the aura pulsing with dread as her fingers traced the intricate edges.
“Traya,” she said, looking to the sorcerous as she took the chest from the table, “Send Jeratheon a message, tell him to meet me in the fields at sundown.”
“Of course,” she nodded, before swiftly rasping an incantation, painting patterns in the air with her fingers.
“Thank you,” Willow inclined her head, before looking to the others, “I shall be heading into town shortly, does any one wish to accompany me?”
“I will,” Garvana offered, indicating to the piled treasure behind her, “We must find buyers for all that we took from the dragons horde.”
“Oh,” Willow frowned, “That reminds me…” She pulled a small curious shard of amber from her pouch, one she had found amongst the others, yet a peculiarity all of its own, “Will you have a look at this for me?”
The small shard of translucent amber housed an entire dragonfly delicately preserved within it. Upon its surface was an ancient rune carved into its surface, one that Willow did not recognise. Garvana took the shard from her, brow furrowed as the arcane words drifted from her lips and her eyes hazed in shimmering fog.
“It is an old friendship rune,” Garvana said, blinking rapidly as the fog cleared, “It strengthens an existing bond between a master and creature bound to him. It allows for the master to… well, effectively shield the creature from harm while transferring it to himself.”
“Bound to him?” Willow frowned.
“Sith, for example,” Garvana explained, “You could feed it to him, and if he was in danger, you could take the blow for him.”
“Useful,” Willow replied, taking the shard back as her brows rose slightly, “Are we keeping anything else from the horde?”
“This,” Pellius said proudly, pulling a jeweled crown from his pack.
As he placed it on the table, Willow’s eyes traced the metal workings of the hammered gold, admiring the settings of splendid but crudely cut emeralds.
“Another crown to add to your collection,” she chuckled, arching her brow.
Pellius lifted his chin with regal stance, “And many more to come…”

Dusk was approaching when Garvana and Willow returned to the farmlands, slowing their steeds to a trot as they pulled into the stables behind the manor. While Garvana had prowled the marketplace in search of buyers for their rare and exotic trinkets, Willow had visited the famed master jeweler on the southern shore, carrying her bag laden with amber. She had commissioned three pieces made of the precious stone; an intricate bracelet chained with rich gold, a short necklace set with three small but particularly beautiful shards, and a head piece much like a circlet, but with coiling gold that bordered the frame of her face and along the shape of her ears.
As the sun fell below the horizon, Garvana entered the manor to attend to her own matters, while Willow called for Pellius to escort her to the far northern point of their lands. They travelled together upon horseback, Willow sitting side-saddle behind him as they cantered deeper into the lush green grass that covered the expanse. As they neared the edge of the forest, their horse whined in unease, slowing its own steps anxiously. As it drew to a halt, Willow dropped from the steed’s back, unlacing the lid of the saddlebag and pulling free the small finely wrought golden chest. With confident steps, she approached the barrier of trees, her keen sight spying the seething beast within, long before he showed himself.
“Your prize,” she said loudly, staring through the dense cluster of branches directly into his eyes, “Taken from Nithoggr’s horde, in reward for your service.”
The sounds of snapping branches and torn shrubs echoed from the forest, as the fearsome black beast pushed his way into the open clearing. His eyes glared towards her, blazing with venom and bile, as he craned his neck to stand far over her at his full height. His great nostrils flared suddenly, as he drew air heavily into them, lowering his head to draw scent the chest.
“It reeks of him,” he hissed in vicious glee, before further smelling and tilting his head, “And something else… something far more wicked.”
Willow simply stared at him, letting no emotions pass over her face. She held out the golden chest, her reactions swift enough to tear back her hands as he swiped the chest with his great claw and snatched it from her. Clearly pleased with his gift, he tucked it closer to him as he sniffed once more.
“But I do not smell the vermin’s blood, you let him live?”
Willow let the corner of her mouth lift in a small smirk, “Killing him would have only wasted our time. We have what we went for.”
Jeratheon rasped a venomous hiss, “Pity.”
“We shall call on you again when your services are needed,” Willow said coldly, turning up her lip, “Until then, go prance around or hunt or something of the sort.”
A feral growl rumbled from his chest, while she turned her back and returned to Pellius upon the horse. As she accepted Pellius’ hand, helping her lift herself back upon the saddle, the seething ebony dragon pierced her with a savage gaze filled with threat.
“Hunt?” he hissed, “Be careful what you wish for…”