CollaterHell

[Project_Xii]

CollaterHell

Contract 1 – Priest of the Rogue Citadel

“5 million gold. Right here, up front. I can offer double that upon completion of the job.”

Mortis studied the little man offering the trunk full of gold before him. Black suit, slicked back hair, a nervous twitch in the corner of his mouth and bright blue eyes that took in every detail. It had been awhile since anyone had required his 'special skills', and this man seemed almost to eager.

“How is it that you can offer me that much money?” he inquired in a voice that betrayed nothing but general curiosity. “Not even the Sultans of Lut Gholein would be so quick to give a sum like that.”

The little man smiled slyly and wrung his hands.
“My... employers also believe it is a generous amount. But the task is not an easy one. It will take a creature of your cunning and abilities to manage it.” He paused and gestured to the large membranous wings protruding from Mortis' back. “I think you'll find those invaluable.”

Mortis instinctively folded his wings closer to his body; he always got uncomfortable when people mentioned them. But there was no denying what he was, and he never tried.

The little mans eyes glinted mysteriously, as if he enjoyed the fact that he could unnerve an assassin such as Mortis - despite the obvious physical danger.
“Will you accept?”

Mortis leaned forward, his light blue skin looking a shade darker in the lantern light. His sharp, feline-like nails dug into the desk between them.
“What's there to stop me from simply taking the gold and your life right now?”

An uneasy silence filled the small room, broken by the sudden creak of crossbows being loaded. Glinting bolt heads appeared through the cracks of the curtains and the door behind him. The small man stared at him calmly.
“Your employment being terminated earlier then desired, and my employers being -very- displeased.”

The silence continued for a few more moments, then Mortis relaxed his grip on the desk. Deep gouges in the wood revealed what his hands could do when only slightly riled. His hard expression changed to a casual smirk.
“I'm glad to hear it. You'd be surprised how many of my previous contractors pissed themselves when I said that. Weak fools.” He spat.

The little man smiled.
“I'll take that as acceptance.” He extended his hand, “My name is Braca. Welcome to your first assignment.”

*******

Mortis closed the door to the taverns back room carefully behind him. A wave of warm air mixed with the smoke of random narcotic herbs washed into him. The main bar was filed with drunkards and potheads, wasting away their lives or running from problems they were to weak to fight.

Mortis didn't have time for the likes of them. He tucked his wings in close and headed for the door. Something smacked into his legs hard and grunted.

The midget carrying a tray of drinks stumbled abit, regained his balance and then stared at the kneecaps in front of him. His eyes slowly worked their way up to the barely human looking face, and he gulped.

“D-d-do you wan' sumtink?” he stammered?

Mortis stared down at him silently, his golden eyes glowing.
“No. Thank you” he said at last. The midget shrugged and waddled off towards a pot smoker in the corner.

Mortis scanned the tavern one last time and strode to the exit. A thin layer of sleet crept under the crack in the doorway, melting into a pool when it met the taverns heat. He braced himself for the icy chill he was about to meet, and opened the door.

The howling gale whipped into the tavern for the three seconds it took for Mortis to get outside and slam the door behind him. Then he was out in the blizzard, struggling to see a few feet in front of him. As he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, his keen senses picked up the sounds of snow crunching underfoot. Someone was coming towards the tavern. He shielded his eyes, squinted, and a vague outline came into view.

The hooded figure stumbled slowly up to him, a rusty sword dragging deeply in the snow behind. He appeared to be focused on the ground, heading straight for the tavern door. Mortis made to move out of the way... and froze. He caught a whiff of something. Something familiar. Something he'd smelt before in the depths of Hell, long long ago. He wanted to run, to fly, to get as far away as he could, but he couldn't will his body to do anything.

Slowly the figure approached the door, still appearing to have not noticed Mortis. His hand reached for the handle... and he too froze. After what felt like an eternity, the hooded head turned Mortis' way.

He saw a human face; a man. Hagged and deeply troubled. A closed wound in his forehead festered and bubbled with infection. But the eyes – windows to the soul – revealed what lurked within this fast fading husk. An evil so ancient Mortis dared not do or say a word.

The stranger started to speak, but before he could he went into a violent spasm, and his head lolled to one side. The eyes burned with unearthly fire, and the mouth gaped wide open.

“So, Son of Hell, you sought refuge in the world of Man?” The voice was deep and growling, and definitely not human. It simply rolled out of the mans open mouth, over unmoving tongue and lips.

Mortis felt the terror rising inside him, not knowing if it was his own doing or if the creature before him was instilling it. He opened his own mouth but succeeded only in gulping like a drowned fish.

The corners of the mans lips curved into an open mouthed grin, and his eyes darkened.
“Fear not, traitor to your brethren, I am not here to deal upon you the justice you deserve.” His head slowly lolled to the other side as he continued to speak. “Soon the Three will be reunited, and the worlds of Man and Hell combined. It will be your own kind that takes their revenge, not I.”

With a start the mans head snapped upright, the possession twisting his features gone for the time being. He merely stared at Mortis sadly, nodding in greeting, and entered through the taverns door.

Mortis stood in the freezing blizzard, thoughts churning furiously through his mind. But as the terror faded and was replaced by his usual calm demur, he pushed them aside and resolved to think about it later. Whatever the Lords of Hell were plotting, he wanted no part of. He was free, and would never be chained again.

'Besides,' he thought, 'I have an assignment to concentrate on.'

Spreading his wings wide he easily caught the howling winds and sailed swiftly into the night.

******

He was still flying when the sun crept lazily over the horizon, warming his ice whipped face and frost covered wings. As he gazed down at the lush green meadows and thick forests of Khanduras, he felt the numbness seep from his mind and body, and finally, he allowed himself to think.

The stranger at the tavern; he had mentioned the Three. More then that, he was one of the Three. Diablo, Lord of Terror, had somehow escaped his fate of being sealed in the soulstone, and was roaming the lands free once more.

Mortis shivered, despite the now hot sunlight, at the thought of meeting his old Lord. It had been so long; so long since he'd left Hell and met any real demons in this land of Mortals. Yet he remembered it well.

*

He remembered the moment – the very second – Izauls sword had struck him during the battle for Hell Forge. He remembered how the power surging through that mystical blade, Azurewrath, had severed the connection between his mind and that of the Lords; the puppet-masters, the greater wills pushing all demons into a blind, suicidal frenzy. He could still see his Balrog brethren falling to Angel swords all around him, and Izaul himself once more raising Azurewrath to finish the kill.

He had fled in that instant. Took flight and fled for all his worth. The battle had raged all around him, demons and the forces of heaven, and he blindly dodged through the fray. When he at last stopped, he was on the furthest most reaches of Hell, staring out over a gaping black abyss.

He'd sat their huddled, on the edge of the world, coming to terms with his new found mind. Days, possibly weeks passed. He couldn't be sure, as Hell was forever cast in an eerie twilight. At last, a comrade in arms – and once close friend – had stumbled across him.

“Why did you flee?” his once-ally had asked accusingly. “Why did you abandon your service to Hell?”

Mortis merely rocked, arms cradling his knees, and stared up with confused eyes.
“I'm free” he mumbled. “I am no longer a pawn to the Lords eternal will.”

“The Lords will is the will of us all!” came the booming reply.

“Not mine any longer” he whispered back.

The opposing Balrog drew his sword from its sheathe and stepped forward, fire blazing from his nostrils.
“Such blesphamy. Such emotion. You've become no better then humans!” He raised his sword high, “I should kill you now, you weak, pathetic vermin.”

The two remained motionless, locked in a time free state... and then the sword came down. With a blade shattering crash it struck the stone at Mortis' feet and disintegrated. The Balrog snorted heavily, fire blazing in his eyes now as well.

“But I won't” he said, tossing away the useless hilt of his sword. “I am a Balrog, just like you. I enjoy the thrill of the hunt.” He bared his teeth viscously.

“Now flee, traitor” he continued, “Do what you do best. But know that I will find you. I or one of the other survivors of the battle you abandoned them at. And when we do...” he nodded towards the silverly remains of his shattered sword, “There will be no mercy.”

And once again, Mortis had fled. Not just from the Lords and demons he had once fought beside, but from the whole of Hell. Remembering his comrades words, he managed to locate and fight his way through one of the few portals leading to Sanctuary, the world of Men. He knew in his heart that he would find even less acceptance there then he would now in Hell, but at that point in time he had no other choice...

*

He snapped alert again as he realised he'd been gliding dangerously low. A wide wall of treetops were rushing to meet him, and he purposely pulled up at the last second, savouring the rush of adrenalin. In the distance, high above the trees and all else, rose the peaked and domed roofs of the Rogue Citadel. It was an impressive structure; well maintained and crafted to perfection, Mortis noticed.

On either side of the main building stretched the Great Stone Wall, which divided the lands and traveled for miles in each direction. The only method of entry – massive wooden doorways complete with metal spikes and a steel bar to hold the handles – sat embedded in the walls to the right of the Citadel.

Mortis slowed his descent and landed gently not fair from the main entrance. He crouched in the shadows of the woods around him, and surveyed the area. Guards at the doors. Guards on the walls. All women, and all armed with very well crafted bows. He flinched as a carrion bird passed over the wall and was brought down with a single well aimed shot.

Closing his eyes, Mortis concentrated on the summoning spell and called in the contract details Braca had given him. The words were bold, heavy print, so no mistake could be made on what they said:

“Assignment 1 – Priest of the Rogue Citadel

There is only one man welcome to live in the home of the Sisters of the Sightless Eye. The Priest, known as 'Brother Brent', has been there many years, providing spiritual enlightenment and blessings at all the occasions that require them. He was, by all standards, a noble and holy man.

But over the years, unbeknownst by everyone in the Citadel, Brent became old, demented, and open to corruption. He resented the way his body was becoming frail and weak, and his prayers slowly turned to that of the Lords of Hell. He begged of them eternal life, and in return he would make the Rogues weak so that when the Day of Redemption came, the forces of Hell could take Khanduras with little or no help from the Sisters of the Sightless Eye.

The Lords granted him his request by imbuing him with an aura that would drain the life and soul from all those around him. He has been doing this for years now; feeding off the essence of these women to sustain himself. Soon they will be to weak to defend their lands.

Your orders: find a way into the Citadels Cathedral – undetected – and slay Brother Brent. If you are seen, the Sister will sound the alarm and Brent will flee deep into the Catacombs; a varitable maze of corridors and burial rooms that spans an unknown amount of levels. If this happens, he will be beyond even your reach.

The life of every single woman in that Citadel rests with you. Their lives are being stolen to feed an evil and beligerant man, and it is highly likely their souls will be forced down into a place you know all to well, to be tortured by creatures you once called brethren.

Do not fail. My employers demand it.

Braca”

Mortis studied the signature for a second, then scrunched the paper up and vanished it. His orders were clear; the Priest would die for his sins. It was also clear that any kind of assault on the Citadel would have to be attempted at night.

Resigning himself to that fact, he flapped lightly up into an over-hanging branch. Settling into a roosting position, he wrapped has large wings around his body, let out a deep sigh, and relaxed. Before long, his mind drifted into the misty netherworld of sleep. And he dreamed.

******

[0xDEADCAFE]

Well, this is a nice twist on a mission-based adventure story. Some mysterious "employer" paying a huge sum to save the Rogues? And I just love the Balrog-as-hero thang: the gift/curse of free will; the demon without a country; the quarter-ton monster perched peacefully on a branch, maybe with little sparrows alighting cheerily on his back and head, chirping brightly while he grumpily tries to sleep... (No?) Can't wait to see where this is going.

[Project_Xii]

(Thxs for the kind words :) )

He dreamed of the hardest time in his life; the first two years after he came through the portal. Running. Hiding. And learning the hard way how the laws of Sanctuary differed to the laws of Heaven and Hell.

In Hell, the air was always warm and suspended in an eternal twilight. Food and water were not required to sustain life; although many demons took pleasure in feasting on the blood and flesh of new cursed victims, no nutrition was derived from it. Hells minions never suffered from thirst or hungry, never needed sleep, and never faltered under muscle fatigue. They could fight relentlessly until their body was rendered incapable by an enemies weapon; such were the Laws of Hell.

In Sanctuary, Mortis found himself facing every mortal element. The weather changed constantly, alternating between a bright time that was both warm and blinding, to a dark night that was very similar to Hell. Both times had glowing orbs in the sky, the dark time one more to Mortis' liking. It radiated a soft glow that illuminated the land with silvery beams. He traveled mostly under this orb, as the other burned his blue skin and made him squint. Sometimes water fell from the sky, cold and wet, and other times it combined with howling wind and ice.

Aside from coming to terms with what he later learned was “day and night”, “sun and moon”, “rain and snow”, he also had to face strange needs occurring in his body.

“Hunger and thirst” were things he learned from watching the birds and bests roaming around him. Water didn't exist in Hell, the closest thing being bubbling tar or the Lava River. By following animal example, he discovered not all water was safe to drink.
Streams were good, they ran fast and clear. Puddles and dams were not; they were murky and riddled with parasites. Though a demon could stomach almost anything, being host to a gut-full of micro-organisms was not their idea of a good time.

Hunting also required new skills. In Hell, victims were forced to flee over flat, barren land with few places to run and even less places to hide. The demons could track them down at their leisure.
In Sanctuary, the landscape played an all to important part in the hunting routine. Trees, rocks, grass, burrows, hills: anything that could be used as cover was taken advantage of. Mortis simply did not have the experience needed to hunt for himself.

So once again he followed packs of animals, picking on the remains of their kills. Over time he became more confident, and joined in on the hunt.

He always chuckled at the look on eagles faces as he glided beside them.

The day he made his first independent kill was a great one. He reveled in it, gorged himself to the seams. And then became acquainted with another mortal trait.
Vomit was definitely not something demons, or at least Balrogs, were used to. He had seen Stygian Hags giving birth that way before, so his first instinct was that he was doing likewise. When he found that wasn't so, he panicked, thinking perhaps his insides were now on the outside.

But that too was untruthful. Upon closer inspection, he realised it was merely the flesh of the beast he'd consumed, and he resolved that next time he'd eat slower, eat less and perhaps chew his food.

Oh yes, those two years had been a harsh time. He had lived with the wild things because, as he expected, any human he came in contact with fled in terror. He was as lost in this world as he was in his own.
But then he met a man who hadn't fled. A crafty, suave old man, highly skilled in many things. He had taken Mortis into his home, and taught him how to survive. Mortis would one day refer to this man as 'the Teacher'.

******

A cricket chirping in his ear roused him from his slumber. The dream faded quickly, for which he was grateful. They weren't the most pleasant memories.

Flicking the cricket from his shoulder, he unfolded his wings and saw that, once again, it was dark. The great dome entrance of the Citadel glowed slightly from within, and he could still see guards pacing in the torch light. Entry was going to be a challenge, but not impossible.

In one swift motion he leapt from the branch, hit the ground and bounded back into the air. To his disappointment he discovered there wasn't a breathe of wind, so he was forced to beat his wings heavily to get appropriate lift. Although a fair distance from the Rogues, the sound still traveled to them, but it merely sounded like a flock of bats to their ears.

Reaching a height he thought would attract the least attention, he began to glide slowly over the massive Monastery. He could identify each section quite easily by the structure of the roof.
The domed main entrance opened into a three pronged cloister, which then led onto what could only be a barracks. Even at night the women were continuing their vigorous training routines; firing a constant barrage of arrows at distant scarecrows tied to poles. It made him uneasy to see all the arrows in the heart or head locations.

Mortis glided on further, identifying what appeared to be the roof of a prison, but from the small size of it he gathered most of the building was situated underground. Another cloister separated that, the mess hall, and the very location he was looking for; the great spiraled peak of the Cathedral.

He floated quietly towards the roof, wondering exactly how to go about his entry, but at the last second curiosity got the better of him and he changed course towards the mess hall instead. He landed softly and peered about. A number of wide windows allowed viewing inside, and he silently paced up to one.

Pressing his hands carefully against the glass, he gazed down on the rows of tables below. The room was illuminated by large chandeliers and candles, and although he couldn't make out the words a steady murmur was coming from the happily eating women. They sat in small groups, dipping bread into soup, or chewing well cooked meat from the bone. The occasional laugh told him they were carefree and completely oblivious to the evil that lurked just across the cloister from them.

''Monster', thought Mortis. These women were so strong, yet so innocent in their faith. He ground his teeth as his eyes swept over the sea of feminine faces. And so young, some of them. Would they die before their time because of a Priests greed?

He suddenly realised his nail were digging to hard into the glass, and hairline fractures were beginning to appear. Turning from the window, he crouched, and with one mighty leap, cleared the inner cloister completely. He landed on the roof of the Cathedral with a thump, and almost staggered as the frail tiles shattered to dust under his weight.

''At least I didn't smash completely through' he thought with relief.

Carefully he stalked the outside of the roof, searching for a window or maintainence hatch, and annoyingly found niether. The stained glass windows on the walls of the building were heavily barred, so there'd be no going through them without a considerable amount of noise.
No, the only way he was going to get inside was through the front door. And that would mean going through the guards stationed out front.

Mortis got down on all fours and peered over the edge. Two female guards did indeed stand at attention below him. Moving with exaggerated caution he slid off the roof and began to crawl down the wall, digging his claws as deep into the stone as possible.

He hoped to Hell no one would come into the cloister; they would die of shock at sight of a large, dark, winged being nestled above the heads of the guards.
'Like a giant spider, ready to pounce' he thought with amusement.

He hovered above them, motionless, so close he could hear them breathing. Gripping desperately with his tow-claws, he reached out his hands, ready to render unconscious with two simultaneous blows.

And then one of the women spoke.

“Have you been dreaming lately?” she asked. Mortis jerked back with a start. The other guard made a 'tch' sound and shook her head.

“Oh gods, Quinn, not this again. Are we going to talk about the meanings of your stupid dreams every time we have guard duty together? I swear I'm going to put in a transfer to wall-watch if you keep this up.”

“There's no need to be rude!” Quinn said, sounding hurt. “They worry me, Karla, and it helps to talk about it.”

Karla sighed.
“Ok. Fine. What were they about this time?”

“Same as before, but stronger this time. More persuasive. It's still dark, and I can't see who's speaking. All I can make out is a silhouette. It looks human... but much larger. And definitely female. I can distinctly remember... red hair.”

“Red hair?”

“Yeah. Red hair. It matches the voice somehow. She calls to me, or pleads with me, even acts motherly sometimes. I've only ever once got the feeling she was trying to command me, but I didn't like that so she stopped. It's not a disturbing dream... about the only thing that bothers me is the snakes.”

“The... snakes? Riigghttt...”

“I'm not kidding! The silhouette has snakes all over it. At least, that's what it looks like. Long, whip-like snakes coming up over her shoulders and waving their heads around menacingly. It's really creepy actually.”

“It sounds it.” Karla shuddered, “Perhaps you should lay off shooting the wildlife. Sounds like they're after revenge or something.”

“Do you think?? Quinn asked, sounding worried.

Mortis, still hovered above them, was completely intrigued in the conversation and had forgotten he was quite exposed in his current position. He quickly came to his senses and reached out again.

“Sorry girls,” he whispered.

“Did you say something?” Karla asked her companion.

-CRACK-

Mortis brought their skulls together hard, and the women slouched unconscious. He quickly dropped from the wall and dragged their bodies to a dark corner. The mission was in full swing now, it wouldn't be long before someone entered the cloister and saw that the guards weren't at their posts. Then the alarm would sound, and he damn well hoped Brent would be dead by then.

Laying them respectively on the ground, he hurried back to the large Cathedral doors and tested the handles. Unlocked thankfully.
'Never know when one of the Rogues might have a crisis of faith' he supposed.
He pulled one side of the door open, pleased to hear it well oiled, and slipped inside.

*****

[Project_Xii]

Geez what's happening to this place? Where's everyone gone? Where's RevenantsKnight???
He's the best reviewer of them all, i was hoping for his comments.

[0xDEADCAFE]

Geez what's happening to this place? Where's everyone gone? Where's RevenantsKnight???
He's the best reviewer of them all, i was hoping for his comments.I can feel your pain. Can't speak for the revenant one, but here are a few of my thoughts:


I still like this. It's interesting the way you have divorced the beast from the beastly, and made it possible for the reader to identify with Mortis. He was only ever a demon because Hell made him that way (the devil made him do it!) and now that he is in the human realm he is quite human.

Also the quest he is on is interesting and I think your writing is on a good pace; it seems neither long nor rushed, but makes for a good read. The introduction of the Teacher is interesting. I'm guessing there will be more flashbacks of lessons learned. Some specifics:


They sat in small groups, dipping bread into soup, or chewing well cooked meat from the bone. The occasional laugh told him they were carefree and completely oblivious to the evil that lurked just across the cloister from them.It threw me a bit to hear Mortis refer to himself as evil, especially as the previous narrative goes to such lengths to portray him as something else. I can understand that he might think that that is what the rogues would think, but it comes across as if he is applying that label to himself.



He landed on the roof of the Cathedral with a thump, and almost staggered as the frail tiles shattered to dust under his weight.I liked this bit because it addresses the one problem I had with this section. The idea of a monster the size and weight of Pit Lord engaging in stealthy actions is, frankly, hard to believe. I'm not saying it's an unworkable concept, but because of the rather obvious problems with it (kind of like asking a reader to imagine an elephant tiptoeing across thin ice) you might invest a little more time convincing the reader of Mortis's exceptional skills of stealth and evasion.



That's all I've got. Your story is enjoyable and I hope for more. As for the elusive knight, my advice is to be patient. You can't expect a celebrity of such magnitude to be at your beck-and-call, you know. And I've heard it whispered that the Rev doth crit' in strange ways...

[RevenantsKnight]

Where’s RevenantsKnight???

Vacationing on the coast of insanity. :D In all seriousness, I’ve just had a shortage of available time, which may be the case for a good while longer. Yeah, life’s stupid like that. Thanks for the kind words, though (and same to 0xDEADCAFE.)

...And on the story: this looks like a good start. On the whole, this was a pretty smooth read, and the content’s interesting and most definitely original, though there are a few points that I’d describe in more detail, and the formatting for the dialogue was a little unusual. Anyway, here’re some specific comments on Chapter 1, and sorry I didn’t get to this earlier:


Black suit, slicked back hair, a nervous twitch in the corner of his mouth and bright blue eyes that took in every detail.

Er...a suit? Sounds a bit out of place in the Diablo world to me...unless you meant something else by that. Either way, I’d suggest a bit of revising here.


It had been awhile since anyone had required his 'special skills', and this man seemed almost to eager.

“Awhile” technically means “a short time,” and “a while” can mean a much longer period. Given the context, I assume you want the latter. Also, that should be “too eager.”


The little man smiled slyly and wrung his hands.
“My... employers also believe it is a generous amount.”

Should this break be here? If that was intentional, I’d add another press of the Return key.


Mortis instinctively folded his wings closer to his body; he always got uncomfortable when people mentioned them. But there was no denying what he was, and he never tried.

Nice little touch on Mortis and his attitude towards his heritage.


The little mans eyes glinted mysteriously, as if he enjoyed the fact that he could unnerve an assassin such as Mortis - despite the obvious physical danger.
“Will you accept?”

In general, I’d advise not starting a new line for dialogue in this manner; if you want to set speech off from the rest of the text, hit “Return” twice. If not, then it’s probably fine just to treat the speech and the preceding narration as two sentences, and simply have the appropriate spacing in between.


His sharp, feline-like nails dug into the desk between them.

Cats don’t have nails; they have smallish retractable claws. I’m not sure what you were suggesting with this image; are his nails like small claws, or are they retractable, or are they somewhat delicate? All of these came to my mind as possibilities.


“Welcome to your first assignment.”

This struck me as a rather odd comment, seeing as Mortis has apparently worked for others before. If you meant this to mean that it’s his first assignment with this particular group, I think that could just go unsaid; it seems a bit like stating the obvious to me.


Mortis closed the door to the taverns back room carefully behind him.

He merely stared at Mortis sadly, nodding in greeting, and entered through the taverns door.

That should be “tavern’s,” since you’re indicating possession of the door.


A wave of warm air mixed with the smoke of random narcotic herbs washed into him.

I think that should be “washed over” or “washed into his nostrils.” As it is, it sounds a little like you’re likening the air to a current of water or something. .


The main bar was filed with drunkards and potheads, wasting away their lives or running from problems they were to weak to fight.

Those should be “filled with” and “too weak.” Also, marijuana isn’t a narcotic by a medical or scientific definition. Either way, I’d make up some drug of your own choosing instead, because “pothead” just has too many modern connotations for it to work here, in my opinion.


The midget carrying a tray of drinks stumbled abit, regained his balance and then stared at the kneecaps in front of him.

That should be “a bit.”


His eyes slowly worked their way up to the barely human looking face, and he gulped.

Heh. I had a great image of this playing out...hilarious.


A thin layer of sleet crept under the crack in the doorway, melting into a pool when it met the taverns heat.

That should be “tavern’s,” since you’re indicating possession. In most such cases, use the desired noun with an apostrophe and then an “s.”


Something he'd smelt before in the depths of Hell, long long ago.

There should be a comma after the first “long.”


After what felt like an eternity, the hooded head turned Mortis' way.

That should be “Mortis’s way.”


Hagged and deeply troubled.

Erm...not sure what you mean by “hagged”; perhaps you meant “haggard”?


But the eyes – windows to the soul – revealed what lurked within this fast fading husk.

Nicely done here, but “windows to the soul” is perhaps a bit too common a phrase...maybe you could take the idea and alter it a tad, so that it becomes something truly yours.


An evil so ancient Mortis dared not do or say a word.

“...dared not do” sounds like it’s missing something.


The stranger started to speak, but before he could he went into a violent spasm, and his head lolled to one side. The eyes burned with unearthly fire, and the mouth gaped wide open.

This seems like a good outline of the scene to me, but it felt a little lacking in detail. The “violent spasm” and the “unearthly fire” in particular both seemed to pass by too quickly, without any extra description to help these things stick in my mind.


It simply rolled out of the mans open mouth, over unmoving tongue and lips.

Vivid image. That should be “man’s,” and “an unmoving tongue...” by the way.


He opened his own mouth but succeeded only in gulping like a drowned fish.

Another good image, except...fish don’t really drown. Were you going for a “fish out of water” sort of simile?


The corners of the mans lips curved into an open mouthed grin, and his eyes darkened.

With a start the mans head snapped upright, the possession twisting his features gone for the time being.

That should be “man’s.”


But as the terror faded and was replaced by his usual calm demur, he pushed them aside and resolved to think about it later.

Interesting depiction of Mortis...for someone who just had a brush with the Lord of Terror himself, he’s surprisingly composed. Could be fun to see him mess with other demons that rely (or are very used to) fighting with mind games.


Whatever the Lords of Hell were plotting, he wanted no part of.

The end of this sentence doesn’t read too smoothly; I’d recommend adding “it” after “of.”


Spreading his wings wide he easily caught the howling winds and sailed swiftly into the night.

You need a comma after “wide.”


The stranger at the tavern; he had mentioned the Three. More then that, he was one of the Three.

Whoa. Too sudden. Now, I got that pretty quickly, but Mortis probably shouldn’t have done so. Or, if he did, it would’ve helped to explain a little of how he came to this conclusion; as it is, it feels like you’re shifting from what Mortis knows to what you, as the author, know, while remaining in Mortis’s thoughts.


He remembered the moment – the very second – Izauls sword had struck him during the battle for Hell Forge.

Some spelling points: those should be “Izual” and “Hellforge.”


He remembered how the power surging through that mystical blade, Azurewrath, had severed the connection between his mind and that of the Lords; the puppet-masters, the greater wills pushing all demons into a blind, suicidal frenzy.

Wow. You’ve got one heck of a cool idea here...but it goes a bit undeveloped. This concept and backstory fit pretty well into your tale, and, for that reason, are definitely worth some more time. My advice would be to draw this moment out into at least a few more sentences, adding in more description, perhaps Mortis’s reactions at the time, that sort of thing. If you can make this scene stick in the reader’s mind, just like it does in Mortis’s, then it’ll make your story that much more powerful.


He had fled in that instant.

Erm...if Izual was about to take him out, then how’d he manage to flee?


The battle had raged all around him, demons and the forces of heaven, and he blindly dodged through the fray.

I think that should be “between demons and...”


He'd sat their huddled, on the edge of the world, coming to terms with his new found mind.

That should be “there huddled,” and “newfound” is one word.


“Why did you abandon your service to Hell?”

Given the “greater wills” concept mentioned previously, and this demon’s next words, I would’ve expected him not to understand that Mortis had a choice in fleeing...which is something this sentence implies. Personally, I’d drop this part entirely.


“I'm free” he mumbled. “I am no longer a pawn to the Lords eternal will.”

“The Lords will is the will of us all!”

There should be a comma after “free,” inside the quotes, and “Lords” should be “Lord’s”
in both instances.


“Not mine any longer” he whispered back.

There should be a comma after “longer,” inside the quotes. If you have a quote, and the text immediately following it is the speaker’s action (e.g. he whispered,) then there should be a comma, inside the quotes. Exclamation points and question marks function as commas in this instance, so they work too, depending on the context.


The opposing Balrog drew his sword from its sheathe and stepped forward, fire blazing from his nostrils.

“Sheathe” as a noun is actually a corruption of “scythe.” I think you mean “sheath.”


“Such blesphamy.”

That should be “blasphemy.”


“You've become no better then humans!”

That should be “...no better than the humans.”


He raised his sword high, “I should kill you now, you weak, pathetic vermin.”

The comma after “high” should be a period.


The two remained motionless, locked in a time free state... and then the sword came down.

“Time free state” sounds too technical to me for description in a story, though maybe that’s just me.


With a blade shattering crash it struck the stone at Mortis' feet and disintegrated.

I’d suggest using a modifier other than “blade-shattering”; it’s apparent that that happened from the later description, and so seems redundant.


“But I won't” he said, tossing away the useless hilt of his sword.

You need a comma after “won’t,” inside the quotes.


He bared his teeth viscously.

That’s “viciously,” right? Otherwise, his teeth are acting like liquids.


“I or one of the other survivors of the battle you abandoned them at.”

This started out pretty well, but with the part after “survivors,” it lost a lot of its punch. I’d just leave it at “survivors”; it’s clear who you’re talking about, and it doesn’t have a wordy clarification slowing down the threat.


“And when we do...” he nodded towards the silverly remains of his shattered sword, “There will be no mercy.”

That should be “silvery.”


Remembering his comrades words, he managed to locate and fight his way through one of the few portals leading to Sanctuary, the world of Men.

That should be “comrades’.”


A wide wall of treetops were rushing to meet him, and he purposely pulled up at the last second, savouring the rush of adrenalin.

Since “a wall of treetops” is technically a singular noun, “were” should be “was.” Also, that should be “adrenaline.”


It was an impressive structure; well maintained and crafted to perfection, Mortis noticed.

The semicolon here should just be a comma, since replacing it with a period is grammatically incorrect.


Mortis slowed his descent and landed gently not fair from the main entrance.

That should be “not far,” methinks.


The Priest, known as 'Brother Brent', has been there many years, providing spiritual enlightenment and blessings at all the occasions that require them.

I don’t think “priest” should be capitalized in this case; while he is presumably the only one, it doesn’t sound like it’d be a title. Maybe that’s just me, though.


He was, by all standards, a noble and holy man.

That should be “he was once,” I think, since he’s still alive. As it is, it suggested to me that he is dead.


But over the years, unbeknownst by everyone in the Citadel, Brent became old, demented, and open to corruption.

That should be “unbeknownst to.”


He begged of them eternal life, and in return he would make the Rogues weak so that when the Day of Redemption came, the forces of Hell could take Khanduras with little or no help from the Sisters of the Sightless Eye.

“...with little or no help” seems like it should be “with little or no interference” or something like that. Also, I’d revise “he would make” to “he promised to make,” since he’s making promises at the moment of his negotiations. This improves the parallelism of the sentence (he begged for X, and then promised Y.)


Soon they will be to weak to defend their lands.

That should be “too weak to defend...”


Your orders: find a way into the Citadels Cathedral – undetected – and slay Brother Brent.

That should be “Citadel’s.”


If you are seen, the Sister will sound the alarm and Brent will flee deep into the Catacombs; a varitable maze of corridors and burial rooms that spans an unknown amount of levels.

That should be “veritable,” and I’d think “Sister” should be plural, since you appear to be using it to represent the Order as a whole.


Their lives are being stolen to feed an evil and beligerant man, and it is highly likely their souls will be forced down into a place you know all to well, to be tortured by creatures you once called brethren.

That should be “belligerent.”


Mortis studied the signature for a second, then scrunched the paper up and vanished it.

I’m split on “vanished”; on the one hand, it’s a little awkward at first, seeing as you’re not using it in a normal sense, so I got stuck a bit on the initial read. On a second look, however, I really like the image it suggests. It is a good image, so unless you can come up with a different, smoother way of phrasing this, I’d just leave it; it’s not too much of a problem as is.


It was also clear that any kind of assault on the Citadel would have to be attempted at night.

Heh...nicely done with this and the previous detail on the carrion bird.


Resigning himself to that fact, he flapped lightly up into an over-hanging branch.

That should be “onto,” unless he really did fly smack into a branch.

Well, I’m definitely interested. As a concept, Mortis is something I’ve been wanting to see for a while; why not have demons or angels who just get fed up with the whole “eternal war” thing and go rogue? Anyway, I’ll try to read the next chapter shortly, and post some thoughts when I can...just know that if I don’t post for a while, it’s not because I didn’t read your story. Given the odds, it’s much more likely that one of many things decided to come along and stick an industrial-grade water pump in my pool of free time. Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

It threw me a bit to hear Mortis refer to himself as evil, especially as the previous narrative goes to such lengths to portray him as something else. I can understand that he might think that that is what the rogues would think, but it comes across as if he is applying that label to himself.
Oh, sorry he was refering to Brent in the Catherdral across the cloister :S I'll fix that up.


I liked this bit because it addresses the one problem I had with this section. The idea of a monster the size and weight of Pit Lord engaging in stealthy actions is, frankly, hard to believe. I'm not saying it's an unworkable concept, but because of the rather obvious problems with it (kind of like asking a reader to imagine an elephant tiptoeing across thin ice) you might invest a little more time convincing the reader of Mortis's exceptional skills of stealth and evasion.
I made a critical mistake of leaving out his physical de-evolution out of the first 2 years flashback. As it is, it's in contract 2, but that's deffiantely going to be altered later. For now, just imagine him as a stealthy, thinner being. I apolgise for the, really, rather stupid mistake.

The Knight:

Yes, that's the reviewing skills i know and worship. Cor... rehaul ahoy. It could be a long haul to, considering i'm up to part 3 on Contract 2

[Project_Xii]

Inside the Cathedral was quite beautiful by all standards. Rows of pews filled the main hall, and a long red carpet lay between them, leading to a large canopied altar. Two prayer rooms were located either side of the hall, filled with the gothic stained glass windows he'd seen from outside. The high ceiling was filled with hanging ornaments and intricate chandeliers, and tapestries that depicted feral looking women: the original Sisters of the Sightless Eye.

Kneeled at the altar, deep in chant, Mortis saw his prey. Brother Brents soft words drifted to him, sounding strange and alien. Whatever they meant, he was certain it was no good. Mortis strode up behind the old man and waited.

“Who do you chant for?” he asked.

The Priest stopped mumbling but neither stood nor turned around.
“Another man in the Citadel?” he asked calmly. “You are honoured indeed.”

“Answer the question, old man.”

“Patience lad,” Brent replied, standing up now, “I pray to the Heavens, seeking protection and guidance for these women. I keep evil at bay via a holy shield that must be strengthened every night.” He gestured upwards, “Do you feel it, brother, feel it's divine power? The power of the Gods. Perhaps you wish to join me in worship?”

“The Hell I would” Mortis hissed.

Brent paused, and then turned around slowly. He gasped and stepped back in shock, seeing the being he'd been conversing with the past few minutes.
“You're a... a..” he pointed, accusingly.

“A demon” Mortis finished. He lunged forward and grabbed Brent by the throat, “and I've come to make you pay for the lives you've been stealing to feed your own corrupted soul.”

Brent struggled and kicked, but soon found himself dangling in the air. He grabbed Mortis's huge hand and tried to pry it from his windpipe.
“What... do you mean??” he choked, fear welling in his eyes.

“You can't lie to me, Priest. I can smell evil; I was it once.” He brought his face in close to Brent and breathed deep... then paused. He smelt nothing. None of that particular taint that was so common with the other men he'd been assigned to kill.

He shook his head.
“Tricks! I heard you chanting just now; those were no normal prayers.”

“Ward spell... protects... the Rogues” came the strangled reply.

“Stop it! Stop lieing, old man. I know all about your evil scheme. You've just become adept at hiding your taint. Even mortals can sense it, and the women eventually would if you didn't hide it well.”

“Not lieing... you... are the tainted one... ENOUGH!!”

A blast of raw energy suddenly sent Mortis catapulting backwards. He sailed through the air and smashed into the right hand row of pews, breaking through three of them before coming to a rest. Brent was leaning against the altar, gasping heavily and glaring at his enemy with vengeful eyes.

“I've had enough! I don't know who you are, or why you've barged in here accusing me of such evils – even willing to take my life! But I can deduce one thing: your intentions are not in service of the mighty Lord, God, and you are therefore a threat to these women.” He raised his hands, “You must be destroyed!”

Two bolts of pure light flew from his palms and struck Mortis in the chest, sending him back through another two pews. He reeled; the light neither cut nor scorched the flesh, but inside he was burning up. A throbbing, incapacitating burn that left him struggling to breathe.

Brent continued to yell in his fury;
“I was a Paladin of the High Order, I swore an oath to protect the Rogues. I will lay down my life to do so!”

More orbs of light flew across the hall, but Mortis was up and staggering aside. He summoned the energy to leap onto the wall, despite his pain, and began to scurry towards the dark peak of the ceiling.

“Flee demon! My holy fire will slay you!”

The light orbs followed Mortis's ascent, blowing holes through tiles and rocking the building. He climbed, dodging and clawing for his life, circling around the peak until the canopy of the altar finally shielded him from Brents view.

The barrage of orbs halted, and Mortis waited, crouched on the ceiling, for the second the Priest came out to find him. After a minute, Brent cautiously did so, and Mortis pounced. Hurtling down, hands outstretched and claws flashing, he must have looked a vision from a nightmare.

Brent paused but a second before unleashing another volley of light. One struck Mortis at the last moment, doubling him over, and the falling demon barreled into the Priest. They tussled on the floor, clawing and punching for all it was worth. Brents thick robe protected him from the slashing talons, but he was too slow to avoid the massive headbutt that sent him flying.

The two were back on their feet in an instant, the Priest proving surprisingly nimble for his age. They circled each other, watching thier opponents movements keenly. Brent suddenly drew a large silver crucifix from a out of his robe a thrust it in Mortis's direction.

“Burn!” he cried, and made two slashing motions.

The beams of light that came this time did cut, and the smell of his own burning flesh filled Mortis's nostrils. He looked at his chest and saw a still-sizzling sign of the cross scarred deep.

Brent snarled in triumph, while Mortis bared his teeth. He saw the crucifix raised again, and instinctively hit the floor. Beams of light streaked over his head as he dodged left and right, bearing down on his prey. With one swift motion he rolled and lashed his wing outwards, knocking the cross from the Priests hands. He came up and took a blind swipe with his claws, hoping to at least injure Brent. The warm, pulsing chunk of flesh that suddenly appeared in his hand surprised him.

Brent looked equally surprised at the blood flowing from his severed throat. He put his hands up to stifle the flow, but the damage had already been down. Paling, he fell to his knees, then slowly slouched onto his back.

Mortis dropped the piece of meat and sighed. Tiredly, he stumbled over and knelt beside Brents face, expecting to see hatred in the old mans eyes as his final moments slipped away. Instead, he saw only a resigned sadness.

“Repent, old man” he said softly, “Admit the corruption you succumbed to, and go freely to the Heavens.”

Brents eyes widened, and a deep gurgling rose from his throat. His chest rose with the effort to speak.
“My place... in Heaven is... assured. But... the women...” he made a sound that was either a laugh or a cry of anguish, “You... have doomed... ... them all.”

His head lolled, and the severed artery in his neck ceased to pump blood. Mortis stood, the kill complete, and turned to leave the Cathedral.

From somewhere deep underground, the earth gave a mighty tremble. It shifted and growled, shaking the foundations of the building. Mortis took to the air in surprise; confused and unnerved by the disturbance.

At that moment the Cathedral doors burst open, and a large contingent of Rogues poured in. There was fury on their faces, and vengeance in their eyes. But that quickly faded to shock, as they weren't prepared for what they saw.
To their eyes, a great winged being hovered over the body of their beloved Priest. The gore still dripped fresh from his claws, and they saw by his face and the golden eyes that he was no man. He was demon, and he had defiled their Cathedral.

Mortis wanted to explain, to tell them he had actually saved their lives and Brent wasn't the man they thought he'd been. But he could see the hurt, the horror, and the anger bubbling inside them, and knew they wouldn't listen to anything he said.

With a unified cry the women nocked their arrows and began firing wildly. He flapped his great wings and rushed towards the ceiling, arrows nicking his chest and thighs. The roof was his only means of escape, he knew, and as he powered upwards he clenched his outstretched hands into fists and closed his eyes.

At the last second he folded his wings down close, and let the momentum carry him into the brittle tiles. With a crash he exploded out on the other side; out into open air and soft moonlight, and began to fall. He quickly unfurled his wings and brought himself to a hovering halt.

A stream of arrows followed him out of the hole, arcing far into the night, and he swooped down low over the rest of the Citadel to avoid them. The nicks in his flesh and holes in his wings would heal quickly, he knew, so he ignored the stabs of pain for the moment. As he crossed low over the rest building, he half expected to be assaulted again. But something wasn't right.

The women were in hysterics. Some rolled on the ground, other held their heads in their hands. Most just stood swaying and staring blankly like zombies. In the barracks, the ones holding weapons had actually turned on each other.

Mortis glided past, somewhat worried about the strange events unfolding below him. No force he knew could make this many humans act in such a way. The ominous rumble beneath the Cathedral also made him uneasy.

Some of the Rogues spotted him at last, and started firing arrows. Their aim was nothing of what it used to be; they barely paused to judge distance. Mortis quickly veered away and left the chaos behind, heading east to the lands of Anaroch. He had a feeling there was nothing more he could do.

*

His mission was complete, although the aftermath had been strange. He couldn't stop seeing the blank stares of the Rogues in his mind.
Braca was going to meet him at the foot of the Gholeinian Desert at midnight tomorrow, and he promised himself he'd get some answers from the mysterious little man.

But for now he was determined to take his time and try to unwind. He had a long flight ahead of him, and two days worth of events to think about. And he knew sleep would not come for him tonight anyway.

[Wombat-Slayer]

Ah, I see you've posted it here.

Gosh Knight, you're a reviewing best :)

[RevenantsKnight]

On Chapter II: it’s a fun read. I rather like your take on the link between mortality and Sanctuary; it’s definitely an original and intriguing approach that’s well worth pursuing. It also brought up an interesting particular question...and on that note, here’re some specific thoughts:


And learning the hard way how the laws of Sanctuary differed to the laws of Heaven and Hell.

That should be “differed from”...and “laws” somehow seems a bit odd to me; it suggests the laws of physics, which has an overly scientific feel to it. I’d word this as something like “...learning the hard way that Sanctuary held perils he had never known in his life in Hell.”


In Hell, the air was always warm and suspended in an eternal twilight. Food and water were not required to sustain life; although many demons took pleasure in feasting on the blood and flesh of new cursed victims, no nutrition was derived from it.

This paragraph might be a little too dry and factual for some, though I realize that it’s difficult to get this sort of information across without such exposition. Perhaps if you did this part with Mortis as the subject of the sentences, e.g. “In his faded memories, he could remember Hell, feel its ever-warm air and see its comforting dimness...,” it might seem less removed from the action.


Hells minions never suffered from thirst or hungry, never needed sleep, and never faltered under muscle fatigue.

That should be “Hell’s minions” and “hunger.”


They could fight relentlessly until their body was rendered incapable by an enemies weapon; such were the Laws of Hell.

That should be “enemy’s weapon.”


In Sanctuary, Mortis found himself facing every mortal element.

...And here’s where that previously mentioned question of mine came up: does aging apply to demons in Sanctuary? If I remember correctly, the Three were loose for centuries before the Horadrim.


The weather changed constantly, alternating between a bright time that was both warm and blinding, to a dark night that was very similar to Hell. Both times had glowing orbs in the sky, the dark time one more to Mortis' liking.

I liked this description; it’s nice that this is told from Mortis’s perspective on day and night prior to his knowing what they really are.


Sometimes water fell from the sky, cold and wet, and other times it combined with howling wind and ice.

It might not be a bad idea to add in Mortis’s reactions upon first encountering such phenomena; while far from essential, such a detail would offer another portrayal of his character that could be quite memorable. (Sorta like the parts about hunting later in this chapter, in fact...)


Though a demon could stomach almost anything, being host to a gut-full of micro-organisms was not their idea of a good time.

“Microorganisms” seems too far beyond the Diablo world to me. I’d change this to focus on the symptoms of consuming said creatures, which would also help by creating a more visual image for the reader.


In Hell, victims were forced to flee over flat, barren land with few places to run and even less places to hide.

“Less” should be “fewer.”


In Sanctuary, the landscape played an all to important part in the hunting routine.

That should be “all too important.”


Trees, rocks, grass, burrows, hills: anything that could be used as cover was taken advantage of.

I’d try to not end this sentence with a preposition; while I don’t think that this is as hard and fast a rule as some people like to say it is, there is a reason it’s taught as such at some schools. My suggestion would be to word this as something like “...used as cover became another tool for both the hunters and the hunted.”


He always chuckled at the look on eagles faces as he glided beside them.

Heh...that is a funny image. A side note: “eagles” should be “eagles’.”


He reveled in it, gorged himself to the seams. And then became acquainted with another mortal trait.

Vomit was definitely not something demons, or at least Balrogs, were used to. He had seen Stygian Hags giving birth that way before, so his first instinct was that he was doing likewise. When he found that wasn't so, he panicked, thinking perhaps his insides were now on the outside.

Oh wow...that was excellent. I sure wouldn’t have picked that particular reflex as a “mortal trait,” but this does work very well. I can just see Mortis slide from one emotion to another and then nearly go nuts...

On another note, I’d describe Stygian Hags a little instead of using their game name and drop “Balrogs” for “Mortis’s kind” or something like that; while these aren’t confusing or anything, they rely on images that aren’t really your own. Now, this is unavoidable to some degree, but it’s best if minimized, and I think these instances could be removed without too much trouble.


The great dome entrance of the Citadel glowed slightly from within, and he could still see guards pacing in the torch light.

I’m not sure about this, but I think that should be “domed,” since it’s describing a noun (entrance.)


To his disappointment he discovered there wasn't a breathe of wind, so he was forced to beat his wings heavily to get appropriate lift.

That should be “breath of wind.”


He could identify each section quite easily by the structure of the roof...Even at night the women were continuing their vigorous training routines; firing a constant barrage of arrows at distant scarecrows tied to poles. It made him uneasy to see all the arrows in the heart or head locations.

Erm...how could he see all the training and such if there’s a roof on the barracks?


He floated quietly towards the roof, wondering exactly how to go about his entry, but at the last second curiosity got the better of him and he changed course towards the mess hall instead.

I find it interesting that you gave Mortis so many “human” traits...it does really make for a fun character, though it also brings up the question of how much Sanctuary could change a demon.


These women were so strong, yet so innocent in their faith. He ground his teeth as his eyes swept over the sea of feminine faces. And so young, some of them.

Mortis’s perspective felt a little odd to me; this whole bit sounded distinctly like an archetypical hero, which isn’t something that works perfectly with his mercenary background. It’d be interesting to see, though, how he came about to hold these views, given his background.


Would they die before their time because of a Priests greed?

That should be “priest’s.”


He suddenly realised his nail were digging to hard into the glass, and hairline fractures were beginning to appear.

That should be “nails were digging too hard” or “nail was digging too hard.”


He landed on the roof of the Cathedral with a thump, and almost staggered as the frail tiles shattered to dust under his weight.

Heh...he’s not exactly built for stealth and grace, now is he? Nice touch.


Carefully he stalked the outside of the roof, searching for a window or maintainence hatch, and annoyingly found niether.

That should be “maintenance” and “neither.”


Two female guards did indeed stand at attention below him.

I’d change this to “...guards indeed stood at attention below him.” I can’t really give a grammatical reason as to why; it just seems like it flows better.


He hovered above them, motionless, so close he could hear them breathing.

I think that should be “...so close that he could hear them breathing.”


Gripping desperately with his tow-claws, he reached out his hands, ready to render unconscious with two simultaneous blows.

That should be “toe-claws,” and “render them unconscious.”


“Oh gods, Quinn, not this again. Are we going to talk about the meanings of your stupid dreams every time we have guard duty together? I swear I'm going to put in a transfer to wall-watch if you keep this up.”

I thought the conversation, on the whole, was pretty good; the dialogue sounded more or less natural to me. One thought about this particular passage: “put in a transfer” sounds a little too modern, as it suggests a bureaucracy that I don’t think the Order of the Sightless Eye would have. I’d change it to read something like “...I’m going to ask [someone] to trade watches with me.”


“Ok. Fine. What were they about this time?”

“OK” should be double capitalized, I think.


“Do you think?? Quinn asked, sounding worried.

You’re missing a quotation mark after the speech here.


Mortis, still hovered above them, was completely intrigued in the conversation and had forgotten he was quite exposed in his current position.

That should be “still hovering above them.”


The mission was in full swing now, it wouldn't be long before someone entered the cloister and saw that the guards weren't at their posts.

There should be a semicolon, not a comma, after “now.”


Laying them respectively on the ground, he hurried back to the large Cathedral doors and tested the handles.

Hrm...”respectively” works, but did you mean “respectfully,” perhaps?


He pulled one side of the door open, pleased to hear it well oiled, and slipped inside.

I think that should be “was pleased to hear it well oiled,” but somehow either way sounds off to me...possibly because Mortis shouldn’t hear anything if it was well oiled. I’d word this as something like “...open, thankful that it moved silently on well-oiled hinges,...”

Well, there’s a lot here that I found interesting, and though there’s some edits to do, this read pretty smoothly. Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Alrighty i've gone through and re-edited it. Won't bother to repost, but you may see it pop up in TDL if i'm lucky.

Care to review the final part of contract 1? (above your review of part 2, Revevants Knight). That'd be way handy :)
otherwise i'll just post the next part of the story soon.

[RevenantsKnight]

On Chapter III: interesting twist you’re setting up here...I’m rather curious to see which way you’ll take it. The ending, on the whole, felt a little rushed; even though Mortis is in a hurry, what he sees sticks with him, so it might be a good idea to spend some more time on that. Anyway, some comments:


Inside the Cathedral was quite beautiful by all standards.

That should be either “Inside, the Cathedral was quite beautiful by any standard” or “The interior of the Cathedral was...[insert description here].” Both work, in my opinion; it really depends on how much time you want to spend here. Extra imagery/description couldn’t hurt, but then, since this is beside the point of the piece, it might be better just to move quickly to the scene with Brent.


Two prayer rooms were located either side of the hall, filled with the gothic stained glass windows he'd seen from outside.

That should be “were located on either side...,” and “gothic stained glass” doesn’t really draw an image for me; perhaps you might want to use a different adjective.


The high ceiling was filled with hanging ornaments and intricate chandeliers, and tapestries that depicted feral looking women: the original Sisters of the Sightless Eye.

If the intent of these tapestries is to honor the original Sisters, would they really look “feral”?


Kneeled at the altar, deep in chant, Mortis saw his prey.

The way this is worded, it sounds like Mortis is at the altar, etc. I’d move both descriptive phrases to after “prey.”


Brother Brents soft words drifted to him, sounding strange and alien.

That should be “Brent’s.”


Whatever they meant, he was certain it was no good.

The wording here sounded a little awkward to me, though I understood what you were trying to say. I’d drop the pronoun “it” for something more specific, wording this as “...certain that the chant did not bode well for the Rogues” or something like that.


He gestured upwards, “Do you feel it, brother, feel it's divine power?”

The comma after “upwards” should be a period, since “gestured upwards” doesn’t really describe the words he says, but the actions that accompany them. Also, the “it’s” there should be “its.”


“The Hell I would” Mortis hissed.

There should be a comma after “would,” inside the quotes.


He gasped and stepped back in shock, seeing the being he'd been conversing with the past few minutes.

You need “over” or some similar preposition before “the past few minutes.” Also, depending on how grammatically correct you want this to be, you could rewrite this sentence as “...seeing the being with which he’d been conversing...,” since ending phrases with a preposition is, technically, incorrect. However, this rule gets broken all the time these days, and I think that the “correct” way sounds a little stuffy sometimes. I guess it’s a stylistic call here.


“You're a... a..” he pointed, accusingly.

If you want to keep “pointed,” then the speech and “he pointed accusingly” should be two different sentences. This is for the same reason as “gestured,” detailed above.


“A demon” Mortis finished.

You’re missing a comma after “demon,” inside the quotes.


He brought his face in close to Brent and breathed deep... then paused. He smelt nothing.

Did he, now...interesting.


“Stop lieing, old man.”

“Not lieing... you... are the tainted one... ENOUGH!!”

That should be “lying.” It’s one of those evil irregular verbs.


Brent was leaning against the altar, gasping heavily and glaring at his enemy with vengeful eyes.

I’d try to take this out of the passive tense, considering the context. If you want, you could do a sentence where Mortis looks up and sees Brent, as sort of a transition from Mortis’s perspective of being launched across the room to Brent’s speech.


“I don't know who you are, or why you've barged in here accusing me of such evils – even willing to take my life!”

The last bit there seemed tacked on; it took me a couple reads to catch that you weren’t referring to one of the evils Mortis was accusing Brent of doing earlier.


“But I can deduce one thing: your intentions are not in service of the mighty Lord, God, and you are therefore a threat to these women.”

Erm...“God” per se doesn’t come up ever in Diablo; it’s only Order and Chaos. “...in service of the mighty Light” might work.


He raised his hands, “You must be destroyed!”

For reasons mentioned above, I think that the comma after “hands” should be a period.


He reeled; the light neither cut nor scorched the flesh, but inside he was burning up.

It’s unclear to whom “he” refers at first; grammatically, it’s Brent, but the context marks it as Mortis. I’d specify that you’re talking about Mortis here. Also, it might be worth another sentence or two on the effects of the light, so the reader gets a better, and more memorable, image.


A throbbing, incapacitating burn that left him struggling to breathe.

Technically, this isn’t a complete sentence, because there’s no verb; “...that left him struggling...” just modifies the subject (the burn.) For me, this felt disruptive, though I don’t know what other people might think about this fragment use.


Brent continued to yell in his fury;
“I was a Paladin of the High Order, I swore an oath to protect the Rogues. I will lay down my life to do so!”

This should be punctuated and formatted in the following manner: Brent continued to yell in his fury, “I was a Paladin of the High Order; I swore to protect the Rogues. I will lay down my life to do so!”


He climbed, dodging and clawing for his life, circling around the peak until the canopy of the altar finally shielded him from Brents view.

That should be “Brent’s.”


Hurtling down, hands outstretched and claws flashing, he must have looked a vision from a nightmare.

Good image, though I’d word this as “...he looked like a vision from a nightmare,” as what you have sounds a bit more removed from the action, as if the narrator’s taking some time to talk directly to the reader.


One struck Mortis at the last moment, doubling him over, and the falling demon barreled into the Priest.

Minor nitpick: I’d clarify what you mean by “one,” such as “one burst” or whatever.


Brents thick robe protected him from the slashing talons, but he was too slow to avoid the massive headbutt that sent him flying.

That should be “Brent’s.”


They circled each other, watching thier opponents movements keenly.

That should be “...watching their opponent’s movements keenly.” Even that, though, seems a bit odd due to the singular “they,” which is technically incorrect; you could play with this some more or just call it a stylistic choice and leave it as is.


Brent suddenly drew a large silver crucifix from a out of his robe a thrust it in Mortis's direction.

Should that be “...from out of his robe and thrust it...”


He saw the crucifix raised again, and instinctively hit the floor.

Again, the “he” here is a little unclear on a first read. I’d also reword “raised again” to “rise again.”


With one swift motion he rolled and lashed his wing outwards, knocking the cross from the Priests hands.

That should be “Priest’s.” When indicating possession by one person, use the possessor plus an apostrophe and then an “s.” Adding just an “s” usually creates the plural form.


Brent looked equally surprised at the blood flowing from his severed throat.

“Severed throat” suggests decapitation. I’d find a way to reword this; perhaps “split” or “slashed” would suit your needs.


Tiredly, he stumbled over and knelt beside Brents face, expecting to see hatred in the old mans eyes as his final moments slipped away.

That should be “Brent’s” and “man’s,” respectively. See previous comments concerning the possessive form.


“Repent, old man” he said softly, “Admit the corruption you succumbed to, and go freely to the Heavens.”

The comma after “softly” should be a period.


Brents eyes widened, and a deep gurgling rose from his throat.

That should be “Brent’s.”


But that quickly faded to shock, as they weren't prepared for what they saw.

The phrase “as they weren’t prepared for what they saw” works, but it felt a bit too factual for the situation. Personally, I’d focus on what they saw, with something like “...as their eyes met a scene from a nightmare.”


To their eyes, a great winged being hovered over the body of their beloved Priest.

I’d word this as “Their horrified eyes saw only a great...”


With a unified cry the women nocked their arrows and began firing wildly.

That should be “shooting,” not “firing”; the latter didn’t come into use until after the invention of guns. Also, I don’t know if this is necessary, but I’d word “nocked their arrows” as “nocked arrows to their bows.”


With a crash he exploded out on the other side; out into open air and soft moonlight, and began to fall.

The semicolon after “side” should be a comma, and there should be a verb, such as “flying,” after that. There should also probably be a “then” before “began.”


In the barracks, the ones holding weapons had actually turned on each other.

I think I mentioned this before, but how did Mortis see into the barracks from overhead, unless the roof is glass?


Some of the Rogues spotted him at last, and started firing arrows.

See previous comment comparing “firing” and “shooting.” It’s not a major point, but still it’s worth noting.


Mortis quickly veered away and left the chaos behind, heading east to the lands of Anaroch.

That’s spelled “Aranoch.”

Anyway, not a bad chapter overall. There’s some edits to make, and you could expand on some ideas, but the base of this part seems pretty solid. Thanks for posting!

[Darknicrofia]

this is the best story i've ever read by far, can't you speed up the writing a bit man, I dont mean to rush you but I am eager to read the finished work of your epic tale, love it. blizzard should turn your story into a book and I'll be the 1st person to buy it :D

[Project_Xii]

Lol. Thxs :)
Alright, i'll post some more.

Contract 2 – Sultan of Lut Gholein

-------
Collateral
Indirect, subsidiary, or accessory to the main thing
-------

“I can't do it, dammit! How many times must I tell you? I don't even think it's possible for demons to learn magik. Why must we persist?”

“Nonsense. You can summon and control fire from within you, can you not? That's a form of magik right there.”

“Yes, but we are born with that, something we can do at an age so young we barely recognise it as a skill.”

“Give yourself time. Even an old dog can learn new tricks if he knows the rewards are well worth it.”

'The Teacher' was an elderly man named Zac Robinson. Aside from being a highly respected member of a thief guild, he was also a collector of rare antiquities. It was obvious the two careers complimented each other.

He’d stumbled across Zac hunting in the woods, and was surprised to meet the first man who hadn't fled in fright. Zac was wise, witty and extremely curious; even offering Mortis a bed and food in exchange for first-hand tales from Hell.

As it turned out, Mortis had more than enough stories to keep the old man intrigued for more then two weeks, and by that time they had become steadfast friends. When the tales began to dwindle, the next subject in Zac's line of curiosity was the demon form itself.

Although Mortis was highly uncomfortable with the idea of being studied, the old man claimed if he was allowed to do so, they both might gain valuable knowledge on the limitations and abilities of Mortis's body under the laws of this world.

He finally agreed, and Zac subjected him to many vigorous tests that lasted at least another week. But by the end of it, the amount of information they had acquired was staggering.

As Zac expected, metabolic rate was far higher then usual. Yet his body still had the remarkable ability of storing the most vital of nutrients, allowing him to survive almost twice the time of a human without food or water.

The accelerated rate of regeneration was something Zac couldn’t explain. Any wounds Mortis received would inexplicably heal within hours or even minutes of receiving them, depending on the nature and deepness of the cut. These were unchangeable demonic traits, and did not seem to be affected by the laws of Sanctuary.

Hearing, eye sight, and sense of smell were all heightened, as was expected. Susceptibility to disease or organ failure was very low, as his body seemed able to identify and produce its own serums for fighting off diseases. Mortis studied every inch of the old mans report, not really understanding most of these statements, but one factor produced the biggest shock for him.

Life expectancy.

In Hell, a demons life was eternal. If locked up and away from harm, never forced into battle or drained by one of the Lords, a demon could sit on the edge of the abyss until time turned his body to stone. And even that happening wasn't a certainty.

In Sanctuary, Zac could give no definite age limit, but he could confirm that eventually Mortis would die like any other Mortal. His cells, though they aged and decayed far slower then any other living being Zac had seen, they did die, and so his fate was assured.

Mortis was faced with his own mortality for the first time as a free will. That night, the old man introduced him to the wonders of alcohol.

As more weeks came and passed, Zac began to share the wealth of knowledge and life experiences he'd acquired over the course of his well travelled life. He revealed he was skilled at many basic magiks that helped in his thieving career. When Mortis took a keen interest, the old man devised some classes for his pupil, and so it came to be that the demon called the human, 'Teacher'.

“Look, it's a simple summoning spell. When you master it you will be able to call in or vanish any object of yours at will.”

“I don't understand how that works” Mortis snorted. “Where do the objects go when I 'vanish' them?”

“Your mind. Your memory.”

“My... memory?”

“Correct. Or at least, as close to correct as we can get. In truth, no one knows exactly where they go. But they exist for as long as you remember they're there. But if you forget...” he made a 'poof!' sound and motion with is hands, “Gone. Forever. Many objects have simply fallen off the face of Sanctuary that way.”

Mortis mulled over this for a long time.
“That would indeed make thievery easy” he said thoughtfully.

Zan suddenly became very serious, and his expression darkened.
“No Mort, it does not.” He pulled a chair in close and sat down, leaning in as if he feared the walls had ears. “What I'm about to tell you, you must never tell anyone else. Mort, do you promise?”

“I promise, Teacher. May I be cast back into the depths of Hell if I break it. ”

“Good. Now are you listening.”

“I'm listening.”

“Can you hear me Mort? Mortis, are you listening? Mortis? MORTIS!”

*****

Mortis sat up with a start, almost colliding heads with the figure leaning over his bed. Braca jumped back and gulped.

“S-sorry. I couldn't tell if you were sleeping or not. Do you know you sleep with your eyes open?”

Mortis rubbed his neck and grumbled something under his breath.

“Yes. It helps to stop enemies sneaking up on me. I was just... dreaming this time.”

“Ah... well I hope you're rested enough to receive your new contract. It's quite an important one.” Braca rubbed his hands together and his eyes shone dimly. Mortis grunted and got up off the bed.

“It's the middle of the night. Give me a few minutes to wake up before you start telling me about the throats I must slit.”

Braca nodded in agreement as he watched the demon walk over to a dresser. Mortis had called in some spare garments upon arrival at the inn; the ones he'd been wearing during the mission had been ravaged by the Rogues arrows.

He never wore much in the way of clothing. Undergarments for modesty, animal skin coverings similar to that of the Barbarians in the north. He never wore shirts or anything that required being slipped over his head, as there were very few tailors that designed them with wings in mind. There was, however, a breastplate that could be unfastened and clasped around his chest. He hadn't worn that out on last night’s job.

He opened a draw of the dresser and began to flick through the various pieces he did have. And suddenly realised Braca was still watching him.
“Do you mind” he said over his shoulder.

“Mind what?”

Mortis turned around quickly, strode over and grabbed the little man by the scruff of his well-pressed suit.
“Even demons like to have privacy” he growled, and tossed Braca out the door before he had time to protest.

*

The small man with slicked back hair paced the hallway impatiently, wringing his hands, twitching like a mad thing. Finally the door creaked open, and Mortis filled its frame. He was preened and looked far more awake.

“Excellent! It's about time. My employers are very eager to thank you for your work last night, you were exceptional.”

“It wasn't much.”

“Oh but it was. Brent was a powerful man, you did well to succeed as... intact... as you are now.”

“Yes. He was a -” suddenly the full details of the night before flooded back to him, and Mortis slammed the little man up against the wall. “What did you make me DO?”

“W-w-what?” Braca stammered.

“Brent wasn't corrupted. He was as loyal to the Rogues as he would be to family. You made me kill an innocent man.” Fire was beginning to build in his eyes, and the sudden reek of ammonia hit his nostrils as Braca's bowels released.

“He wasn't! He wasn't I swear! Please, let me explain!” The nervous twitch had progressed into a full on contortion of the face, and he was sweating profusely.

Mortis squinted at him with his sharp golden eyes, smelling the genuine fear coming from his sweat. And his pants.
“Fine. You have three minutes.”

He dropped Braca, who fell against the wall shaking uncontrollably.
“Brent was a Paladin, in service to the Zakarum” he began to babble, the words come out at hummingbird pace.

“He was very high ranking, and so spent a lot of time with the High Council. The very Council that now stands corrupted and blood thirsty in the Tower of Kurast. The influence of Mephisto is like a virus; it takes seed and can stay dormant for a long time, or it can attack viscously the mind or body.”

“The Council and the Zakaramites were consumed fast, because they were so close to the source of influence. But Brent left at the first signs of others madness, thinking he could escape it if he was in another country.”

Mortis crossed his arms, his eyes still narrow slits. Braca gulped and pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe the urine from his trousers as he continued.

“My employers kept a watchful eye on him for all the years he spent in service to the Sisters, and it was only recently that we began to see symptoms surface. It starts with dreams; wild, violent dreams that makes the victims buck in their beds. In the morning they can remember nothing, so go about their daily lives with no knowledge of what’s taking root in their bodies. Their mental state slowly degenerates, until one day they snap, and Mephisto has them. They become mindless killing machines, hellbent on slaying anything in their path back to the source, to protect it.”

He sighed, and stared at the carpet.

“Brent was a good man. It was hard on my employers to authorise that contract. We simply could not allow an event like that to unfold.”

Mortis stood quietly, his nails clicking tentively against his hardened skin. He didn't look fully convinced.

“If that is the true story, why did you make a false one in the contract for me to go on? Why not just tell me the real reason outright?”

“Because you're you!” Braca replied, his voice rising. He'd stopped shaking now and had regained some of his usual confidence.

“My employers know what you're like; they know your unusual morals when it comes to women and children. By all rights you shouldn’t care who you kill, being the demon you are.” He paused, wondering if he’d overstepped the line a bit by the look on Mortis’s face.

"They needed you to fight to the best of your ability, and to do that they used the best weapon of persuasion; the lives of all the women in that Citadel. They knew you'd fight with all your fury to protect them. And you did Mortis, you saved them. Just not from the danger you originally thought.”

Mortis leaned in close, his face inches from Braca's.
“Then tell me why they all went crazy after I killed Brent.”

The little man gasped and pushed away, out in the hallway as if he wanted to run.
“You... you saw that?”

“I did. It wasn't pretty. And I have no idea what instigated it. Do you?” he glared accusingly.

Braca gulped again, and then suddenly became very professional.

“The details of events that take place after your contracts are fulfilled are not necessary for you to know. You are hired to do a task, for a set price, with the information you are given. If more is required, and I and my employers deem it beneficial, we will provide it. Other then that, we expect you to either accept or decline our offers, and probe no further into matters then you are entitled to.”

He brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder and looked down his nose at the demon before him.

“Have I made myself clear?”

Mortis was taken aback. Nobody, certainly no man, had ever spoken to him in such a way. The fact that Braca showed no signs of fear anymore, and was indeed deadly serious, told him that perhaps discretion was the best course of action.

“My apologies, Mr. Braca. I will ask no more questions.”

“It’s just Braca. I currently have no birthing name” He relaxed a little, sure now that he wasn't about to be disembowelled on the spot.

“If it makes you feel any better; Brent in himself had become a source for the madness. The women had contracted a slight dose, and that had been purged upon his death. The effects are temporary. They should have returned to a normal state of mind not long after you left.”

Mortis nodded.

“That helps.”

Braca reached into his suit and fumbled about, finally pulling out a neatly sealed envelope. “The details of your next assignment rest within this letter. If you accept it, we can offer you a sum equal to that of the last. Do you accept?”

Mortis thought for a few seconds, his mind reeling at how much money he was earning from the strange man before him. Then he nodded, and reached out a clawed hand.

“You'll like this one” Braca said slyly, “I believe you mentioned the Sultans of Lut Gholein last time we met?” He handed Mortis the letter. “Well, now you get to meet one for yourself.”

[RevenantsKnight]

Hrm...the overall plotline and such looks pretty strong still; I definitely want to know what’s up with Braca and who is “employers” actually are. There was one major bump in this chapter, though, regarding the flashback sequence with the Teacher; something about this part just didn’t seem as engaging as the rest of the story. I can’t say I know why it felt that way for sure, but my guess is that a lot of it sounded like you were just trying to get information across to the reader in the fastest and clearest way possible. While both qualities are often seen in good writing, I think you might have made it too fast and too clear, in that it reads as if you’ve distilled it down to a report about Mortis’s history. Also, I don’t know how scientific you want this all to sound, since the Diablo world is most definitely not exactly up to modern standards in terms of biology. Anyway, some comments:


“I can't do it, dammit! How many times must I tell you? I don't even think it's possible for demons to learn magik. Why must we persist?”

This is a good opening bit, though when I read it first, I got a bit confused towards the end of the exchange between Mortis and the Teacher because I wasn’t sure what was going on. I don’t know if it’s necessary or not, but it might help if you gave the reader a little bit more of a hint about who’s talking and what’s happening here.


“Give yourself time. Even an old dog can learn new tricks if he knows the rewards are well worth it.”

'The Teacher' was an elderly man named Zac Robinson.

The transition between these two paragraphs felt really awkward to me, as did the fact that the conversation doesn’t seem to go anywhere for a while. You might want to ease away from the speech by describing what’s around them, what they’re trying to do, etc. and then moving to the Teacher. Also, the quotes around “The Teacher” are first doubled and then single; I’d pick one and stick with it.


Aside from being a highly respected member of a thief guild, he was also a collector of rare antiquities.

I’d see if you can’t get some of this across to the reader by describing the room around them...come to think of it, you don’t really describe their surroundings at all. That’s definitely something that could use some attention. For instance, if you mention that there’s a very old something-or-other in this corner, an enchanted item over here, etc. it should become pretty clear that he has a sizable collection of rarities.


He’d stumbled across Zac hunting in the woods, and was surprised to meet the first man who hadn't fled in fright.

It’s not really clear to whom the “he” refers; I can assume that it’s Mortis from the context, but you don’t actually mention the name before this in the chapter.


Zac was wise, witty and extremely curious; even offering Mortis a bed and food in exchange for first-hand tales from Hell.

The semicolon after “curious” should be a comma. Also, since you pass over this rather quickly, it has a dry, just-the-facts sort of feel to it, which is probably part of why I found this section a bit less engaging. It seems to me that you might have been trying to get too much to the reader in too little time.

Anyway, my suggestion for dealing with this is to slow it down a bit, adding in more details, conversations, specific short tales, or whatever. You may need to break this history up a little, and introduce some of it in later chapters, but personally I’d think that some of the stuff here doesn’t have to be brought up immediately. I could see, though, that getting this all down on paper (or a computer screen, rather) probably helped with organizing the story and all that, so I’d recommend keeping a separate, unchanged copy around for your own uses.


He finally agreed, and Zac subjected him to many vigorous tests that lasted at least another week.

This is another place where it feels a bit like you went too fast. Especially given the nature of the conclusions you later present, I was rather curious as to how the heck he came up with all this knowledge. Is he extremely scientifically advanced for the age, did he use magic, etc.? Lastly, “vigorous tests” sounds...weird to me, since the tests themselves can’t really be lively; that’s more a comment on how the Teacher might have been while conducting them.


As Zac expected, metabolic rate was far higher then usual.

“Metabolic rate” is a pretty good example of the overly scientific feel I mentioned earlier. I’m not exactly sure when this sort of thing entered the scientific community, but it wasn’t when Diablo-era technologies were common. Therefore, it begs the question of how the Teacher knows all this, and it also just doesn’t sound quite in line with the setting. I’d recommend deleting the reference and trying to find a different wording for this, given these reasons; however, I don’t doubt that there’s a way to make this work.


Hearing, eye sight, and sense of smell were all heightened, as was expected. Susceptibility to disease or organ failure was very low, as his body seemed able to identify and produce its own serums for fighting off diseases.

Both of these sentences sounded a lot like the language used in medical reports, research papers...you get the idea. These are elements that might be better demonstrated, in that you could relate a short instance where he saw/heard/smelt something very subtle. Admittedly, the second one might be hard, though. Also, the last part of the second sentence should be worded as something like “identify invading diseases and produce...” since his body doesn’t really identify what it produces.


Mortis studied every inch of the old mans report, not really understanding most of these statements, but one factor produced the biggest shock for him.

For me, the transition from “statements” to the last clause felt like a bit of a jump, to the point where I’d consider making this two sentences. Changing the comma after “statements” to a period and then beginning the next sentence with “One factor (or finding, perhaps?), though...” Also, “old mans” should be “old man’s,” since you’re trying to indicate possession of the report in this case. Finally, I don’t know if “biggest” is the right word in this situation, since the shock isn’t being compared to anything.


In Hell, a demons life was eternal.

That should be “demon’s life.”


If locked up and away from harm, never forced into battle or drained by one of the Lords, a demon could sit on the edge of the abyss until time turned his body to stone.

I think that the first bit of this sentence is maybe a touch wordy; you could probably get away with just “Locked up and kept away from harm, a demon...”


His cells, though they aged and decayed far slower then any other living being Zac had seen, they did die, and so his fate was assured.

Erm...again, how does Zac see these cells, let alone know the concept behind them?


Mortis was faced with his own mortality for the first time as a free will. That night, the old man introduced him to the wonders of alcohol.

The transition between these ideas wasn’t clear for me. It seems like you were planning on putting something between them but never did. Also, “as a free will” at the end of the first sentence sounds unnecessary; I wasn’t sure what you meant by this.


As more weeks came and passed, Zac began to share the wealth of knowledge and life experiences he'd acquired over the course of his well travelled life.

I’d delete “and life experiences,” which sounds a bit redundant to me given the rest of the sentence.


When Mortis took a keen interest, the old man devised some classes for his pupil, and so it came to be that the demon called the human, 'Teacher'.

I’d delete the comma after “human,” and I’d add something like “in these” after “keen interest,” so that it’s clear that it refers back to the magiks. Also, the period at the end should go inside the quotation marks around “Teacher.”


“I don't understand how that works” Mortis snorted.

You need a comma after “works,” inside the quotes.


“But if you forget...” he made a 'poof!' sound and motion with is hands, “Gone.”

That should be “his hands.”


Mortis mulled over this for a long time.
“That would indeed make thievery easy” he said thoughtfully.

I’d reformat this so it’s all on one line.


Zan suddenly became very serious, and his expression darkened.

Isn’t his name “Zac”?


“No Mort, it does not.”

There should be a comma after “no.” Also, the abbreviated form of Mortis’s name sounds a bit...odd; I can’t say why necessarily, but it doesn’t quite fit with the tone of the story in my opinion.


“I promise, Teacher. May I be cast back into the depths of Hell if I break it. ”

There’s an extra space at the end here, before the closing quotation mark.


“Good. Now are you listening.”

The period at the end should be a question mark.


“S-sorry. I couldn't tell if you were sleeping or not. Do you know you sleep with your eyes open?”

Heh...nice touch on Braca.


“Ah... well I hope you're rested enough to receive your new contract.”

You need a comma after “well.”


Mortis had called in some spare garments upon arrival at the inn; the ones he'd been wearing during the mission had been ravaged by the Rogues arrows.

That should be “he’d worn during...” and “...the Rogues’ arrows.”


He opened a draw of the dresser and began to flick through the various pieces he did have.

That should be “a drawer.”


“Do you mind” he said over his shoulder.

You need a question mark after “mind,” inside the quotes.


“Mind what?”

Thick, isn’t he...


“Even demons like to have privacy” he growled, and tossed Braca out the door before he had time to protest.

You’re missing a comma after “privacy,” inside the quotes.


“My employers are very eager to thank you for your work last night, you were exceptional.”

The comma after “night” should be either a period or a semicolon, as either clause could be a complete sentence on its own.


“Oh but it was. Brent was a powerful man, you did well to succeed as... intact... as you are now.”

There should be a comma after “Oh,” and a semicolon or period after “man” instead of the comma.


Fire was beginning to build in his eyes, and the sudden reek of ammonia hit his nostrils as Braca's bowels released.

Erm...“bowels” doesn’t refer to the bladder.


“He wasn't I swear!”

There should be a comma after “wasn’t.”


“Brent was a Paladin, in service to the Zakarum” he began to babble, the words come out at hummingbird pace.

You need a comma after “Zakarum,” inside the quotes, and the last bit should read “the words coming out at a hummingbird pace” for grammatical reasons. Nice image, though.


“The very Council that now stands corrupted and blood thirsty in the Tower of Kurast.”

I’ve always seen “bloodthirsty” written as one word, but maybe that’s just me.


“The influence of Mephisto is like a virus; it takes seed and can stay dormant for a long time, or it can attack viscously the mind or body.”

Again, a “virus” is a concept that seems beyond this world to me; if you could somehow set this idea up without the anachronism, I think it’d go down easier. Also, while the Zakarum Church was well aware of Mephisto’s location within the tower, I’m not sure if many people, if any, knew that he had grown in power to the point where he could corrupt the entire Council. Either way, it’s a little surprising that Braca knows all this...Finally, I think you meant “viciously attack,” not “attack viscously.”


“But Brent left at the first signs of others madness, thinking he could escape it if he was in another country.”

That should be “of the others’ madness...”


“It starts with dreams; wild, violent dreams that makes the victims buck in their beds.”

That should be “...that make the...”


“In the morning they can remember nothing, so go about their daily lives with no knowledge of what’s taking root in their bodies.”

I’d word this as “...nothing, and so they go about...”


Mortis stood quietly, his nails clicking tentively against his hardened skin.

That’s spelled “tentatively,” not “tentively.”


"And you did Mortis, you saved them.”

You need a comma after “did,” and a period or semicolon after “Mortis.”


The little man gasped and pushed away, out in the hallway as if he wanted to run.

Hrm...I’m not entirely sure what you meant here. Perhaps “...and pushed himself back out into the hallway...”?


“The details of events that take place after your contracts are fulfilled are not necessary for you to know.”

Dang, that was a fast change.


“Other then that, we expect you to either accept or decline our offers, and probe no further into matters then you are entitled to.”

Personally, I’d delete the part after “further.” The last bit sounds like an unnecessary hedge to me, since, from Braca’s perspective, they’d probably tell Mortis all he’d need to know to do his job.


“It’s just Braca. I currently have no birthing name”

There should be a period after “name,” inside the quotes.


“If it makes you feel any better; Brent in himself had become a source for the madness.”

The semicolon after “better” should be a comma, since “If it makes you feel any better” can’t be a complete sentence on its own.


“You'll like this one” Braca said slyly, “I believe you mentioned the Sultans of Lut Gholein last time we met?”

There should be a comma after “one,” inside the quotes.

Overall, this chapter was a decent read, though the flashback felt a bit rushed and dry to me. I am interested in the running storyline with Braca; let’s just say I’ve got some ideas and want to know if I’m right or not...:) Sorry for not getting to this earlier, and thanks for posting!

[0xDEADCAFE]

Good job with the latest chapter. I particularly liked the little details about his attire and his taste for privacy. It's still a bit difficult to accept the idea that a demon could walk around freely in Sanctuary without being hunted down and killed by the local townfolks, so as many details as you can put in about how he goes about his daily routine can only help make it more believable.

One part I found a little unsatisfying was the end of his meeting with Braca. At first Mortis seems ready to kill Braca because of his concern that he might have acted wrongly in killing Brent. Then he totally changes, apparently due only to the fact that Braca talked down to him. That didn't quite work for me. Was Mortis suddenly afraid of Braca? Was he suddenly more trusting of him? I think that needs more explanation.

But overall an enjoyable read. :thumbsup:

[Project_Xii]

Think of it as getting really really mad at your boss. You want to punch him, but suddenly he reminds you of your place and the fact that he could fire your *** on the spot.

Your temper can fade pretty quickly. Thxs for the replies and the reviews though :) Part 2 will be up soon

[chi987]

you've got a very interesting character in the story :)

I liked the beginning of contract 1 part 2, describing his first experiences on Sanctuary. It reminds me of Frankenstein.


Zan suddenly became very serious, and his expression darkened.Shouldnt that be Zac?

Its hard to tell whether Zac is real or an imaginary person in his dreams. That might be your intention though. If he's not a real person, Mortis is learning things on his own and that's pretty cool :P

[Project_Xii]

Zac is real. All will be revealed slowly, in time. Mortis's past pops up at random intervals, and sometimes confuses the reader by making them think; "wait, what the hell?" and then realise he's slipped back into a memory :) Some people don't like, others recognise it as a really cool storyline blending technique.

That's in later chapters though. I'm currently nearing the end of Contract 3, i'm just taking my time posting here cause Revenants Knight is my god and any reviews he does is gospel. Once i've corrected what he says is worng, i pretty mcuh consider that section of writing complete.

And thxs for the advice about the first part of Conrtact 2, R.K. It was pretty cold and factual. It went through a massive rehaul, though i won't be posting that here. Perhaps you'l lread in the dark library if i'm lucky. Right, onto Part 2.

--------

*****
Desert. Mortis's least favourite landscape to traverse. The hot, moistureless air dried the membranous skin of his wings and cracked his lips. Yet despite those small discomforts, it was a place he'd returned to often in the past. He had a history here.

As he passed under the great stone arch of the cities entrance, he was almost relieved to see it had barely changed in the past seven years.
'Sands shift, people come and die. But this place never seems to age...' he thought.

The mighty palace of the Sultans towered above the smaller stone buildings, its impressive tear-drop shaped roof sand blasted but still magnificent. Not far from that was the two story brothel and exotic dance club. Mortis secretly hoped the girls had changed, even if the city hadn't. The market in the middle was a hive of activity, and laughter could be heard from the nearby tavern. He focused on the bar and walked towards it, already aware of the eyes beginning to watch him.

Out the front of the tavern, a middle aged woman watched a young boy playing in the street. Her husband watched to, an arm protective and lovingly around his wife’s shoulders; a smile on both their faces. The woman suddenly noticed Mortis, and her smile fell.

“Gel, Gel come quickly” she called.

The boy, drawn by the slight urgency in her voice, stopped playing and walked to his parents. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.
By this time market chatter had began to fade, as more people noticed the large figure strolling down the main street. The boy had seen him now and was squirming wildly in his mother’s arms.

Mortis stopped a few feet away, as the child finally freed himself. He ran towards the demon that was easily four times his size, hands outstretched.

“Mortis, Mortis!” he cried.

Mortis smiled and stooped to collect the boy.

“Gel!” he said, easily cradling the child in the crook of his arm, “You've gotten big.”

“Big enough to scare you soon” Gel grinned. He clawed his hands and made scratching motions, “RARGH!”

“Whoa, easy Tiger.” Mortis chuckled. “Any scarier and you'll be growing fangs.”

Gel's parents had wandered over, the woman smiling warmly now.

“Hello Mortis” she said. “It's been a long time. I seem to remember you visiting far more often.”

“Hello Atma” he replied, “Yes, I suppose seven years is a long time. To humans. But you haven't aged a day.”

She appreciated the comment, but they both knew it wasn't true. The grey in her hair and lines around her eyes portrayed the struggles and hardships she endured from living in this desert city.

“Mortis.” Atma's husband extended his hand.

“Ackmand” Mortis took his hand and shook it slowly. There was no hostility between them; only the uneasy tension you would expect from a husband whose wife was standing in front of an unpredictable killing machine. “You're looking well too.”

They listened in silence to Gel babble about his pet scorpion as they walked towards the tavern. And then a gruff voice spoke behind them.

“So, the Dune Hunter returns.”

Mortis stopped dead in his tracks. Eyeing Atma, he nodded and handed the boy over, before slowly turning around.

“Elzix...?” he said, somewhat surprised.

The balding man wearing an eye patch leaned heavily on his cane and limped down the street towards him.

“Yes, it's me. The man you left for dead among the bodies of my other bandit buddies.” He scowled as he reached Mortis's feet, glaring up unintimidated.
“I owe you, demon.”

Uneasy silence. Apprehensive stares. The market was readying itself for a full fledged battle. But suddenly Elzix's face broke into a broad grin.

“Owe you for changing my life! Ha!” he slapped Mortis on the shoulder. “Good to see you. Relax already.”

Mortis allowed himself to breathe. The idea of killing in front of the boy had put him on the edge, and he was slowly concentrating on stepping back. Elzix's behaviour had him thoroughly confused.

“Changed... your life?”

“You bet! Turned over a new leaf. I'm an honest man now.”

Mortis raised an eyebrow.

“And my taking your eye and leg did this?”

“Hey, if knowing a beast like you is stalking the sands isn't enough to turn a man from crime... well I probably should have just stayed there and bled to death, cause I'm sure as hell you would have finished me off second time 'round. Besides,” he continued; “with the rest of the band dead I got a hundred percent of the loot.”

Mortis's features hardened and Elzix quickly jumped to his own defence.

“Oh but don't worry, I used it to buy the inn on the other side of town. I run an honest business. And as a show of goodwill, I'll even let you stay the night free.”

Mortis finally relaxed enough to shake the old bandit’s hand.

“Thank you for the offer, but I won't be needing it. I'm not staying long.”

“Eh? You're leaving already? But you just got here!”

Another familiar voice, Mortis turned to see a wrinkly, toothless man wearing a fez. He had numerous bottles slotted into his belt and protruding from every pocket on his body.

“Lysander! You're still here? Still brewing those crazy potions I take it.”

“Indeed I am! And I've just made a real boomer: my new home brew. If you think you’re up to it we can challenge at the bar. I guarantee it'll knock you socks off and burn like hell all the way down.”

“I'll be the judge of that” Mortis smiled.

The friendly greetings and familiar faces continued to drift in, and the day ebbed on. Mortis felt the warm feeling that was rare anywhere else: acceptance. The people here welcomed him for the deeds he'd done for them in the past, and to some degree he felt they were friends. He felt personally responsible for their welfare and safety.

So he wondered how the contract he held for the death of their leader was going to impact his relationship with the only city that saw him for who he was...

[Project_Xii]

Hey c'mon it's only a short part...

[0xDEADCAFE]

Short, yes, but a nice, easy read, which, although not advancing the plot much, does provide some interesting background to Mortis' character: somehow, this demon has had quite a beneficial effect on the lives a few humans, and he seems more moral and righteous than ever. Yet there is that fact of his being a hired assassin. Hmmm. It will be interesting to see how you eventually resolve these two sides of his personality.



The boy had seen him now and was squirming wildly in his mother’s arms.

Mortis stopped a few feet away, as the child finally freed himself. He ran towards the demon that was easily four times his size, hands outstretched. I thought this was a nice twist. At first I imagined the boy was squirming out of fear, but then it turns out he's delighted to see Mortis. Nicely done.


“Ackmand” Mortis took his hand and shook it slowly. There was no hostility between them; only the uneasy tension you would expect from a husband whose wife was standing in front of an unpredictable killing machine. You probably want to avoid having the narrator say that Mortis is "an unpredictable killing machine" in such a direct way. It's seems plain enough that what you really mean is that he gives the appearance of being that, and therefore Ackmand couldn't help feel but apprehension about him, but what you actually have here is a statement by the narrator that Mortis is something that it would seem he is not; nothing leading up to this point in the story would seem to indicate that Mortis was "an unpredictable killing machine."

It think it would be better to either put that idea into Ackmand words or thoughts, hence making it clear that it is Ackmand's opinion, not the narrator's, or change the narrative to something like "standing in front of what anyone what naturally see as an unpredictable killing machine." to make it clear that the narrator is talking about someone's impression of Mortis, rather than stating a fact about him.

This comment may seem a bit nit-picky, but I think it's an important, if subtle, point. Sometimes very minor shifts in voice or POV can shade the meaning of something in the reader's eyes. Perhaps I am making too much out of this. Maybe some other folks could leave their opinions about it?

[RevenantsKnight]

Hrm...this was definitely unexpected, though it also wasn’t bad by any means. I rather liked this, in fact; I tend to be more partial to character development than plot development. Also, this read pretty smoothly; I didn’t see too many grammatical errors and such, and I sure didn’t notice it on a first read. Some specific comments:


As he passed under the great stone arch of the cities entrance, he was almost relieved to see it had barely changed in the past seven years.
'Sands shift, people come and die. But this place never seems to age...' he thought.

I’d put a full line break in between these two sentences, or put them on the same line. Either way works; the halfway formatting seems weird to me, though.


Not far from that was the two story brothel and exotic dance club.

“Exotic dance club” sounds a bit too modern to me. I’d try to find a different wording for this; maybe something a bit less...flashy like “dancing house” would suit your needs.


He focused on the bar and walked towards it, already aware of the eyes beginning to watch him.

I think that should be “aware of the eyes already beginning to watch him,” if you mean that he came under scrutiny very quickly.


Her husband watched to, an arm protective and lovingly around his wife’s shoulders; a smile on both their faces.

That should be “watched too,” the second clause should start with something like “an arm draped protectively and...” the semicolon after “shoulders” should be a comma, and the end should be “both of their faces.”


“Gel, Gel come quickly” she called.

I’d word this as “Gel! Gel, come quickly.” That way, the leading part can be seen as a sort of nervous exclamation that gets his attention, and the following bit as a calmer instruction.


By this time market chatter had began to fade, as more people noticed the large figure strolling down the main street.

You don’t need the comma after “fade.”


The boy had seen him now and was squirming wildly in his mother’s arms.

I definitely agree with 0xDEADCAFE on this one; this was a deftly done way to keep the reader’s attention.


“Gel!” he said, easily cradling the child in the crook of his arm, “You've gotten big.”

I’m not sure about this, but it seems to me that the comma after “arm” should be a period, and the last spoken part a new sentence.


He clawed his hands and made scratching motions, “RARGH!”

“He clawed his hands” made me think that he scratched his hands; I’d word this as something like “He curled his fingers into claws and...” Also, I’d make this into two sentences, again by turning the comma before the speech into a period.

An unrelated thought: if Mortis has been away for seven years, Gel would probably have to be at least three at his last visit to remember him. That would make him ten or older now, and somehow, this seemed a little juvenile for a ten year old in medieval times, since they had to grow up pretty fast.


“Whoa, easy Tiger.”

There should be a comma after “easy.”


“Hello Mortis” she said.

“Hello Atma” he replied...

There should be a comma after each instance of “Hello” here.


There was no hostility between them; only the uneasy tension you would expect from a husband whose wife was standing in front of an unpredictable killing machine.

Here’s my thought about 0xDEADCAFE’s excellent point: I didn’t notice the difference, at first. However, I do think that the difference between saying he’s a killing machine and saying that most people think he’s a killing machine is an important distinction given the storyline so far. So...in my opinion, you could definitely argue that this is a subtlety that doesn’t really matter. Personally, though, I’d make that distinction clear unless you intentionally wish to present the reader with mixed messages.


“Yes, it's me. The man you left for dead among the bodies of my other bandit buddies.”

Heh...nice tie-in of Elzix’s known past to Mortis. It’s always good to see people fleshing out Blizzard’s rather...undeveloped characters.


“Besides,” he continued; “with the rest of the band dead I got a hundred percent of the loot.”

The semicolon after “continued” should be a comma. In general, for deciding whether to make separated speech like this into one or two sentences, I ask myself if the speaker would be saying all of this in one breath. If so, I’d make it one sentence, and use a comma. If not, I’d usually use a period.


“Oh but don't worry, I used it to buy the inn on the other side of town.”

There should be a comma after “oh.”


Another familiar voice, Mortis turned to see a wrinkly, toothless man wearing a fez.

Hrm...I get what you’re saying here, but I’m not sure how you were trying to say it. I’d either make this two sentences, with a period instead of a comma after “voice,” or I’d expand the first clause into something like “Another familiar voice rang out behind him, and Mortis...”


“Still brewing those crazy potions I take it.”

There should be a comma after “potions.”


“I guarantee it'll knock you socks off and burn like hell all the way down.”

That should be “your socks,”...and that’s an interesting choice of words, since Mortis doesn’t wear any. (At least, if he does, I missed that.)


“I'll be the judge of that” Mortis smiled.

There should be a comma after “that,” inside the quotes.


So he wondered how the contract he held for the death of their leader was going to impact his relationship with the only city that saw him for who he was...

“...impact his relationship...” sounded a bit too cold for the context; to me, it seems more suited to some sort of rational assessment of a situation than to this more emotional wonder/worry. I’d try to reword this, perhaps by focusing on any possible fear he might have that his actions might destroy what friendships he has here.

Overall, this was pretty good, and I’m looking forward to whatever comes next; there’re definitely some things I want to find out about this story...

One unrelated thought, though:


i'm just taking my time posting here cause Revenants Knight is my god and any reviews he does is gospel.

Erm, I really hope not. Give Caesar what's due to Caesar, and that definitely isn't due to me.

Oh, and post length isn’t really the defining factor for the amount of time I’ll take to respond to something; if I have the time to start a critique, I’ll make the time needed to finish it.

Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Ahhh... thank you indeed :)
Yeah, i mean no pressure for you to review. You have no obligation what's so over, you do it out of the goodness of your heart. Which is why i give caeser what is due to ceaser... or whatever that meant :P

Anyways, i'll post the next piece. I'm actually 3/5's through the whole story now, onto Contract 4, so they it'll probably take awhile to get it all up on this forum. Considering Contract 2 alone is 32 pages.

[Project_Xii]

******
The sun had set by the time he left the tavern. It was that murky half-light; the twilight that came before total darkness. The time that reminded him most of Hell.
The palace tower was a tear shaped shadow, high above all else. He passed through the market on his way towards it, empty now aside from a few homeless still scrounging in the garbage heaps.

Braca had lied to him on the first contract. He had a plausible reason and story, but that still did not make up for the fact that Mortis's trust in his employer had been betrayed. This time, he was going to be certain of the contracts authenticity. This time he was going to make sure the target was what he was made out to be. He was going to see the Sultan.

Though he was in good stead with the people of Lut Gholein, the Sultans had never opted to meet him. Every Sultan that had ever come to power during the time Mortis had walked the sands neither acknowledged nor praised his accomplishments for the city. They considered themselves to pure to consort with a demon, so to this day he had yet to see one of the great Hassani's with his own eyes.

Two guards stood in the entrance of the palace, supposedly alert and on watch. In reality; one leaned heavily on his spear, dozing, while the other picked nonchalantly at his uniform. Mortis was three-quarters way up the stairs before he was noticed.

“Halt!” cried the uniform-picking guard. He brought his spear out in front, ready to skewer. “You may not pass.”

The other guard jerked awake with a snort and looked sleepily around.

“'Ere, what's all the noise about, Kaelen? Can't a man get some peace for a few minutes, it's been a twelve hour-”

He stopped when he saw Mortis before them.
“Oh... careful lad, that's the Dune Hunter. You don't want to mess with him.”

Kaelan eyed the intruder with deepening suspicion.

“He is forbidden from entering the palace, Treval, you know that. What do you want, demon?”

Mortis walked up slowly, only stopping when the tip of the spear was thrust in his face.

“State your business, now!”

Mortis raised his hands.

“Easy there: I've come to see the Sultan. I mean no harm.” He took the sharpened tip in his hand and pushed it away. “To anyone,” he added.

Treval stepped forward.

“Mortis, now look: I got nothing against you, and neither does Kaelen here. Hell, you kept my ancestors from going destitute by wiping out those bandits raiding our caravans, same as you did for everyone else's grandmothers and fathers.” He leaned in, excluding Kaelan but by no means hiding his words.

“But try to understand. If we let you into the palace the Sultan will literally have our heads. We can't afford to do that to our families. It's just not worth it, I'm sorry.”

Mortis was silent, his wings flapping back and forth lazily.

“You're really struggling, aren't you?” he said grimly.

Treval hung his head.

“You'd know better then anyone. Every new Sultan that comes along jacks up the taxes even more. It's a struggle for everyone to survive, not just us guards.”

Mortis closed his eyes and concentrated. Two bags, bulging and heavy, appeared in his hands. It was only a small percentage of the reward Braca had given him, but still a vast amount for the average commoner.

“In exchange for entry into the palace, I offer you both this small token of my good will, and my word,” he raised his hand in a flat palmed oath; “that I will not cause any trouble that could be linked back to you two. I have come to see the Sultan... nothing more.”

The two guards looked at each other, the various consequences that could result from their actions turning over in their heads. Then they slowly reached out to take the gold from Mortis's hands.

“We didn't see nothing, right Kaelen?”

Kaelan was uneasy, but finally nodded in agreement.

“Didn't see a thing.”

*******

Mortis crept down the spiral staircase, senses so alert he would have jumped at a moth’s flight. He could hear everything below; guard's armour clinking as they walked, women’s soft, melodious voices. And somewhere in the distance, a deep, stomach laugh boomed. He homed in on that laugh as he reached the bottom of the stairs and headed towards it, further into the Harem.

The place was considerably larger then he imagined, and extravagantly decorated. Plush bedrooms filled with the finest silks and softest, down-filled pillows. Hand woven carpets that would have taken years to complete, lying on floors made of polished marble.
Mortis gritted his teeth; it was nice to see the people’s taxes going to such charitable causes.

Another roar of laughter, closer now, made him dart into a corridor and then back again; a second before the guard he'd brushed against turned to wonder where that breeze had come from.
Mortis held his breath, pressed against the wall, until the man shrugged and started to patrol to the other end. Too close, far too close.

He glanced to his left and right to make sure he wasn't going to be surprised by anyone else, and dashed into the opposing room. This room, small, most likely just a place to walk through or sit, led into a ludicrously large area filled with cushions and hanging incense burners. Even a small fountain. At one end, sitting on a bed so soft he practically sank to the floor, was Abdullah Hassani himself.

He was a stocky man, some would even say fat, and his large, twirly moustache gave him an almost comical appearance. He was smiling and clapping as a small group of attractive and lithe women danced for his entertainment in the centre of the floor. On his left sat a young, fit man dressed in fine blue and white robes. Undoubtedly the Sultans son, his head rested in one hand, finger covering his mouth. He looked thoroughly bored.

The Sultan, on the other hand, couldn't have been any more excited. He was bouncing and clapping on his bed, so much so that the servant holding his food tray had to step back. For a man his size and social stature, Mortis found Abdullah's behaviour highly inappropriate.

At last the dance ended, and the girls fell to the floor in a panting heap. The Sultan sat up in his bed and applauded loudly.

“Bravo! Bravo! Magnificent!” He slapped his son on the shoulder so hard the lad squinted. “Don't you think? Applaud them, my boy!”

Jerhyn smiled weakly and clapped. The Sultan saw his troubled look.

“What's the matter, girls not to your liking?”

His son flinched. It was obvious Jerhyn feared his father, even if he respected him at the same time.

“Oh... no, they're fine dancers. It's just...”

“Just what?”

“Just... well, I don't enjoy watching women do this, knowing they've been forced into it.”

The room was quiet now; the tambourines and pipe instruments accompanying the girls dancing were beginning to leave the room with their players. The silence only emphasized the change that came over Abdullah.

“What do you mean 'forced', boy?”

No longer was he the bumbling, almost childish character Mortis had witnessed only seconds earlier. Now he was something dark, something more powerful and sinister. He was a dictator, a ruler, ready to smash the will of all those who opposed him. And it was obvious his son knew this ruler well.

“Nothing father!” Jerhyn cried, “They're wonderful. Simply wonderful.”

But the Sultan wasn't ready to let this drop yet.

“Those girls have the blessing of living in the palace. They have food, comfortable beds, clothing fit for queens. Do you think it is not our right, as their providers, protectors, and caretakers, to be indulged with some entertainment by them every once in awhile? They have everything they could ever need right here; what more could they want?”

“How about to return home?” The look in Jerhyns eyes was icy now. Mortis knew that look well; he had experienced it himself many times. The boy was on the edge, and if pushed hard enough there may be no going back.

When his father didn't answer, only turned a darker shade of red, Jerhyn continued:
“How about to know their families? To not be forced to lie down next to you or any of your infernal guards whenever you desire it?” He was standing now, hands clenched.

'Easy boy' Mortis thought, 'Step back now. Don't do anything you'll regret. That's my job.'

“And the servants,” Jerhyn yelled, “I'm sure they would have liked to know they could father children in the future, know they could have a family and life of their own. But no, I'm sure you are the one who is right. The girls dance for you out of gratitude, and always have.”

His father exploded, his rage so fierce his could only speak through fits and gurgles.

“We own them! They acknowledge that, they dance of their own free will!”

“The same free will that brought them to this place?” Jerhyns voice was flat and emotionless. He had said what he wanted to say.

Abdullah finally found his voice.

“Get out! Get out your ingrate; you spawn of your mother’s womb. I'll see you join her in Hell before you sit on my throne. Get out!”

Jerhyn obeyed without another word. The Sultan went about unleashing his fury on every object he could get his hands on; tearing pillows, smashing incense burners, throwing ceramics. Mortis could have watched the temper tantrum all day.

But the princes words had reminded him of the reason he'd come down here. He quickly scanned over the Sultans servants that sat cowering or standing in the room:

Two slaves, each holding a massive pea$!$% feather, fanned over the Sultans bed. Their skin was tanned dark brown, almost black, and Mortis recognised them as natives of Kehjistan found mainly around the jungle city of Kurast. They were visibly frightened by Abdullah’s wrath, but dared not stop their work.

The women on the floor huddled together in fear. So thin and pale, Mortis could see the beauty hidden beneath their long black hair and emerald eyes. With shock he realised they were witches from the east; young and therefore most likely unaware of their abilities, but powerful none the less.
Mortis imagined them, snatched from their families under the cover of night, thrown into the moving cages and beaten until they were quiet. It enraged him. It brought him to the edge.

But he controlled it for now. The last servant was the man holding the food tray. A Barbarian, there was no doubt, but not like the ones Mortis had met. His body was lean and face fair, almost feminine. And he had just become the next target for the Sultans rage.

“Ignorant fool!” he bellowed, and slapped the tray from his servant’s hand. “He doesn't know how good he has it. I don't know why I waste my time and wealth on him; he's his mothers son and always will be. And you!” he pointed at the young Barbarian for a long time, enjoying watching him quiver;
“Clean up this mess immediately,” he said at last.

“At once, Sultan. My apologies.” As he got down and began to pick up the food, Mortis hung his head. The boy had been broken.

He could hear it in his voice, see it in his features. The fire and aggressiveness that was the trait mark of his heritage was gone, given way to a meek, sub-servient being. He had been broken, subjected to an operation that not only robbed him of his zeal for life but his masculinity and ability to sire children in the future.
Mortis boiled.

Abdullah's own rage was burning down now, and he was beginning to run out of things to destroy. As well as breath.

“All of you out” he huffed, “I have business to prepare for.”

The slaves began to file out, the sadness in their eyes told Mortis they already knew what business the Sultan was going to attend. He had seen what he had come to see; Abdullah had done an impressive job at sealing his own fate. The contract was rightly placed.

Mortis slunk back out into the corridor, now surprisingly empty of guards. It was possible the Sultan was preparing for his meeting with the kidnappers already, and if that was the case he would have to head to the canyon fast. He wanted to fly on ahead and meet the Zoo Keepers for himself, welcome them to the desert the Dune Hunter way -

'Mortis'

He stopped dead in his tracks. Had he really just heard that? He had, but not out loud. It had been whispered to him from within his mind. And it came from the room he just passed.

Cautiously, he crept back to the doorway and peered in. It was a weapons room, filled with the most exquisite items the Hassani family had either bought or acquired through other means during their long rule. In the centre of the room, resting upon a frame of gold, sat a sword. It was forged of long, polished steel, its hilt jewel encrusted.

It pulsed with power. It lured. It called. Mortis stepped into the room, mesmerised. It was so... perfect. He strode up to it, feeling it whispering to him, but not in words. A will, an almost overpowering will.

He reached for it. He wanted it, desired it with all his soul. All he would have to do is take it. He could sneak it past the guards, they never need know. And they wouldn't... be blamed... for its disappearance. Better still, he could vanish it. Then it'd be his forever, locked away in his mind.

But this thought caused confusion. Something was conflicting with the spell the sword was weaving. A memory from long ago. He struggled to think, focus on either thought and clear his mind.

And then the memory won.

[Project_Xii]

Just a bump. Awaiting the Reviewing Knight. Whenever he has time :)

[RevenantsKnight]

Well, you do a good job of laying out some impressions of Lut Gholein here for the reader, I’d say. As for the ending...well, I’m certainly curious as to what happens there, though I’ve got a few guesses. Overall, this again had some slipups, though none that were overly disruptive on a first read. Anyway, here’re some specific comments:


The time that reminded him most of Hell.
The palace tower was a tear shaped shadow, high above all else.

I’d put a line break between these two sentences.


He passed through the market on his way towards it, empty now aside from a few homeless still scrounging in the garbage heaps.

“Homeless” seems weird on its own to me...I haven’t heard it used as a noun. Either way, I think that “beggars” would sound less...modern here.


This time, he was going to be certain of the contracts authenticity.

That should be “contract’s,” and “authenticity” sounded a bit odd to me; perhaps it’d feel more like Mortis’s perspective if you focused on Braca or the employer he represents, not the contract. For instance, “This time, he was going to make sure that Braca’s words reflected the truth” puts a more specific set on the sentence, one that suits Mortis.


Every Sultan that had ever come to power during the time Mortis had walked the sands neither acknowledged nor praised his accomplishments for the city.

Minor nitpick: that should be “Every Sultan who had...”


They considered themselves to pure to consort with a demon, so to this day he had yet to see one of the great Hassani's with his own eyes.

That should be “too pure” and “Hassanis” (yes, I know the last bit looks stupid. That’s the way it is grammatically, though.)


“Halt!” cried the uniform-picking guard.

This made me smile. I mean, how embarrassing would it be to be known as the “uniform-picking guard”? :D


“Can't a man get some peace for a few minutes, it's been a twelve hour-”

The comma after “minutes” should technically be a semicolon or a question mark, but given the context, it’s probably OK if you just leave it, since I can imagine the guard sort of rambling on in an I-just-woke-up fashion.


He stopped when he saw Mortis before them.
“Oh... careful lad, that's the Dune Hunter. You don't want to mess with him.”

I’d put a line break between these two sentences.


“He is forbidden from entering the palace, Treval, you know that.”

The comma after “Treval” should technically be a semicolon or a question mark.


“Easy there: I've come to see the Sultan. I mean no harm.”

I’d make the colon after “there” should be a comma, though I’m not sure if it also works as it is...it very well might.


“In exchange for entry into the palace, I offer you both this small token of my good will, and my word,” he raised his hand in a flat palmed oath; “that I will not cause any trouble that could be linked back to you two. I have come to see the Sultan... nothing more.”

I’d word this as “...and he raised his hand in a flat palmed oath, ‘that...’”


Mortis crept down the spiral staircase, senses so alert he would have jumped at a moth’s flight.

Nice image. :)


He could hear everything below; guard's armour clinking as they walked, women’s soft, melodious voices.

I’d make the semicolon after “below” a colon, since it introduces a list, and “guard’s” should be “guards’” if there are multiple guards.


And somewhere in the distance, a deep, stomach laugh boomed.

Hrm...I’ve always heard that as “belly laugh,” though maybe that’s just me.


He homed in on that laugh as he reached the bottom of the stairs and headed towards it, further into the Harem.

I’m assuming that this is a game reference, with the capitalization...either way, I’d put it in lowercase or replace it altogether, because referencing Diablo II so directly, and with such a game-specific item, is a bit awkward when the game’s mechanics don’t really fit this story (heck, they fit very few stories that aren’t straight-up fights.)


The place was considerably larger then he imagined, and extravagantly decorated.

I think that should be “he had imagined,” since it makes sense for him to have done the imagining prior to this moment.


Another roar of laughter, closer now, made him dart into a corridor and then back again; a second before the guard he'd brushed against turned to wonder where that breeze had come from.

The semicolon after “again” should be a comma.


This room, small, most likely just a place to walk through or sit, led into a ludicrously large area filled with cushions and hanging incense burners. Even a small fountain.

I’d word this as “...cushions, hanging incense burners, and even a small fountain” unless, and only unless, this fountain’s going to be important later. As it is, I was left wondering why you emphasized it by giving it its own sentence.


Undoubtedly the Sultans son, his head rested in one hand, finger covering his mouth.

That should be “Sultan’s.”


“What do you mean 'forced', boy?”

I think that should be “...do you mean by ‘forced,’...”


Now he was something dark, something more powerful and sinister. He was a dictator, a ruler, ready to smash the will of all those who opposed him.

Hrm...this gets the point across, but to me it seems a bit rushed and matter-of-fact. I might try to spend more time on Abdullah’s change itself, and hint these bits at the reader so that it’s not explicitly said, but it’s pretty obvious anyway. That way, it’s not set up as the narrator popping into the story with some hard and fast truths, so much as a close examination of the character from which these conclusions can be made. Just my two cents, though.


“Nothing father!” Jerhyn cried, “They're wonderful.”

The “They’re” shouldn’t be capitalized, since this is one sentence, and technically, there should be a comma after “nothing.”


“How about to return home?”

I’d word this as “How about the chance to return home?”


The look in Jerhyns eyes was icy now.

That should be “Jerhyn’s.”


The boy was on the edge, and if pushed hard enough there may be no going back.

After “edge,” this sentence sounds a little awkward;


When his father didn't answer, only turned a darker shade of red, Jerhyn continued:
“How about to know their families?”

“Turned” should be “turning,” and I’d word Jerhyn’s speech as “How about the chance to know their families?”


'Easy boy' Mortis thought, 'Step back now. Don't do anything you'll regret. That's my job.'

There should be commas after “Easy” and “boy,” and “step” shouldn’t be capitalized, since that’s actually in the middle of a sentence.


Jerhyns voice was flat and emotionless.

That should be “Jerhyn’s.”


But the princes words had reminded him of the reason he'd come down here.

That should be “prince’s.”


He quickly scanned over the Sultans servants that sat cowering or standing in the room:

“Sultans” should be “Sultan’s,” and I’d word this as “...servants who sat...” because while Abdullah might think of them as property, that’s clearly not the perspective of the narrator, or Mortis. Also, I’d make the colon here a period, and just leave it at that.


Two slaves, each holding a massive pea$!$% feather, fanned over the Sultans bed.

That should be “Sultan’s bed.” Also, I’d just say “massive, colorful bird’s feather” to avoid that nasty crud in the middle of the sentence; I have to say that it really stood out in a bad way. Not that that’s really your fault, though...


Their skin was tanned dark brown, almost black, and Mortis recognised them as natives of Kehjistan found mainly around the jungle city of Kurast.

The last part of the sentence here sounded rather technical and cold; I think you could just leave it as “...natives of Kehjistan.”


So thin and pale, Mortis could see the beauty hidden beneath their long black hair and emerald eyes.

“So thin and pale,” as written, modifies Mortis, and he’s not really either. I’d delete this part, or, if you’re really set on using it, take it off and build another sentence around it.


With shock he realised they were witches from the east; young and therefore most likely unaware of their abilities, but powerful none the less.

The semicolon after “east” should be a comma, and I’ve always seen “nonetheless” as one word, though maybe that’s just me.


Mortis imagined them, snatched from their families under the cover of night, thrown into the moving cages and beaten until they were quiet.

I’d word this as “Mortis imagined them being snatched...”


“I don't know why I waste my time and wealth on him; he's his mothers son and always will be.”

That should be “mother’s son.”


“And you!” he pointed at the young Barbarian for a long time, enjoying watching him quiver;
“Clean up this mess immediately,” he said at last.

I’d get rid of the break between the second and third lines here if you’re going to use a semicolon.


The fire and aggressiveness that was the trait mark of his heritage was gone, given way to a meek, sub-servient being. He had been broken, subjected to an operation that not only robbed him of his zeal for life but his masculinity and ability to sire children in the future.

Uh...really, you don’t have to spell it out this much, I don’t think, because this just feels factual. In fact, I’d suggest dodging the “operation” altogether, since Jerhyn already brought it up, and just stick to the fact that he’s just totally broken. That would be more of a compelling show of the Sultan’s wickedness, in my opinion.

Other thoughts: I think “subservient” doesn’t have a hyphen in it, and “trait mark” seemed weird to me...maybe “...that was characteristic...” or “...that was the heart...”


“All of you out” he huffed, “I have business to prepare for.”

There should be a comma after “out,” inside the quotes.


It was possible the Sultan was preparing for his meeting with the kidnappers already, and if that was the case he would have to head to the canyon fast.

...did I miss something? Where did Mortis find out what the Sultan was planning?


He wanted to fly on ahead and meet the Zoo Keepers for himself, welcome them to the desert the Dune Hunter way –

Zoo Keepers? Now I’m really lost...is this a reference or something?


He had, but not out loud. It had been whispered to him from within his mind.

This sounded too matter-of-fact, in my opinion; I’d suggest having Mortis think through what happened, showing the reader how he came to this conclusion. In general, it’s not a good idea to always have the narrator step back and report things just as they are with total certainty, because that makes it clear that there’s a filter of sorts on the story; the narrator takes whatever happens, figures out the truth, and then passes it along to the reader. While this approach does get things across very clearly, it puts a distance between the reader and the characters that is limiting; sometimes, it’s more suspenseful for the reader if he or she discovers things as the character does, and other times, you might well want a degree of ambiguity in a statement.


It was forged of long, polished steel, its hilt jewel encrusted.

“Jewel encrusted” should be hyphenated in this case; often, it’s not a big deal, but it threw me here because I first saw “hilt jewel” and took that as the noun. After that, I hadn’t a clue what to do with “encrusted” for a moment; the hyphenation should clear this up.


It pulsed with power. It lured. It called. Mortis stepped into the room, mesmerised.

Hrm...I think that should be “mesmerized,” though perhaps what you have there is an acceptable spelling in the Queen’s English...I can’t say for sure.


All he would have to do is take it.

That should be “...was take it.”


He could sneak it past the guards, they never need know.

I’d word the last part as “guards; they would never need to know.”


He struggled to think, focus on either thought and clear his mind.

Minor nitpick: for parallelism, that should be “...to focus on either thought...”

On the whole, this looked like one of your better chapters, I’d say. I’m looking forward to whatever comes next.

Oh, and...


Just a bump. Awaiting the Reviewing Knight. Whenever he has time :)

...it might not be a good idea to bump your thread in the future, because according to the forum’s FAQ and the overall site rules, it’s a ban-worthy offense if you do it a lot, and it’d really bite if that happened. A better way to get my attention (since it appeared directed to me) would be a PM.

Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Thanks for the review, but OMG, i posted the wrong part. There's actually a whole section inbetween this :O :(
Well, i've really gone and screwed things up now. I wish you could at least edit your posts, or delete in this forum. They make it too hard. Sigh.

R.K, is there anyway i could contact you that wasn't through this limiting and "ban if you bump" forum?

[Project_Xii]

OK!
So i've gone through all of the posts up until the last part that's been reviewed, and at Reviewing Knights suggestion i've decided to repost the whole story. After all, the ones I previously posted were all 'drafts' really. These ones are (hopefully) the finished product, and provide a much better explanation of Mortis's physical form and his teacher etc.
Also, it'll mean i can post that missing part :S Oops.

Alright, so here i go:
*Note for Revenants Knight - the final post will be the next part of Contract 2. It's my original theory thing that i'm so interested in getting your opinion on :)*


CollaterHell Updated Version

Contract 1 – Priest of the Rogue Citadel

“5 million gold. Right here, up front. I can offer double that upon completion of the job.”

Mortis studied the little man offering the trunk full of gold before him. Black suit, slicked back hair, a nervous twitch in the corner of his mouth and bright blue eyes that took in every detail. It had been a while since anyone had required his 'special skills', and this man seemed almost too eager.

“How is it that you can offer me that much money?” he inquired in a voice that betrayed nothing but general curiosity. “Not even the Sultans of Lut Gholein would be so quick to give a sum like that.”

The little man smiled slyly and wrung his hands.

“My... employers also believe it is a generous amount. But the task is not an easy one. It will take a creature of your cunning and abilities to manage it.” He paused and gestured to the large membranous wings protruding from Mortis' back. “I think you'll find those invaluable.”

Mortis instinctively folded his wings closer to his body; he always got uncomfortable when people mentioned them. But there was no denying what he was, and he never tried.

The little mans eyes glinted mysteriously, as if he enjoyed the fact that he could unnerve an assassin such as Mortis - despite the obvious physical danger.

“Will you accept?”

Mortis leaned forward, his light blue skin looking a shade darker in the lantern light. His sharp, feline-like nails dug into the desk between them.
“What's there to stop me from simply taking the gold and your life right now?”

An uneasy silence filled the small room, broken by the sudden creak of crossbows being loaded. Glinting bolt heads appeared through the cracks of the curtains and the door behind him. The small man stared at him calmly.
“Your employment being terminated earlier then desired, and my employers being -very- displeased.”

The silence continued for a few more moments, then Mortis relaxed his grip on the desk. Deep gouges in the wood revealed what his hands could do when only slightly riled. His hard expression changed to a casual smirk.
“I'm glad to hear it. You'd be surprised how many of my previous contractors pissed themselves when I said that. Weak fools.” He spat.

The little man smiled.
“I'll take that as acceptance.” He extended his hand, “My name is Braca. Welcome to the first assignment.”

*******

Mortis closed the door to the tavern’s back room carefully behind him. A wave of warm air mixed with the smoke of random narcotic herbs washed over him. The main bar was filled with drunkards and potheads, wasting away their lives or running from problems they were to weak too fight.

Mortis didn't have time for the likes of them. He tucked his wings in close and headed for the door. Something smacked into his legs hard and grunted.

The midget carrying a tray of drinks stumbled a bit, regained his balance and then stared at the kneecaps in front of him. His eyes slowly worked their way up to the barely human looking face, and he gulped.

“D-d-do you wan' sumtink?” he stammered?

Mortis stared down at him silently, his golden eyes glowing.
“No. Thank you” he said at last. The midget shrugged and waddled off towards a pot smoker in the corner.

Mortis scanned the tavern one last time and strode to the exit. A thin layer of sleet crept under the crack in the doorway, melting into a pool when it met the tavern’s heat. He braced himself for the icy chill he was about to meet, and opened the door.

The howling gale whipped into the tavern for the three seconds it took for Mortis to get outside and slam the door behind him. Then he was out in the blizzard, struggling to see a few feet in front of him. As he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, his keen senses picked up the sounds of snow crunching underfoot. Someone was coming towards the tavern. He shielded his eyes, squinted, and a vague outline came into view.

The hooded figure stumbled slowly up to him, a rusty sword dragging deeply in the snow behind. He appeared to be focused on the ground, heading straight for the tavern door. Mortis made to move out of the way... and froze. He caught a whiff of something. Something familiar. Something he'd smelt before in the depths of Hell, long, long ago. He wanted to run, to fly, to get as far away as he could, but he couldn't will his body to do anything.

Slowly the figure approached the door, still appearing to have not noticed Mortis. His hand reached for the handle... and he too froze. After what felt like an eternity, the hooded head turned Mortis's way.

He saw a human face; a man. Haggard and deeply troubled. A closed wound in his forehead festered and bubbled with infection. But the eyes – windows to within – revealed what lurked inside this fast fading husk. An evil so ancient Mortis dared not move nor say a word.

The stranger started to speak, but before he could he went into a violent spasm. He doubled over and clawed at his face, making guttural noises and shaking wildly. When he at last rose again, he was something different. The eyes burned with unearthly fire, and the mouth gaped wide open. He gazed blankly at Mortis, head lolled to one side.

“So, Son of Hell, you sought refuge in the world of Man?” The voice was deep and growling, and definitely not human. It simply rolled out of the man’s open mouth, over an unmoving tongue and lips.

Mortis felt the terror rising inside him, not knowing if it was his own doing or if the creature before him was instilling it. He opened his own mouth but succeeded only in gulping like a drowned fish.

The corners of the man’s lips curved into an open mouthed grin, and his eyes darkened.
“Fear not, traitor to your brethren, I am not here to deal upon you the justice you deserve.” His head slowly lolled to the other side as he continued to speak. “Soon the Three will be reunited, and the worlds of Man and Hell combined. It will be your own kind that takes their revenge, not I.”

With a start the man’s head snapped upright, the possession twisting his features gone for the time being. He merely stared at Mortis sadly, nodding in greeting, and entered through the taverns door.

Mortis stood in the freezing blizzard, thoughts churning furiously through his mind. But as the terror faded and was replaced by his usual calm demur, he pushed them aside and resolved to think about it later. Whatever the Lords of Hell were plotting, he wanted no part of it. He was free, and would never be chained again.

'Besides,' he thought, 'I have an assignment to concentrate on.'

Spreading his wings wide, he easily caught the howling winds and sailed swiftly into the night.

******

He was still flying when the sun crept lazily over the horizon, warming his ice whipped face and frost covered wings. As he gazed down at the lush green meadows and thick forests of Khanduras, he felt the numbness seep from his mind and body, and finally, he allowed himself to think.

The stranger at the tavern; he was one of the Three. Diablo, Lord of Terror, had somehow escaped his fate of being sealed in the soulstone, and was roaming the lands free once more.

Mortis shivered, despite the now hot sunlight, at the thought of meeting his old Lord. It had been so long; so long since he'd left Hell and met any real demons in this land of Mortals. Yet he remembered it well.

*

He remembered the moment – the very second – Izual’s sword had struck him during the battle for Hellforge. He remembered how the power surging through that mystical blade, Azurewrath, had severed the connection between his mind and that of the Lords; the puppet-masters, the greater wills pushing all demons into a blind, suicidal frenzy.

Things had become instantly clear. Rational thinking, reason, self-preservation – these thoughts had been kept at bay by the minds of his controllers. Now he saw clearly, he alone. The weight of such free thinking brought him to his knees, confused and bleeding from his wound. His Balrog brethren still fought blindly around him, falling under Angel swords, and Izual himself once more raised Azurewrath to finish the kill.

The desire to fight had all but fled, and so Mortis fled with it. Escaped from the executioner’s sword and ran for all his worth. The battle had raged all around him between demons and the forces of heaven, and he wildly dodged through the fray, wishing only not to die. When he at last stopped, he was on the furthest most reaches of Hell, staring out over a gaping black abyss.

He'd sat there huddled, on the edge of the world, coming to terms with his newfound mind. Days, possibly weeks passed. He couldn't be sure, as Hell was forever cast in an eerie twilight. At last, a comrade in arms – and once close friend – had stumbled across him.

“Why did you flee?” his once-ally had asked accusingly.

Mortis merely rocked, arms cradling his knees, and stared up with confused eyes.
“I'm free” he mumbled. “I am no longer a pawn to the Lord’s eternal will.”

“The Lord’s will is the will of us all!” came the booming reply.

“Not mine any longer,” he whispered back.

The opposing Balrog drew his sword from its sheath and stepped forward, fire blazing from his nostrils.
“Such blasphemy. Such emotion. You've become no better then the humans!” He raised his sword high.

“I should kill you now, you weak, pathetic vermin.”

The two remained motionless, locked in a time free state... and then the sword came down. With a crash it struck the stone at Mortis's feet and disintegrated. The Balrog snorted heavily, fire blazing in his eyes now as well.

“But I won't,” he said, tossing away the useless hilt of his sword. “I am a Balrog, just like you. I enjoy the thrill of the hunt.” He bared his teeth viciously.

“Now flee, traitor” he continued, “Do what you do best. But know that I will find you. I or one of the other survivors. And when we do...” he nodded towards the silvery remains of his shattered sword, “There will be no mercy.”

And once again, Mortis had fled. Not just from the Lords and demons he had once fought beside, but from the whole of Hell. Remembering his comrades’ words, he managed to locate and fight his way through one of the few portals leading to Sanctuary, the world of Men. He knew in his heart that he would find even less acceptance there then he would now in Hell, but at that point in time he had no other choice...

*

He snapped alert again as he realised he'd been gliding dangerously low. A wide wall of treetops was rushing to meet him, and he purposely pulled up at the last second, savouring the rush of adrenaline. In the distance, high above the trees and all else, rose the peaked and domed roofs of the Rogue Citadel. It was an impressive structure, well maintained and crafted to perfection, Mortis noticed.

On either side of the main building stretched the Great Stone Wall, which divided the lands and travelled for miles in each direction. The only method of entry – massive wooden doorways complete with metal spikes and a steel bar to hold the handles – sat embedded in the walls to the right of the Citadel.

Mortis slowed his descent and landed gently not far from the main entrance. He crouched in the shadows of the woods around him, and surveyed the area. Guards at the doors. Guards on the walls. All women, and all armed with very well crafted bows. He flinched as a carrion bird passed over the wall and was brought down with a single well aimed shot.

Closing his eyes, Mortis concentrated on the summoning spell and called in the contract details Braca had given him. The words were bold, heavy print, so no mistake could be made on what they said:

“Contract 1 – Priest of the Rogue Citadel

There is only one man welcome to live in the home of the Sisters of the Sightless Eye. The priest, known as 'Brother Brent', has been there many years, providing spiritual enlightenment and blessings at all the occasions that require them. He was once, by all standards, a noble and holy man.

But over the years, unbeknownst to everyone in the Citadel, Brent became old, demented, and open to corruption. He resented the way his body was becoming frail and weak, and his prayers slowly turned to that of the Lords of Hell. He begged of them eternal life, and in return he would make the Rogues weak so that when the Day of Redemption came, the forces of Hell could take Khanduras with little or no interference from the Sisters of the Sightless Eye.

The Lords granted him his request by imbuing him with an aura that would drain the life and soul from all those around him. He has been doing this for years now; feeding off the essence of these women to sustain himself. Soon they will be too weak to defend their lands.

Your orders: find a way into the Citadel’s Cathedral – undetected – and slay Brother Brent. If you are seen, the Sisters will sound the alarm and Brent will flee deep into the Catacombs; a veritable maze of corridors and burial rooms that spans an unknown amount of levels. If this happens, he will be beyond even your reach.

The life of every single woman in that Citadel rests with you. Their lives are being stolen to feed an evil and belligerent man, and it is highly likely their souls will be forced down into a place you know all to well, to be tortured by creatures you once called brethren.

Do not fail. My employers demand it.

Braca”

Mortis studied the signature for a second, then scrunched the paper up and vanished it. His orders were clear; the Priest would die for his sins. It was also clear that any kind of assault on the Citadel would have to be attempted at night.

Resigning himself to that fact, he flapped lightly up to an over-hanging branch. Settling into a roosting position, he wrapped has large wings around his body, let out a deep sigh, and relaxed. Before long, his mind drifted into the misty netherworld of sleep. And he dreamed.

[Project_Xii]

*****

He dreamed of the hardest time in his life; the first two years after he came through the portal. Running. Hiding. And learning the hard way how the laws of Sanctuary differed to the laws of Heaven and Hell.

In Hell, the air was always warm and suspended in an eternal twilight. Food and water were not required to sustain life; although many demons took pleasure in feasting on the blood and flesh of new cursed victims, no nutrition was derived from it. Hell’s minions never suffered from thirst or hunger, never needed sleep, and never faltered under muscle fatigue. They could fight relentlessly until their body was rendered incapable by an enemy’s weapon; such were the Laws of Hell.

In Sanctuary, Mortis found himself facing every mortal element. The weather changed constantly, alternating between a bright time that was both warm and blinding, to a dark time that was very similar to Hell. Both times had glowing orbs in the sky, the dark time one more to Mortis' liking. It radiated a soft glow that illuminated the land with silvery beams. He travelled mostly under this orb, as the other burned his blue skin and made him squint.

Sometimes water fell from the sky, cold and wet, and other times it combined with howling wind and ice. He hid from it the first few times, fearing it’s cold and the strange slippery feeling it left on his skin. Like blood, only clear. His mind could not comprehend where this liquid fell from.

Aside from coming to terms with what he later learned was “day and night”, “sun and moon” and “rain and snow”, he also had to face strange needs occurring in his body.

“Hunger and thirst” were things he learned from watching the birds and bests roaming around him. Water didn't exist in Hell, the closest thing being bubbling tar or the Lava River. By following animal example, he discovered not all water was safe to drink.
Streams were good, they ran fast and clear. Puddles and dams were not; they were murky and riddled with parasites. Though a demon could stomach almost anything, being host to a gut-full of these creatures could cause severe discomfort and pain. Not to mention unpleasant toiletry experiences.

He was forced to watch his body physically 'de-evolve'. He lost his enormously broad chest, and perfectly toned muscles. In Hell, it was easy to maintain such a physique, but in Sanctuary doing so would take half a ton of raw nutrition and enough exercise to consume most of the daylight hours. Mortis could only despair as his once powerful figure shrank, almost to that of an ordinary human.

Almost, but not quite.
He was still abnormally strong, and far taller then any human he met. And the surprising agility that came with this leaner form he found to be a necessity when hunting out in the wilds where he roamed.

Hunting also required new skills. In Hell, victims were forced to flee over flat, barren land with few places to run and even fewer places to hide. The demons could track them down at their leisure.
In Sanctuary, the landscape played an all too important part in the hunting routine. Trees, rocks, grass, burrows, hills: anything that could be used as cover was taken advantage of by the prey he sort. Mortis simply did not have the experience needed to hunt for himself.

So once again he followed packs of animals, picking on the remains of their kills. Over time he became more confident, and joined in on the hunt.

He always chuckled at the look on eagles’ faces as he glided beside them.

The day he made his first independent kill was a great one. He revelled in it, gorged himself to the seams. And then became acquainted with another mortal trait.
Vomit was definitely not something demons, or at least Mortis’s kinds, were used to. He’d panicked, believing his insides were now on the outside.

But he found that to be untruthful. Upon closer inspection, he realised it was merely the flesh of the beast he'd consumed, and he resolved that next time he'd eat slower, eat less and perhaps chew his food.

Oh yes, those two years had been a harsh time. He had lived with the wild things because, as he expected, any human he came in contact with fled in terror. He was as lost in this world as he was in his own.
But then he met a man who hadn't fled. A crafty, suave old man, highly skilled in many things. He had taken Mortis into his home, and taught him how to survive. Mortis would one day refer to this man as 'the Teacher'.

******

A cricket chirping in his ear roused him from his slumber. The dream faded quickly, for which he was grateful. They weren't the most pleasant memories.

Flicking the cricket from his shoulder, he unfolded his wings and saw that, once again, it was dark. The great domed entrance of the Citadel glowed slightly from within, and he could still see guards pacing in the torch light. Entry was going to be a challenge, but not impossible.

In one swift motion he leapt from the branch, hit the ground and bounded back into the air. To his disappointment he discovered there wasn't a breath of wind, so he was forced to beat his wings heavily to get appropriate lift. Although a fair distance from the Rogues, the sound still travelled to them, but it merely sounded like a flock of bats to their ears.

Reaching a height he thought would attract the least attention, he began to glide slowly over the massive Monastery.
The domed main entrance opened into a three pronged cloister, which then led onto what could only be a barracks. Even at night the women were continuing their vigorous training routines in the courtyard outside; firing a constant barrage of arrows at distant scarecrows tied to poles. It made him uneasy to see all the arrows in the heart or head locations.

Mortis glided on further, identifying what appeared to be the roof of a prison, but from the small size of it he gathered most of the building was situated underground. Another cloister separated that, the mess hall, and the very location he was looking for; the great spiralled peak of the Cathedral.

He floated quietly towards the roof, wondering exactly how to go about his entry, but at the last second curiosity got the better of him and he changed course towards the mess hall instead. He landed softly and peered about. A number of wide windows allowed viewing inside, and he silently paced up to one.

Pressing his hands carefully against the glass, he gazed down on the rows of tables below. The room was illuminated by large chandeliers and candles, and although he couldn't make out the words a steady murmur was coming from the happily eating women. They sat in small groups, dipping bread into soup, or chewing well cooked meat from the bone. The occasional laugh told him they were carefree and completely oblivious to the evil that lurked just across the cloister from them.

''Monster', thought Mortis. These women were so strong, yet so innocent in their faith. He ground his teeth as his eyes swept over the sea of feminine faces. And so young, some of them. Would they die before their time because of a priest’s greed?

He suddenly realised his nails were digging too hard into the glass, and hairline fractures were beginning to appear. Turning from the window, he crouched, and with one mighty leap, cleared the inner cloister completely. He landed on the roof of the Cathedral with a thump, and almost staggered as the frail tiles shattered to dust under his weight.

''At least I didn't smash completely through' he thought with relief.

Carefully he stalked the outside of the roof, searching for a window or maintenance hatch, and annoyingly found neither. The stained glass windows on the walls of the building were heavily barred, so there'd be no going through them without a considerable amount of noise.
No, the only way he was going to get inside was through the front door. And that would mean going through the guards stationed out front.

Mortis got down on all fours and peered over the edge. Two female guards indeed stood at attention below him. Moving with exaggerated caution he slid off the roof and began to crawl down the wall, digging his claws deep into the stone for support.

He hoped to Hell no one would come into the cloister; they would die of shock at sight of a large, dark, winged being nestled above the heads of the guards.
'Like a giant spider, ready to pounce' he thought with amusement.

He hovered above them, motionless, so close he could hear them breathing. Gripping desperately with his toe-claws, he reached out his hands, ready to render them unconscious with two simultaneous blows.

And then one of the women spoke.

“Have you been dreaming lately?” she asked. Mortis jerked back with a start. The other guard made a 'tch' sound and shook her head.

“Oh gods, Quinn, not this again. Are we going to talk about the meanings of your stupid dreams every time we have guard duty together? I swear I'm going to ask someone on wall-watch to trade places with me, if you keep this up.”

“There's no need to be rude!” Quinn said, sounding hurt. “They worry me, Karla, and it helps to talk about it.”

Karla sighed.
“OK. Fine. What were they about this time?”

“Same as before, but stronger. More persuasive. It's still dark, and I can't see whose speaking. All I can make out is a silhouette. It looks human... but much larger. And definitely female. I can distinctly remember... red hair.”

“Red hair?”

“Yeah. Red hair. It matches the voice somehow. She calls to me, or pleads with me, even acts motherly sometimes. I've only ever once got the feeling she was trying to command me, but I didn't like that so she stopped. It's not a disturbing dream... about the only thing that bothers me is the snakes.”

“The... snakes? Riigghttt...”

“I'm not kidding! The silhouette has snakes all over it. At least, that's what it looks like. Long, whip-like snakes coming up over her shoulders and waving their heads around menacingly. It's really creepy, actually.”

“It sounds it.” Karla shuddered, “Perhaps you should lay off shooting the wildlife. Sounds like they're after revenge or something.”

“Do you think?” Quinn asked, sounding worried.

Mortis, still hovering above them, was completely intrigued by the conversation and had forgotten he was quite exposed in his current position. He quickly came to his senses and reached out again.

“Sorry girls,” he whispered.

“Did you say something?” Karla asked her companion.

-CRACK-

Mortis brought their skulls together hard, and the women slouched unconscious. He quickly dropped from the wall and dragged their bodies to a dark corner. The mission was in full swing now; it wouldn't be long before someone entered the cloister and saw that the guards weren't at their posts. Then the alarm would sound, and he damn well hoped Brent would be dead by then.

Laying them respectfully on the ground, he hurried back to the large Cathedral doors and tested the handles. Unlocked.
'Never know when one of the Rogues might have a crisis of faith' he supposed.
He pulled one side of the door open, thankful it moved silently on its well oiled hinges, and slipped inside.

[Project_Xii]

*****
Inside, the Cathedral was beautiful by any standard. Rows of pews filled the main hall, and a long, red carpet ran down the centre, leading to a large canopied altar. Two prayer rooms were located on either side of the hall, filled with the exquisite stained glass windows he'd seen from outside. The high ceiling was filled with hanging ornaments, intricate chandeliers, and tapestries that depicted feral looking women: the original Sisters of the Sightless Eye.

Mortis saw his prey, kneeled at the altar, deep in chant. Brother Brent’s soft words drifted to him, sounding strange, alien. Whatever they meant, he was certain it didn’t bode well for the Rogues. Mortis strode up behind the old man and waited.

“Who do you chant for?” he asked.

The priest stopped mumbling but neither stood nor turned around.
“Another man in the Citadel?” he asked calmly. “You are honoured indeed.”

“Answer the question.”

“Patience lad,” Brent replied, standing up now, “I pray to the Heavens, seeking protection and guidance for these women. I keep evil at bay via a holy shield that must be strengthened every night.” He gestured upwards; “Do you feel it, brother, feel its divine power? The power of the Gods, it is. Perhaps you wish to join me in worship?”

“The Hell I would,” Mortis hissed.

Brent paused, and then turned around slowly. He gasped and stepped back in shock, seeing the being he'd been conversing with over the past few minutes. He pointed accusingly, a strangled look in his eyes.

“You're a... a...”

“A demon,” Mortis finished. He lunged forward and grabbed Brent by the throat; “and I've come to make you pay for the lives you've been stealing to feed your own corrupted soul.”

Brent struggled and kicked, but soon found himself dangling in the air. He grabbed Mortis's huge hand and tried to pry it from his windpipe.
“What... do you mean??” he choked, fear welling in his eyes.

“You can't lie to me, Priest. I can smell evil; I was it once.” He brought his face in close to Brent and breathed deep... then paused. He smelt nothing. None of that particular taint that was so common with the other men he'd been assigned to kill.

He shook his head.
“Tricks! I heard you chanting just now; those were no normal prayers.”

“Ward spell... protects... the Rogues,” came the strangled reply.

“Stop it! Stop lying, old man. I know all about your evil scheme. You've just become adept at hiding your taint. Even mortals can sense it, and the women eventually would if you didn't hide it well.”

“Not lying... you... are the tainted one... ENOUGH!!”

A sudden blast of raw energy sent Mortis catapulting backwards. He sailed through the air and smashed into the right hand row of pews, breaking through three of them before coming to a rest. Groaning, he sat up and pulled a large splinter from his shoulder. He glared vengefully at Brent, who was leaning against the altar, gasping heavily and glaring back.

“I've had enough! I don't know who you are, or why you've barged in here accusing me of such evils. You were even willing to take my life! But I can deduce one thing: your intentions are not in service of the mighty Heaven, and therefore you are a threat to these women.” He raised his hands; “You must be destroyed!”

Two bolts of pure light flew from Brent’s palms and struck Mortis in the chest, sending him back through another two pews. The demon reeled; the light neither cut nor scorched the flesh, but inside he was burning up. He struggled to breathe.

Brent continued to yell in his fury, “I was a Paladin of the High Order; I swore to protect the Rogues. I will lay down my life to do so!”

More orbs of light flew across the hall, but Mortis was up and staggering aside. He summoned the energy to leap onto the wall, despite his pain, and began to scurry towards the dark peak of the ceiling.

“Flee, demon! My holy fire will slay you!”

The light orbs followed Mortis's ascent, blowing holes through tiles and rocking the building. He climbed, dodging and clawing for his life, circling around the peak until the canopy of the altar finally shielded him from Brent’s view.

The barrage of orbs halted, and Mortis waited, crouched on the ceiling, for the second the priest came out to find him. After a minute, Brent cautiously did so, and Mortis pounced. Hurtling down, hands outstretched and claws flashing, he looked like a vision from a nightmare.

Brent paused but a second before unleashing another volley of light. An orb struck Mortis at the last moment, doubling him over, and the falling demon barrelled into the priest. They tussled on the floor, clawing and punching for all it was worth. Brent’s thick robe protected him from the slashing talons, but he was too slow to avoid the massive head-butt that sent him flying.

The two were back on their feet in an instant, the priest proving surprisingly nimble for his age. They circled each other, watching their opponent’s movements keenly. Brent suddenly drew a large silver crucifix out from his robe and thrust it in Mortis's direction.

“Burn!” he cried, and made two slashing motions.

The beams of light that came this time did cut, and the smell of his own burning flesh filled Mortis's nostrils. He looked at his chest and saw a still-sizzling sign of the cross scarred deep.

Mortis bared his teeth as he saw the crucifix rise again and instinctively hit the floor. Brent snarled in triumph as beams of light streaked over Mortis’s head. The agile demon dodged left and right, bearing down on his prey, and with one swift motion he rolled and lashed his wing outwards, knocking the cross from the priest’s hands. He came up and took a blind swipe with his claws, hoping to at least injure Brent. The warm, pulsing chunk of flesh that suddenly appeared in his hand surprised him.

Brent looked equally surprised at the blood flowing from his slashed throat. He put his hands up to stifle the flow, but the damage had already been down. Paling, he fell to his knees, then slowly slouched onto his back.

Mortis dropped the piece of meat and sighed. Tiredly, he stumbled over and knelt beside Brent’s face, expecting to see hatred in the old man’s eyes as his final moments slipped away. Instead, he saw only a resigned sadness.

“Repent, old man” he said softly, “Admit the corruption you succumbed to, and go freely to the Heavens.”

Brent’s eyes widened and a deep gurgling rose from his mangled throat. His chest rose with the effort to speak.
“My place in Heaven… is assured. But the women...” he made a sound that was either a laugh or a cry of anguish; “You have… doomed... ... them all.”

His head lolled, and the severed artery in his neck ceased to pump blood. Mortis rose, his kill complete, and turned to leave the Cathedral.

From somewhere deep underground, the earth gave a mighty tremble. It shifted and growled, shaking the foundations of the building. Mortis took to the air in surprise; unnerved by the sudden disturbance.

At that moment the Cathedral doors burst open, and a large contingent of Rogues poured in. There was fury on their faces, and vengeance in their eyes. But that quickly faded to shock, as there eyes met a horror from their dreams.

A great, winged being hovered over the body of their beloved priest, the gore still dripped fresh from its claws. They saw by its face and the golden eyes that it was no man. It was demon, and it had defiled their Cathedral.

Mortis wanted to explain, to tell them he had actually saved their lives and Brent wasn't the man they thought he'd been. But he could see the hurt, the horror, and the anger bubbling inside them, and knew they wouldn't listen to anything he said.

With a unified cry the women nocked arrows to their bows and began shooting wildly. Mortis flapped his great wings and rushed towards the ceiling, arrows nicking his chest and thighs. The roof was his only means of escape, he knew, and as he powered upwards he clenched his outstretched hands into fists and closed his eyes.

At the last second he folded his wings down close, and let the momentum carry him into the brittle tiles. With a crash he exploded out on the other side, sailing out into open air and soft moonlight, and then began to fall. He quickly unfurled his wings and brought himself to a hovering halt.

A stream of arrows followed him out of the hole, arcing far into the night, and he swooped down low over the rest of the Citadel to avoid them. The nicks in his flesh and holes in his wings would heal quickly, he knew, so he ignored the stabs of pain for the moment. As he crossed low over the rest building, he half expected to be assaulted again. But something wasn't right.

The women were in hysterics. Some rolled on the ground; other held their heads in their hands. Most just stood swaying and staring blankly like zombies. In the barracks courtyard, the ones holding weapons had actually turned on each other.

Mortis glided past, somewhat worried about the strange events unfolding below him. No force he knew could make this many humans act in such a way. The ominous rumble beneath the Cathedral also made him uneasy.

Some of the Rogues spotted him at last, and started shooting arrows. Their aim was nothing of what it used to be; they barely paused to judge the distance. Mortis quickly veered away and left the chaos behind, heading east to the lands of Aranoch. He had a feeling there was nothing more he could do.

*

His mission was complete, although the aftermath had been strange. He couldn't stop seeing the blank stares of the Rogues in his mind. Brent’s words still rang in his ears, niggling into his mind and conscience.

“My place in Heaven… is assured. But the women... you have… doomed... ... them all.”

Braca was going to meet him at the foot of the Aranochian Desert at midnight tomorrow, and Mortis promised himself he'd get some answers from the mysterious little man.

But for now he was determined to take his time and try to unwind. He had a long flight ahead of him, and two days worth of events to think about. And he knew sleep wouldn’t come for him tonight anyway.

[Project_Xii]

Contract 2 – Sultan of Lut Gholein

-------
Collateral
Indirect, subsidiary, or accessory to the main thing
-------

“I can't do it, dammit! How many times must I tell you? I don't even think it's possible for demons to learn magic. Why must we persist?” Mortis banged his fist on the makeshift desk in frustration.

Zac smirked, despite the possible danger of the enraged demon sitting before him; “Nonsense. You can summon and control fire from within you, can you not? That's a form of magic right there.”

“Yes, but we are born with that, something we can do at an age so young we barely recognise it as a skill.”

“Give yourself time. Even an old dog can learn new tricks if he knows the rewards are well worth it.”

Mortis sighed and nodded, his anger subsiding. His ‘teacher' always had a way of killing even the worst tantrums. He gazed around the little room they used for his lessons; at the wall painted with black tar, covered in white chalk scribbles, at the assorted rarities decorating the walls on their shelves. And at the smiling face of the man trying so hard to educate a demon in this strange and alien world.

The ‘teacher’ was an elderly man named Zac Robinson. He’d lived most his life in the forests of Khanduras, a Hermit, but not unknown. Apart from being a highly respected member of a notorious thief guild, he was also a collector of rare antiquities. From the exoticness of the room in which Mortis sat, it was obvious the two careers complimented each other.

Mortis’s two year travels had eventually taken him over the seas, to the lands of Rogues and the Deserts. He’d stumbled across Zac, hunting in the woods, and was surprised to meet the first man who hadn't fled in fright. After the initial surprise of meeting each other, and tentative yet awkward introductions, Zac offered Mortis a bed and food in exchange for any stories he might know.

Zac was a wise, witty and extremely curious gentleman. And, as it turned out, extremely partial to stories, especially ones involving the brutal and blood filled wars of Hell. Mortis had come to believe that his knowledge of the fiery demon dimension was the true reason Zac had taken him in. It seemed all humans feared his world, yet were intrigued by it none the less.

Mortis had more then enough tales to keep the old man enthralled for weeks, and by the time his tongue was dry and mind raked to its core, they had become proper and steadfast friends.

With the tales dwindling, it hadn’t been long before Zac’s next subject of interest entered their conversations; the demon form itself. Although Mortis was highly uncomfortable with the idea of being studied, the old man claimed if he was allowed to do so, they both might gain valuable knowledge on the limitations and abilities of Mortis's body under the laws of this world.

He finally agreed, and Zac subjected him to many vigorous tests. The old man examined every inch of the demon’s body, from the space between his toes to the span of his wings. Zac had a curious room in his hut that he dabbed ‘the lab’, and inside was full of glass tubes and delicate instruments. Mortis was forbidden to enter, simply because of his bulky size. Zac didn’t want to risk him knocking over the equipment.

“A bull in a china shop, you mightn’t be. But you’re pretty damn close,” his teacher had laughed.

It was in this room that Zac did his most intricate work, analysing the demons blood through a cylinder full of glass pieces. He spent hours looking through the eye piece, drawing what he saw onto a paper pad he kept by his side always. The process lasted at least another week, but by the end of it, the amount of information they had acquired was staggering.

As Zac expected, the rate in which the demon body processed energy was far higher then usual. Yet his body still had the remarkable ability of storing the most vital of nutrients, allowing him to survive almost twice the time of a human without food or water.

The accelerated rate of regeneration was something Zac couldn’t explain. Any wounds Mortis received would inexplicably heal within hours or even minutes of receiving them, depending on the nature and deepness of the cut. These were unchangeable demonic traits, and did not seem to be affected by the laws of Sanctuary.

Hearing, eye sight, and sense of smell were all heightened, as was expected. Susceptibility to disease or organ failure was very low, his blood seemed able to identify and produce its own serums for fighting off poisons.

Mortis studied every inch of the old man’s report, not really understanding most of these statements, but one factor produced the biggest shock for him.

Life expectancy.

In Hell, a demon’s life was eternal. Locked up and away from harm, never forced into battle or drained by one of the Lords, a demon could sit on the edge of the abyss until time turned his body to stone. And even that happening wasn't a certainty.

In Sanctuary, Zac could give no definite age limit, but he could confirm that eventually Mortis would die like any other Mortal. From the time he’d spent looking at the demons blood, Zac had deduced that although Mortis’s cells aged far slower then any other living being he’d ever studied, they did eventually decay and die. And so, Mortis’s fate was assured.

Mortis was faced with his own mortality for the first time, and it was not a welcome feeling.

As more weeks came and passed, Zac began to share the wealth of knowledge he'd acquired over the course of his well travelled life. He revealed he was skilled at many basic magics that helped in his thieving career. When Mortis took a keen interest in these abilities, the old man devised some classes for his pupil, and so it came to be that the demon called the human, ‘teacher.’

“Look, it's a simple summoning spell. When you master it you will be able to call in, or vanish, any object of yours at will.”

“I don't understand how that works,” Mortis snorted. “Where do the objects go when I 'vanish' them?”

“Your mind. Your memory.”

“My... memory?”

“Correct. Or at least, as close to correct as we can get. In truth, no one knows exactly where they go. But they exist for as long as you remember they're there. But if you forget...” he made a 'poof!' sound and motion with his hands, “Gone. Forever. Many objects have simply fallen off the face of Sanctuary that way.”

Mortis mulled over this for a long time.

“That would indeed make thievery easy” he said thoughtfully.

Zac suddenly became very serious, and his expression darkened.
“No, Mort, it does not.” He pulled a chair in close and sat down, leaning in as if he feared the walls had ears. “What I'm about to tell you, you must never tell anyone else. Mort, do you promise?”

“I promise, Teacher. May I be cast back into the depths of Hell if I break it.”

“Good. Now are you listening?”

“I'm listening.”

“Can you hear me Mort? Mortis, are you listening? Mortis? MORTIS!”

*****

Mortis sat up with a start, almost colliding heads with the figure leaning over his bed. Braca jumped back and gulped.

“S-sorry. I couldn't tell if you were sleeping or not. Do you know you sleep with your eyes open?”

Mortis rubbed his neck and grumbled something under his breath.

“Yes. It helps to stop enemies sneaking up on me. I was just... dreaming this time.”

“Ah... well, I hope you're rested enough to receive your new contract. It's quite an important one.” Braca rubbed his hands together and his eyes shone dimly. Mortis grunted and got up off the bed.

“It's the middle of the night. Give me a few minutes to wake up before you start telling me about the throats I must slit.”

Braca nodded in agreement as he watched the demon walk over to a dresser. Mortis had called in some spare garments upon arrival at the inn; the ones he'd been wearing during the mission had been ravaged by the Rogues’ arrows.

He never wore much in the way of clothing. Undergarments for modesty, animal skin coverings similar to that of the Barbarians in the north. He couldn’t wear shirts or anything that required being slipped over his head, as there were very few tailors that designed them with wings in mind. There was, however, a breastplate that could be unfastened and clasped around his chest. He hadn't worn that out on last night’s job.

He opened a drawer of the dresser and began to flick through the various pieces he did have. And suddenly realised Braca was still watching him.

“Do you mind?” he said over his shoulder.

“Mind what?”

Mortis turned around quickly, strode over and grabbed the little man by the scruff of his well-pressed suit.
“Even demons like to have privacy,” he growled, and tossed Braca out the door before he had time to protest.

*

The small man with slicked back hair paced the hallway impatiently, wringing his hands, twitching like a mad thing. Finally the door creaked open, and Mortis filled its frame. He was preened and looked far more awake.

“Excellent! It's about time. My employers are very eager to thank you for your work last night; you were exceptional.”

“It wasn't much.”

“Oh, but it was. Brent was a powerful man; you did well to succeed as... intact... as you are now.”

“Yes. He was a -” suddenly the full details of the night before flooded back to him, and Mortis slammed the little man up against the wall. “What did you make me DO?”

“W-w-what?” Braca stammered.

“Brent wasn't corrupted. He was as loyal to the Rogues as he would be to family. You made me kill an innocent man.” Fire was beginning to build in his eyes, and the sudden reek of ammonia hit his nostrils as Braca's bladder released.

“He wasn't! He wasn't, I swear! Please, let me explain!” The nervous twitch had progressed into a full on contortion of the face, and he was sweating profusely.

Mortis squinted at him with his sharp golden eyes, smelling the genuine fear coming from his sweat. And his pants.

“Fine. You have three minutes.”

He dropped Braca, who fell against the wall shaking uncontrollably.
“Brent was a Paladin, in service to the Zakarum,” he began to babble, the words come out at a hummingbird pace.

“He was very high ranking, and so spent a lot of time with the High Council. The very Council that now stands corrupted and bloodthirsty in the Tower of Kurast. The influence of Mephisto is like a disease; it can viscously attack the mind immediately, or it can take root in the body, staying dormant for as long as necessary.”

“The Council and the Zakaramites were consumed fast, because they were so close to the source of influence. But Brent left at the first signs of other’s madness, thinking he could escape it if he was in another country.”

Mortis crossed his arms, his eyes still narrow slits. Braca gulped and pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe the urine from his trousers as he continued.

“My employers kept a watchful eye on him for all the years he spent in service to the Sisters, and it was only recently that we began to see symptoms surface. It starts with dreams; wild, violent dreams that make the victims buck in their beds. In the morning they can remember nothing, and so they go about their daily lives with no knowledge of what’s awakening in their bodies. Their mental state slowly degenerates, until one day they snap, and Mephisto has them. They become mindless killing machines, hellbent on slaying anything in their path back to the source, to protect it.”

He sighed, and stared at the carpet.

“Brent was a good man. It was hard on my employers to authorise that contract. We simply could not allow an event like that to unfold.”

Mortis stood quietly, his nails clicking tentatively against his hardened skin. He didn't look fully convinced.

“If that is the true story, why did you make a false one in the contract for me to go on? Why not just tell me the real reason outright?”

“Because you're you!” Braca replied, his voice rising. He'd stopped shaking now and had regained some of his usual confidence.

“My employers know what you're like; they know your unusual morals when it comes to women and children. By all rights you shouldn’t care who you kill, being the demon you are.” He paused, wondering if he’d overstepped the line a bit by the look on Mortis’s face.

"They needed you to fight to the best of your ability, and to do that they used the best weapon of persuasion; the lives of all the women in that Citadel. They knew you'd fight with all your fury to protect them. And you did, Mortis; you saved them. Just not from the danger you originally thought.”

Mortis leaned in close, his face inches from Braca's

“Then tell me why they all went crazy after I killed Brent.”

The little man gasped and pushed himself away from the demon, back out in the hallway as if he wanted to run.

“You... you saw that?”

“I did. It wasn't pretty. And I have no idea what instigated it. Do you?” he glared accusingly.

Braca gulped again, and then suddenly became very professional.

“The details of events that take place after your contracts are fulfilled are not necessary for you to know. You are hired to do a task, for a set price, with the information you are given. If more is required, and I and my employers deem it beneficial, we will provide it. Other then that, we expect you to either accept or decline our offers, and probe no further.”

Mortis immediately found himself wondering whether the man’s fear had all been an act, and perhaps this was the real thing. The change was unnerving all the same. Braca brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder and looked down his nose at the demon before him.

“Have I made myself clear?”

Mortis was silent, slightly taken aback. Nobody, certainly no man, had ever spoken to him in such a way. The dangerous edge in his employers voice, told him that perhaps discretion was the best course of action.

“My apologies, Mr. Braca. I will ask no more questions.”

“It’s just Braca. I currently have no birthing name.” He relaxed a little, sure now that he wasn't about to be disembowelled on the spot.

“If it makes you feel any better, Brent in himself had become a source for the madness. The women had contracted a slight dose, and that had been purged upon his death. The effects are temporary. They should have returned to a normal state of mind not long after you left.”

Mortis nodded.

“That helps.”

Braca reached into his suit and fumbled about, finally pulling out a neatly sealed envelope. “The details of your next assignment rest within this letter. If you accept it, we can offer you a sum equal to that of the last. Do you accept?”

Mortis thought for a few seconds, his mind reeling at how much money he was earning from the strange man before him. Then he nodded, and reached out a clawed hand.

“You'll like this one” Braca said slyly, “I believe you mentioned the Sultans of Lut Gholein last time we met?” He handed Mortis the letter. “Well, now you get to meet one for yourself.”

[Project_Xii]

*****
Desert. Mortis's least favourite landscape to traverse. The hot, moistureless air dried the membranous skin of his wings and cracked his lips. Yet despite those small discomforts, it was a place he'd returned to often in the past. He had a history here.

As he passed under the great stone arch of the cities entrance, he was almost relieved to see it had barely changed in the past seven years.

'Sands shift, people come and die. But this place never seems to age...' he thought.

The mighty palace of the Sultans towered above the smaller stone buildings, its impressive tear-drop shaped roof sand blasted but still magnificent. Not far from that was the two story brothel and exotic dance house. Mortis secretly hoped the girls had changed, even if the city hadn't. The market in the middle was a hive of activity, and laughter could be heard from the nearby tavern. He focused on the bar and walked towards it, aware of the eyes already beginning to watch him.

Out the front of the tavern, a middle aged woman watched a young boy playing in the street. Her husband watched too, an arm draped protectively and lovingly around his wife’s shoulders; a smile on both of their faces. The woman suddenly noticed Mortis, and her smile fell.

“Gel! Gel come quickly” she called.

The boy, drawn by the slight urgency in her voice, stopped playing and walked to his parents. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.
By this time market chatter had began to fade as more people noticed the large figure strolling down the main street. The boy had seen him now and was squirming wildly in his mother’s arms.

Mortis stopped a few feet away, as the child finally freed himself. He ran towards the demon that was easily four times his size, hands outstretched.

“Mortis, Mortis!” he cried.

Mortis smiled and stooped to collect the boy.

“Gel!” he said, easily cradling the child in the crook of his arm. “You've gotten big.”

“Big enough to beat you up soon” Gel grinned. He balled his hands into fists and made a faux swing, “POW!”

“Whoa, easy, Tiger.” Mortis chuckled. “I’d rather not lose a fight to a kid in public. Bad for the reputation”

Gel's parents had wandered over, the woman smiling warmly now.

“Hello, Mortis” she said. “It's been a long time. I seem to remember you visiting far more often.”

“Hello, Atma” he replied, “Yes, I suppose seven years is a long time. To humans. But you haven't aged a day.”

She appreciated the comment, but they both knew it wasn't true. The grey in her hair and lines around her eyes portrayed the struggles and hardships she endured from living in this desert city.

“Mortis.” Atma's husband extended his hand.

“Ackmand,” Mortis took his hand and shook it slowly. There was no hostility between them; only the uneasy tension you would expect from a husband whose wife was standing in front of a being, widely thought of as an unpredictable killing machine. “You're looking well too.”

They listened in silence to Gel babble about his pet scorpion as they walked towards the tavern. And then a gruff voice spoke behind them.

“So, the Dune Hunter returns.”

Mortis stopped dead in his tracks. Eyeing Atma, he nodded and handed the boy over, before slowly turning around.

“Elzix...?” he said, somewhat surprised.

The balding man wearing an eye patch leaned heavily on his cane and limped down the street towards him.

“Yes, it's me. The man you left for dead among the bodies of my bandit buddies.” He scowled as he reached Mortis's feet, glaring up unintimidated.
“I owe you, demon.”

Uneasy silence. Apprehensive stares. The market was readying itself for a full fledged battle. But suddenly Elzix's face broke into a broad grin.

“Owe you for changing my life! Ha!” he slapped Mortis on the shoulder. “Good to see you. Relax already.”

Mortis allowed himself to breathe. The idea of killing in front of the boy had put him on the edge, and he was slowly concentrating on stepping back. Elzix's behaviour had him thoroughly confused.

“Changed... your life?”

“You bet! Turned over a new leaf. I'm an honest man now.”

Mortis raised an eyebrow.

“And my taking your eye and leg did this?”

“Hey, if knowing a beast like you is stalking the sands isn't enough to turn a man from crime... well I probably should have just stayed there and bled to death, cause I'm sure as hell you would have finished me off second time 'round. Besides,” he continued, “with the rest of the band dead I got a hundred percent of the loot.”

Mortis's features hardened and Elzix quickly jumped to his own defence.

“Oh, but don't worry, I used it to buy the inn on the other side of town. I run an honest business. And as a show of goodwill, I'll even let you stay the night free.”

Mortis finally relaxed enough to shake the old bandit’s hand.

“Thank you for the offer, but I won't be needing it. I'm not staying long.”

“Eh? You're leaving already? But you just got here!”

Another familiar voice. Mortis turned to see a wrinkly, toothless man wearing a fez. He had numerous bottles slotted into his belt and protruding from every pocket on his body.

“Lysander! You're still here? And still brewing those crazy potions, I’m betting.”

“Indeed I am! And I've just made a real boomer: my new home brew. If you think you’re up to it we can challenge at the bar. I guarantee it'll knock you socks off and burn like hell all the way down.”

“We’ll see about that,” Mortis smiled, “I don’t wear socks, so I’m one up on you already.”

The friendly greetings and familiar faces continued to drift in, and the day ebbed on. Mortis felt the warm feeling that was rare anywhere else: acceptance. The people here welcomed him for the deeds he'd done for them in the past, and to some degree he felt they were friends. He felt personally responsible for their welfare and safety.

So he wondered how the contract he held for the death of their leader was going to affect the relationships he’d developed within this city. If they found out, the repercussions could purge their faith in him in a second. He didn’t think he could handle that. It was, after all, the only city so far that saw him for who he was...

*****

Dusk settled, the haze of sand in the air bathing the city in a red glow. Mortis sat in Atma's bar, finishing the last of his ale. He found it bitter compared to the liqueur Zac once had in his cabinet, a stash that had been accumulated from a life of thieving from well-to-do merchants. But it was refreshing nonetheless.

The bar was almost empty now, save for two men in the corner. He recognised them both: Greiz, the captain of the guard and Geglash, a retired mercenary. He had spoken to them earlier, casual small talk about the West and its happenings. Now the two men were in a deep conversation of their own.

“I tell ya, it's not right! The Sultan can't just go pulling men out of me ranks without telling me the purpose.” Greiz was a hardened veteran, and expected discipline and organization in all things to do with his guards. “He can't keep me in the bloody dark like that.”

“I know -ic- whatsh ya mean. It'sh a consprishy! That'sh what it is... aaaallll pawnsh in the bigger.... scheme... of things.” Geglash had been retired for fifteen years after receiving a crippling belly blow. It didn't deter him form enjoying the grog.

“Oh... shut it, Geglash,” Greiz snorted. “You and your crazy ideas. Being retired's just given you too much time to think.”

“I'm telling you! The Sultan'sh... up to something...”

Something clicked in his mind, and Mortis realised the old mercenary was closer to the truth then the Captain wished to believe. Glancing around quickly to make sure no one was looking over his shoulder, Mortis closed his eyes and called in the new contract. He looked around one more time; Atma out in the back, the two men still in drunken conversation. Unfolding the letter carefully, he began to read through Braca's familiar bold print:

“Contract 2 – Sultan of Lut Gholein

Abdullah Hassani the 33rd, and his son, Jerhyn Hassani, are currently the ruling Sultan and Prince of the desert city Lut Gholein.

The Hassani bloodline has been known for its vast wealth and political power since the foundation of the city, and no one has ever tried to usurp their rule. They are also known for their great greed and selfishness. As each new ruler steps up to the throne, he becomes more heartless and self-serving then the last. Abdullah is no exception.

Under his rule, taxes have increased dramatically, and care for the city has diminished almost to the point where the citizens are now fending for themselves while making their fat leader wealthier. Abdullah is more partial to spending his gold on harem girls and personal slaves, which brings us to the reason for this contract.

Hassani the 33rd has a fetish for the 'exotic', and is entertained by foreign women far more then the ones found within his own city. Likewise he prefers foreign male slaves, as he finds it challenging to 'break' their strong spirits. Also, if one should go missing in a fit of the Sultan’s rage, there are no friends or family to questions their whereabouts.

To keep his supply of 'exotic' slaves fresh, Abdullah has arrangements to meet with a notorious kidnapper’s guild, four times a year. This guild travels the lands in large caravans, known as 'Human Zoos', where foreign subjects – mostly young so they can be broken and controlled easily – are sold to the highest bidders.

While my employers would prefer to eradicate the leader of these 'zoos', his location is, so far, still hidden. The best we can do his eliminate the collaborators, starting with Hassani.

One hour after midnight tonight, the Sultan plans to ride out with a formidable contingent of loyal guards and meet his suppliers beyond the canyons that lead to the Desert Oasis. Your goal: Ambush him in the canyon and eliminate this vile man. It is preferable that you also dispose of the body; fewer questions will be asked if he disappears altogether than if his mangled remains are found.
The guards... they know of the Sultan’s wicked business deals, and make no attempt to stop him. Do with them as you will.

My employers understand you have a close connection to the people of Lut Gholein, so they implore you to be as discreet as possible. Know also that Abdullah’s son, Jerhyn, is a noble man who shows no sign of the hereditary greed... yet. He still considers his people the highest priority, and they will do far better under his rule.

Remove the Sultan, make way for a better leader, and eliminate a buyer for the Human Zoos at the same time. People who have so little respect for their fellow man have no place in this world.

Braca

P.S. You are not the only one who wants the Sultan dead. Keep your eyes open, and don't -”

“Letter from home?” Atma inquired from behind the bar.

Mortis jumped. How long had she been there? He closed his eyes to vanish the paper, and discovered his hands already empty. In his shock he had done it automatically. That had never happened before.

“Hardly,” he said, “the demons of Hell don't even know how to write, let alone use paper. Making pentagrams and scrawling with blood is the best they can manage.”

”Sounds like a pleasant recreational activity for those boring afternoons?”

Mortis smiled. It was unlike Atma to be so blasé about Hell. In fact, it was unusual for any human to talk about that burning realm in a casual way. Most men, and women alike, feared it more then death itself. Death was, after all, not the end of your soul.

“It’s always afternoon in Hell, Atma. A never-ending twilight. The air is warm, and the plains are flat and rugged, spreading out for miles around. They have an end though; a drop off into a dark abyss.”

Atma had a strange look in her eyes now.

“You make it almost sound… nice. Something I’d like to see.”

Mortis’s smile changed to a smirk.

“That’s because I’ve neglected to mention the residents. There are creatures worse then I wandering that barren land. Foul beasts, who lust for nothing but blood and the flesh of the damned.” Mortis grimaced, “The damned… their cries ring out, tormented and mournful, and seem to go on forever. A human would go insane by just listening to them for a few hours.”

Now Atma was wide eyed and pale. She had unknowingly taken a few steps back from the demon; his words had reminded her of his true origins. Mortis felt a sharp pang of regret for mentioning it.

“But that’s all behind me now,” he added, hoping to regain her confidence. An uncomfortable silence continued between them for awhile longer.

“So… what was the letter about?” she asked at last, quickly adding; “If you don't mind me asking.

Mortis forced a smile this time.

“It's… a thank you letter from an employer.”

Atma knew better than to probe further. She'd been a young girl when she'd first met him, but the Dune Hunter’s legacy stretched back further then that. Bandits were rare occurrences in the desert these days, though once it had been rife with them. At the time, caravans could only travel with a large force of guards for protection, and sometimes even that wouldn't deter them.

Then a dark stranger, one not from this world, had come offering his services. It had been dangerous to trust him, but the people had no other choice. They had agreed to his fee... and in a mere matter of months nearly all the desert Bandits had simply vanished from Aranoch, leaving empty caves and hushed rumours in their passing.

Elzix’s band had been the last, and tales of the carnage had become whispered bed time tales for the children of the next generation – almost certainly ensuring they would want to grow up respectable, law abiding citizens.

Mortis pushed his glass over the bar and stood up, nodding politely in Atma's direction.

“Thank you for the free drink.” He headed for the door.

“You're not... doing anything tonight... are you, Mortis?”

He paused. She knew better then that, so why did she still ask? It was for own safety more then anything; Mortis knew what lengths some of his previous employers had gone to to keep their actions secret.

“Goodbye, Atma.”

It felt more final then he wanted it to.

[Project_Xii]

******
The sun had set by the time he left the tavern. It was that murky half-light; the twilight that came before total darkness. The time that reminded him most of Hell.

The palace tower was a tear shaped shadow, high above all else. He passed through the market on his way towards it empty now, aside from a few beggars still scrounging in the garbage heaps.

Braca had lied to him on the first contract. He had a plausible reason and story, but that still didn’t make up for the fact that Mortis's trust in his employer had been betrayed. This time, he was going to be certain Braca’s words held the truth. This time he was going to make sure the target was what he was made out to be. He was going to see the Sultan.

Though he was in good stead with the people of Lut Gholein, the Sultans had never opted to meet him. Every Sultan who had ever come to power during the time Mortis had walked the sands neither acknowledged nor praised his accomplishments for the city. They considered themselves too pure to consort with a demon, so to this day he had yet to see one of the great Hassanis with his own eyes.

Two guards stood in the entrance of the palace, supposedly alert and on watch. In reality, one leaned heavily on his spear, dozing, while the other picked nonchalantly at his uniform. Mortis nearly climbed the stairs to their feet before he was noticed.

“Halt!” cried the uniform-picking guard. He brought his spear out in front, ready to skewer. “You may not pass.”

The other guard jerked awake with a snort and looked sleepily around.

“'Ere, what's all the noise about, Kaelen? Can't a man get some peace for a few minutes; it's been a twelve hour-” He stopped when he saw Mortis before them. “Oh... careful lad, that's the Dune Hunter. You don't want to mess with him.”

Kaelan eyed the intruder with deepening suspicion.

“He is forbidden from entering the palace, Treval. You know that?” He thrust the tip of his spear almost up Mortis’s nose, “What do you want, demon?”

Mortis raised his hands.

“Easy there, I've come to see the Sultan. I mean no harm.” He took the sharpened tip in his hand and pushed it slowly away.

Treval stepped forward.

“Mortis, now look: I got nothing against you, and neither does Kaelen here. Hell, you kept my ancestors from going destitute by wiping out those bandits raiding our caravans, same as you did for everyone else's grandmothers and fathers.” He leaned in, excluding Kaelan but by no means hiding his words.

“But try to understand. If we let you into the palace the Sultan will literally have our heads. We can't afford to do that to our families. It's just not worth it, I'm sorry.”

Mortis was silent, his wings flapping back and forth lazily.

“You're really struggling, aren't you?” he said grimly.

Treval hung his head.

“You'd know better then anyone. Every new Sultan that comes along jacks up the taxes even more. It's a struggle for everyone to survive, not just us guards.”

Mortis closed his eyes and concentrated. Two bags, bulging and heavy, appeared in his hands. It was only a small percentage of the reward Braca had given him, but still a generous amount for the average commoner.

“In exchange for entry into the palace, I offer you both this small token of my good will.” He raised his hand in a flat palmed oath. “And you have my word that I will cause no trouble that could be linked back to you two. I have come to see the Sultan... nothing more.”

The two guards looked at each other, the various consequences that could result from their actions turning over in their heads. Then they slowly reached out to take the gold from Mortis's hands.

“We didn't see nothing, right Kaelen?”

Kaelan was uneasy, but finally nodded in agreement.

“Didn't see a thing.”

*******

Mortis crept down the spiral staircase, senses so alert he would have jumped at a moth’s flight. He could hear everything below: guards armour clinking as they walked, women’s soft, melodious voices. And somewhere in the distance, a deep, belly laugh boomed. He honed in on that laugh as he reached the bottom of the stairs and headed towards it, further into the harem.

The place was considerably larger then he had imagined, and extravagantly decorated. Plush bedrooms filled with the finest silks and softest, down-filled pillows. Hand woven carpets that would have taken years to complete, lying on floors made of polished marble. Mortis gritted his teeth; it was nice to see the people’s taxes going to such charitable causes.

Another roar of laughter, closer now, made him dart into a corridor and then back again, a second before the guard he'd brushed against turned to wonder where that breeze had come from. Mortis held his breath, pressed against the wall, until the man shrugged and started to patrol to the other end. Too close, far too close.

He glanced to his left and right, making sure he wasn't going to be surprised by anyone else, and dashed into the opposing room. This room, small, most likely just a place to walk through or sit, led into a ludicrously large area filled with cushions, hanging incense burners and even a small fountain. At one end, sitting on a bed so soft he practically sank to the floor, was Abdullah Hassani himself.

He was a stocky man, some would even say fat, and his large, twirly moustache gave him an almost comical appearance. He was smiling and clapping as a small group of attractive and lithe women danced for his entertainment in the centre of the floor. On his left sat a young, fit man dressed in fine blue and white robes. Undoubtedly the Sultan’s son, his head rested in one hand, finger covering his mouth. He looked thoroughly bored.

The Sultan, on the other hand, couldn't have been any more excited. He was bouncing and clapping on his bed, so much so that the servant holding his food tray had to step back. For a man of his size and social stature, Mortis found Abdullah's behaviour highly inappropriate.

At last the dance ended, and the girls fell to the floor in a panting heap. The Sultan sat up in his bed and applauded loudly.

“Bravo! Bravo! Magnificent!” He slapped his son on the shoulder so hard the lad squinted. “Don't you think? Applaud them, my boy!”

Jerhyn smiled weakly and clapped. The Sultan saw his troubled look.

“What's the matter, girls not to your liking?”

His son flinched. It was obvious Jerhyn feared his father, even if he respected him at the same time.

“Oh... no, they're fine dancers. It's just...”

“Just what?”

“Just... well, I don't enjoy watching women do this, knowing they've been forced into it.”

The room was quiet now; the tambourines and pipe instruments accompanying the girls dancing were beginning to leave the room with their players. The silence only emphasized the change that came over Abdullah.

“What do you mean by 'forced', boy?”

No longer was he the bumbling, almost childish character Mortis had witnessed only seconds earlier. Now he was something dark, something more powerful and sinister. His whole figure became larger, and Mortis saw how tall the Sultan could make himself. Abdullah towered over his son, glaring so fiercely Jerhyn cringed. The Sultan was a dictator, a ruler, ready to smash the will of all those who opposed him. And it was obvious his son knew this side of his father well.

“Nothing, father!” Jerhyn cried, “they're wonderful. Simply wonderful.”

But the Sultan wasn't ready to let this drop yet.

“Those girls have the blessing of living in the palace. They have food, comfortable beds, clothing fit for queens. Do you think it is not our right, as their providers, protectors, and caretakers, to be indulged with some entertainment every once in awhile? They have everything they could ever need right here; what more could they want?”

“How about to return home?” The look in Jerhyn’s eyes was icy now. Mortis knew that look well; he had experienced it himself many times. The boy was on the edge, and if pushed hard enough there was no telling what he might do.

When his father didn't answer, only turning a darker shade of red, Jerhyn continued:
“How about a chance to know their families? Not to be forced to lie down next to you or any of your infernal guards whenever you desire it?” He was standing now, hands clenched.

'Easy boy,' Mortis thought, 'step back now. Don't do anything you'll regret. That's my job.'

“And the servants,” Jerhyn yelled, “I'm sure they would have liked to know they could father children in the future, know they could have a family and life of their own. But no, I'm sure you are the one who is right. The girls dance for you out of gratitude, and always have.”

His father exploded, Abdullah’s rage so fierce he could only speak through spit and gurgles.

“We own them! They acknowledge that, they dance of their own free will!”

“The same free will that brought them to this place?” Jerhyn’s voice was flat and emotionless. He had said what he wanted to say.

Abdullah finally found his voice.

“Get out! Get out your ingrate; you spawn of your mother’s womb. I'll see you join her in Hell before you sit on my throne. Get out!”

Jerhyn obeyed without another word. The Sultan went about unleashing his fury on every object he could get his hands on; tearing pillows, smashing incense burners, throwing ceramics. Mortis could have watched the temper tantrum all day.

But the prince’s words had reminded him of the reason he'd come down here. He quickly scanned over the Sultan’s servants who sat cowering or standing in the room:

Two slaves, each holding a massive, colourful bird’s feather, fanned over the Sultan’s bed. Their skin was tanned dark brown, almost black, and Mortis recognised them as natives of Kehjistan. They were visibly frightened by Abdullah’s wrath, but dared not stop their work.

The women on the floor huddled together in fear. Mortis could see the beauty hidden beneath their long black hair and emerald eyes. They were so thin and pale, but radiated an energy that was undeniably strong. With shock Mortis realised they were witches from the east; young and therefore most likely unaware of their abilities, but powerful none the less.
Mortis imagined them being snatched from their families under the cover of night, thrown into the moving cages and beaten until they were quiet. It enraged him. It brought him to the edge.

But he controlled it for now. The last servant was the man holding the food tray. A Barbarian, there was no doubt, but not like the ones Mortis had met. His body was lean and face fair, almost feminine. And he had just become the Sultans next target.

“Ignorant fool!” he bellowed, and slapped the tray from his servant’s hand. “He doesn't know how good he has it. I don't know why I waste my time and wealth on him; he's his mother’s son and always will be. And you!” he pointed at the young Barbarian for a long time, enjoying watching him quiver. “Clean up this mess immediately,” he said at last.

“At once, Sultan. My apologies.” As he got down and began to pick up the food, Mortis hung his head. The boy had been broken.

He could hear it in his voice, see it in his features. As Jerhyn had said, the boy had been broken. The fire and aggressiveness that was the characteristic of his heritage was gone, given way to a meek, subservient being. He Mortis boiled.

Abdullah's own rage was burning down now, and he was beginning to run out of things to destroy. As well as breath.

“All of you out,” he huffed, “I have business to prepare for.”

The slaves began to file out of the room, the sadness in their eyes told Mortis they already knew what business the Sultan was going to attend. He had seen what he had come to see; Abdullah had done an impressive job at sealing his own fate. The contract was rightly placed.

Mortis slunk back out into the corridor, now surprisingly empty of guards. It was possible the Sultan was preparing for his meeting with the kidnappers already, and if that was the case he would have to head to the canyon fast. He wanted to fly on ahead and meet the Zoo Keepers for himself, welcome them to the desert the Dune Hunter way -

'Mortis'

He stopped dead in his tracks. Had he really just heard that? He had, but it hadn’t been a spoken word. It seemed to come from within his mind, like the voice of his thoughts. There was some power in that word, as if a being had commanded him. He could feel it now, tugging his will, drawing him back to the room he had just passed.

Cautiously, he crept to the doorway and peered in. It was a weapons room, filled with the most exquisite items the Hassani family had bought - or acquired through other means - during their long rule. In the centre of the room, resting upon a frame of gold, sat a sword. It was forged of long, polished steel, its hilt jewel-encrusted.

It pulsed with power. It lured. It called. Mortis stepped into the room, mesmerised. It was so... perfect. He strode up to it, feeling it whispering to him, but not in words.

He reached for it. He wanted it, desired it with all his soul. All he had to do was take it. He could sneak it past the guards; they would never know. And they wouldn't... be blamed... for its disappearance. Better still, he could vanish it. Then it'd be his forever, locked away in his mind.

But this thought caused confusion. Something was conflicting with the spell the sword was weaving. A memory from long ago. He struggled to think, to focus on either thought and clear his mind.

And then the memory won.

[Project_Xii]

******

“Mort, do you promise?”

“I promise, Teacher. May I be cast back into the depths of Hell if I break it. ”

“Good. Now are you listening.”

“I'm listening.”

Zac leaned in closer.

“You see, Mortis, objects... have a mind of their own.”

Mortis blinked. Then raised an eyebrow.

“Objects think? Right.”

“I'm serious lad! Trust me on this; as a veteran thief, I know what I'm talking about. You said the summon/call spell would make stealing easy? You are wrong. Objects have energy; some would call it a will. It's not like ours, they can't actually think, as you just put it. But they have a sense of ownership, of whom they belong too.”

He rummaged around in his pockets and pulled out his beloved charm. He offered it to Mortis.

“Using the skills you've just learned... well, attempted to learn... try to make this watch vanish. It's been in my possession a long time. See what happens.”

The charm itself was a ring within a ring, dangling from a gold chain. Tapping the centre ring would make it spin wildly in any possible direction, creating a strange tinkling noise as it did so. Now, as Mortis reached out to take it, he hesitated. Some gleam in his Teachers eye, the way the charm swung evenly back and forth. He didn't trust it. In truth, he was almost afraid of what might happen.

“It's alright, you won’t be harmed,” Zac assured him.

Mortis slowly reached out with his hand, brought it back, then reached again. He closed his eyes and concentrated, willing the charm to vanish. Nothing happened. He opened his eyes and looked at Zac. The old man was smiling.

“Try harder”

Mortis obeyed. He focused, concentrated, channelled all his thoughts into making that charm vanish. All at once he sensed a barrier. An invisible wall surrounded the charm, and he got a faint feeling of rejection. Mentally, he could feel the Zac’s treasure dodging him, eluding his spell. He opened his eyes and saw to his surprise that physically it was moving to; swinging in wide arcs away from his reach and towards its owner. He dropped his hand and the charm returned to its normal path, back and forth, from the full length of the chain.

Zac chuckled and put his possession back in his pocket.

“Couldn't do it, could ya?”

Mortis shook his head. He was still trying to shake off that feeling of rejection. It didn't feel good. Zac leaned in to continue his lesson.

“Objects can't think, but they know whom they belong to. If someone unknown tries to vanish them, they will resist. That's why only your own possessions can be vanished so easily. In my mind, it's an important rule. Hell, imagine if everything could be vanished so simply. People would be walking around stealing left right and centre and getting away with it, scott free! We couldn't have that.”

Mortis nodded. It made a lot of sense.

“So how does one make an object his own?”

“Ah, that's a good question, and one I can't rightly answer. It varies from object to object. If you steal a weapon or ring from a man, it will know. It'll resist you, waiting for its owner to return and claim it. As time passes, whatever type of limited will it has, forgets. That's the best way of putting it. It simply forgets its past, and begins to accustom itself with you. Very soon; it's yours. It might take days, perhaps weeks. But eventually you will be able to vanish it as easy as any other possession.”

“Ahh, so the thieving can go on, even if the objects don't like it. Makes you wonder why they don't take revenge sometimes.”

“Oooohhhh Morty, don't be so naive. There are some mighty powerful weapons out there. The older they get, the stronger the 'will' becomes. Some are so strong they'll never be vanished. It's like they know that if they allow it, they may be forgotten and they’ll never see the light of day again. Just as well; the last thing we need is some senile old dolt vanishing the most finely crafted weapons of our time and then taking them to the grave with him. As for revenge...”

He leaned in very close now, to show how deadly serious the topic had become.

“Never -ever- vanish an object that opposes you. Especially weapons, they are the most dangerous. You couldn't vanish the charm because you are still learning the art, but someone of a strong mind and skill could do it. When an object that rejects you is vanished against its will... well, you remember how I said no one knows for sure where they go?”

He tapped his temple.

“We're probably more right in our guessing then we think. The item attacks the mind, the memory, everything. If it's a weapon, it may actually do some physical damage, although no one knows how. More likely the object will just pound against your mind, your subconscious, beating you down bit by bit. Like a childhood bully that constantly calls you worthless, slowly, over time, the object will get you. Men have gone completely insane, even taken tools to their skulls in an attempt to get it out. They have to be pretty far gone by then, of course, to forget how to do the call back spell.”

Zac leaned back, his lesson complete.

“So now you see; thievery is not all quick wits and fast hands. There are more then just angry owners and vengeful guards to reprimand you. You pick up the wrong item” he tapped his head again; “it might just be the end of you.”

Mortis was silent, studying his Teacher with a kind of unwell expression. He stared down at the common items he'd been attempting to vanish. A rock; a sharp, pointy rock. A compass, one of Zac's writing and drawing tools, sporting two needles at the end of each arm. He was beginning to wonder if he wanted this skill at all.

Zac laughed at the concern on his pupils face.

“Never fear boy, an object would have to be pretty nasty to do you any harm. We'll continue the lesson, and by the end you'll be able to pick out a mean one merely by glancing. You see if I'm-”

*******

Right.

Mortis shook his head and glared at the sword. The spell was fully broken now, and all he saw before his eyes was evil. A twisted, bitter will within an ancient blade. He bent down to read the words carved delicately on a plaque attached to the stand.

“Ali Baba Hassani the 7th – His Greatest Find”

He straightened, still staring at the blade with pure detest.

“It's you, isn't it. You're the one weaving your vile will into the generations of this family. Each one that steps up to the throne claims you as his own, and you drive him further down the path of greed for your own enjoyment. You're a parasite. A blight upon man.”

He felt somewhat stupid talking to the sword. If someone had come in they would have believed him mad. But he knew it could hear him, pick up his feelings even if it couldn't understand his words. Its own feelings were in the air. It wasn't rejected, or even angered at losing out to a stronger mind. It was mocking him.

Mortis could feel the laughter. Small children, forming a ring around a loner, pointing their fingers. Laughing. It wasn't a memory, merely an image to emphasize its point. The sword was confident in its place, in its ownership. Mortis sneered and leaned down.

“I could take you, you know. Take you and drop you in the deepest part of the ocean, bury you under a mile of sand. You'd be lost, alone with your own sour will.”

'Do it,' it dared him without words. 'take me as your own. You know I'll win. You still want me; I'll bend you to my cause. We could be powerful -oh- so powerful...'

Mortis was beginning to slip again, reach with his mind. His hand was beginning to rise when a familiar booming voice drifted down the corridor.

“... and bring my sword. You never know with these kidnappers, they can stab you in the back faster then empty your pockets of gold...”

Mortis straightened. The blade intensified its efforts.

'Take me. Use me to kill the Sultan and his besotted bloodline, use me to kill the leaders of the Human Zoo. Take me. We could be-'

“Every bit as corrupt and greed filled as the Sultan himself?” Mortis finished out loud. “You'd like me to do that, wouldn't you? Take you and spill the blood of the whole palace? The town would turn on me for sure, and then we could spill their blood as well. No, my lampreyish friend, you're staying there. The Sultan needs you, and I wouldn't wish to delay his trip by denying him of your presence.”

He began to back out of the room. Even though the spell was broken, he found it hard to tear his eyes away until he was well out in the corridor.

“You want to hope the Sultan decides not to take you on this little business journey. ‘Cause if he does,” he paused long enough to give the sword a lazy eyed smirk, “you won't be having the pleasure of human company again for a long, long time.”

He turned down the corridor and headed silently for the stairs.

[RevenantsKnight]

Hrm...I liked the “talking objects” idea in your last chapter; though it’s not the most original thing ever, as you noted, I’ve always enjoyed the idea of items with minds, especially swords (or computers named after swords...) I did feel, though, that the ending here didn’t have as much strength as it could have had, probably because it felt cut short or something; after all that buildup, it’s just Mortis easily beating down the sword. Somehow, I was expecting a little more to happen. Other than that, though, and some grammar and spelling bits, this was all right. Anyway, here’re some specific comments:


Mortis blinked. Then raised an eyebrow.

Grammatically, this should be “Mortis blinked, then raised an eyebrow,” though I could see a case for this wording. Your call, I guess.


“I'm serious lad!”

There should be a comma after “serious.”


“It's not like ours, they can't actually think, as you just put it.”

The comma after “ours” should be a semicolon, since the parts before and after could each be a complete sentence.


“But they have a sense of ownership, of whom they belong too.”

That should be “of whom they belong to,” if you don’t mind ending a sentence with a preposition. “Too” is usually used to mean “overly.”


He rummaged around in his pockets and pulled out his beloved charm. He offered it to Mortis.

This read a bit jerkily, because the two sentences suggest a break of sorts between the actions, and I don’t think Zac would take out his charm, and then pause for a second before handing it over. I’d combine this into one sentence, to something like “...and, pulling out his beloved charm, offered it to Mortis.”


“Using the skills you've just learned... well, attempted to learn... try to make this watch vanish.”

Erm...“watch”? Doesn’t sound like one to me...and besides, wouldn’t a pocket watch be a little advanced for medieval technology?


Some gleam in his Teachers eye, the way the charm swung evenly back and forth.

That should be “Teacher’s eye,” and this doesn’t seem complete to me, because there’s no main verb; I’d think that this should be something like “...eye, or the way the charm swung evenly back and forth, unnerved him.”


“It's alright, you won’t be harmed,” Zac assured him.

The comma after “alright” should be a semicolon.


“Try harder”

There should be a period at the end, inside the quotes.


He focused, concentrated, channelled all his thoughts into making that charm vanish.

That should be “channeled.”


An invisible wall surrounded the charm, and he got a faint feeling of rejection.

Hrm...the order of these ideas seems a bit odd to me; unless there’s a literal wall there, I’d think that the image would be an elaboration on that “feeling of rejection.” Also, “got” sounds a bit too general to me, and I’d suggest replacing it with something more evocative, such as “His mind met a sensation of rejection, as if there were an invisible wall surrounding the charm.”


Mentally, he could feel the Zac’s treasure dodging him, eluding his spell.

There’s an extraneous “the” before “Zac’s.”


He opened his eyes and saw to his surprise that physically it was moving to; swinging in wide arcs away from his reach and towards its owner.

That should be “...moving too, swinging in...”


He dropped his hand and the charm returned to its normal path, back and forth, from the full length of the chain.

The last bit here was a little unclear; I’d word it as “...swinging back and forth along the full length of the chain.”


“Objects can't think, but they know whom they belong to. If someone unknown tries to vanish them, they will resist.”

Hrm...interesting concept, that. I’m looking forward to whatever you have in mind for this...


“People would be walking around stealing left right and centre and getting away with it, scott free!”

There should be a comma after “around,” and in this context, I think that should be “scot.”


“As time passes, whatever type of limited will it has, forgets.”

I’d word this as “...limited will it has begins to forget.”


“It simply forgets its past, and begins to accustom itself with you.”

“Accustom itself with you” should have “to” instead of “with.” Also, I’d replace this use of “forgets,” since there’s another one in the preceding sentence, with something else, perhaps “loses touch with its past.”


“Very soon; it's yours.”

The semicolon here should be a comma.


“But eventually you will be able to vanish it as easy as any other possession.”

That should be “...as easily as any other possession.”


“Some are so strong they'll never be vanished. It's like they know that if they allow it, they may be forgotten and they’ll never see the light of day again.”

Ah yes...eccentric, ornery and at times violent objects. So much fun...




“Especially weapons, they are the most dangerous.”

That should be worded as “...weapons, because they are...”


“Like a childhood bully that constantly calls you worthless, slowly, over time, the object will get you.”

Hrm...would this simile mean anything to Mortis, given his background?


“You pick up the wrong item” he tapped his head again; “it might just be the end of you.”

I’d replace the semicolon after “again” with a comma, and add “and” to the start of the second spoken bit. Also, there should be a comma after “item,” inside the quotes.


A compass, one of Zac's writing and drawing tools, sporting two needles at the end of each arm.

Maybe it’s just me, but all the drawing compasses I’ve seen have a point on one end and a pencil tip or something like that on the other, not two points per arm.


Zac laughed at the concern on his pupils face.

That should be “pupil’s.”


He straightened, still staring at the blade with pure detest.

“Detest” can’t be used as a noun. The proper form is “detestation,” but that sounds a bit long here...“disgust,” maybe?


“Each one that steps up to the throne claims you as his own, and you drive him further down the path of greed for your own enjoyment.”

That should be “Each one who...”


If someone had come in they would have believed him mad.

There should be a comma after “in.”


Its own feelings were in the air.

I’d try to describe this in a bit more detail, personally. This is more or less the high point of this chapter, considering what you’ve been building up, so the more vivid and engaging you can make it, the better.


It wasn't rejected, or even angered at losing out to a stronger mind.

Technically, it was “rejected”; did you mean “dejected,” perhaps?


It wasn't a memory, merely an image to emphasize its point.

The second half of this sentence sounds a bit redundant; it can’t be a memory since Mortis isn’t human. I’d replace it with what it felt like to Mortis; maybe it feels like a dream, in that it’s somehow familiar, and yet also unreal.


Mortis was beginning to slip again, reach with his mind.

I’d spend more time on building up a back-and-forth between Mortis and the sword; after all, that’s what the rest of this chapter seemed to be setting up. As it is, it felt over too soon.


“You never know with these kidnappers, they can stab you in the back faster then empty your pockets of gold...”

The comma after “kidnappers” should be a semicolon.


The blade intensified its efforts.

Again, I’d try to describe this in more detail. If this is its last big push, it’d probably be a good idea to make Mortis feel that, and pass that on to the reader as well.


“Every bit as corrupt and greed filled as the Sultan himself?” Mortis finished out loud.

I’d change “greed filled” to just “greedy”; it sounds a bit stronger to me.

Anyway, I like the ideas you’re bringing into play here, and I think they should make for some interesting further chapters. With some more cleaning and a renewed focus on the end, this should be a strong introduction for those concepts. Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Whoa. Long long long time no post. thanks so much for the review Revenants Knight, i hope you're still existant on the forum and haven't run off to pursue some profitable life or something :P
Anyway I'm back now, and the updates will be consistant again.

*********

Rise and fall. Rise and fall. Five horses, pounding across the desert. Rise and fall. Under the cover of night they rode; the Sultan in the middle, four stony faced and silent guards surrounding him.

Abdullah Hassani rode with a grace expected from someone of majesty. Someone who’d been trained by professionals at an early age, someone who could afford luxuries like that as well as a horse birthed from the purest of thoroughbreds. He didn’t even need to think about moving in time with his steed, his subconscious did it all for him.

Which was good, because his mind was elsewhere.

Blasted spoilt insolent child. Contemptuous seed of his mother’s womb. Ever since Jerhyn had reached the age when he was legally allowed to assume royal duties – commanding guards, slaves, and influencing his decisions on the city – he’d been nothing but trouble.
Help the homeless? Provide loans for struggling business owners, straight from the palace reserves?!

Hassani was mad. Furious. Where did his son think money came from? Thin air? The boy hadn’t done a days labour in his whole life; he didn’t know the meaning of real work.
The fact that the Sultan had led an equally leisure filled life never crossed his mind. He was seething, all thoughts on his son. Plotting, thinking, churning.

He blamed most of the boy’s insolence on his mother. She had been a beautiful harem girl; young, free willed, and had a passion for people. It was what drew Abdullah to her. But he let himself be woed by her charms, and didn’t realise the effect having a women like this for his Queen would have on his own rule.

She too wanted to use the taxes to help the community. No matter how hard he tried to explain, it never seemed to get through that they were not obligated to do so. The people paid their taxes for the mere privilege of living in the city - if it wasn’t for his family they’d be fending for themselves out on the dunes.

But she did it anyway, trafficking money right under his nose. When he discovered the reserves had been dwindling, he immediately suspected it, but instead opted to remain silent. He arranged for his young bride to visit her family, far off in Khanduras.

He smiled silently to himself in the moonlight as they cantered over the sands. Sabre Cats were dangerous adversaries, but even they could be persuaded to put aside old grudges if the price was right. No one would ever find his wife’s caravan, that he was sure.

The cliffs of the canyon were drawing near, and he knew the Desert Oasis and Human Zoo lay beyond. Tonight he would be careful about the choosing of his slaves; the last ones were weak and far too obedient. Half the pleasure of having slaves was the chore of breaking them. To Hell with the whines of his son, the Zoo came too seldom to pass up such opportunities.

He patted the sword hanging at his belt. Though they supplied him with workers, and gratefully took the gold that he offered, the Keepers of the Zoo’s were not to be trusted. He always took guards, and never went unarmed. Rarely did he take out his family sword, however. It swung loosely on his leg, hilt rising enough with the movement of the horse to reveal the glint of blade inside its sheath.

It was ancient, found on the battlefield of a war long forgotten. Passed down in his family for generations by the great Ali Baba Hassani. And tonight, for some strange reason, he’d felt compelled to take it with him. It felt wrong at first; surely the sight of such a unique weapon would only make the Zoo Keepers even more dangerous. But then he knew that nothing could stand against him while he held that sword. He was a Sultan after all, blessed with the innate ability to fight with skills far beyond the common ruffian. If they attacked him, they would fall by his blade, and that was all.

Darkness passed over him as they entered the canyon. The black, jagged rocks protruding from the walls yearned for the taste of horse-flesh, but the guards knew better. They’d ridden this pass many times, and even in darkness they could navigate more then safely. Stars shone through the long, thin gap high above. Hassani scanned the cliff edges, beginning to feel at peace, the rage towards his son subsiding.

Something caught his eye. A silhouette, briefly back dropped by stars, leaning down the canyon towards them. Then it was gone.

A surge of fear passed through him, but it didn’t feel like his own. It came from elsewhere, an outside influence. The sword swung lazily by his leg. The fear lessened, but still remained.

The horse’s steps faltered, slowing from a constant gallop to an uneasy trot. The guards grunted with confusion as they fought with the reigns and spurred into their steed’s flanks. Hassani’s own horse snorted defiantly, aware of the same presence scaring the others but determined not to back down.

A guard cried out as his horse reared high, braying and champing at the bit. It reared again, grappling with invisible hands, and the guard began to fall. But he never hit the ground. A sound like swooping bats echoed down the canyon, and with a rush of wind the guard was snatched out of the air and carried high. Hassani gasped, while the others began to panic.

They watched the two forms; one the flailing guard, the other a huge, winged creature, flying high above the cliffs. Then the guard was released and he fell screaming onto the cliff’s edge and out of sight.

Abdullah barked some orders and his three remaining men dismounted or tumbled off their steeds. The horses brayed gratefully for their new found freedom, and fled away into the darkness. The guards raised their spears and surrounded the dark stallion upon which their Sultan sat. All was silent.

The winged beast had disappeared as quickly as it came, but the guards remained focused on the sky.

(“What is it?”)

(“Where’s it gone?”)

(“I can’t see… it could be anywhere!)

The whispers were urgent, wavering with concern. Abdullah could see their nervous movements as they scanned the stars. One of them stepped forward suddenly, his voice rising.

“It is a demon. It knows what we’ve done; what we’ve been doing. It is retribution on wings!”

“Hold your tongue, soldier” Hassani growled. “It is within our rights –“

“Tell that to the beast!” the guard cried, dropping his spear and pointing to the sky. “He’s come to punish us. There will be no mer –“

A shadow on the cliff lashed out, hooking its fingers under the man’s jaw. The other guards yelled and hurled their spears as their companion’s body was lifted off its feet, but both projectiles hit only stone. The unfortunate victim kicked and gurgled as he was hauled up the cliff, before his jaw snapped apart and he fell. The Sultan allowed himself a sickened groan as the body tumbled back down and hit the sand, spewing vomit and blood in an unstoppable gush.

“The devil is upon us!” cried a remaining guard, and fled the way of the horses. On the sand, the jawless man was trying in vain to crawl after him, but soon collapsed again. His dead eyes glinted dimly in the starlight, appearing to stare straight at the Sultan. Abdullah shifted in his saddle and turned to the last of his men.

“Defend your Sultan. Defend your honour. Die well: your family will be rewarded.”
With that he spurred his stallion and galloped down the dark canyon path. The Zoo Keepers would help him. He’d make them pay if they didn’t.

*

Karhal turned in a slow circle and studied the cliffs. Every ridge or stony abnormality seemed to pose a threat. He’d picked up his spear again and now held it out before him, its sharp tip glowing in the darkness.

He was a big man, and a rigorous training routine ensured he was in peak physical condition. His skill with a spear was almost unmatched among the ranks of the Sultans guards. But the thing he was fighting wasn’t a man, and it was a lot more agile then him. His only hope was that his keen eyes would detect its movement before it crept up on him.

In the distance, far down the path from whence they’d come, a scream echoed and then was cut short. Karhal grinned silently to himself. At least the cowardly worm had got his just deserves. He’d never liked men who ran from a fight.

Silence once more. He was the last, the only, the bait for the thing in the shadows. He sneered in the dark, baring his teeth.

“Show yourself, creature. Fight me, man to beast. Let me die the glorious, battle-filled death I desire.”

When no reply came, he turned around fast, still scanning the cliffs.

“Creature? Creature! I’m warning y -”

-THUMP-

Something very large landed heavily a few feet away from him, sending up a cloud of sand. It squatted, wings folded protectively around its head until the cloud had settled. Then it slowly stood up.

Karhal gaped.
“Dune Hunter…? I thought it might have been, but then I thought even you wouldn’t be crazy enough to assault the Sultan directly.”

“Karhal. Good to see you again, but I would have preferred it under different circumstances.”

The big man jammed his spear forcefully into the sand and leaned on it.
“Indeed. So: you going to kill me now?”

“That would depend. You follow and serve the Sultan. Do you believe what he does is right?”

“What? You mean getting his slaves from the Human Zoo? He’s scum. My own nephew was captured and sold by that wretched business, and if I could I’d kill every last one of them. Alas, it’s kinda hard to do that and keep a low profile in a small city like Lut Gholein. No, I hate the Sultan for collaborating with those bastards, but I really have no other choice. Protect him or starve. It’s an unfortunate fact.”

The Dune Hunter strode over to him, his long shadow and sizeable wings almost filling the path. His golden eyes shone; the only visible part of his face. But soft chuckling told Karhal that his approach was not hostile.

“Good” Mortis said, “That’s what I wanted to hear.” He took the spear carefully from the human’s hands and snapped its tip from the sturdy pole. “Go home now, Karhal. That’s a better reward for your family then anything the Sultan could have offered.”

Karhal stared at the demons glowing eyes for a minute, then took a step back.
“Make his death swift, Dune Hunter” he said, bowing his head. “And if you can, kill a few of the Zoo Keepers while you’re at it.”

They both turned at the same time, and headed opposite ways down the canyon path.

“Don’t worry” Mortis’s voice echoed down towards Karhal, “They’ve already been taken care of.”

*

The horse’s breath came out in short, moisture-filled snorts. White foam frothed from its mouth, coming off in chunks and leaving a white flecked trail along the path they’d come. The Sultan rode atop his steed with a desperate determination, not daring to look behind. The canyon would end shortly, and then he would be safe.

As if in answer to his thoughts, he burst forth into bright moonlight, leaving the jagged cliffs at last. The desert opened up before him, a glistening silver sea rolling on forever. Palm trees marked the location of the Desert Oasis, not far ahead, and in front of them sat the large barred carriages of the Human Zoo. Abdullah relaxed at last, feeling the tension seep gratefully from his muscles.

But as he drew closer, he could tell something wasn’t right here either. Nothing was stirring around the cages. Usually it was hive of activity. Nor were there any wails from the distressed and angry slaves.

He pulled the horse to a jarring halt when he saw the figures lying on the sand, dark puddles leaking out from them. The bars on the cages had been wrenched apart brutally and the slaves set free. He already knew it was too late. Every keeper had been slaughtered, either by the creature or by the slaves themselves once it had freed them. He dismounted and cautiously went to investigate.

The keepers had been bludgeoned or clawed, some tossed into carriages or high into the air so they’d landed at strange angles. All the horses had been taken, and hoof prints led off in the various directions of the homelands those who rode them had been stolen from. He snarled, angry at the fact that he’d lost so many men and slaves in such a short space of time. The creature would pay; he’d make sure of it. The rage was building, fuelled from somewhere within.

Kill the creature. Then hunt down every one of those fleeing slaves and kill them too. Hell, while he was at it he should probably go back to the palace and chop up his insolent son, just to prove his point. No one was going to stand against him. Man or beast, they would fall.

And then he heard it. The sound, ever so softly, like bats gliding on the breeze. It was coming closer, from behind him, and fast. Time slowed. The sound of his own heart thudded in his ears. Breathing seemed oddly loud. His hand was drawn inexplicably towards his side, where it found the hilt of his sword. It was pulsing too, in time with his heart.

The sound came closer. Not yet. Closer. Wait until it is upon us. So close. …Us? The time was now. NOW!

Hassani drew the sword and spun, slashing with all the strength he had. The blade struck something hard, digging deep, and then it sliced through and was free again. There was a cry and a large shape hurtled over him, smashing into the remains of the Zoo cages beyond. Dark droplets sprayed into the air and dripped from his sword. Abdullah felt a grim pleasure sweep over him.

“Hah! So you dare attack a Sultan from behind? How does my blade feel to you, creature? Does its bite burn as bad as the defeat you just faced?”

He wiped the sword with his fingers and flicked them to the sand. Then he advanced on the wreckage his attacker had barrelled into. It was at his mercy now. Man or beast, they would fall before the Sultan of Lut Gholein.

[RevenantsKnight]

Well, it’s been a while, but I think I remember most of what happened, since this made pretty good sense to me in terms of the plot. It’s definitely headed in an interesting direction, and though I’m pretty sure I can figure out what’s going to go down in the end, the how of that is something that I suspect might be rather entertaining. The action itself, though, felt a bit, well, lacking in urgency, which may or may not be what you had in mind; it reads as if Mortis is just playing with the Sultan and his guards, which seems likely, though it also doesn’t really grip the reader very strongly because it never really builds up. Also, Karhal’s position with regard to this whole matter felt perhaps too perfect; honestly, the chances of him knowing Mortis somewhat well, being an excellent fighter and getting a relative taken as a slave all in one life don’t seem particularly high, especially since the first two would discourage the third. Some specific comments:


Rise and fall. Rise and fall. Five horses, pounding across the desert. Rise and fall.

Maybe I’m just being thick, but why use “Rise and fall” three times here? It’s not really clear to what they relate, though I can guess that you were meaning them to describe either the horses or their riders. Either way, it seems a bit unnecessary to mention it three times, given this ambiguity.


Under the cover of night they rode; the Sultan in the middle, four stony faced and silent guards surrounding him.

I’d word this as “...rode, with the Sultan...,” because the segment after the semicolon doesn’t seem like a complete sentence on its own. Also, that should be “stony-faced.”


He didn’t even need to think about moving in time with his steed, his subconscious did it all for him.

“Subconscious” felt too technical to me; it’s not really a concept that should be in their language at this time, so I’d express this in a longer and more descriptive manner, such as “...steed; it was natural as breathing to him.” Additionally, I’d suggest writing out contractions, because the short form is usually typical of conversational English, not narration. For example, “didn’t” should become “did not.”


Blasted spoilt insolent child.

That should be “spoiled,” I think.


Ever since Jerhyn had reached the age when he was legally allowed to assume royal duties – commanding guards, slaves, and influencing his decisions on the city – he’d been nothing but trouble.
Help the homeless?

That should be “...the age where...,” and the “his decisions” reads as if you mean Jerhyn’s decisions, which seems wrong. As mentioned above, I’d suggest also that you avoid contractions, such as “he’d,” in narration. Finally, I think you need a line break in between sentences here.


Provide loans for struggling business owners, straight from the palace reserves?!

Er...that wasn’t a common practice for lords in medieval or Renaissance times, I don’t think (though I could very well be wrong.) This might be too modern a solution for the setting.


The boy hadn’t done a days labour in his whole life; he didn’t know the meaning of real work.
The fact that the Sultan had led an equally leisure filled life never crossed his mind.

That should be “day’s.” Also, there should be a line break between these sentences.


She had been a beautiful harem girl; young, free willed, and had a passion for people.

I’d change the semicolon to a colon here and reword the end as “...free willed, with a passion...” because as it is now, the second part isn’t a complete sentence, so this isn’t correct.


It was what drew Abdullah to her.

I’m not entirely sure about this, but since this all happened in the past relative to this moment in the story, which is told in the past tense, it seems like this sentence, and the rest of the narration down to where it returns to the current moment, should be in the past perfect (so this should read as “It was what had drawn Abdullah to her.”) It does read OK, if a little dryly, as it is, though.


But he let himself be woed by her charms, and didn’t realise the effect having a women like this for his Queen would have on his own rule.

That should be “wooed” and “...a woman like her...” Also, while I get that she isn’t the focus of this chapter, it couldn’t hurt to describe her a little bit more, since then it not only makes her more human and him more despicable, but also gives this part a bit more weight. As it is, it feels like a rather factual and cold reporting of some backstory, and is hard to get into.


No one would ever find his wife’s caravan, that he was sure.

That should be “...caravan; of that, he was sure.”


The cliffs of the canyon were drawing near, and he knew the Desert Oasis and Human Zoo lay beyond.

I wouldn’t capitalize “Desert Oasis” here, because then it makes it seem as if there’s only one desert oasis, or that this one is special in some way, “the” desert oasis, if you catch my meaning. Even if that is what you meant, it seems like a bad place to do some shady dealing.


Half the pleasure of having slaves was the chore of breaking them.

“Chore” sounded wrong to me, given the context of the sentence. I’d use maybe “task” or “job.”


To Hell with the whines of his son, the Zoo came too seldom to pass up such opportunities.

The comma after “son” should be a semicolon, and “too seldom” seemed wrong here...perhaps “too rarely” would work, though maybe what you have would too.


Though they supplied him with workers, and gratefully took the gold that he offered, the Keepers of the Zoo’s were not to be trusted.

That should be “Zoo.” There’s only one Zoo, so “Keepers” is enough, and as far as I know, apostrophe-s never indicates plurality.


It swung loosely on his leg, hilt rising enough with the movement of the horse to reveal the glint of blade inside its sheath.

I think that should be “the glint of the blade.”


Passed down in his family for generations by the great Ali Baba Hassani.

Hrm...now how could this one person pass the blade down over generations?


He was a Sultan after all, blessed with the innate ability to fight with skills far beyond the common ruffian.

That should be “...skills far beyond those of the common ruffian,” because as it is, it compares skills to a person, which doesn’t seem right.


The black, jagged rocks protruding from the walls yearned for the taste of horse-flesh, but the guards knew better.

Nicely phrased here.


They’d ridden this pass many times, and even in darkness they could navigate more then safely.

That should be “...more than safely.” “Than” with an “a” is used for comparisons.


A silhouette, briefly back dropped by stars, leaning down the canyon towards them.

“To backdrop” technically isn’t a verb, so I’d suggest rewording this so that it sticks to “defined” words, such as “Against the backdrop of stars, a silhouette leaned down for a moment...” If you do keep it, though, it should be one word.


A surge of fear passed through him, but it didn’t feel like his own.

Hrm...curious; you’ve got my attention with this. It’d be stronger, though, if you followed up a little bit on the unusual nature of the situation and described what he felt and why it “didn’t feel like his own”; as it is, it felt like you were starting into something that could be pretty interesting and then backed out.


It came from elsewhere, an outside influence.

This seems a bit redundant, as well as obvious given the context. I’d drop it entirely, but that’s just me.


The horse’s steps faltered, slowing from a constant gallop to an uneasy trot.

That should be “horses’,” if there’s more than one horse.


The guards grunted with confusion as they fought with the reigns and spurred into their steed’s flanks.

That should be “steeds’,” similar to the above comment.


It reared again, grappling with invisible hands, and the guard began to fall.

A bit of confusion on a first read: it never stopped rearing the first time, so seeing “again” felt as if you’d skipped some frames in a movie. It’s a rather minor quibble, though.


They watched the two forms; one the flailing guard, the other a huge, winged creature, flying high above the cliffs. Then the guard was released and he fell screaming onto the cliff’s edge and out of sight.

Hrm...for something that should be action, this really didn’t do much in terms of holding me in. I think a lot of that has to do with the neutral feel of this and the passive voice; both of those don’t exactly contribute to a sense of action and urgency. For example, there’s no sense of what the Sultan and his guards felt as they watch in the first sentence; while the reader can draw some likely conclusions from the context, he or she probably won’t feel the same gut reaction as if the scene were playing itself out right there. While there are a number of techniques to do this, they all more or less require more detail, be it on what’s happening, on what’s going through the characters’ heads, or whatever.


The horses brayed gratefully for their new found freedom, and fled away into the darkness.

“Newfound” is one word.


“Hold your tongue, soldier” Hassani growled.

There should be a comma after “soldier,” inside the quotes.


The other guards yelled and hurled their spears as their companion’s body was lifted off its feet, but both projectiles hit only stone. The unfortunate victim kicked and gurgled as he was hauled up the cliff, before his jaw snapped apart and he fell. The Sultan allowed himself a sickened groan as the body tumbled back down and hit the sand, spewing vomit and blood in an unstoppable gush.

The repeated sentence structure here made this feel like a list to me. I’d suggest varying this up a bit, because the monotonous feel does prevent the action from really coming through. Let me know if you want specific suggestions.


Abdullah shifted in his saddle and turned to the last of his men.

“Last of his men” seemed to imply more than one to me, and there’s only Karhal left by my count. I’d just say “last guard” or something.


Every ridge or stony abnormality seemed to pose a threat.

Again, this felt a bit too factual for a tense scene.


He’d picked up his spear again and now held it out before him, its sharp tip glowing in the darkness.

I’d write out the contraction here, and “glowing” doesn’t follow logically from “sharp.” Unless you were hinting that his weapon was enchanted or something, I don’t think “glowing” would work, because it suggests that the tip is a light source. Even if that was what you meant, I’d try to find a less confusing way to say it.


In the distance, far down the path from whence they’d come, a scream echoed and then was cut short.

I’d write out “they’d” as “they had.”


At least the cowardly worm had got his just deserves.

That should be “just desserts.”


Karhal gaped.
“Dune Hunter…?”

The big man jammed his spear forcefully into the sand and leaned on it.
“Indeed. So: you going to kill me now?”

I’d get rid of the returns at the end of the first sentence in each pair, and either put each one on a single line or put a full line between them.


His golden eyes shone; the only visible part of his face.

I’d reword this to something like “His golden eyes, all Karhal could see of his face, shone in the darkness,” because as it is, the semicolon doesn’t work.


“Good” Mortis said, “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

There should be a comma after “Good,” inside the quotes, and the comma after “said” should be a period.


“That’s a better reward for your family then anything the Sultan could have offered.”

That should be “...than anything the Sultan...”


Karhal stared at the demons glowing eyes for a minute, then took a step back.
“Make his death swift, Dune Hunter” he said, bowing his head.

I’d get rid of the single return between these two sentences, and “demons” should be “demon’s.”


“Don’t worry” Mortis’s voice echoed down towards Karhal, “They’ve already been taken care of.”

There should be a comma after “worry,” inside the quotes, and the comma after “Karhal” should be a period.


The desert opened up before him, a glistening silver sea rolling on forever.

“Silver” threw me, because the desert sand in the game is yellowish, and something yellowish usually doesn’t turn silver in darkness.


Abdullah relaxed at last, feeling the tension seep gratefully from his muscles.

Grammatically, “gratefully” here modifies how the tension left him, and it seemed rather odd to personify that tension. I wasn’t sure if you were trying to say that Abdullah felt grateful (which in itself sounds a little off) so I’d recommend rewording this entirely.


He already knew it was too late.

Seems like this should come before you really start into the scene around him...maybe that’s just me, though.


The keepers had been bludgeoned or clawed, some tossed into carriages or high into the air so they’d landed at strange angles.

I’d write this out as “they had,” not “they’d.”


All the horses had been taken, and hoof prints led off in the various directions of the homelands those who rode them had been stolen from.

The end of this sentence doesn’t read very well; while I get what you meant by it, this felt too wordy, as well as grammatically convoluted. I’d word this as something like “...homelands of the newly freed slaves” for simplicity’s sake, and assume that the reader can pick up on everything from that and the context.


Hell, while he was at it he should probably go back to the palace and chop up his insolent son, just to prove his point.

The tone of this sentence sounded very out of place with the rest of the story; I get that the sword’s beginning to increase its influence over him, but this seemed too far from both the fact-heavy narration and the Sultan’s more controlled thoughts from before.


The sound, ever so softly, like bats gliding on the breeze.

Since “softly” modifies a noun in this case (the sound,) it should be in adjective form, or “soft.”


Breathing seemed oddly loud.

This felt out of place with the rest of the paragraph, which in general is a pretty good setup for the battle, because this is vague and passive. For me, “seemed” doesn’t really create an image in the same way “His heart pounded in his ears” does, so I’d suggest trying to work up a more evocative description here.


His hand was drawn inexplicably towards his side, where it found the hilt of his sword.

Hrm...it didn’t seem that inexplicable to me, considering as he knows what’s happening and the sword is the best weapon he has.


The blade struck something hard, digging deep, and then it sliced through and was free again.

I’d remove the use of the passive voice (“was free again”); it’s generally not conducive to a faster-paced, tense action scene.


“Does its bite burn as bad as the defeat you just faced?”

That should be “...as badly...” since it modifies “burns,” which is a verb.


It was at his mercy now. Man or beast, they would fall before the Sultan of Lut Gholein.

That should be “Man or beast, it would fall...” to be parallel with the first sentence and its use of “it.”

Overall, this felt a bit too distant for my tastes, in that the action reads much more like a retelling than as if the scene was actually happening right in front of me. Whether or not such a change would be better or not is certainly a stylistic and subjective call, but I would argue that it’d have more of an effect on the reader that way. Sorry for not posting this sooner (unfortunately, this may be typical for the next few months or so.) Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Once again my many thanks. You're reviews are as helpful and enlightening as always, and my skills will only improve with your guidance.
Course, there are some things that i wish to keep the way they are, simply cause that's how i myself lik to see them written that way. But you never actually say "it has to be done like this" which is also good :)

However, if you don't like the 'rushed' feel of some parts, you probably won't like the last part of Contract 2. But we'll see

*******

*

Mortis groaned and pulled a large splinter from his side. Only seconds before he’d been bearing down on Hassani, ready to fulfil the contract. Then the man had spun so fast and so late that it was impossible for Mortis to dodge that cursed blade. He touched the deep gouge in his chest and grimaced. It wasn’t serious, but it hurt like Hell.

Not far off, the Sultan was shouting incoherent things like a loon, his brief success probably exhilarating him. Mortis would put an end to that fast enough, as soon as he could pick his way out of the wreckage. He groaned again as he tossed a heavy metal bar off his legs and removed some wood pinning his wings. The Sultan was walking towards him now, swinging that sword wildly and screaming.

“Flee creature, flee! Crawl back to the cesspit you came from. Run from Hassani!” There was a madness in is eyes that wasn’t human. Mortis knew the sword was in control now.

He heaved himself up painfully and leapt from the wreckage onto the roof of one of the intact cages. There he knelt, breathing hard and slowing the flow of blood from his wound. The Sultan reached the cages base and screamed up at him.

“Come down, vile beast! Fight me!”

Mortis glared at him through narrowed eyes.
“I would, but I would not be fighting you.”

“Devil talk. Your words mean nothing to me!”

“Feel the rage, Hassani. Is that really your own? Do you really believe that you could take on a Balrog and live?”

“I would take on the Lords of Hell if I could! I am the Sultan. All will fear me!”

Mortis sighed and leaned down towards him.
“If that’s what you wish, then –“

“It is! FIGHT ME!”

Abdullah swung the sword and smashed the base of the cage in half. It collapsed in on itself, almost taking Mortis with it. Instead he jumped off and glided to the side, where he hit the sand and came up in a defensives stance.

The Sultan gave an angry scream and charged towards him, slashing and hacking. Mortis easily dodged the first blows, swatting the sword away each time it rang close. He lashed out with a well aimed kick and took the feet out from under the crazed man.

Hassani hit the sand and rolled, leaping back up again in an instant. Mortis was impressed.
“Not bad for a fat man.”

The Sultan growled loudly and came for another charge, and Mortis parried and ducked, toying with him. The man was tiring, the sword was heavy, and soon he could end this contract with ease.

“Give up, Hassani. Give up and you’ll die faster. You’re only prolonging things.”

“Shut up devil, silence your cursed words. Die by my blade and be grateful you had the honour!”

He swung in a wide arc, and Mortis caught his arm at the elbow. They wrestled unmoving for a second, each trying to overpower the other, until Mortis began to squeeze.

“Unhand me, beast! Unhan- aah.. ARHH!”

With a loud crack the Sultans elbow splintered and his arm went limp. Mortis released him and watched as he stumbled back, dropping the sword to the sand and holding his useless hand.

“You… you monster… you vile, wretched…” something changed in his features, and he blinked, as if he was seeing things clearly. He glanced around him at the remains of the Zoo, then at the great winged demon before him. Real fear filled his eyes.

“Wh-what… y-you… by the gods!” The Sultan turned to flee, but Mortis was on him in an instant. He drove a light punch into the mans stomach to quell his movements, then held him up straight.

“So, now you see, Hassani. Now you see what before was clouded.”

The Sultan merely stared at him, struggling to recover from his winding. Mortis drew his face in close.

“The sword. Its will is stronger then yours; it’s stronger then any of your past blood. Your families decay and corruption amuses it, and I believe you’ve been a fantastic puppet so far.” He pointed to the blade lying innocently on the sand. “It’s had you, Hassani, fuelling your emotions and driving your greed.”

The Sultan regained his voice.
“Yes... yes! It was the sword! Oh gods, I see now. Please, take it away from me. That cursed sword has destroyed my family. Take it away!”

Mortis smiled and his grip on the man’s shoulder tightened.
“That might be so. But the sword does not drive one to buy from the Human Zoo. That was you, and your own loathsome desires. You aren’t fit to rule, and from what I’ve seen, your son is a far better man anyway.”

“The boy? You’re mad! He’s weak, useless -”

“He cares about the people, which is what a Sultan should do. Not use the taxes to furnish his own selfish wants. You will not be missed, Hassani.”

The man gulped, then glared defiantly into his assailants eyes.
“You are the Dune Hunter. Though I’ve never seen you, I recognise you from the stories. You won’t get away with it” he hissed, “People will suspect you. You’ll never be welcome in our city again.”

Mortis brought his face close to the Sultans ear.
”Oh, I think they’ll understand. Especially when they find your corpse beside those of the Human Zoo. And one final thing Hassani” his voice became low and sinister, “I’ve been to Hell. You’re wife isn’t waiting for you there.”

He punched his hand deep into the human’s stomach and kept on pushing. The Sultans eyes grew wide and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Mortis took hold of the vitals inside and yanked, pulling his arm and a fair amount of internal organs out with it.

The Sultans staggered, staring in horror at his own insides, before desperately trying to push them back in with his one good hand.
“Won’t… get… away…” he gasped, falling to his knees. “Will…… pay.”

With a heavy thud he fell to the sand, face buried deep. Mortis stepped on his head to drive it in further.
“Yes, paid a lot in fact.” He stooped to pull an emblem off the Sultans turban as proof. “Money well earned, I believe.”

Moonlight trickled down, the stars twinkled excitedly. A slain ruler lay among the corpses of evil men, where he belonged. The contract was fulfilled, but the task not fully complete. The demon had one final job to do, as he faced the sword for the last time. He wasn’t going to lose.

“I mentioned that if the Sultan brought you, it’d be the last human company you’d see for a long time.” Mortis knelt down beside the blade and whispered. “I feel you’re fear. You know your fate.”

‘You can’t destroy me. Nobody can. You don’t want to. You aren’t strong enough.’

“I don’t need to destroy you,” Mortis spoke, “just hide you somewhere humans will never find you again.” Using a piece of cloth, he scooped up the sword and cradled it, making sure not to touch the cold steel.

“And I know just the place.”

*

The gaping hole in the sand yawned at them, a perfectly formed burrow heading down for an unknown length of space. Mortis stood at its entrance and smiled.

“I’m sure you’ll find ways to entertain yourself. The minds of Sand Maggotts are easily broken.”

‘You can’t throw me down there. You won’t. You can’t. You won’t. You can’t. You-‘

“I can, and I will.”

‘Can’t. WON’T. CAN’T. WON’T!’

The force was unbearable, so desperate was the blade to escape its fate it was trying to break Mortis mind apart more then persuade him. He could feel it beating and tearing for all it was worth. He shook his head, trying to clear its influence.

“Can…. and will…”

‘YOU ARE MINE’

“To Hell with you, sword.”

He bundled it up in the cloth and hurled it, a perfect throw down the angle of the tunnel. He listened to it whizzing and skimming, grinding sand from the walls as it slid further down into the Maggott’s darkest lairs. When he could at last hear no more, he was satisfied.

He sighed and dusted the dust from his hands. The wound on the side of his chest stung, but it was healing. He was feeling that strange fulfilment that always occurred after a successful job, as well as the adrenalin slowly seeping away.

Hassani would be found; that he was sure of. But lying next to the ruins of a business as abominable as the Human Zoo would destroy any creditability he had left. Even if the town did suspect Mortis, they would only assume he had a contract on the Zoo and the Sultan had got in the way. Besides, he liked the idea of leaving the man’s corpse to become bloated in the sun, and for the vultures to feast on his remains. It seemed somehow fitting.

His final words he had been quite proud of as well, though in truth he had no idea if the Sultan’s wife had avoided the eternal torments of Hell. It wasn’t like he’d been back to check since he left so long ago. That didn’t matter of course, it was the grim satisfaction that came from the Sultans final expression that made the sentiment worthwhile.

Mortis checked to make sure the Sultans emblem sat tightly in his pocket, and took to the air. It would be a nice, leisurely flight back to Lut Gholein, and then he could sit and have a drink with Atma and her husband. Perhaps even have a game with Elzix, though he knew the old rogue would cheat. Braca would meet him on the boat, and tomorrow they would travel to –

“FOOL! Ignorant, useless fool! What have you done?? You’ve spoilt EVERYthing.”

Mortis came to an abrupt halt mid-air, hovering and looking around urgently. The voice had been within his mind, and for a second he thought the sword may have been calling him from beyond its grave. But this was far different. This was an actual voice, not one he believed he heard. This was a person, contacting him through means similar to the way the Hell Lords controlled their minions.

“Who are you? Where are you?” he spoke to thin air.

“You ruined it! Ruined it ALL! My plans, my beautiful plans.”

“Stop your whining and answer me!”

“Fool, fool, foo- … hmmmm… yes… yyeesssss…perhaps it’s not too late to remedy this. You may be of more use then I thought.”

The voice suddenly became more formal, as if the whole time it had been speaking to itself more then Mortis. Its words sounded sinister, but not hostile.

“I apologise for that earlier outburst. You are the Dune Hunter, are you not?”

“Yes, I am. Who are you?”

“Not of your concern. Now I shall state my demand:
You have committed an act of murder, for which I have witnessed every moment. Should you fail to complete the task I am about to set you, I will not hesitate to spread the details of the deaths of the guards and the Sultan himself to all in the city. You may believe his affiliation with the Human Zoo is enough to keep you from the wrath of the people, but rumours are easily worded. It isn’t hard to make a justifiable killing sound like a cold blooded slaughter.”

“How dare you threaten me! Come face me yourself –“

“Shut up, I’m not finished. I will not have to do such things if you just do as I say. I too wanted to remove the Sultan, but as you did that first and earlier then I desired, you’ve hampered my plans. Help me execute my new plans, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

Mortis thought about this. The mysterious voice had him in a firm grip. He couldn’t afford rumours to spread around the city; not only would they ruin his friendship with the people it may jeopardise his contract with Braca. It seemed he had no choice.

“Alright,” he said slowly, “I’ll help you. But I expect more information soon.”

“All in due time. I am pleased you have decided to co-operate. Fly back past the canyon to the place the city dubs ‘the Dry Hills’. I will contact you further then.”


*****

So yes, some say the Sultan died to fast. But then, my arguement is that; how much of a match is a tubby man under the influence of a sword against an assasin demon?
And yes, perhaps the sword ended fast too, but it's roll in this part of the story is over. it'll be back, but in the sequel. i didn't want Mortis to waste anymore time with it. Contract 3 is probably my favourite one, and i hope you have time to read this last part. When your ready :) thxs.

[RevenantsKnight]

On your latest installment: no need to get defensive about how you handled it just yet; I thought that it was good in terms of the pacing and the time allotted to the various parts, since the dialogue alone is enough to keep the story going in this case. In general, I liked the first part of this, with Mortis and Hassani, though the bit afterwards leading into the next chapter didn’t quite feel as strong to me; I can’t say exactly why, but I’d guess that it seemed too abrupt. While it’s perfectly fine to leave the reader with questions, it feels like you might have forced this shift in because it needed to happen for reasons of plot. Some specific comments:


Only seconds before he’d been bearing down on Hassani, ready to fulfil the contract.

That should be “fulfill,” and I think you need a comma after “before.”


Then the man had spun so fast and so late that it was impossible for Mortis to dodge that cursed blade.

The wording of this sentence felt a bit awkward to me after “late”; grammatically, I think it should read “...that it had been impossible...” but that seems to clunk a little too. I might try revising this to something like “...spun so fast, too fast for Mortis to dodge...”


Not far off, the Sultan was shouting incoherent things like a loon, his brief success probably exhilarating him.

I’d change “things” to, well, almost anything else...it’s too vague to really fit the tone here. You could just delete it entirely and shuffle the sentence around a little to something like “...the Sultan shouted incoherently...” Also, I’d drop “probably” from the sentence, as I don’t think it’s necessary to qualify such things when said by an omniscient narrator unless you want it to be ambiguous, which doesn’t seem to be the case here.


“Flee creature, flee!”

There should be a comma after the first “flee.”


There was a madness in is eyes that wasn’t human.

That should be “...in his eyes.” Also, this is worth describing a little more; what about it makes it so not human?


The Sultan reached the cages base and screamed up at him.

That should be “cage’s base.”


Mortis glared at him through narrowed eyes.
“I would, but I would not be fighting you.”

I’d put this all on one line; as far as I can tell, there’s no need for the break.


Mortis sighed and leaned down towards him.
“If that’s what you wish, then –“

See above comment.


Instead he jumped off and glided to the side, where he hit the sand and came up in a defensives stance.

That should be “defensive stance.”


Mortis was impressed.
“Not bad for a fat man.”

I think this should be on one line.


“Shut up devil, silence your cursed words.”

Technically, the comma after “devil” should be a semicolon, and there should be another comma after “up.”


They wrestled unmoving for a second, each trying to overpower the other, until Mortis began to squeeze.

“Wrestled unmoving” read weirdly to me; grammatically, it seems as if they were wrestling something called an unmoving. I’d put a comma after “wrestled” to address this.


With a loud crack the Sultans elbow splintered and his arm went limp.

That should be “Sultan’s.” A general note: whenever you’re indicating possession, such as here, use an apostrophe and an “s”; using only an “s” usually makes the plural form.

This mistake comes up a lot in your writing, so I’d like to offer you a little challenge, and you can decide if you’d like to take it up or not: for the next chapter of the story, go through it once you’re done writing it and see if you can use this general guideline to make sure that all such uses are grammatically correct. There’s no real reward for this, other than personal satisfaction, so feel free to ignore it if you are so inclined. If you do decide to try this, let me know.


something changed in his features, and he blinked, as if he was seeing things clearly.

I’d make this all one sentence, and so capitalize “something.” Also, the part after “blinked” seems like fact, really, so I’d suggest just stating it with something like “...blinked, his sight clearing” or replacing it with something more evocative.


He drove a light punch into the mans stomach to quell his movements, then held him up straight.

That should be “man’s.”


The Sultan merely stared at him, struggling to recover from his winding.

“Winding” read oddly to me at first, since there’re other readings of the word. I’d suggest replacing it with something like “...to recover his breath.”


“Your families decay and corruption amuses it, and I believe you’ve been a fantastic puppet so far.”

That should be “family’s.” What you have here is the plural form.


The Sultan regained his voice.
“Yes... yes!”

I’d put this all on one line.


Mortis smiled and his grip on the man’s shoulder tightened.
“That might be so.”

A general note: if you plan to set off quotations from narration, then it’s usually a good idea to put a blank line between them as opposed to just moving the quotation to the next line down, because then it’s easier for the reader to distinguish between them. In some of these cases, it’d also be just fine, if not better in some ways, to just leave everything in the same paragraph. Single uses of the “return” key, though, usually aren’t used for much. I guess, though, that this is a stylistic call, so I’m going to stop mentioning these for the rest of the piece; if you want to change them, go ahead, and if not, you’re probably tired of me bringing this up again.


The man gulped, then glared defiantly into his assailants eyes.

That should be “assailant’s.”


“You won’t get away with it” he hissed, “People will suspect you.”

I’d make the comma after “hissed” a period because the capitalization of “People” suggests that you’re starting a new sentence there, and put another comma after “it,” inside the quotes.


Mortis brought his face close to the Sultans ear.

That should be “Sultan’s,” for possession (his face.)


“And one final thing Hassani” his voice became low and sinister, “I’ve been to Hell. You’re wife isn’t waiting for you there.”

Well, I very much liked Mortis’s words here; nicely done with that. There’re some grammar issues here, though; there should be commas after “thing” and “Hassani,” the second one inside the quotes. Also, “his voice...” read a bit awkwardly given the rest of the sentence and I’d suggest rewording it to something like “he growled, his voice low and sinister,” and “you’re wife” should be “your wife.”


The Sultans eyes grew wide and his mouth opened in a silent scream.

That should be “Sultan’s.”


The Sultans staggered, staring in horror at his own insides, before desperately trying to push them back in with his one good hand.

That should be “Sultan.” And ouch...that’s gotta hurt. Nice detail at the end.


With a heavy thud he fell to the sand, face buried deep. Mortis stepped on his head to drive it in further.

Good extra glimpse of how Mortis acts.


He stooped to pull an emblem off the Sultans turban as proof.

That should be “Sultan’s.”


Moonlight trickled down, the stars twinkled excitedly.

I’d word that as “...down, and the stars...” As it is, the comma should be a semicolon.


“I feel you’re fear.”

That should be “your.” “You’re” is a contraction of “you are,” so unless Mortis is trying to say that the sword is fear (which doesn’t seem to work,) then this is incorrect.


The gaping hole in the sand yawned at them, a perfectly formed burrow heading down for an unknown length of space.

“...length of space” sounded a bit awkward to me; I’d see if you can’t reword this to something a bit tighter, such as “...down to an unknown depth.”


“The minds of Sand Maggotts are easily broken.”

That should be “Maggots.”


The force was unbearable, so desperate was the blade to escape its fate it was trying to break Mortis mind apart more then persuade him.

The comma after “unbearable” should technically be a semicolon, and this sensation is probably worth describing in a bit more detail, since a better image would give a strong idea of exactly what this blade’s capable of doing. If you want this thing to be a powerful beast in a can, then do as much as you can to make that come out in the details.


He listened to it whizzing and skimming, grinding sand from the walls as it slid further down into the Maggott’s darkest lairs.

That should be “Maggots’.”


He sighed and dusted the dust from his hands.

“Dusted the dust” sounded a bit repetitive, as well as odd considering where his hands have just been; maybe “rubbed blood from his hands” would be better considering that he just gutted someone with them.


He was feeling that strange fulfilment that always occurred after a successful job, as well as the adrenalin slowly seeping away.

That should be “fulfillment.”


His final words he had been quite proud of as well, though in truth he had no idea if the Sultan’s wife had avoided the eternal torments of Hell.

I’d word the first part as “He had been quite proud of his final words as well...” because as it is, it sounds a little awkward. It’s not a big deal, though...this is more of an author’s preference choice more than anything.


That didn’t matter of course, it was the grim satisfaction that came from the Sultans final expression that made the sentiment worthwhile.

The comma after “of course” should be a semicolon, and “Sultans” should be “Sultan’s.”


Mortis checked to make sure the Sultans emblem sat tightly in his pocket, and took to the air.

That should be “Sultan’s emblem.”


Mortis came to an abrupt halt mid-air, hovering and looking around urgently.

Minor nitpick: I think that should be “halt in mid-air.”


“Fool, fool, foo- … hmmmm… yes… yyeesssss…perhaps it’s not too late to remedy this. You may be of more use then I thought.”

This isn’t in italics in the original version...may want to change that.


“Now I shall state my demand:
You have committed an act of murder, for which I have witnessed every moment.”

A nitpick: I think that should be “...of which I have witnessed...”


He couldn’t afford rumours to spread around the city; not only would they ruin his friendship with the people it may jeopardise his contract with Braca.

That should be “...people, they might jeopardize...”


“Fly back past the canyon to the place the city dubs ‘the Dry Hills’.”

Pet peeve: “the Dry Hills”...urgh. I’d try to avoid game area names in general, and this one’s so generic anyway that it makes me wonder if the citizens of Lut Gholein speak in monosyllables. While it can’t hurt to give the reader some perspective of where this voice wants Mortis to go, I’d suggest a more descriptive phrasing, such as “...to the sandstone cliffs north of the city.” Not only does it use an original image as opposed to Blizzard’s computer graphics, it sounds more in keeping with the world to me, in that people may not know every bit of geography by name, but they’d certainly recognize things like large rock formations.

Overall, I thought this chapter was all right, and though it needs a dose of grammatical cleaning and such, it read pretty smoothly as it was. Looking forward to Contract 3...if that’s the part you really put yourself into, then it should be interesting indeed. Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Hmmm... mucho mistakoes in that one :S Oh well, lucky we got you here ay :) Thanks ever so much again. I feel the story is beginning to run quite smoothly now.
I agree about the game area names, but Dry Hills was actually one i kinda liked. It's only mentioned twice, i can't seem to think of a way around it, so i guess i'll keep them for now. Contract 3 is bigger again, spanning 27 pages. This post is about 8 pages, so i apologise if it's quite large. Just don't want to take forever to get te whole thing out there. Whenever you have time, RK man :)

Contract 3 – Employer Unknown

Mortis drifted lazily over the dark cliffs below, the gaping black crack in the earth hiding the bodies of those he’d slain in his pursuit of the Sultan. Karhal had hopefully managed to pull up one of the horses for his ride back to the city. It would be a long walk for even the strongest human.

As he cleared the canyon, the great sand dunes of the Dry Hills rose before him. They rolled on forever, like ancient humpbacks in a moistureless sea. The voice had been silent for a while now, giving Mortis time to think about his situation. So many questions already needed answering.

Where was he meant to be going? Who was the owner of the mysterious voice? What was this ‘task’ it was going to set him? And would the boat with Braca and his next contract wait around for him or would they sail, presuming him to be dead by the Sultan’s wilful sword?

A clear snicker revealed that his thoughts were not going unheard.

“My my my, someone sounds like a control freak. Can’t cope with orders when the purpose is unclear, ay? How will you survive in our world?”

“I’ve done fine for more centuries then you’d be willingly to wager on,” Mortis growled. He’d slowed his flight now, awaiting directions.

“Oh, I’d be willing to wager. I know quite a bit about you. Let’s place a bet. How about… five million gold? That’s the reward for the death of the Sultan, is it not?”

Mortis stopped dead again.

“What did you say?”

“Oh you heard, ‘Dune Hunter’. I know aaalll your dirty little secrets, your employers, your contracts.”

“How?”

“Let’s just say the art of mind probing is a rare but useful skill. I didn’t sacrifice a portion of my soul to learn it so that I couldn’t take advantage of it.”

“It sounds like you’ve sacrificed some of your mind as well.”

“Shut up, what would you know.”

There was a long silence, and Mortis was just about to continue over the dunes when the voice spoke again in its formal tone.

”Fly two miles straight then a mile to your left. There you will see a long forgotten tomb. Await further instructions there.”

Mortis did not reply, but obeyed the directions. The starlight was beginning to fade now, with the first rays of dawn creeping over the horizon. He flew calmly, avoiding thought for the time being. How much information the strange voice had dug out of his mind was unfathomable. And dangerous. Thine enemy should never know you better then you know him.

After a calculated judgement and a winged turn to the left, he saw a conspicuous pile of rubble jutting out from the sand in the distance. It sat, dark and jagged, obviously worn by unknown eons of wind and sun. The barely visible doorway, half filled with sand, heralded a decent into darkness.

Mortis landed near the entrance and waited for the voice to return. He leaned against a pile of collapsed stone, wings casually folded near his sides, and began to clean the sand from his nails. It really did get everywhere.

“Wait there,” the voice suddenly boomed, “the tools for your task are on their way.”

Mortis sat up, alert, and scanned the horizon. Something was coming to give him items? Good, maybe he could beat it into telling him who the mysterious voice belonged to.

Nothing came into view for a good many minutes. Then his heightened senses picked up the soft beating of wings and a quiet but constant panting sound. He shielded his eyes from the strange, murky dawn-light and looked to the sky, where he saw a small demon coming his way.

During his long residence in this mortal ruled world, Mortis had rarely seen another demon walking the lands. He found himself staring at the little one coming towards him, as it flapped lightly down at his feet and dropped a scroll. It panted for breath, obviously having flown a long way very fast, and looked up at him curiously.

“You… you demon?!” it said at last in a high, squeaky voice. It really was tiny, perhaps only as big as Mortis’s hand. The shiny red scales covering its skin reflected the dawn light as Mortis stooped to pick it up by the scruff of the neck. It didn’t even attempt to struggle.

“And so are you, my little friend. But what species? I’ve never seen the likes of you in Hell.”

“Hell?! You been to Hell? Oh, the nights I spend wishing I could visit that place.” It was excited, chattering away and tapping its fingernails together; “My master made me. Born from magic, he say. Don’t know much more really.”

“Ahhh… you’re a familiar. Yes I’ve met a wizard or two that claimed they had demons to help them in their spells, but I’d never seen one.”

The familiar’s triangular face peered up at him, the big, black eyes filled with curiosity. Its tiny, razor-sharp fangs protruded from its lips, creating an almost comical buck tooth visage. Mortis turned it around slowly, still holding it by the neck, and frowned.

“But what kind of man can actually summon forth a demon from the mana? This is disturbing. Tell me of your master.”

The familiar suddenly became very jittering, and with a sharp twist it pulled itself free from Mortis’s grasp. It flew back a short distance then hovered in the air.

“Um… I sorry, but If I tell you anymore, master will dispel me. I must return. He’ll talk to you shortly on how to use the scroll and pentagram.” Then it turned and flapped quickly away over the dunes.

Mortis watched him go, both comforted by the presence of another demon and disturbed by the notion of a man who could create it. A man who was now commanding him as well.

He picked up the scroll and a small silver pentagram fell into his palm. It was warm to the touch, and Mortis felt the uneasy feeling in his stomach quicken. Whatever the voice had in mind, it was not good. The sign of the cross, now that would be less worrisome. But a pentagram…

“Never mind about that, I guarantee you’ll come to no harm. I’m pleased my pet found you successfully. Not the brightest of task handlers but they do the job right.”

“You have more of these… home-made demons? Of the same species?”

“Certainly! I have everything from vampires, to wraiths, to those beastly half-man, half-goat creatures. You’d be impressed by my collection.”

Mortis’s heart froze. He very suddenly wanted to be rid of this voice, and fast. A man with such capabilities, and with as little restraint as he portrayed, could be a very, very dangerous individual.

“You better be telling me the truth when you say you’ll vanish once I complete this task. Because if we ever cross paths…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Once you’ve done what I require, I plan to be somewhere very safe and out of reach. Even the Gods of Heaven and Lords of Hell won’t be touching me.”

“For your own sake, I hope you’re right. What you are doing is forbidden by nearly every fundamental law. There will be forces with power you can’t even imagine after you.”

“That’s for me to worry about. For now, you to just do what I say.”

Mortis instinctively snarled and flexed his fingers, wishing for the soft feeling of raw flesh under his nails.

“Fine. Then let’s get this over with.”

“Agreed. This tomb is known as ‘The Halls of the Dead’. It used to be the burial ground for many families in the city, but it has long since been abandoned. On the second level at the far south end, you will find a lone chamber, containing one sarcophagus. I’ll give you the last of your needed orders when you ‘think’ you’ve found it. E-heh.”

Mortis snorted, and the voice was gone. He glanced quickly at the strange words on the scroll, at the warming pentagram, and at the looming entrance to the Halls before him. He sighed. Then stepped into darkness.

*

“It’s alright, lad, it’s meant to be this dark. We’re not going to be ambushed. It’s just to deter the average citizen from wandering in by mistake.”

Mortis paused a couple more seconds in the doorway, then walked into the black corridor. Zac groped behind him. Demon eyes could adjust quite quickly to the dark, but the old man needed more time. Mortis led him down to the end, where a large steel door blocked their path.

“Pull on the chain,” Zac said, “It should be hanging to your right.”

Mortis looked up, spotted the chain, and gave it a hard tug. A dull ‘dink dink’ sounded, and a slot suddenly opened in the door. Two beady eyes peered into the darkness, squinting to make out their silhouettes.

“Password?” the man behind the slot said gruffly.

“Open it now before I slit your throat from ear to ear,” Zac answered.

“Granted,” came the reply, and with a loud ‘chang’ and some ear piercing screeches, the door slowly began to open. Light flooded into the hallway, and Zac gave Mortis a push to get him inside.

The room inside would have been spacious, if it wasn’t packed full of furniture and spittoons. A rustic old organ sat in one corner, the man playing it banging away as If he couldn’t hear the out of tune notes it was producing. More men sat at the tables; rough, weather beaten men, murmuring away in low voices, drinking ale or playing cards. The air was thick with cigar smoke.

Mortis had seen Zac smoke these strange, leaf-made objects before in his hut. He thought they smelled bitter and vile, and now in this room where even the oxygen had to battle for space, he couldn’t help but grimace.

They were an ugly group; scarred, missing eyes, fingers and reeking like they’d slept with the barn animals. One looked up from his card game as they entered and grinned a toothless grin.

“Ay, what’s this then Zac? You got yourself a bodyguard or somethin’?”

“Nah, this be me boy! Mortis, meet the crew; the most respected and feared Thieves Guild in Khanduras.”

The men all looked up from their business, paused, then roared in laughter.

“Your boy, Zac?” a thief with an eye patch chortled; “Who’s the mummy, a vampire bat?”

“You really are a riot,” said a rogue with a limp, stationed behind them. He slapped Zac hard on the shoulder, not enough to hurt but enough to make the older man stumble forward.

“Easy, Dreg, I’m not as young as I –“

-WHUMP-

Mortis, not understanding the quirks of human interaction and friendship at this point in time, had grabbed the man by his filthy shirt and pinned him firmly against the wall. A silent snarl was on his face, and he looked ready to rip the man’s heart out.

The organ stopped suddenly with a single chorus of ugly notes, and the room was alive with the new sounds of scraping chairs and readying weapons. Crossbows, throwing knives, and even a short sword or two were drawn and pointing in Mortis’s direction. He looked at them all, still snarling, and didn’t release the man.

“Put him down, Mortis,” Zac said softly, smoothly. He put a hand on the big demons arm, reassuringly. “He meant me no harm.”

Mortis gave a final glare at the thief who’d hit his friend, and dropped him. He turned around, wings closing in and out, trying to force himself to step back from the edge.

“Everyone,” Zac started, “this is Mortis. And yes, he’s a demon from Hell. Anyone have a problem with that?”

Silence. One man finally piped up.

“What if we do?”

“Then you can feel free to take it up with me any day,” Zac said coldly. The thief went silent.

“Right,” Zac continued, “Mortis has been my pupil, and I think he’s almost ready to take part in a raid. What have we got planned for the future?”

A young rogue, perhaps in his early twenties, stepped forward.

“There’s a caravan belonging to a rich family coming through the pass soon. Some of us thought we might pop ‘em a visit. Lotsa shiny trinkets on that one I’m bettin’.”

A few jeers and snorts of laughter followed his statement, then went quiet again. An older thief next to the speaker spoke up.

“Yeah, and if we’re lucky maybe a juicy daughter or two as well.”

“Shut your trap, Jake,” Zac said sharply, cutting off any agreement from the rest of the guild. “You know better then that.”

He placed his hands flatly on a table, and leaned in towards the grubby group of thieves around him. To Mortis, it reminded him of a daily lesson. But the way the men went deathly quiet, lips sealed in thin lines and eyes wary, Mortis could tell it meant much more to them.

“Even the thieves have rules to abide by,” Zac stated, “We are not ruffians. We are collectors. We seek out and steal the most valuable items we can find, because we enjoy the challenge of its acquisition. It is a game. No one should get hurt. We threaten, we scare, but in the end we will only kill if we have too. If our own lives are in immediate danger, for example. And we never,” his expression darkened even further, “never hurt women. Goes for children too.

The thieves muttered and nodded their agreement.

“And don’t let me catch you chatting about it neither,” Zac added.

The men began to pick up their cards and cigars again, the lecture they’d heard perhaps every time Zac visited, over once again. Later on, the loud mouth who’d mentioned the ‘juicy daughters’ would be suitably punished for his brashness.

“Well, anyway,” the young thief started again, cautiously, “if he wants to join us on that raid, he can meet us at the pass tomorrow afternoon. We’ll show him the ropes. Though I don’t think a big guy like him is going to be much good at stealth work.”

“You’d be surprised,” Mortis said, speaking for the first time. “I may not be well versed in human activities, but I’ve had a good many years of practised hunting with the beasts of the woods.” He narrowed his eyes coldly and scanned over all the faces watching him through uneasy eyes. “I won’t slow you down.”

“Good then!” Zac said, signalling the door man to open it for them to leave; “We’ll see you boys tomorrow. Don’t gamble away all your chips tonight.”

The cards players chuckled and continued their game. The drinkers clinked drinks and downed them, ready for more. Mortis followed his tutor from the room back into the dark hallway, and they walked the passage together.

“I don’t like them,” Mortis said after awhile. “They don’t feel right.”

“Oh, that’s just first impressions. They never jump to welcome anyone new to the guild, and this is the first time a non-human has asked to do so. It was a better reaction then I expected.”

Mortis nodded silently. He still felt on edge, and he supposed he always would around men like that. A constant, paranoid feeling that one would plunge a knife into your back the second you turned it.

“You’ll get used to them, as will they to you,” Zac said calmly, reading Mortis’s thoughts from the look on his face. “In time, you’ll see they’re just like other people, just hardened by years of a career that’s socially unaccepted. It isn’t the easiest living to make, even harder if you aren’t skilled at it. And there’s no telling how much share of the loot you’ll get if you go on these joint raids. It’s a dog eat dog world.”

“I think I’d prefer to work with the dogs,” Mortis grumbled. Zac laughed.

“Just remember not to bite the hand that feeds you…”

*

[RevenantsKnight]

On the first part of Contract 3: the plot’s definitely got my attention, what with its introduction of another employer (or perhaps Braca’s boss, if you’re into conspiracies, manipulation and all that.) I do think, though, that there’re some definite issues here with how this was executed; the voice of this apparent demon-maker feels overly childish, which made it a bit hard for me to like. It also has a little bit of a “tool of the narrator” feel with the amount of things it reveals. Additionally, it’s not really clear why you switched over to the flashback at the end of this installment, and that is a bit of a problem, since you spent the first part building up the mission from this mysterious someone and then whoosh, it’s on to what feels like a totally different topic; that shift in attention weakens the setup, especially since the new subject doesn’t feel related. Anyway, some specific comments on these and more:


Karhal had hopefully managed to pull up one of the horses for his ride back to the city.

That should be “Hopefully, Karhal had...,” because as it is, “hopefully” modifies how he pulled up the horses, as if he had pulled up a horse quickly, and that’s not what you meant, I’m sure.


As he cleared the canyon, the great sand dunes of the Dry Hills rose before him.

Classic sand dunes don’t quite lend themselves to hilly formations; they tend to be blown about too much to actually get really large. There’s likely sand, but “dunes” doesn’t sound likely to me.


They rolled on forever, like ancient humpbacks in a moistureless sea.

Hrm...interesting image; I like it, though it suggests that it’d be a common sight to see a huge number of whales all breaking the surface at once. Whether the power of the image itself outweighs its oddity is a highly subjective call, I’d say.


The voice had been silent for a while now, giving Mortis time to think about his situation. So many questions already needed answering.

Where was he meant to be going?

Personally, I don’t like the setup and presentation of this part; firstly, the shift from “questions needed answering” to the actual list felt like the narrator speaking instead of Mortis, and given the line after the second paragraph, that does not seem to be the case. After all, most people don’t just throw around questions in their minds without actually thinking about them. Also, leaving the questions as their own paragraph made them seem disconnected from the rest of the story; it feels like stopping and pointing a few things out to the reader, just in case. To address both issues, one thing you could do would be to lengthen this part by interspersing this with Mortis’s thought processes, or by having him fly along and occasionally wondering about such matters.

Also, “meant to be going” sounded awkward to me, since where the voice wants him to go has nothing to do with where he is “meant” to be. I’d suggest rewording this.


What was this ‘task’ it was going to set him?

I think that should be “...going to set for him.”


And would the boat with Braca and his next contract wait around for him or would they sail, presuming him to be dead by the Sultan’s wilful sword?

That should be “willful.”


“My my my, someone sounds like a control freak.”

“Control freak” felt way too modern to me for this to work. I’d suggest replacing it.


“How will you survive in our world?”

Seems like a bit of a stupid question, given that this employer is aware of Mortis’s past.


“I’ve done fine for more centuries then you’d be willingly to wager on,” Mortis growled.

That should be “than you’d be willing.” In terms of style, this seems fine otherwise since speech isn’t always grammatically correct or smooth, but as it is, it feels like you forced “wager” into the sentence; wagering “on” centuries doesn’t read easily. Even with the voice’s response, you could probably just swing this as “...for longer than you’d believe.”


“Oh you heard, ‘Dune Hunter’.”

Technically, there should be a comma after “Oh,” and the period should be inside the single quotation marks.


“I know aaalll your dirty little secrets, your employers, your contracts.”

Lines like these do a very good job of establishing this employer as a gloating, almost immature sort of person. If that’s what you were going for, then I think you did it well. In the realm of subjectivity, however, I found the voice to be a bit irritating. Might be just because there’s nothing else but the voice so far, though...


“Let’s just say the art of mind probing is a rare but useful skill. I didn’t sacrifice a portion of my soul to learn it so that I couldn’t take advantage of it.”

Erm...somehow, it seems rather odd for this person to reveal his or her mind-probing mastery so quickly; I guess it’s sort of in character with the boastful part, but I’d think that most people, especially ones used to being in control, might be a little more careful with the information they give to demons they’ve just met. After that, the soul sacrifice part just seemed like an attempt to move the plot along; it seems really out of line with what a (theoretically) decently intelligent person would reveal. After all, there’s no reason for Mortis to need to know that, and there’s no real point in it being known so far. I know you say that this person’s supposed to be unrestrained, but this feels like pushing it.


“Shut up, what would you know.”

Technically, the comma here should be a period, semicolon or exclamation mark, and the period should be a question mark.


“Fly two miles straight then a mile to your left.”

That should be “...straight, and then a mile...”


“There you will see a long forgotten tomb.”

That should be “long-forgotten.”


How much information the strange voice had dug out of his mind was unfathomable.

The wording of this part felt awkward to me; it’d probably be clearer with a more direct phrasing such as “Mortis had no idea how many of his thoughts this strange voice had dug out of his mind,” though even that seems weird to me.


Thine enemy should never know you better then you know him.

This sounded like Mortis’s thoughts in terms of the tone and the use of “you,” but it’s presented as narration. If it’s Mortis’s, that needs to be clearer; if it isn’t, I’d suggest editing out the uses of “you.” Either way, “thine” also seems forced in, since it doesn’t parallel the rest of the sentence, let alone the rest of the story. I’d cut it entirely.


After a calculated judgement and a winged turn to the left, he saw a conspicuous pile of rubble jutting out from the sand in the distance.

That should be “judgment.”


The barely visible doorway, half filled with sand, heralded a decent into darkness.

That should be “descent.”


He leaned against a pile of collapsed stone, wings casually folded near his sides, and began to clean the sand from his nails. It really did get everywhere.

Nice touch. Seems like the last part would be better suited to his thoughts, though, as opposed to narration.


He shielded his eyes from the strange, murky dawn-light and looked to the sky, where he saw a small demon coming his way.

Hrm...not sure if you intentionally kept the demon’s description vague at this point or not. I’d say that it may be worth another sentence or two, since there’re a lot of demons out there, and besides, “demon” doesn’t do a lot for the reader’s mental image of the scene. The description later is pretty good; it’s just that on its introduction, it’s useful to have a little more there.


During his long residence in this mortal ruled world, Mortis had rarely seen another demon walking the lands.

That should be “mortal-ruled.”


He found himself staring at the little one coming towards him, as it flapped lightly down at his feet and dropped a scroll.

The comma here is unnecessary.


It panted for breath, obviously having flown a long way very fast, and looked up at him curiously.

“Fast” modifies how it flew, so it should be replaced by an adverb, such as “quickly.”


It really was tiny, perhaps only as big as Mortis’s hand.

Good description. One small note: “really” is more of an informal and conversational word, and not something used in narration. I’d just drop it altogether.


“Oh, the nights I spend wishing I could visit that place.”

Maybe it’s just me, but this seemed a touch too...advanced for the imp’s voice. If you’ve a similar impression of this, it may be worth another look.


It was excited, chattering away and tapping its fingernails together; “My master made me.”

I’d change the semicolon there to a period, personally, though what you have there may be grammatically correct.


“Ahhh… you’re a familiar. Yes I’ve met a wizard or two that claimed they had demons to help them in their spells, but I’d never seen one.”

Nice touch from the manuals. Diablo I had better creatures. :)


The familiar suddenly became very jittering, and with a sharp twist it pulled itself free from Mortis’s grasp.

That should be “jittery.”


“He’ll talk to you shortly on how to use the scroll and pentagram.”

Again, this felt too perfect for the familiar’s voice, though it’s a rather minor issue.


“Never mind about that, I guarantee you’ll come to no harm.”

The comma here should be a period or a semicolon.


“Not the brightest of task handlers but they do the job right.”

There should be a comma after “handlers.”


“For now, you to just do what I say.”

Hrm...perhaps “For now, just do as I say”?


“Pull on the chain,” Zac said, “It should be hanging to your right.”

Minor nitpick: the comma after “said” should be a period, I think.


“Granted,” came the reply, and with a loud ‘chang’ and some ear piercing screeches, the door slowly began to open.

That should be “ear-piercing,” I think.


The room inside would have been spacious, if it wasn’t packed full of furniture and spittoons.

Hrm...that seems like it should be “...spacious, were it not packed...” or something like that to me.


A rustic old organ sat in one corner, the man playing it banging away as If he couldn’t hear the out of tune notes it was producing.

The “if” here shouldn’t be capitalized.


More men sat at the tables; rough, weather beaten men, murmuring away in low voices, drinking ale or playing cards.

Technically, the part after the semicolon isn’t an independent clause, as it has no verb (forms such as “murmuring,” for instance, don’t count.) One way you could fix this is to add “they were” after the semicolon, as that would function as the subject and the verb, respectively. There’re certainly other ways to go about this; most of them would probably require just sitting down and working with the sentence, though.


He thought they smelled bitter and vile, and now in this room where even the oxygen had to battle for space, he couldn’t help but grimace.

Given the technology level of the world, I think “oxygen” sounds out of place here. “Air” would probably be fine.


“Ay, what’s this then Zac?”

There should be a comma after “then.”


“Mortis, meet the crew; the most respected and feared Thieves Guild in Khanduras.”

I’d make the semicolon here a full colon, since it’s meant to emphasize the part that follows it.


“Your boy, Zac?” a thief with an eye patch chortled; “Who’s the mummy, a vampire bat?”

Again, I’d suggest changing the semicolon here to a period, because a period indicates a pause between sentences, and it seems more natural for there to be short pauses, such as for breath, in speech.


Mortis, not understanding the quirks of human interaction and friendship at this point in time, had grabbed the man by his filthy shirt and pinned him firmly against the wall.

I think you may be able to reword this so that you don’t have to say explicitly that Mortis saw this thief’s action as a threat. Whether or not removing that explanation is worth it or not is definitely a subjective call, though; there are some who would want that information stated so that there is no ambiguity and so that part of Mortis’s perspective can be emphasized, others could say that the story should be able to explain itself with minimal intervention on the part of the narrator.


He put a hand on the big demons arm, reassuringly.

That should be “demon’s.”


He turned around, wings closing in and out, trying to force himself to step back from the edge.

Hrm...at first, I didn’t get what you meant by “step back from the edge.” In this context, it may be too abrupt for the reader to pick up on it immediately. Or it could just be me...


“Lotsa shiny trinkets on that one I’m bettin’.”

There should be a comma after “one.”


A few jeers and snorts of laughter followed his statement, then went quiet again.

That should be “...then the room went quiet again” or something like that; as it is, it’s not clear what goes quiet.


He placed his hands flatly on a table, and leaned in towards the grubby group of thieves around him.

I think “flatly” should be “flat” because the adverb form, which is what you have, describes how he puts his hands on the table, and I got the impression that “flat” was more meant to describe how they ended up.


But the way the men went deathly quiet, lips sealed in thin lines and eyes wary, Mortis could tell it meant much more to them.

That should be “But by the way...”


“Even the thieves have rules to abide by,” Zac stated, “We are not ruffians.”

The comma after “stated” should be a period.


“And we never,” his expression darkened even further, “never hurt women. Goes for children too.

Guess they’ve never tangled with the Sisters of the Sightless Eye. On a different note, you’re missing a closing set of quotation marks at the end of this.


The men began to pick up their cards and cigars again, the lecture they’d heard perhaps every time Zac visited, over once again.

The comma after “visited” is unnecessary.


“Good then!” Zac said, signalling the door man to open it for them to leave; “We’ll see you boys tomorrow.”

Again, I think the semicolon should be a period, for reasons expressed previously.


“I don’t like them,” Mortis said after awhile.

I think that should be “a while,” since “awhile” usually means “for a short time,” and “after for” just sounds wrong.


He still felt on edge, and he supposed he always would around men like that. A constant, paranoid feeling that one would plunge a knife into your back the second you turned it.

I’d suggest revising these sentences so that you first describe the sensation Mortis has, as you do in the second sentence here, and then move on to his thought that he’d always feel that way. As it is, the description is good but it feels misplaced. Also, that would probably allow you to get rid of the direct address (“you”) here.

Overall, I thought that this was a good lead-in for the next contract of the story, but there are some things that could use more revision. Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Thank you again, Reviewing Knight. That was a big help as always :)
And i don't mean to come across as defensive, i just thought that if i pre-show that i'm aware of certain problems, it'll mean less typing for you in the long run :P
Comments on the characters: Yes, the voice is meant to be childish. His character (you should already know who he is by now, or at least will after this chapter) is always one i see as not being in his right mind. Therefore he kind of has strange personas and ways of talking. Anyways, here's the next chapter. Sorry it took so long, i got evicted lol. No more home internet for me. Whenever you can

******

“Wise words if I’ve ever heard them.”

“Shut up, voice. Get out of my head. My memories are for my mind only.”

“If you say so. Though I must say, I’m having a ball here digging through your pre-Sanctuary past. Did the Hell Lords really make their demon armies commit such atrocities?”

“Yes. They did. Are you happy now? Tell me what you want me to do.”

Mortis stood in a large, dark room around two floors below the surface. In the centre sat a coffin; old, but not ancient. Perhaps around the time of the Horadrim. The stone figure carved into the top of the lid lay with its arms crossed over its chest, its features warn away by time and centuries of guano from the resident flying mammals. Mortis wasn’t sure, but he could almost feel something still lurked inside.

“Open it,” commanded the voice

Mortis took a step forward and hesitated. The pentagram he held firmly in his hand was pulsing heavily, beginning to scorch into his thick skin. The feeling of a ‘presence’ within the coffin was growing, as if responding to its throbs.

“Are you walking me into a trap, voice? Because if you are, and I survive… you better hope this safe-haven of yours is as impenetrable as you believe.”

“It’s not a trap, my trusty pawn. You’ve fought to long and hard to be ended by something as pathetic has hidden blades or poison gas. Now, open the coffin.”

Mortis hesitated a few more seconds, his mind twirling like the ancient dust in the tomb around him. Then he stepped up to the lid and gripped its edge.

“Only one way to see if your word is true,” he growled, and heaved against the worn stone. At first, it refused to budge. Mortis strained until the veins in his forehead bulged, but all he succeeded in doing was digging trenches into the sandy floor with his clawed feet. He paused for a second to regain his strength, and heard the voice whispering. It sounded far away.

“…when the walls between Worlds have crumbled, where will the Demons be? Will the Angels walk among men, or will they fade willingly from existence because of their arrogant pride. The strength of all is limited only by the strength of will…”

Mortis blinked. It didn’t sound as if the voice was talking to him. In fact, it didn’t even sound like the same voice. Yet its words seemed to give him renewed energy, and with a silent snarl he pulled back his arms and rammed his whole body against the lid.

It shifted with an almighty groan, shaking sand from the ceiling and sending vibrations up Mortis’s arms to his shoulders. The lid scraped to a halt halfway across, but he was determined to move it for good now. He pushed again, and it slid the rest of the way off with relative ease. It hit the ground with a dull ‘thud’, and cracks spider webbed over the aged stone instantly.
Panting softly, he leaned against the sarcophagus with senses on full alert.

But nothing leapt out at him. No vengeful wraith crawled out to drain his soul, no spidery fingers clawing for his flesh. The ‘presence’, or whatever it was he had sensed, had fled with the passing lid, and only silence remained. He finally relaxed, and peered cautiously over the coffins rim.

Dust.

He should have guessed as much. A coffin as old as this… but then he paused. The coffin wasn’t that ancient. Corpses had survived for thousands of years, sealed within air tight catacombs, and this tomb was certainly not that old.

He reached tentatively into the sarcophagus, and scooped his fingers through the dust. It wasn’t chunky, or riddled with the remains of burial dressings. It was fine, soft, silty. Whoever had been in here, he suspected they had been burned. Scorched to ashes and then ground as fine as it could possibly get.
This had not been a revered person, and if he had been respected, it was for all the wrong reasons.

“Now, place the pentagram in the sarcophagus, and step away.”
Mortis looked at the glowing symbol in his palm, the way it thrummed and pulsed with what seemed like eagerness, and then placed it gratefully on top of the dust. He waited a few seconds to see if anything else would happen, and when nothing did he took some steps back.

“Is that it? I came all this way to place a demonic symbol on a pile of dust?”

“Don’t be daft, you poor excuse for a flying monkey. The scroll!”
Mortis looked at the piece of paper still clenched in his other hand and rolled his eyes. Spells and potions, scrolls and symbols. All part of a wizard’s daily diet, and mere drivel to everyone else. He was an assassin for Hell’s sake, not a sorcerer’s apprentice. He unrolled the scroll and scanned his eyes over the strange letters again.

“I can’t read this,” he snarled.

“Upside down, stupid,” came the response.

He turned the scroll right way up and the letters suddenly formed a language he understood. It wasn’t a common one, that he knew, and if his old teacher hadn’t had such a passion for archaic texts he might never have had the knowledge needed to read it.

“…This is the ancient language of the Summoners. What will I be summoning… and why?”

For once the voice didn’t answer, not even a cheeky remark. Mortis waited.

“Well?”

At last, the voice spoke again, but it was different this time. Quiet. Pleading. Mortis was unsure if it was sincere.

“You are in no danger. This is for my cause, and won’t affect your being in any way. Please, just read the scroll and you’ll never hear me again.”

Mortis sighed, giving in. He looked over the letters for the last time, and began to read. The words were strange, full of power. As he spoke, the pentagram in the coffin began to glow, brighter and brighter as he drew closer to the end of the scroll.

With the final words - Reanimatrious Corporulos - the coffin gave a shudder, and a bright flash came from the small metal trinket within. The pentagram became liquid in an instant, and began to melt into the dust. Tiny droplets of glistening metal rolled along the powdery contents, before dissolving from sight altogether.

Mortis waited. Whispers began to fill the tomb; ghostly, haunting whispers. A breeze began to stir the sand at his feet.

“Voice?” he asked. But his tormentor was silent.

The breeze began to localise around the coffin, stirring the dust and howling a gale. Sand whipped through the air, stinging his eyes and forcing him to take cover behind a raised arm. The whispers and wind, mixed with unearthly groans coming from within coffin, made the whole experience seem like an eerie and unpleasant dream.

At last the storm settled, the wind dieing from a roar to a sigh and then to the delicate pitter-patter of falling sand. Mortis lowered his arms and peered out through squinted eyelids.

Something was in the sarcophagus.

What ever he’d summoned was alive; he could hear raspy breaths and low, guttural moans. A single, decaying hand reached up and gripped the stone side - gripping and flexing - as if getting used to the feel of something solid once again.

Mortis edged forward, curiosity flaring. The breathing rasped louder, interrupted by a dry cough. Dust flew from the coffin and hung in the air above. Mortis drew close, paused, and then peered inside.

What lay within wasn’t human, but it may have been once. Its thin, fleshless legs quivered and twitched, the one outstretched arm continued testing the edge of the coffin. The other arm was missing all together, from the shoulder down. A poorly bandaged chest revealed hollow ribs and shrunken, dried up organs. Only one thing moved inside; a large black beetle, making its home within the creature’s liver.

And the face.

If that’s what it could be called. It was malformed, oversized. A hideous, bulging skull, with teeth almost the length of his fingers. Its gaping black eye sockets stared up at him as the jaw hung open, panting groans and coughs. It raised its rotting hand slowly upwards and pointed a single bony finger.

“Aroona cask mentaro?” it asked in a voice drier then the desert sun. It seemed to be gaining strength, the breathing regulating, and when it returned its hand to the side of the coffin, it was able to lift itself slowly to sitting position. Bones creaked in response, pieces of dry flesh slaking off in clumps.

Mortis stepped back, unsure of its intent, but when it finally sat upright it merely let out a groan that sounded like relief. It cradled its head with the rotted hand, gazing oddly at its chest and legs. Then it turned towards him.

“Aroona… aroona cask mentaro! Aroona cask MENTARO!” it cried, its voice strengthening all the time. Mortis took a step back further towards the exit.

“Voice, what is he saying? I can’t understand him, the tongue is too strange.”

The voice did not reply.

The creature, however, was becoming strong enough to climb its way out of the sarcophagus. It rested uneasily on its arm, swung one leg over the edge, then another, and dropped to the sand with a thump. Mortis could see more beetles scurrying around inside him, nesting in the peeled scalp and exposed windpipe. Sure that it was going lunge at him any second, he held out a palm in a defensive ‘stop’ motion.

“Wait. I don’t know what you’re saying, but I can guess: you want to know who revived you, correct? And maybe why?”

The creature leant against its death bed, swaying slightly. Its empty eyes stared blankly at him.

“Well, yes, I am the one who revived you,” Mortis continued, hoping to bide for time, “I did so on behalf of another. I know not what he wants you for, I was forced into this.” He took another step back. The creature didn’t move.

“Do… doskara une tasket?” It questioned.

“I don’t know. I don’t understand you’re tongue.” He studied the confused shaking of the creatures head, the way it kept looking at its hand and legs. “Who… are you?”

The creature glanced up at him, then at the ceiling. It stared for a long time, as if thinking. And suddenly its whole appearance changed. It pushed away from the coffin and stood straight, its true height taller then Mortis himself. What remained of the dried skin around its jaw twitched, and Mortis saw at once that the being was grinning. It looked at him sideways, the dumb, sleepy confusion all but gone. It knew who it was, and it was pleased to remember.

“Raaaa…ddaaaa…ment,” it said, the voice slow and sinister. Mortis had reached the doorway now, and was debating whether to flee or stand fast.

“RADAMENT!” boomed the voice of the Summoner, the being who had requested the task of Mortis. It filled the whole tomb, and by the way the creature flinched Mortis knew it was no longer in his head alone.

“Radament, Mage of Old, you were condemned to death by your Horadrim brethren for the atrocity of cannibalism. I offer you a second chance at life. Serve my cause, and you will feast on more human flesh then you can ever imagine. Now go, back to the city of Lut Gholein where they put you to the flame while you still breathed. Go, and use their bodies to further revive your once glorious form.”

Radament’s jaw opened in a hideous smile, his blackened tongue snaking out over his teeth. He raised his arm over his head in triumph, and bellowed.

“FEAST AMORA VON CAVI-SLAN!” he screamed. Then slowly brought his arm down and faced Mortis.

Mortis listened in shock to the Summoners words, not wanting to believe what he’d been forced to do. The creature standing before him wanted human flesh; hence his safety was assured as the Summoner had said. But if that was the case, Radament was never going to leave this room.
Mortis spread his wings and arms to block the doorway behind.

“You aren’t going anywhere, you undead heathen,” he growled.

Radament did not reply. Instead, he merely started walking towards Mortis. The demon prepared to attack… but suddenly noticed that the creature was shrinking - no, not shrinking, as much as melting - into the sand beneath them. In seconds, Radament had dissolved back into the dust from whence he’d come, and a rolling wall of sand was all that remained.

Mortis lunged forward as it drew near, swiping at it with his claws. His hands passed through as effectively as if he’d been swatting air. The sand wall rolled past him – through him – and up into the darkness of the corridor behind. Dismayed, Mortis could do nothing but give chase.

****

At the entrance to the Halls of the Dead, Mortis saw Radament’s physical form for the last time. Only the devastation he would reap would speak of the creatures passing.

Mortis burst out of the tomb into broad daylight, the morning sun now high in the sky. The ancient, cannibalistic Mage stood looking at its orange, glowing face, that odd grin on his own. How long had it been since he was burned alive? Long enough to forget the feel of the suns warmth, Mortis guessed.
He strode cautiously to within a few feet of the decayed beast, and called out softly.

“Radament. Don’t do it. Why prolong your unlife? Why make so many suffer for your own needs? You paid for your sins with fire; you needn’t condemn yourself to Hell. Return to sleep, and the eternal darkness of death. Be at peace again.”

He waited, to see if his words would have any affect. Radament only looked at the sun for a longer time. When he did finally turn his head, Mortis could see he was struggling with something. He opened his jaws, and the black tongue wiggled oddly.

“When… the walls… between… Worlds… have crumbled… where... will the Demons… be?” Radament rasped, speaking with the slow effort of someone using a language not native to their own. Mortis thought for a second that perhaps that response meant he wouldn’t go through with the Summoners plan. But then the face twisted into that evil, opened mouth smile.

“I… will… feeassstttttt.”

He let out an inhuman howl, arm outstretched worshipfully towards the sun. He was already beginning to dissolve.

“NO!” Mortis cried, and charged towards the melting figure. He collided into Radament – too late - and passed straight through. His momentum carried him a few more feet, before he landed on his face hard. The last thing he saw before the sand-wall rushed over him, filling his eyes with grit, was the morning sun glinting off the Palace of Lut Gholein, far away in the distance.

“By the Lords of Hell and the Gods themselves,” he wept, pawing at his eyes and coughing through sand choked lungs. “What have I done?”

****


I'm pretty sure you can almost guess what's going to happen :) But i hope you appreciate the effort anyway heh. Thanks.

[RevenantsKnight]

On your latest chapter: still moving the Diablo II plot along, I see. I found this installment to be a bit stronger than the previous few ones, in that it didn’t seem as rushed and read smoothly. Some specific comments:


“Wise words if I’ve ever heard them.”

It’s unclear what you mean by “words” here, even if you read the previous chapter immediately before this, because the flashback to Zac doesn’t seem at all related to what Mortis is doing at the moment, and so it’s a bit of a logical leap to assume that the voice saw what the reader did (I’m assuming this refers to Zac’s comment at the end of the last chapter.)


“Though I must say, I’m having a ball here digging through your pre-Sanctuary past.”

“Having a ball” seems anachronistic, since such events weren’t common during the medieval period (or they weren’t known by that name, I don't think.)


“Are you happy now? Tell me what you want me to do.”

The way this is presented, it sounds like Mortis says these in quick sequence, much like the earlier parts of this dialogue. Perhaps he did, but that felt odd to me; I’d think it’d sound more natural if there was a quick pause between these two sentences, where Mortis goes from being irritated to focused on the mission again. If you do decide to make this change, one way to do that would be to drop a short sentence of narration in to separate the two parts.


In the centre sat a coffin; old, but not ancient. Perhaps around the time of the Horadrim.

The semicolon seems wrong, since “Old, but not ancient” isn’t really a complete clause. I’m not entirely sure about this case, but I think it should be replaced by a comma, and the comma after “old” is unnecessary. Also, the second sentence here is technically a fragment; you could certainly keep it as is as a stylistic call, though if it’s that way because Mortis is thinking this, then I’d make that clearer.


The stone figure carved into the top of the lid lay with its arms crossed over its chest, its features warn away by time and centuries of guano from the resident flying mammals.

“Warn” should be “worn,” as the former means “to alert.” Also, I’d change “resident flying mammals,” because it sounds a little too wordy; “bats” is shorter, and also a bit more in line with the setting in terms of tone.


Mortis wasn’t sure, but he could almost feel something still lurked inside.

This read a bit awkwardly to me due to the second part of the sentence; I caught what you were trying to say, but that second clause really felt clunky. I can’t put my finger on exactly why, but it seems a bit like you may have mixed together several possible wordings of this, so I’d suggest another general look at this.


The pentagram he held firmly in his hand was pulsing heavily, beginning to scorch into his thick skin.

“Pulsing” doesn’t necessarily suggest heat, so “scorch” seemed a bit out of nowhere. Also, any sensible person would just drop the thing if it became hot enough to scorch, I’d think. Finally, “in his hand” is redundant, since you already said he’s holding it, and most people would then assume that it’s in his hand.


The feeling of a ‘presence’ within the coffin was growing, as if responding to its throbs.

This is a little unclear with regards to the “feeling” you describe; is this some sort of aura that’s emanating from the sarcophagus, or is it an instinctive thing in Mortis’s mind? This sentence suggests the former to me, but the previous narration gave me the idea that it was more a hunch. Additionally, I don’t see any reason to put quotation marks around “presence,” as it seems like you’re just using the word to mean what it does normally.


“Because if you are, and I survive… you better hope this safe-haven of yours is as impenetrable as you believe.”

“Safe haven” isn’t hyphenated.


“You’ve fought to long and hard to be ended by something as pathetic has hidden blades or poison gas.”

“To long” should be “too long,” and “has” should be “as.”


Mortis hesitated a few more seconds, his mind twirling like the ancient dust in the tomb around him.

I think “swirling” would be better here; “twirl” has the additional meaning of spinning in a circle, sort of like a pinwheel, and that might confuse some people.


Mortis strained until the veins in his forehead bulged, but all he succeeded in doing was digging trenches into the sandy floor with his clawed feet.

Good bit of detail here.


“Will the Angels walk among men, or will they fade willingly from existence because of their arrogant pride.”

I’d put a question mark at the end here.


He pushed again, and it slid the rest of the way off with relative ease. It hit the ground with a dull ‘thud’, and cracks spider webbed over the aged stone instantly.
Panting softly, he leaned against the sarcophagus with senses on full alert.

I’d suggest trying to combine the first two sentences here into one, since this paragraph feels a bit like a list with the repeated structure of “The lid did X, and Mortis did Y, causing it to do Z.” Also, “spider webbed” seems weird as two words, since “cracks spider” makes for an odd first reading. I don’t think it is a verb, technically, so if that’s something you’d want to avoid, I’d suggest rewording this. If you do use it, I’d make it one word, with or without a hyphen. Finally, I’m not sure why you have that break after the second sentence; I’d either put a blank line between the second and third sentences or delete the break altogether.


No vengeful wraith crawled out to drain his soul, no spidery fingers clawing for his flesh.

If the “spidery fingers” belong to this theoretical wraith, which appears to be the case due to the way this reads, then the second “no” is unnecessary. If these are two separate ideas, though, “clawing” should be “clawed.”


The ‘presence’, or whatever it was he had sensed, had fled with the passing lid, and only silence remained.

Again, I’m not sure why you chose to put “presence” in quotes; it doesn’t seem necessary, though maybe that’s just me.


He finally relaxed, and peered cautiously over the coffins rim.

That should be “coffin’s rim.”


Corpses had survived for thousands of years, sealed within air tight catacombs, and this tomb was certainly not that old.

“Airtight” is one word.


Whoever had been in here, he suspected they had been burned. Scorched to ashes and then ground as fine as it could possibly get.

Technically, it’s incorrect to use “they” as a singular pronoun. If you want to fix this, then I’d suggest replacing it with that first clause, so that it reads like “He suspected that whoever had...” Also, the second sentence here is technically a fragment, in case you cared. Lastly, “as it could possibly get” seems a bit wordy; using simply “as possible” would probably suit your purposes.


This had not been a revered person, and if he had been respected, it was for all the wrong reasons.

This was a bit unclear, as the first part seems to say that the second was false. Also, I’m not sure why you have a single line break before this; perhaps this is just me, but I find single breaks disruptive, since they break up the flow without really providing a solid distinction between parts.


“Now, place the pentagram in the sarcophagus, and step away.”
Mortis looked at the glowing symbol in his palm, the way it thrummed and pulsed with what seemed like eagerness, and then placed it gratefully on top of the dust.

“Don’t be daft, you poor excuse for a flying monkey. The scroll!”
Mortis looked at the piece of paper still clenched in his other hand and rolled his eyes.

Again, I’m not really sure why you used single returns here. At the very least, though, I’d make sure that you’re consistent with whatever you do use, and seeing as there’re instances like this that have double returns between the lines, such as the “Upside down” remark, I’d suggest just picking a standard formatting scheme and going through the story to make sure that it’s applied everywhere.


For once the voice didn’t answer, not even a cheeky remark.

There should be a comma after “once,” and the last part here doesn’t quite work because you’re using “answer” as a verb here, and “not even...” needs to refer back to a noun. One way to make “answer” a noun would be something like “...the voice gave no answer, not even...,” and of course you could always just reword the last clause instead.


As he spoke, the pentagram in the coffin began to glow, brighter and brighter as he drew closer to the end of the scroll.

The comma after “glow” is unnecessary.


With the final words - Reanimatrious Corporulos - the coffin gave a shudder, and a bright flash came from the small metal trinket within.

I’d drop the final words themselves from this, personally; I’ve never been a fan of quasi-Latin as a magic language because I think it sounds too much like a parody of itself. That’s definitely personal preference, though.


Whispers began to fill the tomb; ghostly, haunting whispers.

The semicolon after “tomb” should be a comma.


The breeze began to localise around the coffin, stirring the dust and howling a gale.

“Howling a gale” sounds wrong to me; I assume that you meant that the wind escalated to gale strength. If that’s the case, I’d suggest revising this, since “howling” seems like the wrong verb here.


The whispers and wind, mixed with unearthly groans coming from within coffin, made the whole experience seem like an eerie and unpleasant dream.

That should be “within the coffin.” Also, I’d suggest possibly telling this from Mortis’s perspective, perhaps in his thoughts, because as it is, it feels a bit distant from the story itself and therefore isn’t as powerful as it could be, I’d say.


At last the storm settled, the wind dieing from a roar to a sigh and then to the delicate pitter-patter of falling sand.

That should be “dying,” and there should be a comma after “last.”


What ever he’d summoned was alive; he could hear raspy breaths and low, guttural moans.

“Whatever” is one word.


What lay within wasn’t human, but it may have been once.

That should be “might have been.”


Its thin, fleshless legs quivered and twitched, the one outstretched arm continued testing the edge of the coffin.

The comma after “twitched” should be a period or a semicolon.


The other arm was missing all together, from the shoulder down.

That should be “altogether.”


A poorly bandaged chest revealed hollow ribs and shrunken, dried up organs.

I think “dried-up” is hyphenated, though I’m not entirely sure. Either way, you could probably just leave it at “dried” if you wanted to do so.


Only one thing moved inside; a large black beetle, making its home within the creature’s liver.

The semicolon here should be a full colon, I think, and I don’t think you need the comma after “beetle.”


If that’s what it could be called.

This felt a bit weak to me, as it’s a break between the line that draws the reader’s attention to the face and then the actual description. It’s also somewhat conversational in tone, and the use of “it” is a little confusing, so I’d recommend either revising or deleting this.


A hideous, bulging skull, with teeth almost the length of his fingers.

The fact that this is a fragment aside, I don’t think you should use “his fingers” here, since it’s unclear whose fingers you mean. Radament is consistently an “it” here so far, and if you mean Mortis, I’d just use the name.


“Aroona cask mentaro?” it asked in a voice drier then the desert sun.

Nice description.


It seemed to be gaining strength, the breathing regulating, and when it returned its hand to the side of the coffin, it was able to lift itself slowly to sitting position.

That should be “...to a sitting position,” and “regulating” seems like the wrong verb for this case, since it reads as if the breathing is regulating something else, if you catch my meaning. “Becoming regular” might be better if you mean that it became rhythmic, since it doesn’t have that confusion.


“Aroona… aroona cask mentaro! Aroona cask MENTARO!” it cried, its voice strengthening all the time.

I’d drop “all the time,” personally, since it doesn’t really seem to add much here.


I can’t understand him, the tongue is too strange.”

The comma here should be a period or a semicolon, technically.


Mortis could see more beetles scurrying around inside him, nesting in the peeled scalp and exposed windpipe.

Again, I wouldn’t use “him” for Radament, since you’ve been sticking to “it” on the whole. Whichever one you choose, use it the entire time.


The creature leant against its death bed, swaying slightly.

That should be “leaned.” “Leant” is a form of the verb “to lend.”


“Well, yes, I am the one who revived you,” Mortis continued, hoping to bide for time, “I did so on behalf of another.”

“Bide for time” sounds wrong to me; were you trying to say something like “buy time”? Also, the comma after “time” should be a period.


“I know not what he wants you for, I was forced into this.”

The comma here should be a period or a semicolon.


“Do… doskara une tasket?” It questioned.

“It” shouldn’t be capitalized here.


“I don’t understand you’re tongue.”

That should be “your tongue,” since I doubt you meant “you are tongue.”


He studied the confused shaking of the creatures head, the way it kept looking at its hand and legs.

That should be “creature’s head.”


It knew who it was, and it was pleased to remember.

Heh...neat little touch.


“RADAMENT!” boomed the voice of the Summoner, the being who had requested the task of Mortis.

Erm...first off, abruptly introducing that voice as the Summoner doesn’t read particularly well, because that fact feels forced in for the sake of clarity. Ideally, such bits would be integrated more seamlessly into the story; given the character’s love of boasting, you might try easing this into some dialogue either before or after this moment instead of bopping the reader upside the head with it. Also, this makes sense only if the reader is knowledgeable enough about Diablo; while that’s certainly likely, the requirement of outside information to complete the picture is something that some may dislike, as one line of reasoning argues that stories should be able to stand on their own as much as possible.


He raised his arm over his head in triumph, and bellowed.

“FEAST AMORA VON CAVI-SLAN!” he screamed. Then slowly brought his arm down and faced Mortis.

It seems a little redundant to have “bellowed” in the first sentence and then the second sentence right after...I’d maybe combine those. Finally, the last sentence should read “Then he (or “it”) slowly...”


Mortis listened in shock to the Summoners words, not wanting to believe what he’d been forced to do.

That should be “Summoner’s words.”


The creature standing before him wanted human flesh; hence his safety was assured as the Summoner had said.

There should be commas after “hence” and “assured,” I think.


At the entrance to the Halls of the Dead, Mortis saw Radament’s physical form for the last time. Only the devastation he would reap would speak of the creatures passing.

This felt a bit unrelated to the rest of the story, especially the last sentence. Not sure what purpose this serves...


Long enough to forget the feel of the suns warmth, Mortis guessed.

That should be “sun’s warmth.”


He waited, to see if his words would have any affect.

That should be “effect.”


“When… the walls… between… Worlds… have crumbled… where... will the Demons… be?” Radament rasped, speaking with the slow effort of someone using a language not native to their own.

“A language not native to their own” sounds awkward to me. I’d try to simplify this down some, since it seems to get caught up in its own words; “a foreign tongue” would probably be all you’d need at minimum to convey the idea.


Mortis thought for a second that perhaps that response meant he wouldn’t go through with the Summoners plan.

That should be “Summoner’s plan.”


But then the face twisted into that evil, opened mouth smile.

That should be “openmouthed.”


His momentum carried him a few more feet, before he landed on his face hard.

That should be “landed hard on his face,” since “hard” modifies “landed.”


“By the Lords of Hell and the Gods themselves,” he wept, pawing at his eyes and coughing through sand choked lungs.

That should be “sand-choked.”

Overall, I thought this chapter was a decent read, and it’s good to see that you haven’t disappeared from the ‘net. Things seem to be moving along pretty quickly now... should be interesting to see what’s coming next. Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Wow! That was fast :) Bit of time on your hands nowadays Revenant? heh
Thanks again. Strange how you do really need another person's opinion on writing, because you can re-0read your own stuff over and over again and see things that could be problems and think "Eh, it'll be fine."
Always better to get them fixed though.

Since that part is out of the way so quick, guess i'll post the next. It's kinda long... apologises. Again, whenever you can find the time :)


*****

Greiz leaned on his spear, dozing slightly and trying to ignore the dull ache inside his skull. He and Geglash had been up quite late last night, enjoying Atma’s brews and the arguments it brought forth. They never did resolve whether Sand Leapers were rodents or reptiles.

He wiped some sweat from his brow and coughed up a wad of phlegm, which he then hawked casually onto the cobblestones. The taste of alcohol was still ripe in his mouth, and his tongue felt dry as cotton.

A sudden scream took him from his personal qualms, and his head snapped around to look at the great stone arch of the city entrance. The guards usually posted there, bored and complacent, now lay dead under the arches shadow. Pools of blood seeped into the sand from their wounds, and dripped from the bony claws of the creature standing over them.

Greiz’s first thought was one of disbelief.

‘No,’ he thought; ‘it’s daylight. No evil such as this ever comes during the day. They sneak and kill, cowardly in the night. This is morning!’

But as the creature bent to the bodies lying beneath him, and ripped the right arm from one, reality was very quickly beginning to sink in. The beasts bulging face grinned as it placed the freshly torn arm to his own rotting shoulder, and Greiz watched as spidery tendons and ligaments crept out to bind the new flesh to old.

The creature gave a happy, gurgling moan, and raised its new arm, testing it. It was somewhat smaller then the other, but Greiz could see the dark magics holding the creature together were already beginning to alter the appendage to suit. A small hoard of black beetles scurried from between its exposed ribs and burrowed gleefully into the fresh meat. Greiz couldn’t help but gag with repulsion.

A shout rang out down the street, as some patrolling guards spotted the monstrosity. It turned towards them, its hollow eyes scanning. Upon sight of its visage, the guards all but dropped their spears in horror, and an unearthly roar sent them fleeing for cover.

Greiz, freed from his paralysis at last, knew this was not a fight he’d want to face alone. He took a last look at the slain guards at the gate, and bolted for the barracks. He could only hope the men were prepared for what they were about to face.

*****

The over sized, toothy mouth of Radament grinned with pleasure as he left the corpses behind and began to amble down the street. Man flesh; oh how he’d feast today.

*****

Mortis staggered in darkness. Blind. In pain. The dust of Radament was not like ordinary sand; it wriggled and burrowed, irritated and burned. He needed water, and fast, before his eyes fell to pieces in their sockets.

He’d heard a cry not long ago, and had used that alone to guide his steps. Flight while blind was impossible, and running in sand much the same. Yet, out of the darkness, images were beginning to form. Only mere flashes, and accompanied by no sound. But he saw them none the less.

The stone arch of Lut Gholein. A terrified, screaming face, filling his vision. Blood. Another man running up a street and many more fleeing. And most horribly, something he recognised well, something he’d feared the second he’d heard the Summoners commands to his newly revived minion.

The swinging sign of drinking tavern.

*****

Finding his way to the gates was easier then expected; the screams had been more frequent and louder the past few times. Mortis lent against the weathered stone and listened. Feet, people crying, the sounds of guards and their shouted orders. And above all the, the sound of a woman wailing. It was chaos in the streets.

He staggered, groping his way along, searching for the town square by memory alone. An empty bucket dropped carelessly found the shin of his foot, and he stumbled to a painful halt upon the cobblestones. He knelt there, grinding his teeth against the throbbing, angry red in his knees and eyes. And then a voice spoke in his ears.

“… Dune Hunter? Dune Hunter, it is you! Thank the gods.”

A strong arm gripped his shoulder and pulled him to his feet.

“Stand fast, we need your - “ A pause. A gasp. “Your eyes, Dune Hunter what on Sanctuary happened to your eyes?”

Mortis could only choke out a reply.

“Water… please. I need it now!”

The strong arms obeyed, leading him so fast and steady Mortis felt as if he were being carried. And suddenly his face was under the cool water of the town well. He shook his head, rubbed frantically at his eyes, and drank all at the same time.

At last he pulled himself out and gave a long, gasping breath. The pain was washing way. Blinking, he saw light, then figures, and then slowly the world reappeared. Though his eyes felt sore, the irritating dust of Radament had finally departed. His sight had thankfully returned.

The strong arms spun him.

“Greiz!” he cried, seeing the face of his saviour.

“Snap out of it, lad!” the gruff, pale-faced soldier cried. “You may be our only chance. There’s a beast loose in the city, and it’s the ugliest damned thing you’ve ever seen.”

Mortis straightened immediately; able-eyed and ready for revenge.

“Where’d it go?” he snarled.

“It came in through the gates, in broad daylight! I could barely believe me peepers. Killed two of me guards like that!” he snapped his fingers in front of the demons face. “Then it headed to the tavern -“

Greiz never got to finish his sentence. Mortis was gone.

*****

He knew it was too late, even before he saw the blood trailing out of the tavern doorway. The woman’s wail, so desperate and forlorn, rang out over the whole city. A drunk’s body hung half way through a window, his head split and leaking onto the cobblestones. But it was the tiny leg, adorned with a child’s sandal, that nearly broke Mortis’s mind right there and then.

He wanted to kill, anyone or anything, but then grief hit him like a Wendigo’s fist and all he wanted to do was sit and mourn his losses. The wail droned on endlessly, a lament mimicking for his own emotional turmoil. He found his eyes following the trail of blood, up the street where more of the slain lay. Many were dismembered, missing strips of flesh or appendages. Many he recognised. Many had been his friends.

At the far end, Greiz had mustered what remained of his guards and was urging them, one by one, through an open trap door.

“Get down there boys; teach that flesh eating bastard you can’t chew on the Desert Mercenaries,” he bellowed. He looked down the street and met Mortis’s eye. “Come if you can, Dune Hunter, we’ll need all the help we can get.”

Greiz followed his men down into the sewers below, where the Undead murderer had fled, dragging the skins of his prey. Mortis stood alone in a city of the slain, their loved ones wails fading to mere sobs. He ground his teeth till they felt fit to crumble. He looked up at the morning sun and screamed.

“Voice! Summoner! What have you done? Why did you force me to unleash this horror? You promised I wouldn’t be hurt. You couldn’t have injured me more!”

The silence the voice had maintained since its final orders to Radament persisted, infuriating Mortis all the more. He took a step towards the open trapdoor, resolving to utterly destroy at least one source of his pain.

A hum of electricity filled the air, making his senses prickle wildly. He hissed and peered around, expecting a sorcerer’s spell to strike him at any second.

“EUREKA!” the voice boomed in his ears “The gate to the Arcane Sanctuary is opening!”

“What are you doing, Summoner?” Mortis snarled, “What is this Arcane Sanctuary? Is it the reason why the city had to suffer?”

Now the voice was back, it seemed more then willing to dispense its usual teasing factoids.

“Oh, you poor deluded demon. You child of a deceitful, evil world. You’ve lived in Sanctuary for how long now? And you still you know so little about human behaviour.”

“I know enough to kill them more efficiently then any other creature. Come forth and I’ll show you.”

“I think not. But I’d like to thank you for your… invaluable services. Your current employer isn’t paying you nearly enough. Without you, I never would have had the time to open the gate.”

Dark realisation fell over Mortis’s heart like crows on carrion.

“Radament… he wasn’t your grand plan. He was a distraction.”

“And the last camel crosses the Oasis. Well done.” The voice paused to let out a laugh that was somewhere between a giggle and a snort. “Radament did his job well. Perhaps you’ve noticed by now that every available guard has chased him to the sewer. Nobody remains to protect the gates. Even the palace lies empty…”

Mortis didn’t need the seconds he was given for that information to sink in. He was already marching towards the palace entrance with terrifying purpose. His arms lashed out as he went, tearing chunks from walls in his fury.

“Oh yes, please come and visit. I’m dying to meet you in person.”

“You’ll be dying alright.”

“You’re as pig-headed as the Sultan. I’m so glad you did me the favour of killing that bulbous lout. That bloated tick on the buttocks of society.”

“Why didn’t you do it yourself, with your damnable home-made demons?”

“Fool. You really think I’d bring my pets out to play in full sight of the royal family? I’d be executed on the spot! A Sultans Vizier can never dapple in arts that could threaten his master’s life.”

Mortis had entered the palace, descending the spiral staircase as he’d done the night before. The rooms and corridors proved to be as luxurious as ever, but far more quiet now. He glided from doorway to doorway, ready to pounce, rend, tear the treacherous voice right from its owner’s throat. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place now, thanks to the Summoner’s deliberate hint dropping.

“Why stop there? I’m enjoying this entourage of how stupidly I played into your hands, really I am.”

“’Really, you am’, ay? Well, if you insist, I will indulge. Did you perhaps ever think about the consequences of slaughtering a Sultan?”

Mortis didn’t reply. In truth, he hadn’t. Braca’s contract, the opinions of the people, and the purity of the Sultan’s son seemed justification enough to remove Abdullah permanently. There really seemed to be no other factors to consider.

“How about protection?” the Summoner replied, reading Mortis’s thoughts. “Did it ever cross your confused little mind that the Sultan’s son might not be more then a pampered child? His heart is in the right place, true, but there’s a big difference between one’s desires to help, and one’s abilities to do so.”

Mortis was beginning to feel more and more uneasy with the Summoners words. He hadn’t considered Jerhyn’s abilities. The process of learning was different for all humans, this he knew, but he’d assumed that because Jerhyn was of age, he was ready to take the throne.

“What vital skills could he be missing?” Mortis said curiously. This harem level did indeed seem deserted, but a static energy thrummed from the floor beneath his feet. “You’re in the basement, aren’t you?”

“Run, run, run, as fast as you can. You can’t catch me, I’m the Summoning Man!”

The voice burst into a fit of laughter, mocking and cruel, that drove Mortis into a frenzy. He forgot about stealth, about scouting each room. He found the stairs leading to the next floor, and hurtled down them like a wild thing.

“What skills could he be missing?” the voice continued to muse. “Hmmm… let’s see… how about; basic military procedures? The Sultan allowed his son to order the guards around, but the lad doesn’t know the first thing about strategy. How do you think he’d handle an invading force? Send wave after wave of men into the fray?”

“A point I’m sure you plan to take advantage of.”

“Despite the dimly lit interior of your skull, you do have moments of surprising perceptiveness. Yes, I’m counting on young Jerhyn’s inexperience. My pets are very eager to meet him.”

Mortis pelted through the cellars, barging over barrels and spilling wine darker then blood. The electric hum was closer, louder, buzzing inside his head.

“Where are you? Do you still hide like an urchin beneath a stone?”

“You’re still a level too high. I await you, my blue friend, but a stairwell away. And don’t dwell too much on the future of the Hassani Empire. If it doesn’t fall to me, it will fall to someone else. Without the Sultan, even a tightly organised band of desert thieves could overthrow the city. In fact, I believe I heard rumour of a Hell Lord coming this way…”

An image of the strange man at the Kanduras tavern, his head lolled and mouth opened wide, flashed into Mortis’s mind. A shiver went down his spine.

“You’re… you’re in league with…?”

“Never! The Hell Lords condemn my actions as much as man or Angel, you know that. I am an outcast, an interloper, unwelcome in all worlds but the one I am about to ascend too. There I will be safe to continue my research, to follow in the footsteps of the greatest Summoner of all; Horazon.”

The voice waited for Mortis’s response, but the demon was too focused on working his way through the cellar to respond. Besides, Horazon was a name that meant nothing to him. The Summoner snorted in disgust.

“Never mind. You just hurry your way down here. But don’t expect to stop me. I’ve spent far too many years, bowing to that odious Sultan, to be foiled now. It took nearly a decade alone to rebuild this portal, far beneath the palace floors.”

Mortis found the stairs and flew down, sliding carelessly on dust covered steps. He guessed that the cellar this far down was rarely visited, and so perfect for a treacherous Vizier to conduct his experiments. The electric buzz had become a crackle of lightning, and an eerie blue light leaked around the door he now stood before.

He bared his teeth, gripped the handle, and then smashed the door from its hinges.

[Project_Xii]

For a second he was blind again, not in darkness, but pure light. He shielded his eyes and tried to see through the glare. A glowing portal shimmered in the centre of the room, both beautiful and chilling to look at directly. A chuckle drew his attention from the wavering dimensional rift to a strangely dressed figure standing beside it.

“We meet at last, oh mighty Dune Hunter,” the figure said. His flowing blue robe shimmered and swam in the light of the portal, creating a universe within a universe effect in the flawless cloth. “The trusty pawn arrives.”

Mortis stood in the doorway, his gold ringed eyes shining.

“Indeed,” he snarled, “but now it’s the pawn cornering the King.”

The Summoner laughed again, and Mortis saw the face that wasn’t a face. A mask of metal covered the man’s features completely. The wide grinning mouth and eyes were mere black holes, carved into a comically smiling visage. It reminded Mortis of the clown masks humans wore during certain annual festivities.

“Check, but not mate. No chessboard ever comes equipped with one of these,” the man replied, gesturing to the portal.

Mortis blinked, and to his surprise he saw the mask had changed. It no longer grinned with smiling eyes. Now it leered at him with smug satisfaction.

“I’m glad we could meet before I leave. Face to face, human to demon.”

“That’s no face you wear,” Mortis replied.

“Well, if we’re going to get picky; you’re not exactly wearing your true face either.”

Mortis’s eyes widened. The knowledge of this man was frightening to behold.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised!” the mask said, changing to a look of sympathy, “I know all your secrets, like I said before. That basic glamour spell you wear to make your face appear more human; it isn’t exactly hard to detect. Even for unskilled eyes.”

Mortis spread his wings in reply, and took a step forward.

“You’re going to pay for the guards Radament killed. For the innocent city dwellers that crossed his path. And... and for…” he choked on the a lump welling in his throat. “And for killing Atma’s boy,” he screamed at last. “He’d barely begun to live. Do you feel no remorse, you demon whoring bastard??”

Mortis cradled his head in his hands, thick sobs escaping through his fingers. When he looked up at the now solemn mask, his eyes were burning with fury. Trickles of flame leapt from his fingers.

“You. Will. Burn!”

With one fluid motion, he thrust his hand forward, and suddenly the room was alive with orange light. A fireball streaked from his palm, destined for the now shocked metal mask, and the Summoner was only saved by throwing himself desperately to the floor. He covered his head as the ball exploded against the wall behind, showering him in cinders.

Mortis was staring at his hands, breathing heavy and disbelieving of the feat he’d just achieved. The Summoner looked up, an unsure expression on his mask, and for one brief moment they forgot their fight and shared something wholly unique.

“You haven’t done that in years,” the Summoner whispered.

“I know,” Mortis whispered in reply.

Then the battle resumed. The Summoner was up, the mask grinning triumphantly once more.

“Impressive display, but I know tricks of my own.”

With a gesture very similar to Mortis’, he unleashed a ball of ice that flew so fast the demon was unable to move from its path. It struck him at the knees, freezing his legs to the floor. Mortis howled in protest and began to smash the ice apart with his fists. The Summoner merely continued to grin his horrible metallic grin, and slowly began to stride towards the portal.

“Don’t you flee!” Mortis bellowed; “Don’t you run from me! Our fight isn’t finished; I will make you pay!”

The Summoner continued to walk casually away, while Mortis managed to free one leg from the icy chunk. He’d almost freed the other, when the man reached the portal, and stopped inches from stepping through. The mask that turned to face the struggling demon was no longer mocking, only a resigned listlessness one might see on a city busker.

“Yes. I will pay. And I’m willing to bet ten fold. But not today, and hopefully not for a long time to come. This is the beginning of the end for me, the safe-haven beyond is about to become my eternal home and prison. Farewell, Dune Hunter,” the listless mask changed back to that happy, hollow smile, “I enjoyed our time together.”

With that, the Summoner stepped into the portal. The rage, the pain at seeing his manipulator getting way sent strength surging through Mortis’s body, and he shattered out of the ice with one mighty heave.

“You BASTARD,” he screamed, lunging towards the portal. His outstretched claws reached, slashed, mere centimetres from the man’s flowing robe. Then the portal closed with a clap of lightning, and Mortis was left in darkness. Some fine blue fibres clinging to his nails were the only evidence of how close he had come.

He howled. He cried. He punched at the strange stone arch where the portal had been till his knuckles were raw and cracked. Nothing worked. Only some final, far away words drifted to him, like whispers on the breeze.

“It’s no use doing that; it will not open for you. Humans only, I’m afraid. Perhaps, one day, a would-be hero will come through to entertain me; one pure of heart and honourable of intention may have what it takes to activate the portal. But, sadly for you, there aren’t many people like that left in the world today…”

The voice faded away. Mortis’s enemy had, well and truly, slipped from his grasp.

*****



There's one small section left on Contract 3, then we're onto the Palavers. The really heavy stuff. I think you'll have a ball in that section; it's full of wacky theories and in depth discussions. Oh, and the final part of Mortis's past flashbacks. Quite proud of that bit actually. Thanks again Rev :)

[Anyee]

Is there a chance of this going up on its own to TDL? We're allllivvvee *insert zombie crawling from the grave in a very fanfic-y way* and missing it. :(

[Project_Xii]

Is there a chance of this going up on its own to TDL? We're allllivvvee *insert zombie crawling from the grave in a very fanfic-y way* and missing it. :(
Of course! I'm positive i sent it in along with the final chapter of Ormus Tale back when you first annouced on the b.net forum that TDL was wiped.... but maybe it got lost among the chaos :S

I'll send it over soon, An'yee, thanks for asking :)

[RevenantsKnight]

Regarding the latest part of Contract Three: looks like a good ending to this part of the story. This read quickly and smoothly, and the plot looks solid. Also, the Summoner’s much better in the flesh, which is a nice change. The only major comment I have is that your version of the Summoner contradicts Blizzard’s information on how it happened. That’s not something you can’t do, necessarily, but they may be points of confusion for readers who are familiar with the NPC speech on the quest. Here’re some more specific comments:


He wiped some sweat from his brow and coughed up a wad of phlegm, which he then hawked casually onto the cobblestones.

I think “hawked” should be “spat,” since I’m pretty sure it means the same thing as “coughed.”


The guards usually posted there, bored and complacent, now lay dead under the arches shadow.

That should be “arch’s shadow.”


Pools of blood seeped into the sand from their wounds, and dripped from the bony claws of the creature standing over them.

Technically, this reads as if pools of blood are dripping from Radament’s claws. I could see an argument to keep it that way for the overkill sort of feel, but I think pools of blood on his claws seems like a weird image. I’d reword this a little bit.


‘No,’ he thought; ‘it’s daylight.’

The semicolon here should be a comma, since you’re splitting a sentence of speech (“No, it’s daylight.”)


‘They sneak and kill, cowardly in the night.’

This read a little awkwardly; if you meant for the “cowardly in the night” part to describe “kill” only, then drop the comma. If you meant for it to modify both verbs, then this needs some revision...perhaps something like “They sneak around in the night and kill from behind like cowards” would do.


But as the creature bent to the bodies lying beneath him, and ripped the right arm from one, reality was very quickly beginning to sink in.

The last clause here is a bit ungainly, as well as perhaps too informal for the narration. As it is, it’s too general in that it doesn’t say anything about Greiz, and there’s nothing in the sentence to suggest that it applies to him, though the context says otherwise, and the “reality sinks in” sort of phrase is more of a conversational wording than something suited for the story’s tone. I’d replace it with something that focuses on Greiz’s realization that this is trouble, and his following reaction.


The beasts bulging face grinned as it placed the freshly torn arm to his own rotting shoulder, and Greiz watched as spidery tendons and ligaments crept out to bind the new flesh to old.

That should be “beast’s.” Nice bit of elaboration on Radament’s “rebuilding,” though.


A small hoard of black beetles scurried from between its exposed ribs and burrowed gleefully into the fresh meat.

That should be “horde.” “Hoard” means a hidden supply or cache.


Greiz couldn’t help but gag with repulsion.

I think you mean “...gag in revulsion” there.


A shout rang out down the street, as some patrolling guards spotted the monstrosity.

The comma here is unnecessary.


It turned towards them, its hollow eyes scanning.

“Scanning” needs an object, or a noun following after the verb; something always scans something else, and that something else needs to be specified. In this case, something like “the cobblestones” or whatever should work.


The over sized, toothy mouth of Radament grinned with pleasure as he left the corpses behind and began to amble down the street.

“Oversized” is one word.


Man flesh; oh how he’d feast today.

Technically, there should be a comma after “oh.”


Flight while blind was impossible, and running in sand much the same.

“Flight” should be “flying.”


Yet, out of the darkness, images were beginning to form. Only mere flashes, and accompanied by no sound. But he saw them none the less.

Previously, you describe Mortis as blinded, so this was a little confusing; is he managing to get some of the sand out of his eyes or something? If so, that wasn’t entirely clear. Also, why would there be “no sound,” especially with all hell breaking loose in the city? The sand didn’t damage his ears as far as I know, and if anything, I’d think he’d focus on his senses that worked. If these are visions, as opposed to things that he’s actually seeing, then I totally missed that on a first read. Finally, “nonetheless” is one word.


And most horribly, something he recognised well, something he’d feared the second he’d heard the Summoners commands to his newly revived minion.

That should be “Summoner’s.”


Mortis lent against the weathered stone and listened.

Uh...do you mean “Mortis leaned” there? I can’t imagine why you’d want a form of the verb “to lend.”


He knelt there, grinding his teeth against the throbbing, angry red in his knees and eyes.

The damage from running into a bucket seems a little exaggerated here. Comparing it to Radament’s eye-shot feels overly whiny on Mortis’s part.


“Stand fast, we need your - “

“Then it headed to the tavern -“

Minor nitpick: the closing quotes here are turned the wrong way. If that matters to you, I’d suggest deleting them and copy-pasting in a set in the right positions.


“Your eyes, Dune Hunter what on Sanctuary happened to your eyes?”

I think there should be a semicolon, or perhaps an ellipsis, after “Dune Hunter,” since you could probably break the sentence into two there and have each stand on their own.


The strong arms obeyed, leading him so fast and steady Mortis felt as if he were being carried.

That should be “so quickly and steadily,” since both modify “leading,” which is a verb. As it is, you have adjectives there, which, grammatically, can’t modify “leading.”


The pain was washing way.

That should be “washing away.”


His sight had thankfully returned.

“Thankfully” should be at the start of the sentence, with a comma immediately after it. As it is, it describes how he regains his vision, and it sounds more than a little odd to attribute feelings such as thankfulness to the process of his sight returning.


Mortis straightened immediately; able-eyed and ready for revenge.

The semicolon here should be a comma, since the second part isn’t a sentence on its own, as it has no subject.


“Killed two of me guards like that!” he snapped his fingers in front of the demons face.

This should be two sentences, with the second starting at “he snapped...” Also, “demons” should be “demon’s.”


He wanted to kill, anyone or anything, but then grief hit him like a Wendigo’s fist and all he wanted to do was sit and mourn his losses.

This reads a bit dryly, likely because you condensed a lot into summaries for this to fit into one sentence. I’d advise taking a bit more time with this part; as it is, it feels like you bring it up because it seems necessary and then move on. Also, the first part doesn’t seem grammatically correct, as “anyone or anything” doesn’t really connect smoothly back to “kill.” I’d suggest rewording that some, though I don’t have a good sample in mind. Finally, I’d drop the game reference to Wendigoes here, or at least put it in lowercase, because I think that reminder of the game takes some of the impact out of this.


The wail droned on endlessly, a lament mimicking for his own emotional turmoil.

“Mimicking for” sounds grammatically incorrect to me, and it seems like the wrong verb to use here, as well. I think all you need here is something like “mirroring” or “reflecting.”


“Get down there boys; teach that flesh eating bastard you can’t chew on the Desert Mercenaries,” he bellowed.

Technically, there should be a comma after “there.”


“Come if you can, Dune Hunter, we’ll need all the help we can get.”

The comma after “Dune Hunter” should be a semicolon, I think.


Greiz followed his men down into the sewers below, where the Undead murderer had fled, dragging the skins of his prey.

I don’t think “undead” should be capitalized here.


Mortis stood alone in a city of the slain, their loved ones wails fading to mere sobs.

That should be “loved ones’ wails,” since there are multiple individuals involved.


He ground his teeth till they felt fit to crumble.

I like the image here, even if the wording is a little colloquial.


“Voice! Summoner!”

You know, I don’t think you ever indicate that Mortis knows that the voice is the Summoner. It’s mentioned in the narration, of course, but I don’t think it ever comes up in the dialogue, so there’s no real reason to believe that Mortis ever learned his title. I guess you could argue that Mortis is just calling him a summoner in general, since he met the conjured imp, but given the game title, I doubt that would be most readers’ first reaction.


A hum of electricity filled the air, making his senses prickle wildly.

Hrm...this reads as if his senses are prickling something else. Should that be “...prickling his senses”?


“EUREKA!” the voice boomed in his ears “The gate to the Arcane Sanctuary is opening!”

There should be a period after “ears.”


“What are you doing, Summoner?” Mortis snarled, “What is this Arcane Sanctuary?”

The comma after “snarled” should be a period.


Now the voice was back, it seemed more then willing to dispense its usual teasing factoids.

“Factoids” sounds anachronistic for the Diablo world to me. I’d see if you can’t replace that or reword this so that it would be unnecessary.


“You’ll be dying alright.”

That should be “...dying, all right.” “Alright” is nonstandard; though it gets used some, it’s technically not considered a conventional word.


“A Sultans Vizier can never dapple in arts that could threaten his master’s life.”

That should be “Sultan’s Vizier,” and I think you mean “dabble” instead of “dapple,” as the former means to experiment or practice without serious intent, and the latter means mottled, according to dictionary.com. (Actually, maybe you don’t mean “dabble,” either, since he appears to have quite a bit of serious intent. “Practice” might do, I suppose.)

More importantly, this is where you and Blizzard run into each other. According to Jerhyn’s and Drognan’s information on the quest, the Summoner is a maddened Vizjerei sorcerer who visited the palace prior to the current troubles (though he didn’t appear mad when he visited.) During that visit, he asked to see certain parts of the palace, and then left, disappearing from the city shortly afterwards (presumably to enter the Arcane Sanctuary.) As it sounds like conforming to this would represent a significant change in character, I’m not sure what path would be best in this case, because the way you have it now would work fine except for those points, which are admittedly a little obscure.


“I’m enjoying this entourage of how stupidly I played into your hands, really I am.”

“Entourage” means a group of followers or similar people, so I don’t think that’s the word you want. “Tale” or “description” would work, just to name a few possibilities.


“’Really, you am’, ay?”

That should be “you are.” I know this is speech, but this sounds a bit silly with the grammatical mistake.


Mortis was beginning to feel more and more uneasy with the Summoners words.

That should be “Summoner’s.”


“Run, run, run, as fast as you can. You can’t catch me, I’m the Summoning Man!”

I’d cut this reference, since it doesn’t really work unless that story’s well known in the Diablo world, and that seems to be a weak assumption indeed.


The voice burst into a fit of laughter, mocking and cruel, that drove Mortis into a frenzy.

I think “that drove” should be “driving,” though I’m not sure if what you have is grammatically correct as well.


“Hmmm… let’s see… how about; basic military procedures?”

The semicolon here is unnecessary.


An image of the strange man at the Kanduras tavern, his head lolled and mouth opened wide, flashed into Mortis’s mind.

That’s spelled “Khanduras.”


“The Hell Lords condemn my actions as much as man or Angel, you know that.”

The comma after “Angel” should be a period or a semicolon, as this could be broken into two complete sentences at that point. Alternatively, you could reword this to “You know that the Hell Lords...”


“I am an outcast, an interloper, unwelcome in all worlds but the one I am about to ascend too.”

“Too” should be “to.”


“There I will be safe to continue my research, to follow in the footsteps of the greatest Summoner of all; Horazon.”

That should be either something like “There I will be free to continue...” or “There it will be safe for me to continue...” As it is, it seems like you’re mixing the two. Also, the semicolon here should be a colon.


“I’ve spent far too many years, bowing to that odious Sultan, to be foiled now.”

The commas here are unnecessary.


Mortis found the stairs and flew down, sliding carelessly on dust covered steps.

“Dust-covered” should be hyphenated.


For a second he was blind again, not in darkness, but pure light.

Minor nitpick: that should be “...but in pure light” to be parallel with the preceding phrase.


His flowing blue robe shimmered and swam in the light of the portal, creating a universe within a universe effect in the flawless cloth.

I’d try to revise this so that the description focuses more on what the reader would see if he or she were actually there, as opposed to a more filtered image (“effect” in particular makes it sound as if you’re summarizing things a bit.) Such an approach will almost certainly take longer to plan out and use up more space, but it’ll provide a much more vivid image, and in this case, I think that’d be to your advantage.


Mortis stood in the doorway, his gold ringed eyes shining.

I think “gold-ringed” should be hyphenated.


The Summoner laughed again, and Mortis saw the face that wasn’t a face.

I think that should be “...his face...” The mask is a neat touch.


It no longer grinned with smiling eyes.

You previously describe the eyes as simple holes. Given that, “smiling eyes” seems, well, odd.


“Well, if we’re going to get picky; you’re not exactly wearing your true face either.”

The semicolon here should be a comma. “If we’re going to get picky” is not a complete sentence because the “if” is not resolved. For instance, a sentence beginning with “if” (If I had a rocket launcher...) technically requires an explanation of what happens in the case that condition is met (...I’d make somebody pay.) Put ‘em together, and you get your sentence: If I had a rocket launcher, I’d make somebody pay! :grin:


“Oh, don’t act so surprised!” the mask said, changing to a look of sympathy, “I know all your secrets, like I said before.

The comma after “sympathy” should be a period. Other than that, I liked this bit.


“That basic glamour spell you wear to make your face appear more human; it isn’t exactly hard to detect.”

This seems redundant, since “glamour” can mean a magic enchantment. I’d replace it with “illusion,” perhaps.


“And... and for…” he choked on the a lump welling in his throat.

I think this should be two sentences, with the second starting at “He choked.”


A fireball streaked from his palm, destined for the now shocked metal mask, and the Summoner was only saved by throwing himself desperately to the floor.

I’d switch out the use of the passive voice (“was saved”) here, as something like “...and the Summoner barely managed to dodge by...” carries a bit more urgency in it.


Mortis was staring at his hands, breathing heavy and disbelieving of the feat he’d just achieved.

“Heavy” should be “heavily,” since it modifies a verb (“breathing.”) Also, I’d write “he’d” out as “he had” because it feels a bit more in line with the tone, but that’s just me.


The Summoner looked up, an unsure expression on his mask, and for one brief moment they forgot their fight and shared something wholly unique.

This is good, though “...and shared something wholly unique” seems a bit weak to me because it feels like you’re force-feeding the reader this interpretation. Others may differ with me on this, but I’d think that if you just stick to things that the reader could see if he or she were there, your description would feel more natural. With some time, you could likely construct such a scene that would also carry this idea without spelling it out.


With a gesture very similar to Mortis’, he unleashed a ball of ice that flew so fast the demon was unable to move from its path.

The possessive of “Mortis” is properly “Mortis’s,” though at least one person has argued this off before as a stylistic choice. Whichever one you use, make sure to stick with it consistently.


The mask that turned to face the struggling demon was no longer mocking, only a resigned listlessness one might see on a city busker.

“Busker” seems a bit conversational to me, though that might just be my impression.


“This is the beginning of the end for me, the safe-haven beyond is about to become my eternal home and prison.”

The comma after “me” should be a semicolon or a period, and “safe haven” is usually two words, I think.


His outstretched claws reached, slashed, mere centimetres from the man’s flowing robe.

I’d avoid using specific units of measurement, and particularly ones from the metric system because they don’t have medieval roots, in cases like this. Something like “a hairsbreadth” seems more appropriate to me, though I might just be going insane again.


“Perhaps, one day, a would-be hero will come through to entertain me; one pure of heart and honourable of intention may have what it takes to activate the portal.”

“Honorable of intention” sounds weird to me...I think you could probably get away with just dropping it altogether, if you want.

On the whole, this read pretty well, and...I'm repeating myself, aren't I? I’m going to end here before I go over the post limit. :tongue: Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Phew, what a lot of changes. I wonder whether people like Stepthen King had their work subjected to such scrutinisation. All nessacary though (one day i'll laern to spell that word off the top of my head).

Anyway, Contract 3 is almost finished, there's just one more piece left. Thanks for reviewing that huge chunk anyway. Few comments on your comments:
Yeah, i know i went against Blizzards original Summoner plan. I found it wasn't as... absorbing i guess. I wanted abit more intrigue involved in my story, wanted the reader thinking "Ohh... evil insider man, pulling all the strings!" rather then "oh, wandering weirdo. hmmm."
Usually i'm a real stickler for keeping to the facts, but occasionally i'll "think outside the game i play in" if i think it'll make for a better story. i thought it worked out pretty well anyway. How bout u? :)

"Run run run, as fast as you can etc."

Awwww... that was one of my favourite lines! i'm not sure why, but to me it just seemed to add this weirdness to the Summoner that i enjoyed. Like he'd been places or seen things you wouldn't usually relate to the Diablo world. it's childish, but it made me smirk, and i was hoping maybe some other readers would too. I think i'll take the risk and keep the line in there, since it's a personnal thing.

Out of interest, did you find that section at all apprenhensive first read through? I know when one is supposed to review a story, the reading process can be interupted because the glaring mistakes jump out and distract you. But yeah, i found when i was re-reading that part it felt all tense and exciting. Which made me kinda proud lol.
This is only a small piece, so yeah. whenever you can. you've been brilliant lately with those quick replies :)



*****

Mortis knelt underneath the portal arch for a long time, his mind blank and eyes the same. The room beneath the palace felt cold and empty now, despite the heated battle that had just taken place. He felt he could just sit there for eternity, test the ‘body to stone’ theory, but suddenly the concept of time seemed very important.

Time. It was well past dawn. And it suddenly hit him that the ship, Braca and his next assignment may also be slipping away.

Mortis dragged himself reluctantly to his feet and began to walk slowly towards the shattered door. He hated being defeated, and even though the Summoners only real action was to flee, it felt like defeat none the less. It was a fight for another day, and one he definitely intended to come back too.

His pace quickened as he worked his way back up through the dusty, spider-webbed basement, and by the time he reached the harem he was at a full run. The idea of being left behind in this city, where he had inadvertently caused so much pain, was too much to handle. He was not going to miss that boat.

Mortis rounded the last corner and collided with something so hard he was knocked backwards onto the marble floor. He was up in a second, thinking perhaps it was a guard, but the young man cowering below him was anything but. The man’s turban had been knocked askew, and his eyes were wide with terror. He looked about to faint.

“D-d-demon!” he managed to stutter, “Stay back! Stay back!” His moccasined feet slipped and squeaked on the polished floor as he tried to move away. Mortis quickly rose his palms in a non-threatening gesture.

“Prince Jerhyn!” he said, “Do not be afraid; I mean you know harm.”

Jerhyn only stared back at him for a long moment, eyeing the gleaming claws on the hands that were displayed. His view drifted from the great wings, to the blue skin and finally the almost inhuman face. It was hard not to be afraid.

Mortis knelt so he was at the prince’s level.

“Please, I haven’t much time. I understand meeting a demon in the hallways of your home is an unexpected event, but you must listen.”

Jerhyn’s features began to soften, he blinked, and sudden recognition hit.

“You’re… you’re the Dune Hunter! I remember the descriptions of you from the stories. I heard you were back… I always wanted to meet you, you know, but my father refused…”

Mortis could see the lad was still suffering from mild shock. He gripped Jerhyn’s shoulders and shook him.

“I need you to pay attention here, and be quick about it! Aren’t you aware of what’s happening in your city? This is urgent!”

Jerhyn blinked again, then a flush of colour filled his cheeks.

“I… I’ve been asleep. I just woke up and everyone was gone. The guards, the servants… even father.”

Mortis rolled his eyes. Far off in the distance, on the fringes of his consciousness, he heard a mocking laugh.

“…there’s a big difference between one’s desires to help, and one’s abilities to do so…” it echoed.

“No,” Mortis said aloud to himself, “I won’t let that happen.”

Jerhyn looked confusedly up at him.

”Are you talking to me…?”

Mortis ignored him and pulled the young man to his feet.

“Listen, while you’ve been off in your palace of dreams, two great evils have invaded your city. One is an Undead mage, risen to take vengeance on the living and feed on their flesh. He has retreated to the sewers, and most if not all of all of the guards have followed him.” He paused to take a breath. Jerhyn listened wide eyed.

“The second,” Mortis continued, “was your father’s Vizier. He -“

He paused again. Something was wrong.

“He -“

Nothing. He couldn’t speak. The words were there, but they were lodged in his throat. Absorbed by his tongue. Mortis snarled in frustration.

“Damn you, Summoner!” he screamed in his mind, “What have you done? What spell have you placed over my mind?”

There was no answer, but there didn’t really need to be. Mortis would never speak of the Summoner’s plans, no matter how hard he tried. Some enchantments were just too hard to break, and Mortis didn’t have the time to find a way.

Jerhyn, meanwhile, was staring at the demon’s alarmingly vicious expression.

“…The Vizier? What about him?”

Mortis snorted and shook his head.

“Never mind. I’m afraid you’ll find out in due time. Just heed my word: seek out your trainers and learn the ways of war. Earn the respect of the guards - the ones that remain - and talk long and hard with Greiz. It is imperative you gain the knowledge of battle, and gain it soon.”

The young man, naïve as Summoner had predicted, only shook his head.

“I can’t do that! My father forbids it! He will deal with whatever evil comes this way: he is the Sultan, after all.”

Mortis smacked his forehead in frustration. It was as he feared. The Sultan’s power over his son was to strong, and the boy would not defy him while he thought his father was alive. Therefore, there was only one way to make Jerhyn step up to assume his duty. It was what Mortis had dreaded the second they’d collided.

Slowly, Mortis reached into the pocket of his shorts. He withdrew a clenched fist, held it in front of the Prince, and left it there. An inner struggle ensued; Mortis’s hands shaking and his face twisted in pain. He feared the consequences of this action with all his heart… but finally, the fist opened.

Jerhyn’s eyes widened as he gazed on the emblem, once stuck in his father’s turban. Mortis didn’t know fully what to expect. Would the man snap? Scream? Lash out? Simply stare in shock? Instead, the young Sultan simply nodded.

“So, he is dead then,” Jerhyn said sadly, “I knew the day was close.”

“Oh yes?” Mortis queried, unable to hide his surprise at the prince’s mild reaction.

“Yes. I’ve seen and heard of how the people in our city felt towards him. I thought they’d plot something… though I admit, hiring the Dune Hunter wasn’t a path I thought they’d consider.”

Mortis gazed down for a second, studying the emblem himself.

“I was hired by people - ones even I know nothing about - to do the deed, but what you say is true. I doubt your father will be greatly missed. You, however, will be welcomed to the throne. If,” he took the princes gaze and held it, “If you abandon certain Hassani exploits.”

This time, Jerhyn was the one to look down.

“You’re speaking of the Human Zoo. I’m guessing that was the reason you were hired, and it was probably where you slew him last night, correct?”

Mortis nodded.

“I see.”

He went silent, and Mortis waited with held breath. Jerhyn did nothing for a while longer, and then something about him noticeably changed. He seemed to relax, as if unburdened from a heavy load. His posture straightened and he gazed almost defiantly into the demon’s eyes. There was a grim determination there that told Mortis he had succeeded with his gamble. Without his father, Jerhyn now accepted the role that had been thrust upon him. It might not have been much, but it was the first step towards assuming the throne.

“I am the Sultan of Lut Gholein,” the young man said, “and as of this moment I will sever all ties with abominable organisations such as the Human Zoo. In fact, all slaves of the palace will be freed. They do not belong here, but in their homes.”

He stopped, then smiled. The ability to make such decisions, freely and without the watchful gaze of his father, was obviously something he’d been waiting a long time to do. It pleased him greatly.

Mortis smiled too.

“I think you’ll be alright,” he said, giving Jerhyn a good natured slap on the shoulder. “Just don’t go digging around in any maggot holes.”

The new Sultan smirked curiously.

“Errr… sure… why?”

“Nevermind. Now I must leave. I have… many things to think about. Good luck… Sultan Jerhyn.”

Jerhyn bowed, and as Mortis made to pass him, he gripped the demon’s arm tightly.

“I will tell the people he was slain by the Human Zoo. Things will be ok.”

The sudden image of a child’s leg, the tiny sandal still on its foot, flashed in Mortis’s mind and made him squint.

“No,” he said softly, “I don’t think things will be. This will be the last time I visit your desert city. I’m glad we met before the end.”

Jerhyn let go of the demons arm, and Mortis strode towards the stairs.

*****

The new Sultan stood on the steps of his palace, watching the figure of the Dune Hunter fly out to sea. He sighed.

His palace, his city, and his people; it was all his responsibility now. In the hot morning sun, he could see the carnage caused by the beast the Dune Hunter had mentioned. The sounds of despair still hung in the air, and the streets were still awash in innocent blood. Jerhyn grimaced.

Something dark and sinister was coming to his land, and if it wasn’t here yet, it would be very soon. For a new ruler, there would be no better test of skill. He gazed west, to the deserts horizon, where a storm that seemed to exist only in his heart was brewing.

He hoped he was prepared for the trials ahead.




******

So ends Contract 3. Whaddya think of it as a whole? Improved? Hmmm well, i'm kinda excited that we're finally at the palavers, but also a little worried. This section is made up almost entirely of discussion and theories, and it's pretty big (I'd say 1/3 of the 117 pages so far.. whatever that is... i'm better at english then i am maths heh).
As a run down (just to prepare you) the discussions are between:
Mortis & Braca - Morales, good, evil etc.
Mortis & Himself - The final piece of Mortis's past. Very long.
Mortis & and the Stowaway - Creation: death & rebirth; the worlds of Sanctuary, Hell and Heaven; the summoners and the arcane sanctuary.

So yeah, it'll be pretty heavy. i think you'll have a field day lol. Thanks as always, Reviewing Knight.

[RevenantsKnight]

Regarding the last installment so far: not an overly action-packed piece, perhaps, but I think it works well enough in wrapping up this part of the story. This read fairly smoothly and quickly, and overall I didn’t see any major issues, though there were still some grammatical problems here. Some specific comments:


Mortis knelt underneath the portal arch for a long time, his mind blank and eyes the same.

“...and eyes the same” sounded weird to me; while I caught your meaning, it seems like it should read “...and his eyes.”


The room beneath the palace felt cold and empty now, despite the heated battle that had just taken place.

I don’t really see a contrast between the two parts here, so the “despite” seems unjustified. Rather, since the battle’s over, I’d think that the silence would make the room feel cold and empty in comparison.


He felt he could just sit there for eternity, test the ‘body to stone’ theory, but suddenly the concept of time seemed very important.

The parts before “but suddenly...” were confusing; I’m not sure what this “body to stone” theory is (though I’ve a guess,) and the way you used it here treated it as if everyone should know what it was. Suffice to say, that felt off.


And it suddenly hit him that the ship, Braca and his next assignment may also be slipping away.

You know, there’s never really a feeling of this sort of deadline anywhere else in the story. In fact, the planned meeting gets mentioned all of once, in an unfinished sentence of Mortis’s thoughts, and in that case, there’s no sense that he couldn’t catch up with Braca later by flying or whatever. I’d try to bring up this deadline more often and earlier, so that the reader is more aware of it. As it is, this seems to come out of nowhere just so Mortis doesn’t stick around, leaving the setup for the Diablo II plot.


He hated being defeated, and even though the Summoners only real action was to flee, it felt like defeat none the less.

Some wording points: “Summoners” should be “Summoner’s,” “action was” should be “action had been,” and “nonetheless” is one word.

Regarding the confusion between the possessive and the plural forms of a noun: a noun plus an “s” on the end is generally the plural form, used to indicate more than one of the object in question (“Five Summoners...,”) whereas a noun with an apostrophe and then an “s” on the end is the general form for the possessive (“The Summoner’s cloak...”)


It was a fight for another day, and one he definitely intended to come back too.

That should be “come back to.” “Too” is an intensive used to emphasize words or suggest an overabundance of something.


He was up in a second, thinking perhaps it was a guard, but the young man cowering below him was anything but.

I’d drop “perhaps” here, since it’s plausible that he’d just assume that it was a guard to be safe. Also, I’d try to avoid repeating “but” here; the last usage seems like it could be reworded without losing its meaning.


“D-d-demon!” he managed to stutter, “Stay back! Stay back!”

I think this should be two sentences, with the comma after “stutter” becoming a period.


Mortis quickly rose his palms in a non-threatening gesture.

“Rose” should be “raised.”


“Prince Jerhyn!” he said, “Do not be afraid; I mean you know harm.”

That should be “no harm,” and I think the comma after “said” should be a period.


Jerhyn only stared back at him for a long moment, eyeing the gleaming claws on the hands that were displayed.

“Hands that were displayed” seems a bit wordy to me; you could probably cut this down some to “the other’s hands” or something in that vein without losing the meaning.


His view drifted from the great wings, to the blue skin and finally the almost inhuman face.

I think the comma after “wings” is unnecessary.


Jerhyn’s features began to soften, he blinked, and sudden recognition hit.

The comma after “soften” should be a period or a semicolon, since the subject shifts from Jerhyn’s features to Jerhyn himself. Alternatively, you could reword this so that it remains one sentence.


“No,” Mortis said aloud to himself, “I won’t let that happen.”

I think the comma after “himself” should be a period or a semicolon, since it strikes me that Mortis would probably have a brief pause after “No.” As it is, it reads as if his speech is all one sentence and so does not have such a break in it.


Mortis ignored him and pulled the young man to his feet.

Mortis is ignoring Jerhyn’s words here as opposed to Jerhyn himself, since he pulls him up. Therefore, I’d change “him” to reflect this fact.


“One is an Undead mage, risen to take vengeance on the living and feed on their flesh.”

I don’t think “undead” should be capitalized here, since you’re not using it as a proper name here, but simply as a modifier for “mage.” Just as you don’t need to capitalize “demon” in many cases, I think “undead” should usually remain in lowercase.


“He has retreated to the sewers, and most if not all of all of the guards have followed him.”

There’s a repeated “all of” here in the middle of the sentence.


Jerhyn listened wide eyed.

There should be a comma after “listened,” and “wide-eyed” is usually hyphenated.


“He -“

This is a very small detail, but if it matters to you, the closing quotation mark is oriented the wrong way. If you want to fix this, a good way is to copy-paste in a set facing the right direction. Incidentally, there’s a second instance of this a few lines down.


The words were there, but they were lodged in his throat. Absorbed by his tongue.

I liked this image, though having the second part as a fragment there felt odd to me. I don’t know if this works grammatically, but I might look at replacing the period after “throat” with a comma to make this one sentence so it flows more smoothly.


There was no answer, but there didn’t really need to be.

Technically, that should be “...didn’t really need to be one.”


Mortis would never speak of the Summoner’s plans, no matter how hard he tried. Some enchantments were just too hard to break, and Mortis didn’t have the time to find a way.

This feels a bit distracting in that the narration moves out to a larger picture for a few sentences; up until this point, the focus was very much on this particular scene, and that changes with these sentences, which apparently encompass the rest of Mortis’s life. I’d suggest revising these sentences, or perhaps replacing them.


“Just heed my word: seek out your trainers and learn the ways of war.”

Minor nitpick: I think the phrasing is usually “words.”


The young man, naïve as Summoner had predicted, only shook his head.

That should be “the Summoner.”


The Sultan’s power over his son was to strong, and the boy would not defy him while he thought his father was alive.

That should be “too strong.”


An inner struggle ensued; Mortis’s hands shaking and his face twisted in pain.

That should be “Mortis’s hands shook...”


Jerhyn’s eyes widened as he gazed on the emblem, once stuck in his father’s turban.

That should be “...gazed at...,” and “stuck” seems like the wrong verb in this case; I think rewording this to something like “...emblem that had once adorned his...” would make this feel less like the emblem had been on the turban by accident.


“If,” he took the princes gaze and held it, “If you abandon certain Hassani exploits.”

“Princes” should be “prince’s.” Also, I think the punctuation here feels a bit odd, though it works all right; one alternative, though it may not work as well, would be to make both commas here periods, turning this into three sentences.


Jerhyn did nothing for a while longer, and then something about him noticeably changed.

“Noticeably” is redundant here.


He seemed to relax, as if unburdened from a heavy load.

“Unburdened from” sounds odd to me. I’d say that should be “unburdened of,” though I’m not even sure that’s correct.


Without his father, Jerhyn now accepted the role that had been thrust upon him. It might not have been much, but it was the first step towards assuming the throne.

This sort of narrative summary does get your idea across very clearly, but it also disrupts the story’s flow somewhat, as it feels like you stop the scene for a few moments of analysis. I’d suggest dropping this part and working a bit more with the preceding descriptions so that the reader would be able to infer this from Jerhyn’s reaction, though maybe that’s just me.


“I think you’ll be alright,” he said, giving Jerhyn a good natured slap on the shoulder.

Technically, “alright” should be “all right,” and “good-natured” is usually hyphenated.


“Nevermind.”

That should be “never mind.”


“Things will be ok.”

Technically, you should write out “okay” or capitalize both letters. I’d suggest removing it entirely anyway, since it doesn’t seem to fit the diction of most Diablo world characters.


Jerhyn let go of the demons arm, and Mortis strode towards the stairs.

That should be “demon’s arm.”


His palace, his city, and his people; it was all his responsibility now.

“It was” should be “they were,” since it refers to multiple objects, and I think the semicolon here should be a full colon, though I’m not sure if that’s actually correct.


He gazed west, to the deserts horizon, where a storm that seemed to exist only in his heart was brewing.

That should be “desert’s horizon.” Also, the wording at the end here is confusing; the storm seems like it’s imagined, but there isn’t really a strong reason for Jerhyn to be thinking about such a future, since Mortis gave him only a vague hint that trouble was coming, and he sure as heck didn’t say that Diablo was west of the city.

Overall, I thought this worked fairly well as a closing piece to the mission. A few last thoughts:


Yeah, i know i went against Blizzards original Summoner plan. I found it wasn't as... absorbing i guess. I wanted abit more intrigue involved in my story, wanted the reader thinking "Ohh... evil insider man, pulling all the strings!" rather then "oh, wandering weirdo. hmmm."
Usually i'm a real stickler for keeping to the facts, but occasionally i'll "think outside the game i play in" if i think it'll make for a better story. i thought it worked out pretty well anyway. How bout u? :)

To me, it seemed like the Summoner’s past was irrelevant to your story, honestly. It’s not mentioned much, and doesn’t seem to tie into the Hassani bit, though that could just be me. That aside, I’d say it worked well enough, and frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Summoner’s background according to the game is too obscure for a lot of readers...I know about it only because I was looking around for things the NPCs mentioned but never got fleshed out, just in case there was some story material in the dialogues.


Out of interest, did you find that section at all apprenhensive first read through?

By “that section” I assume you mean the Radament comes to town/Summoner and Mortis part? If that’s the case, then yes, it did at times.

Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Thank you once again, Reviewing Knight. Now starts the Palavers. Whenever you feel like it :) Thxs



Pre-Contract 4 - The Palavers

The gentle rocking motion of the ship did nothing to ease Mortis’s mood. Demons do not, after all, have mothers to cradle them throughout the night, and therefore they can not associate rocking with comfort. He lay on his undersized crib, hands under his head, staring at the wood ceiling.

The sailors had almost jumped over board when he dropped from the sky and landed heavily on the deck. Only the Captain’s cries of ‘hold’ stopped them from doing so. Obviously Braca had had words to him, and the gruff old man was able to calm his crew quickly with a few barked orders.

“Thought ya’d been kilt,” the Captain said through a mouth full of pipe. “Git yaself below deck now, ya spookin’ me men enough.”

On any other day, Mortis would have grabbed the man by his poorly groomed beard and tossed him into the crows nest. But not today. He was tired, furious, and grief stricken. He wasn’t in the mood for anything but sleep.

Following the Captains directions, he swiftly found his cabin, bolted the door, and there he’d stayed for the past two days.

He rolled onto his side now, peering into the dark corners of his room. The shadows spoke to him, danced figures in front of his eyes. He wished for sleep, but feared it as well. Perhaps some of the dust of Radament remained, for when he did sleep the dreams were vivid and real.

So many times now he had seen that swinging tavern sign, heard the screams and saw faces of people he knew, just seconds before they died. So many time he’d thought it safe to close his eyes for just a minute, and his mind had slipped from this world into unreality. But it was real, the things he saw, and he knew it.

The grief had passed, or so it felt. Now he was just numb.

*****

He awoke on the third day after the longest sleep he’d managed since leaving Lut Gholein. There had been dreams, but not like before. Perhaps his body had finally purged itself of Radament’s influence, for these ones had been of jungle. Great green trees and marshy swamps; it had all been familiar, and he knew why. It was Kurast, the place on Sanctuary he’d first arrived upon leaving Hell.

“Mortis, Mortis, Mortis,” the voice of Braca came out of the darkness like a shadowy wraith. The demon started, almost leaping from his crib, then settled back with a groan.

“Damn you, Braca, that’s the second time you’ve done that.”

“Yes, but this time I made sure I was well out of collision range.”

Braca sat on a small stool in the far corner of the room. He looked as neat and preened as usual, his strange black suit creaseless to the elbows. The nervous tick in the corner of his mouth was still subtle but noticeable. Mortis had almost come to hate it.

“Mortis, Mortis” the man repeated, “You really got yourself into a mess this time.”

Mortis sat up, his head resting on the palm of one hand, eyes facing the floor.

“Yes. I believe I did.”

“It’s an evil world out there, my friend. Full of evil men who long for power. And I think you’ve seen now the extent in which these men will go to get it.”

“I know evil. I am from Hell. And I’ve been on Sanctuary long enough to know the capabilities of man.” He took his hand from his head and brought his fingers together in a peak. “But you know, I’m beginning to wonder which is the better evil.”

Braca raised an eyebrow in the dark.

“Oh?”

Mortis sighed.

“Demons - Hell Lords aside - aren’t usually intelligent creatures. When we are bound to the Lords eternal wills, we are mindless killing machines. We don’t know the difference between good and evil, we just do as we are directed. We have no morale dilemmas; it is our way of life.”

Braca nodded, an odd understanding on his face. Mortis thought it strange, but dismissed it as he continued.

“Man, on the other hand, does know right from wrong. It may depend on their upbringing, but generally every human I’ve talked with has an understanding of good and evil. Therefore, when they do evil acts - such as condemn a fellow man to his death - they do so with full knowledge of what they are doing.”

Mortis looked up and locked eyes with the strange man who had employed him.

“So which do you think is better? An evil act done in ignorance? Or one done with knowing purpose, in cold blood?”

“I don’t know. What do you consider your acts to be?”

Mortis stiffened. It wasn’t a question he was prepared for.

“That’s different. I destroy evil now. I’m hired to remove evil men from this world.”

“And what if the people who hire you are the evil ones? The ones you kill, innocent? What then?”

“I… I can usually tell. I can… sense it.”

“Can you be sure? Did you not believe Brent to be innocent at first? Yet you still killed him.”

“I… you… explained. He was going to become evil, against his will. It was in the best interests of everyone, including himself, that he be… released from his fate.”

Braca smiled, what light that did shine through the rooms porthole illuminating his teeth eerily.

“My point is, Mortis: no one can ever be one hundred percent sure that what they are doing is right. I know the acts you have committed. You’ve let your rage get the better of you before; you’ve killed knowingly and in cold blood. Why, you even threatened me when I first proposed employment. Remember?”

A whisper from the past drifted into Mortis’s mind.

“What's there to stop me from simply taking the gold and your life right now?” he had said. It felt so long ago, yet it may have been no more then a week.

“Yes,” he admitted at last, “I do my fair share of cold blooded killing. I am a demon, and an assassin. And I am hired by man. It is inevitable.”

“Then who are you to judge?” Braca smirked, “Think also that it is possible to commit evil by mistake. Or perhaps, because one is forced.”

Mortis looked up sharply. Did Braca know everything about the Summoner’s manipulation? If so, how? He found himself wondering how far the sight of these mystery employees reached.

Braca seemed to read his thoughts by the look on his face, and nodded in reply.

“Yes, I know all of it. This ‘Summoner’, as you called him, has been a wanted by my employers since he first began to dabble in the art. However, he was unbelievably crafty, and he disappeared from our view quite some time ago. Till now, of course. We had no way of knowing he was going to interfere.”

Whether Braca realised it or not, he had just answered one of the questions Mortis had pondered the most. He studied his employers face, looking for any signs of untruth. There was none. Not even the mouth tick.

“So you really had no idea of this Summoner or his plans? Did you know of Radament?”

“We don’t tend to consider people that have already perished. Radament paid for his sins long ago. He was a non-factor in our plans.”

Braca suddenly started, as if he’d said something by mistake. Mortis didn’t react. The man continued.

“So no, we didn’t predict those two or the havoc they could reap. We did, however, know that the possibility of interference was there. The Sultan was a hated man, after all. And if you’d read your contract thoroughly, you would have seen our warning.”

Mortis raised an eyebrow, and Braca nodded. Closing his eyes, the demon concentrated and called in the piece of parchment on which his assignment had been written. He opened his eyes, and began to read over thoroughly while Braca waited patiently in the corner. One leg crossed over the other and bouncing nonchalantly, his hands folded neatly in his lap, Braca seemed the picture of calm.

Mortis read the words slowly, even mouthing them as he did, and groaned as he reached the final lines. The last line; Atma had disturbed him and he’d vanished it before he could finish reading. Now the words were there in plain view, and Braca could not be denied.

“…People who have such little respect for their fellow man have no place in this world.

Braca

P.S. You are not the only one who wants the Sultan dead. Keep your eyes open, and Don't. Trust. Anyone.”

Don’t trust anyone. Three simple words. Yet how useful they could have been. What had the Summoner threatened him with after all? Rumours? Rumours lives are short; they die far faster then fact. No matter how the Sultan’s murder had been worded, people would have eventually forgotten, perhaps even welcomed the ideas. The task had just seemed so simple.

“How was I to know?” Mortis mumbled.

“How indeed,” Braca replied.

The neat little man smacked his hands on his knees and gave a sigh.

“Well, I’ve enjoyed our chat. I’ll let you sort out your thoughts and rest. I’ll be back to discuss your final contract later.” He stood, nodded a goodbye, and left as silently as he’d arrived.

Mortis lay on his crib, his mind swirling. Good and evil, man and demon. Was there really any true defining characteristics? His experiences had been vast, yet it was not a question he could answer without doubt.

The capabilities of man, now that he knew. All too well.

*****


Mortis's past is next, probably the piece i'm most proud of. Long though. Thxs

[RevenantsKnight]

Urgh...sorry it took me so long to get back to you on this; my forum time is still doing its best disappearing act, and probably will keep doing so for a while. On this section between parts 3 and 4: I thought this was a good lead-in, if you’re going to take a break from missions for now. Braca’s moral question here felt a little like par for the course regarding stories with assassins in my opinion, though Mortis’s take on humans and demons has the promise to be quite interesting, given his unusual perspective on the matter...though it does seem to conflict with Blizzard to some degree. More generally, I thought this read slightly differently from your past chapters, in that it seemed to have a bit more detail and the tone seemed to have shifted somewhat; that’s not a bad thing at all, though. Anyway, here’re some specific comments:


Demons do not, after all, have mothers to cradle them throughout the night, and therefore they can not associate rocking with comfort.

Interesting take on this, though the logic here is a little weak; there are other ways that rocking could be associated with comfort besides maternal care. That aside, this is a neat use of Mortis’s background.


The sailors had almost jumped over board when he dropped from the sky and landed heavily on the deck.

Nitpick: “overboard” is one word.


Obviously Braca had had words to him, and the gruff old man was able to calm his crew quickly with a few barked orders.

I’d try to reword “Braca had had words to him” to something else, if not at least because it should be “...words with him.” Anyway, I’d suggest replacing “had words” with another verb here, perhaps “spoken,” so you don’t double up on “had.”


On any other day, Mortis would have grabbed the man by his poorly groomed beard and tossed him into the crows nest.

That should be “crow’s nest.” Also, I’d had the impression that Mortis was a bit more restrained than that, even when angry...given that his employer needs the captain, anyway.


He was tired, furious, and grief stricken.

That should be “grief-stricken,” I think.


Following the Captains directions, he swiftly found his cabin, bolted the door, and there he’d stayed for the past two days.

That should be “Captain’s” (see previous posts for the distinction between plural and possessive, if you want more details.)


The shadows spoke to him, danced figures in front of his eyes.

Nice description, though it feels a little incomplete as it is because the reader doesn’t really get a sense of what those shadows mean to Mortis, if anything. What do they say to him, and what does he see them as? Answering that sort of question, or even just hinting at it, would make this a bit better, I think; as it is, it feels a little disconnected to the rest of the story to me.


Perhaps some of the dust of Radament remained, for when he did sleep the dreams were vivid and real.

I didn’t catch the allusion to the visions Mortis had previously at first, possibly because that part wasn’t clear the first time. Also, “real” seemed like the wrong word to me; while I understood what you meant, they didn’t literally become reality around him, if you know what I mean (unless I badly missed something.) I’d try to reword that.


So many time he’d thought it safe to close his eyes for just a minute, and his mind had slipped from this world into unreality.

“Time” should be “times,” and I might change “this world” to “his world,” though I can’t say for certain. As it is, it seems to place the narrator as part of the world, much like Mortis is, and while that’s not a bad thing, I don’t know if you want to definitively say whether the narrator is an entity in Sanctuary or not.


But it was real, the things he saw, and he knew it.

That should be “But they were real,” since you’re using “things,” which is plural.


Great green trees and marshy swamps; it had all been familiar, and he knew why.

This read a little oddly because the first part doesn’t sound like it could stand on its own. I might try combining that into the previous sentence, and making the semicolon here a full period or something.


“Mortis, Mortis, Mortis,” the voice of Braca came out of the darkness like a shadowy wraith.

I was under the impression that his door was still bolted. If that’s so, how’d Braca get in?


The demon started, almost leaping from his crib, then settled back with a groan.

I’d replace “crib” here, honestly; the first time was sort of interesting since it was paired with the rocking bit and his lack of a mother, but here it just seems out of place, since it’s not something I’d expect on a ship.


The nervous tick in the corner of his mouth was still subtle but noticeable.

That should be “tic.”


“Mortis, Mortis” the man repeated, “You really got yourself into a mess this time.”

There should be a comma after the second “Mortis,” inside the quotes, and “you” shouldn’t be capitalized.


Mortis sat up, his head resting on the palm of one hand, eyes facing the floor.

I liked that line; it’s a good example of why I think the tone shifted a bit in this part, and the change seems more suited to something slower and contemplative.


“And I think you’ve seen now the extent in which these men will go to get it.”

That should be “...extent to...”


“Demons - Hell Lords aside - aren’t usually intelligent creatures. When we are bound to the Lords eternal wills, we are mindless killing machines.”

Hrm...this idea that demons are nothing more than killers works well with this part of the story, but honestly, there’s a lot in the Diablo materials that suggests otherwise. For instance, in the Diablo I manual, it says that Goatmen clans held mock wars against each other; while it does say that one motivation was for the entertainment of the Three, I’d assume such events would be all the bloodier and therefore more “fun” to watch for a Prime Evil if they had a competitive drive or sense of rivalry. At the very least, quirks like the general cowardice among Fallen indicate that they are thinking and have considerations other than killing in mind. You could likely make this work for CollaterHell with some tweaking, or heck, you could just leave it as it is. I did, though, get tripped up by this, and so figured that you should probably know.

Also, that should be “Lords’.”


“We don’t know the difference between good and evil, we just do as we are directed.”

The comma after “evil” should be a period or semicolon, and it’s common in monster descriptions in the manuals to portray demons as reveling in slaughter or whatever, which seems a bit more than just doing as ordered to me. I’d suggest revising this part a little, or finding a way to make clear that those parts don’t hold in your interpretation of the world.


“We have no morale dilemmas; it is our way of life.”

That should be “moral.”


“Therefore, when they do evil acts - such as condemn a fellow man to his death - they do so with full knowledge of what they are doing.”

I’d pick something a bit more obviously evil than a death sentence, such as murder or something decidedly sadistic, because your example is one that a number of people would not consider necessarily evil without context. As it is, this almost sounds like a political statement.


“I don’t know. What do you consider your acts to be?”

Nice dodge. :smiley: By the way, I thought this exchange was pretty well done, though Mortis may have rolled over a little too easily here...I guess that depends on how troubled he appears to the reader.


It felt so long ago, yet it may have been no more then a week.

The “it may have been” bit felt awkward to me because of the feeling of uncertainty. I’d just say something like “...yet he knew that it had been no more than a week,” personally, though that’s definitely a stylistic call.


“Then who are you to judge?” Braca smirked, “Think also that it is possible to commit evil by mistake.”

I think the comma after “smirked” should be a period.


“This ‘Summoner’, as you called him, has been a wanted by my employers since he first began to dabble in the art.”

Hrm...well, “a wanted” seems like an odd wording to me; I’d change that to “wanted” or “a wanted man” or something like that. As it is, it sounds like you were meaning to go one way and then switched, but didn’t fully adjust the phrase. Also, a minor nitpick: the comma after “Summoner” should be inside the quotes.


“However, he was unbelievably crafty, and he disappeared from our view quite some time ago.”

Huh...how does a sultan’s vizier disappear from view without flagrantly failing to do his job? It seems like a bit of a stretch to think that Braca and company wouldn’t be able to slip a spy or two into the palace and keep tabs on him, given their suggested capabilities.


“Till now, of course.”

Nitpick: I’d reword that to “Until now,” since that sounds more formal and in keeping with Braca’s diction.


He studied his employers face, looking for any signs of untruth. There was none. Not even the mouth tick.

From the way this is worded, it sounds like you’re equating Braca’s twitching with untruth, which didn’t strike me as the case before; because “none” in the second sentence refers to “signs of untruth,” the last part reads as if those signs count the mouth tic. If that’s not what you meant, then I’d suggest changing the second sentence here to something that conveys the idea that Braca didn’t react at all. Also, that should be “employer’s face,” “there were none,” and “mouth tic.”


Mortis didn’t react. The man continued.

This felt a little jerky to me, and I might suggest combining these into one sentence with a transitory word or two. It’s not really necessary, though.


Mortis read the words slowly, even mouthing them as he did, and groaned as he reached the final lines.

I’d replace “final lines” here with something else, such as “end,” since you use “line” in the next sentence.


Rumours lives are short; they die far faster then fact.

That should be “Rumors’ lives.”


No matter how the Sultan’s murder had been worded, people would have eventually forgotten, perhaps even welcomed the ideas.

“Worded” sounds awkward here, since that would refer more to the report of the murder rather than the murder itself. I’d either change the subject to “the story of the Sultan’s murder” or something like that, or replace “worded” with something like “portrayed.” Also, “ideas” feels odd to me, as it’s a bit unclear what you mean by that; “... or perhaps even praised the bloody act” might work. I’m not sure exactly what you were trying to convey here, though.


Mortis lay on his crib, his mind swirling.

Again, I’m not sure if “crib” works here, though if you’re intending to keep it, I’d change that to “in his crib,” since “on” makes it sound like he doesn’t fit in it.


Was there really any true defining characteristics?

That should be “Were there really...”


The capabilities of man, now that he knew.

Technically, I think this should read “...now those he knew,” since “capabilities” is plural.

Overall, I thought this installment was a good read, and it should be interesting to see where this goes. Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

lol, yeah i was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten :p But i knew you hadn't. Thxs again, can't believe we've finally gotten this far!
Now, Mortis past story is very long, so i've had to split it into 2 parts. Which is a shame, because it really should be read as a whole; the sense of tension i try to create shouldn't be broken up in my opnion. Anyway, can't be helped, and i don't want to subject you to 20 something pages to review in one hit.
Again, whenever life allows it :)



*******

Rain poured down in torrents, rendering the ground below a mucky cocktail of mud and clay. Mortis, perched among the branches of a tall, leafy tree, had little concern for this. The grumbles of the thieves hiding around him, however, could be heard quite clearly.

The caravan was late. The afternoon raid had now become a night one, and although this would make the thieving easier, it meant the party had been out in the storm for more hours then they cared for. Mortis sat on his branch, eyes fixed keenly on the path through the mountains. The trees were quite thick here, making visibility even worse through the rain. A thief yawning behind his bush below made the demon glance down.

“Bloooddyy hell,” the disgruntled man drawled. He was wearing a wide brimmed hat that had collected a miniature bird bath’s worth of water. Large droplets splashed out every time he moved his head. Mortis continued to watch as the thief pulled a small knife from his pocket and began to clean his fingernails casually. Then he let off a fart then could have killed a quill rat.

“I’m still up here, you know, Teddery,” Mortis snorted. The man started, almost jabbing the knife through his finger, and looked up fast. A large portion of the bird-bath water sloshed from his hat and drenched his back.

“Dammit, I did f’get,” Teddery grinned, squinting in the darkness at the winged form above him. “Nearly shat meself.”

Mortis grinned.

“From me startling you? Or from that gas explosion you just unleashed upon this world?”

Teddery grinned back.

“I’ll go with both.”

They chuckled quietly for a bit, and then Mortis allowed his gaze to wander to his surroundings. Two more thieves lurked in a ditch closer to the road. They had a makeshift tent made of animal skin, which allowed them better cover. It wouldn’t be long before the ditch would start to fill though, he knew.

Across the road three thieves hid somewhere beyond Mortis’s vision. One was the young man that had invited him. Another was Dreg, the thief who’d given Zac the ‘friendly’ pat on the back. And finally, there was Jake. Despite being strung upside down last night for his comment about ‘juicy daughters’ - which led Zac on his usual “Rules of Thievery” lecture - the guild had allowed Jake to take part in the raid anyway.

Mortis’s mouth drew into a thin line when he finally spotted the bulging stomach of the loud mouthed man, extending from behind a tree. Of all the thieves, Jake was the one he felt least comfortable with. The man wasn’t right. Not truly evil; Mortis could sense that like a dead mouse in a bread bin. It was something else, something… subtle.

He shifted his eyes back to the road. Lightning flashed fiercely, illuminating the whole pass for a fraction of a second, and then leaving the members of the thieves guild staring blankly into darkness with white spots dancing under their eye lids. Mortis sighed and shifted his position. He wished he had room to straighten his back and wings, but the tree was to thickly foliaged for either motions.

A distant sound, carried by the wind, suddenly made Mortis sit upright. Horses hooves? Perhaps the cracking of fallen twigs under the wheels of a coach? Teddery, below, sensed the demon’s shift in attention, and stood up himself.

“Ay? Ya spotted somethin’, Mort?” The thief squinted down the road, trying to see signs of movement, then back at the demon. Mortis merely nodded.

Teddery put his fingers to his mouth and made a series of small, hoot like noises. Though Mortis had only been with the guild for one day, he knew the call would have been different if it was still afternoon. After all, it would be strange to hear a day-bird calling at night, and an owl calling visa versa.

The thieves responded accordingly. Mortis saw every face appear to stare at the source of the hoots, and just as quickly disappear again. The ambush was on now; all members knew their part in the play.

He could definitely hear hoof falls now. They had been dulled by the mud and water, but every now and then they’d find a rocky part of the road and the steps would come loud and clear. Mortis crouched, every muscle tense, the anticipation he had grown to love when out hunting alone, building in his mind. Below, Teddery could see golden eyes, glowing brightly in the dark.

“Ya know what yer doin’,” the man whispered upwards. “Jump when yar think the time’s right, and we’ll jus’ follow procedure from there.”

Mortis didn’t respond, completely focused on the task at hand. Much like a hawk develops tunnel vision when it spots a prey, so was the demon beginning to zone out all other elements. He was aware of nothing but the rickety silhouette now lumbering its way up the path below him.

His part in the plan was simple. Jump in front of the carriage, disturb the horses, and block them from bolting past him. He crept out as far as he thought the branch would allow, and poised, ready.

The carriage came into view, now no more then sixty feet away. Though it belonged to a rich family, it was easy to see their journey had been rough. One wheel wobbled awkwardly on its axle, and the fine paint had been stripped by the winds relentless flurry. The horses snorted misty breaths and kept their faces sorrowfully bent towards the path. It would be an easy raid.

As the two horses drew underneath him, Mortis spread his great wings and leapt from the branch. He landed with a squelching thud on the road, sending mud spraying all directions. The horses smelled him before they saw his form through their matted fringes, and immediately whinnied with fear. One tried to back away, and reared when the carriage wheel caught a rock and refused to move.

Mortis moved in quick, grabbing the reins and holding them firmly. The horses stared wide eyed with their nostrils flaring, all the time champing desperately at their bits.

“Move in, boys!” a gruff voice yelled, and within seconds the rest of the thieves had jumped clear of their hiding places and were running to the carriage. Teddery joined Mortis, holding the other horse. The two ditch-hiders jumped up onto the right side of the carriage, effectively blocking escape from that side. Dreg circled around the back to start dealing with the boxes tied firmly there, which left only Jake and the young thief.

Mortis watched the fat man stride slowly up to the door of the carriage, a wide grin on his weather worn face. The young thief followed a few steps behind, a small knife flicking from hand to hand. It seemed the entire guild came equipped with these trusty pocket tools.

“Well, well,” Jake said loudly over the sound of the rain, “What do we got here? Pretty coaches like this should know better’n to come through a mountain pass unescorted.”

The storm continued to howl its opinion, but no answer came from within the carriage. The curtains in the windows remained drawn. Jake frowned, his brow furrowing disapprovingly.

“Oi!” he bellowed. “You in there. Come out and bring us your shiny trinkets. We won’t hurt ya.”

Though this is what Mortis expected when it came to the actual robbing, something in Jake’s voice sounded far from sincere. Regardless, the curtain was finally drawn back slightly, and a pale face peeked nervously out.

(“D-don’t hurt us,”) the man spoke, muffled from within the carriage. (“Please!”)

“We won’t hafta if you bring us yer treasures willingly,” came the reply.

The face disappeared for a second, then returned.

(“We… we don’t have anything. We’re just passing through, I swear.”)

Mortis heard the young thief snicker softly. Jake was still frowning, but now it looked as if he was almost pleased about the way events were going. There was an odd twinkle in his eye.

“Last chance,” he yelled.

No reply came from within. After a full minute had passed, Jake’s frown broke into a smirk, and he turned to face the young thief.

“Lemi… get the door,” he said calmly. The young thief seemed all too happy to oblige. Leaping past the bigger man, he grabbed a hold of the handle and swung it open fiercely. A shocked gasp came from within, followed by what sounded like a child crying ‘father!’

Lemi didn’t enter, however, but seemed content to just hold the door as Jake turned around again, heaved himself up the carriages step and went through the opening. The young thief quickly swung the door closed and leaned against it firmly.

(“Right,”) Jakes voice, now muffled, came from inside. (“Where’s ya goods then?”)

There was the sound of something smashing and movement, then the voice of the face in the window spoke up.

(“Stop it! Get out! Leave them alone.”)

(“Oh ho! What have we here?)

More tussling from within, and suddenly Jake gave an almighty yell. The nobleman’s voice rang out again.

(“Get away from her, you bastard!)

(“Oh you be bloody payin’ for that!”)

This time there was no wrestling, just one short, sharp scream from the nobleman and then Lemi was smoothly opening the door. Two seconds later, a body came flying out of the carriage and landed with a squelch in the mud. Mortis stared at the pale face of the man at the window, lying with his eyes open and mouth agape. The thief’s small blade had been lodged firmly in his neck, effectively cutting through the wind pipe and the spine on the other side.

Lemi closed the door again and continued to lean against it. He too was looking at the body, but the look on his face was smug, almost as if it had all been planned. The heavy pounding of someone hitting the door with the palm of their hand made his eyes widen in surprise.

(“Open up, we got another.”)

Lemi did so, and a small boy came hurtling out. He landed on his rear on the road next to his father, blinking as the wind assaulted his eyes. He was staring at the body with a mixture of disbelief and shock.

Jake’s ugly face leaned out of the doorway, a sneer on his lips. There was a long slash down his left check where the nobleman had attacked him, and the smeared blood was beginning to flow again in the rain.

“Better start runnin’, boy. Else ya end up like daddy there.”

The child looked from his father to his assailant, the tears streaming down his face lost among those of the storm. He started to crawl backwards, before getting to his feet and half running, half slipping his way into the surrounding woods.

Lemi and the other thieves on the carriage chuckled with laughter, and then Jake disappeared back inside. Once more the young thief closed the door and stood smugly on guard.

(“Right then girlie, where was we?”)

Mortis was gripping the reins tightly, still staring at the body on the road. This wasn’t in the raid outline Teddery had told him while they sat and waited for the carriage earlier that afternoon. No one was supposed to get hurt. And hadn’t Zac stressed that very thoroughly? Something was amiss.

The dead man’s eyes stared blankly into the darkness. It was the first time Mortis he’d seen a man kill his fellow man, and at this point in time, he had no idea how to feel about it.

A strong arm gripped his shoulder.

“Sh!t,” Teddery said in a hoarse whisper, “What the hell is going on ‘ere? Jake’s gone rogue?”

Mortis glanced at him and saw the thief looked both angry and frightened at the same time. He’d lost his hat at some point, and he looked a lot older then he had a few minutes ago.

“Yes… but the man attacked him,” Mortis said slowly. “Jake was… right? To fight back?”

Teddery shook his head and looked ready to belt him.

“C’mon you saw that slash on ‘is cheek. Barely flesh deep! Jake wanted to kill ‘im, he was just lookin’ for an excuse.”

When Mortis didn’t respond, the thief took a breath and began to speak slower.

“The nobleman was defendin’ his family. Ya know what that is, right? Family? No I guess not, you’re from Hell. No parents there, I’m betting. What do ya just all spawn from the same pool or somethin’?”

Mortis visibly bristled, so Teddery continued.

“He was protectin’ that boy we saw go a runnin’, and probably that girlie girl Jakes harassin’ this minute. He was the one in the right. Look, it’s ‘ard to explain, but there are right and wrong times for killin’. You just got to look ‘ere, and you’ll know.”

Teddery thumped Mortis on the chest, above his breast bone. The demon looked at the fist resting over his sternum for a few seconds, then back at the face of the thief.

“In my heart?” He squinted, trying to think. “Yes, Zac has mentioned that. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be feeling though…”

“If there’s any good in ya - and I’m almost certain there is - ya’ll understand soon enough. Now listen;”

He pulled Mortis down to his level and glanced warily around at the other thieves. The two ditch-hiders had their ears pressed firmly against the windows, grinning widely and giving each other half hearted shoves. Dreg, around the back, was out of sight. Only Lemi seemed to remember they were there, and his questioning glance towards them lasted only a few seconds before he returned to his game of “Spit on the Dead Man’s Head”. Teddery brought his mouth back close to the demon’s ear.

“Listen, I’m gonna go find the boy. There’re all manner of beasties in these woods, and the lad won’t last the night. When I come back…” he paused, considering what he was about to say. “When I come back… have the carriage ready to travel.”

That was all he said. He gave Mortis a slap on the shoulder and hurried off into the storm, following the path of the young boy. Lemi watched him go and called out.

“Oi, Teddery. Where you going? Gone to have a bit of fun with the boy yourself, ay? Always knew you were like that, you dirty old man.” He horked a deep loogie and shot it successfully into the nobleman’s hair. “Score!” he cried cheerfully.

Mortis held the reins of the horses for what felt like a long time, running through all the things in his mind. As a demon in a strange world, he never was much of a fast thinker. He wondered if it would get any better in the future. For the moment, however, he could here muffled shouts from within the carriage, and the reek of evil doing was foul in the air.

Catching each horse’s eye in a steely glance, he gripped their muzzles and spoke two words in a special way Zac had taught him.

“Don’t. Move.”

The horse’s eyes followed him, but they sensed the tone and power in his voice and remained steady on their feet. Satisfied, Mortis dropped the reins and headed towards the carriage door.

[HorseGuts]

Hope this doesnt count as spam...but i just wanted to let u know...

i take a gander at fan fiction alot. I really enjoy reading these stories.

And i just wanted to let you know that I have enjoyed reading your story very much :)

I'm just waiting for the next part to come!! haha i'm excited...

[RevenantsKnight]

Sorry it took so long for me to get to this; I’ll try to keep up a faster pace in the future.

On the latest part of CollaterHell: can’t say that I didn’t see something like this coming, but I think this worked pretty well, regardless of whether or not it was surprising. This part read cleanly overall, though at some points it did seem like you were a little blunt in getting ideas across to the reader; all things considered, I think that this could be a bit more deft in its presentation. I’ll point out those instances when I get to them. Another general thought I had was that this scene comes a long ways after the first one with Zac and the other thieves; I didn’t have a huge problem with this, personally, but the distance may cause people to forget some details, especially as both this scene and the first one in the hideout aren’t closely tied into the other stories (or if they are, it’s not apparent yet.) If you think this may be a problem, you could try reordering the story a little. Anyway, here’re some specific comments:


Rain poured down in torrents, rendering the ground below a mucky cocktail of mud and clay.

The meaning of “cocktail” as a mixture of substances is modern in origin (the oldest one I saw listed was in the early 1800s) so I’d suggest switching it out here for something else.


The afternoon raid had now become a night one, and although this would make the thieving easier, it meant the party had been out in the storm for more hours then they cared for.

This sentence read a little awkwardly to me, in that “although this” and “it meant” are vague, and though the meaning is clear from the context, it’s a good idea to be precise in most cases. I’d reword the sentence to replace the pronouns “this” and “it” with specific words; that will probably take some other revisions as well.


The trees were quite thick here, making visibility even worse through the rain.

I might remove “here” and rework this to read “The trees around him (Mortis) were quite thick...” since “here” is a little vague. Also, the second part of this sentence sounded odd to me; I’d try to revise it so that you mention the trees and the rain, and then say that it’s hard to see things, since those are the two reasons for the visibility. For example, you could reorder it to something like “The trees around Mortis were quite thick, and coupled with the rain, made it extremely hard to spot anything far away.” I wouldn’t use this particular sentence, though, because it seems too factual to me.


He was wearing a wide brimmed hat that had collected a miniature bird bath’s worth of water.

This is a good visual for the reader’s imagination, I’d say. One minor nitpick: “wide-brimmed” is usually hyphenated.


Mortis continued to watch as the thief pulled a small knife from his pocket and began to clean his fingernails casually. Then he let off a fart then could have killed a quill rat.

I’d combine these two sentences into one, so that it doesn’t seem quite as start-and-stop.


The man started, almost jabbing the knife through his finger, and looked up fast.

“Fast” should be “quickly,” because you’re describing a verb (“looked up.”) Therefore, you need an adverb, not an adjective.


A large portion of the bird-bath water sloshed from his hat and drenched his back.

Nice tie-in to the previous description.


“Or from that gas explosion you just unleashed upon this world?”

This seemed a little too relaxed for the situation; while the rest of the dialogue is also rather casual and does a good job of characterizing Mortis and Teddery’s interaction, this sentence stuck out as too far in that direction, for some reason or other. Funny enough, “gas explosion” sounded too scientific or formal for the tone of their conversation. Even if it is Mortis saying this, I’d imagine that he’d have some way of putting this that sounded a little more conversational. You’ve got two extremes here, I’d say; moving it all to somewhere in the middle should do nicely.


They had a makeshift tent made of animal skin, which allowed them better cover.

Minor nitpick: I think “allowed” should be “gave” or “afforded,” though it could be just fine as it is; I’m not totally sure on this.


It wouldn’t be long before the ditch would start to fill though, he knew.

There should be a comma after “fill,” and I’d move “he knew” to the start of the sentence.


Across the road three thieves hid somewhere beyond Mortis’s vision.

I’d try to get this idea across from Mortis’s viewpoint instead of the narrator’s; even if he can’t see them, he probably knows that they’re out there. Also, there should be a comma after “road.”


One was the young man that had invited him. Another was Dreg, the thief who’d given Zac the ‘friendly’ pat on the back. And finally, there was Jake.

I’d try to work this into one or two sentences so that it’s less jerky; as it is, you introduce one, stop, move on to the second, stop, and then finish with the third and stop. Also, “the young man that had invited him” was the only thing I didn’t remember from the last chapter (and it should be “who had invited.”)


Despite being strung upside down last night for his comment about ‘juicy daughters’ - which led Zac on his usual “Rules of Thievery” lecture - the guild had allowed Jake to take part in the raid anyway.

Er...I wasn’t sure what you meant by “strung upside down,” as I couldn’t decide between a literal reading or one that just meant lecturing. I’d clarify this a little.


Of all the thieves, Jake was the one he felt least comfortable with.

This read OK to me, but it does end with a preposition; if you want to be technical, it should be “...Jake was the one with whom he felt least comfortable” or something like that, I think.


Not truly evil; Mortis could sense that like a dead mouse in a bread bin.

The image here didn’t really work for me; unless Mortis can identify dead bodies by smell or something, I’d think he’d have to reach into the bread bin to find the mouse. I bring this up because that suggests a conscious action (reaching in) while similar phrases, such as “I could smell that coming a mile away” are more passive; there, the speaker doesn’t have to do anything but breathe to smell it. In this case, passivity suggests obviousness to me, if that makes any sense. Given that, I’d try to replace or rework this so that it involves hearing, smell or sight, as people casually scan their surroundings with those senses all the time. Examinations of taste and touch are a lot more calculated, usually; no one I know goes licking random stuff.


Lightning flashed fiercely, illuminating the whole pass for a fraction of a second, and then leaving the members of the thieves guild staring blankly into darkness with white spots dancing under their eye lids.

A few technicalities: “eyelids” is one word, and “thieves guild” should be “thieves’ guild.” Also, if they’re “staring blankly into darkness,” their eyes should be open, so it doesn’t really matter if there’re white spots under their eyelids, because they shouldn’t be able to see under them.


He wished he had room to straighten his back and wings, but the tree was to thickly foliaged for either motions.

That should be “too thickly foliaged.”


Horses hooves?

That should be “Horses’ hooves?”


Teddery put his fingers to his mouth and made a series of small, hoot like noises.

“Small” seemed like an odd adjective to use for a sound; “soft” feels more accurate for describing a sound’s magnitude, though that may just be me. Also, “hoot like” should be hyphenated, but I think you could just replace it with “hooting,” too.


After all, it would be strange to hear a day-bird calling at night, and an owl calling visa versa.

This should read “...calling at night, or visa (vice?) versa.”


They had been dulled by the mud and water, but every now and then they’d find a rocky part of the road and the steps would come loud and clear.

I’d write out “they’d” as “they would,” as the contraction sounds a little too casual for the narration.


Mortis crouched, every muscle tense, the anticipation he had grown to love when out hunting alone, building in his mind.

The comma after “alone” is unnecessary.


Much like a hawk develops tunnel vision when it spots a prey, so was the demon beginning to zone out all other elements.

Hrm...does this really happen to hawks? I didn’t think so and therefore found it a little confusing, but then again, I’m not an ornithologist. Also, “zone out” sounded a bit too modern to me; I’d use “block out” or perhaps “grow unaware of.”


One wheel wobbled awkwardly on its axle, and the fine paint had been stripped by the winds relentless flurry.

That should be “wind’s” or “winds’,” depending on whether you were characterizing the wind as a singular or a plural entity. Either way is viable.


The horses snorted misty breaths and kept their faces sorrowfully bent towards the path.

Nice image here. :smiley:

(continued)

[RevenantsKnight]

He landed with a squelching thud on the road, sending mud spraying all directions.

Not sure about this, but I think “squelching” should be “squelched.”


Mortis moved in quick, grabbing the reins and holding them firmly.

That should be “quickly,” since you’re describing an action, not an object.


The horses stared wide eyed with their nostrils flaring, all the time champing desperately at their bits.

“Wide-eyed” is usually hyphenated.


Mortis watched the fat man stride slowly up to the door of the carriage, a wide grin on his weather worn face.

“Weather-worn” is usually hyphenated. Unfortunately, there’s no good rule to use for determining whether or not something should be two words, one word, or one word with a hyphen; if you’re unsure, it’s usually a good idea to check a dictionary.


It seemed the entire guild came equipped with these trusty pocket tools.

This sounded a bit odd, since by the time this comes up, the only one you’ve describe with such a knife is Lemi, so there isn’t an apparent basis for this claim. Also, this did seem a bit like a given anyway; I might suggest simply deleting this altogether.


“Well, well,” Jake said loudly over the sound of the rain, “What do we got here?”

“What” shouldn’t be capitalized.


Though this is what Mortis expected when it came to the actual robbing, something in Jake’s voice sounded far from sincere.

That should be “Though this was...”


Regardless, the curtain was finally drawn back slightly, and a pale face peeked nervously out.

That should be “peeked out nervously,” I think.


Jake was still frowning, but now it looked as if he was almost pleased about the way events were going. There was an odd twinkle in his eye.

This is what I meant about being a little blunt with the presentation, in that the interpretation that he’s pleased with this is something that makes his later actions pretty obvious, if they weren’t sort of that way already. I’d just reduce this to “...but there was an odd twinkle in his eye” and maybe add another easily observable detail if you want; that should be sufficient for most people to catch that he isn’t exactly unhappy with how things are turning out. In my opinion, if you can get an idea across through a description and the reader’s interpretation, that’s a better path than just saying it, since interactions in real life tend not to have a narrator; people have to work with what they perceive, and sticking to that makes the story more believable to me.


Lemi didn’t enter, however, but seemed content to just hold the door as Jake turned around again, heaved himself up the carriages step and went through the opening.

That should be “carriage’s step.”


Jakes voice, now muffled, came from inside.

That should be “Jake’s voice.”


More tussling from within, and suddenly Jake gave an almighty yell.

Technically, the first part of this sentence needs to be reworded to include a verb, such as “More sounds of tussling came from within...”


The thief’s small blade had been lodged firmly in his neck, effectively cutting through the wind pipe and the spine on the other side.

Er...ever done a dissection of a rat or something and accidentally cut through the windpipe (that should be one word, by the way) or spine? I sure haven’t, because both structures are pretty tough, and will take an accidental hack from a blade. If this is really a light blade, I sincerely doubt he could get through both structures in a human in one stab, regardless of his strength; there’s only so much force you can put behind such a small weapon. As “cutthroat” may suggest, it’s easier to slit across instead of going straight through (or so I’ve heard; I have no practical experience doing this.) :tongue:


He too was looking at the body, but the look on his face was smug, almost as if it had all been planned.

Again, this was a bit too blunt for my tastes. I’d cut the part after “almost” and focus more on what the reader could actually see if he or she were literally standing there and watching, but that’s just me.


The heavy pounding of someone hitting the door with the palm of their hand made his eyes widen in surprise.

Technically, “their” can’t be used as a gender-neutral pronoun for a single person. This does get fudged all the time and isn’t very major, so you could probably just leave it in, but if strict correctness is something you want, I’d reword this to something along the lines of “The heavy pounding of a hand on the door...,” which takes out the need for a pronoun altogether. Also, I’d suggest changing the order of this sentence to make the transition from the previous one easier; moving the part about Lemi’s surprise first would help here, I think.


He landed on his rear on the road next to his father, blinking as the wind assaulted his eyes. He was staring at the body with a mixture of disbelief and shock.

I’d suggest using a different sentence structure for one of these; while two sentences with the same structure isn’t too bad as a rule, this felt rather like a list for some reason. Also, “blinking” and “staring” are mutually exclusive, and from the way this is worded, it seems like you intend for them to be simultaneous. I’d revise that a little.


There was a long slash down his left check where the nobleman had attacked him, and the smeared blood was beginning to flow again in the rain.

You might want to make it a little more evident that the wound isn’t much of a big deal...this was a little ambiguous. “Long but shallow” might do nicely, for instance. Also, I think you could cut “where the nobleman had attacked him,” since that’s more or less implied.


(“Right then girlie, where was we?”)

There should be a comma after “then.”


This wasn’t in the raid outline Teddery had told him while they sat and waited for the carriage earlier that afternoon.

A lot of this seems unnecessary to me; you could probably just say “This wasn’t in the plan” or something like that and leave the reader to pick up the rest.


No one was supposed to get hurt. And hadn’t Zac stressed that very thoroughly? Something was amiss.

I liked this bit; it’s a good touch on Mortis’s character.


It was the first time Mortis he’d seen a man kill his fellow man, and at this point in time, he had no idea how to feel about it.

This is another part that seemed too summarized in terms of presentation. I’d suggest moving away from the backstory and focusing more on the moment and Mortis’s reactions.


Mortis glanced at him and saw the thief looked both angry and frightened at the same time. He’d lost his hat at some point, and he looked a lot older then he had a few minutes ago.

I’d describe Teddery’s expression or actions at this point, noting the things that make him look angry, frightened and older, instead of just saying that he looked that way. This certainly gets your point across, and it could stand, I think, but again, it may be worth trying to make this a little more subtle.


“C’mon you saw that slash on ‘is cheek.”

There should be a comma after “C’mon.”


“What do ya just all spawn from the same pool or somethin’?”

There should be a comma after “What.” Otherwise, nice bit of dialogue.


Mortis visibly bristled, so Teddery continued.

This read a little oddly to me, since it doesn’t follow logically that Teddery would continue in exactly the same manner if it made Mortis bristle. If that’s what you meant, I’d use “...but Teddery continued, heedless of the demon’s anger” or something like that. If not, mention what Teddery changes in reaction to Mortis.


“He was protectin’ that boy we saw go a runnin’, and probably that girlie girl Jakes harassin’ this minute.”

“A-runnin’” is usually hyphenated. Also, “Jakes” should be “Jake’s.”


Teddery thumped Mortis on the chest, above his breast bone.

“Breastbone” is one word.


“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be feeling though…”

There should be a comma after “feeling.” That aside, I think you do a pretty good job with Mortis’s naïveté towards humans.


“Now listen;”

I’d just make the semicolon here a period, because it looks a little odd to end a quotation with one.


Only Lemi seemed to remember they were there, and his questioning glance towards them lasted only a few seconds before he returned to his game of “Spit on the Dead Man’s Head”.

The period at the end of this sentence should be inside the quotation marks.


“When I come back…” he paused, considering what he was about to say.

The “he” in “he paused” should be capitalized, as it begins a new sentence..


That was all he said.

I think you could probably cut this sentence entirely, as it doesn’t really add anything to the story and the transition’s clear enough without it.


Lemi watched him go and called out.

“Oi, Teddery.”

I’d put this all in one paragraph, personally.


For the moment, however, he could here muffled shouts from within the carriage, and the reek of evil doing was foul in the air.

That should be “hear muffled shouts” and “evildoing,” and I didn’t think the “reek of evil” bit worked that well, because it just hits on a point that should be pretty clear by now. I’d drop it or reword it somewhat.


Catching each horse’s eye in a steely glance, he gripped their muzzles and spoke two words in a special way Zac had taught him.

The way this reads, it sounds as if the horses each have only one eye. I’d replace “eye” with “eyes” or “gaze” or something along those lines. Also, I’d be more specific about this “special way,” because from the sentence alone, it could be almost anything.


The horse’s eyes followed him, but they sensed the tone and power in his voice and remained steady on their feet.

That should be “horses’ eyes,” since there are multiple horses.

On the whole, this read pretty well, and though it didn’t come as a surprise, that didn’t seem to matter much. There’re some bits here and there that could use a little more revision, I think, but this is solid as it is. Thanks for posting!

[Project_Xii]

Hmmm... informative as always, RK :) Thank you
Yes, i admit, i'm not the most original of authors at points... but what the hey heh. Long as people enjoy it. Now technically i should have split this up again, but we really need to get this over with and move onto the more unique stuff.
Whenever you can, thxs

*********

Lemi was playing some sort of trick with his knife now, twirling the hilt of it expertly on one finger, then leap frogging it to another. He almost flinched when he saw Mortis before him, but not quite.

“Ay? What are you doing around here? Who’s holding the -“

“Get out of the way,” Mortis interrupted. Lemi paused with his mouth open, mid sentence, then closed it, his eyes squinted suspiciously.

“What?”

“Get away from the door, or I’ll force you too.”

Lemi saw the demon was serious, and snatched the twirling knife from his finger. He seemed somewhere between putting the blade back in his pocket and thrusting it in Mortis’s face. Mortis could see him weighing up his options.

On the other side of the carriage, the two ditch-hiders chuckled with laughter.

“Ha, you go, Jake!” one shouted, “Give it too her good!”

Lemi, reminded suddenly that there were four of him and only one of Mortis, returned to his familiar smug smile.

“Not likely, Hell boy,” he smirked. “Just let Jake have his way, and we can all go on living happily ever-“

The palm of Mortis’s hand fit quite well around the side of the young thief’s head, and neither Dreg, Jake nor the ditch-hiders heard the single choked cry as the big demon picked Lemi up and deftly tossed him away from the door.

Lemi flew high and landed close by the nobleman, and Mortis heard the tell-tale ‘crack’ of spine as the thief hit the ground. The demon took a few steps towards him and leant down close to the fallen man’s ear. Lemi’s eyes were rolling wildly, hands twitching, and though he was still alive he seemed unable to move from the waist down. His ability to speak had also left him for the time being.

“Maybe tomorrow, someone will stop to help,” Mortis whispered. “But if anything Zac told me is true, they’ll be more apt to spit on you when they see that poor man lying beside you.”

He didn’t know it at the time, but this habit of leaving his kill with a final thought would make Mortis the most feared assassin in all of Sanctuary. Evil men and drunken wanderers would talk far into the night about the hired demon that could attack from above and hide seamlessly in the shadows. What truths would he whisper in your ear, as you lay dying from the claws marks on your throat? What final words would he leave rattling in your mind as he sent you off to a place he had left, not so long ago?

Lemi, the first human to fall victim to the demon’s wrath, just stared wide eyed and fearful up at the winged beast above him, mouth opening and closing in a desperate effort to make words. Mortis ignored him and went back to the carriage door.

Though Jake had been in there some time, he was still far from achieving the foul act he was trying to force the girl into, and when Mortis ripped the door open, he could see she’d put up a hell of a fight. Jake’s face was covered in scratches, and the knife slash on his cheek had been torn a little deeper. The girl herself had also been beaten, one eye swelling already from a heavy blow, and visible red marks circled her throat. Her dress had been hitched up to her thighs.

The fat thief had her pinned to one of the two seats in the carriage, his pants around his ankles. He looked up as the door opened and squinted.

“Lemi, that you…?” He paused when he saw that the silhouette was far too big to be his door guarding comrade, and the golden eyes glowering in the dark.

“You? What’re you doing in ‘ere?”

“Jake, let the girl go,” Mortis said in a voice so cold it could of turned rain to hail. Jake sneered in reply and grabbed a handful of the girl’s breast defiantly.

“What, ya want ‘er for yerself? Piss off and wait yer turn.”

But Mortis’s attention had left the thief now. Now he was looking at the girl. She lay under the weight of Jake’s hefty gut, gasping from her battle exertions. She looked no older then seventeen.

Long, golden hair. The pale skin of someone that spent more time indoors then out exploring the countryside. Her face, under the bruises, was young and innocent, and the kind of pleasant pretty some boys found both charming and attractive.

Thinking back on it now, Mortis could only compare the change that occurred in him to the one other fateful moment in his life; the one that flung him into this new world, and had given him his free will. In fact, Izual severing his mind from the Hell Lords was not all that different to the realization that dawned the moment he saw the girl at all.

She stared at him, terrified at the sight of his demonic form, yet pleading desperately with her eyes. Her lips quivered with fear and exhaustion, and her beautiful, frail body was the jolt Mortis’s heart needed to feel.

He finally understood Zac’s insistence in the protection of women and children. He understood what it meant to care for something or someone, even if they were a stranger to his eyes. And he understood that vile acts like the one Jake was attempting were among the worst possible crimes a man could commit.

Mortis wouldn’t realize until later what a profound effect these new feelings would have on him. How they would develop into morals, how from there he would make human friends, and, eventually, suffer the pain and confusion of the emotions that came packaged with them. That was all in the future. For now, this new understanding of what was right and wrong in this man-ruled world was enough to get the ball rolling, and Jake of the Thieves Guild was the first in its path.

“Oi, ya listening, ya great blue git?” Jake growled when Mortis continued to look at the girl and not him. “I said wait ya turn.”

The girl managed to free an arm from the fat thief’s gripping fist, and let her palm fall loosely in Mortis’s direction.

“Help… please?” she gasped. Her fingers had been crushed during her resistance, and Mortis was sure at least two were broken. Jake scowled and raised his fist again, ready to back hand her.

“Shuddup, b!tch, I ain’t talkin’ to -“

The two thieves outside may have been listening intently to the new developments in the carriage, but they certainly weren’t prepared for what happened next. The bulging body of Jake came hurtling through the wall they leant against with pressed ears, scattering splinters of wood and both men in all directions. They fell back into their ditch, which had now filled almost entirely with water, and sank with a splash almost up to their necks. Spluttering and clearing mud from their eyes, they stared in horror as Jake, the entire left side of his faced caved in from the chin to his scalp, floated past them and began to head downstream.

“Oh my Lords in Heaven,” one thief gasped. They looked to the carriage and saw Mortis leaning out towards them, his eyes blazing and wings moving erratically. His nails were digging deep into the side of the splintery hole, and he looked ready to pounce.

“No, not Heaven, friend,” the other thief choked. “That is the wrath of Hell descended upon poor Jake there. Run now, before we experience it ourselves, I reckon.”

His partner needed no further convincing. Both thieves crawled from their ditch and fled fearfully into the night. Mortis watched them go, the adrenaline within him eager for the hunt, but his concern for the girl greater.

When he was sure they were well away, Mortis turned and knelt beside the beaten, terrified girl.

“You should be ok. I’m sorry about your father, but my friend is out looking for your brother now. He’ll -“

Pain pierced his side like liquid lead, and he let out a cry even Teddery heard as he roamed and called for a lost boy. A strong arm wrapped itself around Mortis’s neck, and he felt the pain grow sharper as more pressure was applied.

“Ya dirty demon. Shoulda known better’n to bring a blood drinker like you along.”

Dreg had slipped through the gaping hole in the carriage behind them, and thrust that small guild knife deep into Mortis’s lower back. He slowly choked Mortis to his knees, and gave the knife a hard twist when the demon raised his claws to slash.

“Ah, none o’ that then. Any sudden movements and I’ll rip this blade out through ya side and spill ya guts faster’n you killed old Jake there.”

Mortis lowered his hands and concentrated on trying to breath under the thief’s heavy arm. His wings were getting in the way of Dreg’s grip, allowing him some room to gasp, but not much.

“Dreg… you can’t hold me all night,” he choked. “You’re going to slip up… and when you do -“

“I said shut up,” Dreg bellowed, giving the knife another twist. “I don’t need’ta hold you all night, just till ya pass out from loss of blood. Then I can cut ya up at me leisure.”

The gruff thief was so absorbed in his prey that the prospect of the girl jumping in never even crossed his mind. Only when her fingers curled around his head and gouged deeply into his eyes did he realise his mistake.

“Let him go, you bastard,” she screamed, digging her fingers in deeper and ignoring the loud ‘pop’ as one eyeball burst like an over-ripe tomato. Dreg fell backwards screaming, pulling the knife from Mortis’s side and stabbing it blinding over his head towards his assailant. The girl dodged the slashes, but was forced to let go when he finally nicked her arm.

By this time, however, Mortis had regained his breath and had Dreg firmly in his grip. With one quick motion, he gave the man’s head a twist and his movements were instantly quelled. Mortis released him and let the body tumble out of the hole in the carriage, back out onto the road.

Both he and the girl sat silently for a few minutes; he wincing with pain from the wound in his back, she looking in horror at the pieces of jelly and gore still stuck to her fingernails.

“I… I… I…” was all she managed to stammer. She looked up at Mortis her hands still clawed in front of her. He managed a smile and took one of them in his own hand.

“You did well,” was all he said.

*

When Teddery returned not long after, he could only gape at the havoc that had been wrought since his departure into the woods. Lemi had finally found his voice, and was screaming in agony from his place on the road.

From this side, the carriage looked fine to Teddery, but as he entered through the door and peered in, he saw that half the opposing wall had been completely smashed out. One booted foot rested at the base of the hole, and he guessed the rest of Dreg lay just outside.

“Bllooooodyyy hell!” Teddery cried , “I said ‘ave the carriage ready to travel’, not ‘blow the freakin’ wall out of it’.”

Mortis was sitting on the floor, leaning against one of the cushioned chairs. The girl was leaning against the other. Both looked exhausted, but relieved. Apparently they’d been talking.

“Sorry,” Mortis said, “Blame Jake if you want. If he wasn’t so fat, the hole would’ve been smaller.”

Teddery allowed himself a smirk.

“I bet. Where is our friend Jake, anyway?”

Mortis raised one tired hand and pointed outside, where the ditch that had previously been decent thief cover was now a mini raging river.

“All bad things head down stream,” Mortis sighed.

Teddery nodded. Now the girl had his attention.

“Ya alright?” he asked sincerely. She nodded, then looked behind him to the door.

“Did you... did you find my brother?”

The thief nodded, and leaned out through the doorway.

“Is all right, kiddo. You can come out now.”

A small, frightened face appeared from behind a tree not far off, and the boy emerged. He walked slowly past the screaming Lemi, only giving his dead father a swift and pained glance, before running to the carriage and clearing the doorway in a single bound.

“Ellie, Ellie!” he cried, rushing to his sister and hugging her tightly. She winced slightly from her bruises, but otherwise looked as happy as he did.

“Oh Erod, Erod I’m so glad you’re ok.”

Teddery left the two to their reunion, and crouched next to Mortis.

“Ya alright yerself, big guy?”

Mortis grimaced and put a hand to his back. It returned with some blood on it, but far less than before.

“Yes. Dreg got me good, but it’s healing. Slowly. I’ll be fine. Right now we have more important things to focus on. Like getting you out of here.”

Teddery nodded solemnly.

“Yar. Whole guild’ll be after me if they work out what ‘appened here. Don’t worry; I thought up a plan while I was out in the woods. Recon I’ll just take this ‘ere carriage and go further west. The guild ‘as spies everywhere, but it’ll be a few weeks before they work out where I am. And that should be plenty o’ time for ya to…” he paused, gulping slightly, “for ya to do what ya gotta do.”

Mortis looked at the thief leaning over him, surprised that he’d already predicted the demon’s future agenda. Then he nodded.

“Yes. It won’t take longer then a few weeks, that I’ll guarantee. In the meantime, you look after them,” he gestured towards the two siblings, who where now in a mixture of tears from being united, the death of their father, and the whole ordeal the night had brought them.

“Yar. No problem. Always wanted kids o’ me own,” he grinned. He got up and prepared to head outside. “I don’t think the ‘orses need a driver; they seem pretty well trained, but maybe’ll I’ll just guide em for awhile anyway -“

Mortis caught his arm and held him firmly.

“How did you know I could feel?” he asked flatly. “Or more importantly, how did you know I would feel? You put a lot of faith into something that neither of us knew for certain could happen.”

Teddery just smiled at him.

“Ya know last night, when Dreg gave Zac that slap and ya almost killed him for it? Yer were defendin’ your teacher. Yer were defendin’ a friend. No, more than a friend: family.” He knelt down again so he was at eye level. “Tha’s love, Mortis. To ya, Zac is family, and whether ya realise it or not, yer already were feeling. It just took a small… push, to point ya in the right direction.”

He stood again and headed for the door.

“Now git out of me carriage,” he grinned, “I got a long trip ahead of me.”

[Project_Xii]

*

They made it to where they were going, Mortis heard later on, and went on to live out their lives as normally as an ex-thief and two orphaned noble-children could. He never felt the desire to seek them out; the knowledge they were safe was enough to give him comfort.

When he returned to the home, early the morning after the raid that went bad, he was surprised to see his teacher still awake and waiting for him. He looked grave, ashen, as if he’d been up all night worrying. The flush of relief that passed over his face when Mortis walked through the door was confirmation of that fact.

“Ah, you’re home lad! How’d it go?”

Mortis paused for a long time, completely unsure of where to start. The part where Jake turned rogue? Or back at the beginning, with the rain and the carriage being late. As it turned out, once he found a way to start, he didn’t stop, and the whole tale was spilled to his old friend within an hour.

Zac nodded slowly throughout, his fingers peaked neatly under his chin and resting on one knee. By the time it was over, Mortis was unnerved to see neither surprise nor anger on his teachers face. Zac simply sat quietly, sorting through his own thoughts.

At last he looked at Mortis’s face, and he was smiling. Not a forced grin, or that strange, twitching half-smile that comes before one bursts into tears. Really smiling.

“Morty, you’ve done better then I ever thought you could have. I have to admit, my faith in you wasn’t as strong as I would have liked.”

Mortis allowed his surprise show. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“What?? What on Sanctuary are you talking about?”

“Your final test, me lad, and you passed with flying colours.”

Mortis raised an eyebrow. Zac waved it away.

“Yes, I know it sounds corny, but I had to see if all the time I spent talking to you had actually made things sink in or not.”

“You… you mean you organised this? All of it?”

“What? No of course not! I had no idea how things were going to pan out. I did, however, know the guild has been slowly disintegrating, rotting from the inside out. The thieves who I worked with back in my day have all retired and been replaced by younger, newer men, who think there’s now harm in beating up a defenseless traveler or taking advantage of the odd woman here and there. In short, I believe the time of my thieves’ guild has come to an end. No longer do they rob for the challenge, they’ve just become a pack of common thugs.”

Zac paused long enough to stretch his arms and lean back in his chair.

“Now, I’ve been teaching you the ways of man for a long time now, and I don’t think there’s much more left for you to learn. So I figured; why not kill two birds with one stone? I’ve been wondering from the day we met whether you could truly leave behind your Hellish traits of kill, flay and slaughter, and develop into something better. Someone better. Someone who can feel, who has his own beliefs and morals, and can know right from wrong.”

Mortis still looked unconvinced, and slightly confused.

“But how did you know something like this was going to happen on last night’s raid?”

“Jake was known for having a loud mouth, and this time I guess it was the death of him. One should never announce the crime one will commit before it comes to pass.” He chuckled softly to himself. “Laddo, when I sent you out last night, I knew one of three things might happen. Firstly, you might stand idly by, unconcerned and unfazed by Jake’s evil doings. Second - Heaven forbid - you might actually join in. Or thirdly; something inside you might shift just enough to set you on a path, one I’ve been trying me very hardest to push you along since our lessons began.”

Mortis frowned and shook his head sadly.

“But I don’t know. I don’t know what I feel, let alone what I believe in. How can I follow a path that is concealed to me?”

“Just a matter of time. Your beliefs will develop as you do. Just give it time. Now,” Zac leaned forward eagerly in his chair, “I believe you have a job to do.”

They talked long into the day, for both knew it was the last time they would do so. Zac revealed every secret watering hole, every dark cave the thieves used to hide. All the inner workings of the guild were laid out in Mortis’s mind, and he found himself absorbing the information readily and eagerly. Zac described ‘the cleansing’ in great detail, so by the time they were through, Mortis knew the name of each thief and had a description to match.

”You know, Mortis,” Zac said as they prepared to depart, “your actions in the coming weeks are going to create quite a legend within the minds of the common people. Tales of the dark beast who slew an entire thieves guild are going to spread like wild fire! You’ll be known to the world, famous. It’ll be up to you whether you choose take advantage of this. There’s plenty of work out there, and plenty of people need help. It should be no trouble keeping your pockets full.”

Mortis nodded grimly, unable to find the words for the sadness he was feeling. Zac just smiled and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry lad, I’ll be fine. We may even meet again. But if we don’t, just remember: listen to your feelings, follow that evil sensing nose, and never take a job if it don’t feel right. Now, off with you.”

*

And so the cleansing began. One by one, the dishonorable thieves were punished for their crimes, and Mortis came to realize more and more what his true purpose was. No longer did he serve Hell, or merely himself as he had done the past few years. He would help others, if he could, and be the hand of justice that was so often absent in this world.

He was by no means perfect; even the strongest willed man can have trouble holding back his fury, let alone a demon who once knew nothing but the endless drive for destruction.

He was the Dune Hunter, he was Demon. He was assassin, and most importantly, he was Mortis. And it was a fact he was slowly becoming more and more comfortable with.

Of Zac… he heard later the old man had taken up traveling like he’d done when he was younger. Mortis never saw him again, but he knew that that particular man’s final days had not been wasted.

****


And that's Mortis's Past over. At last. The next part will hopefully be more original.

[RevenantsKnight]

On the last bit of Mortis’s past: much like the last part, I think you presented his “understanding” a little bluntly and the outcome was more or less predictable, but overall, this read pretty cleanly and it seems to fit with the rest of the story. I’d try to address those presentation bits, since they stand out more in this part than in the previous post. Anyway, here’re some specific comments on all that:


Lemi was playing some sort of trick with his knife now, twirling the hilt of it expertly on one finger, then leap frogging it to another.

“Leapfrogging” is one word, and I might try to find a different one here, since he’s not really flipping the knife over anything.


Lemi paused with his mouth open, mid sentence, then closed it, his eyes squinted suspiciously.

I’d word this as “Lemi paused in mid-sentence with his mouth open,” as “mid-sentence” really modifies his action, not his mouth, and it reads oddly by itself. “Squinted” also sounds off to me; while it’s correct, using it as an adjective to describe his eyes just seems unusual, somehow. If I were writing this, I’d use “squinting” or “narrowed,” though what you have works, too.


“Get away from the door, or I’ll force you too.”

That should be “to” at the end there.


He seemed somewhere between putting the blade back in his pocket and thrusting it in Mortis’s face. Mortis could see him weighing up his options.

This felt a little redundant to me, since both sentences have the same general idea, just with different amounts of detail. I’d trim one of these off, or perhaps even using a new sentence that focuses on Lemi’s reaction itself, in terms of what the reader might see were he or she literally there to watch. After all, the reason Mortis knows what he’s thinking has to come from his expression or his actions in this case. Also, the “up” in the second sentence is unnecessary.


“Ha, you go, Jake!” one shouted, “Give it too her good!”

The comma after “shouted” should be a period, ending the sentence. “Too” should also be “to” in the second part.


Lemi, reminded suddenly that there were four of him and only one of Mortis, returned to his familiar smug smile.

I’d move the part from “reminded” to “Mortis” to the start of the sentence, which may require a bit of rewording, because it reads a bit awkwardly to have all that between the subject and the verb in this case.


Lemi flew high and landed close by the nobleman, and Mortis heard the tell-tale ‘crack’ of spine as the thief hit the ground.

Since Mortis hasn’t done much fighting against humans up to this point (unless I missed something somewhere,) I don’t think he’d be able to distinguish the sound of a spine breaking from something else. I’d make that part a little more general, because as it is, it makes him sound too experienced, which works against your point, in my opinion.


The demon took a few steps towards him and leant down close to the fallen man’s ear.

“Leant” sounds weird to me in this case, since it implies that he’s just tilting his body in a direction; I’d use “bent” unless Mortis has impressive flexibility, which seems unlikely. I’d also replace “fallen man” with something else, since Lemi’s not dead and there’s a corpse near him. Though the context suggests otherwise, the meaning of that phrase could be read to mean the nobleman instead of the thief.


Lemi’s eyes were rolling wildly, hands twitching, and though he was still alive he seemed unable to move from the waist down. His ability to speak had also left him for the time being.

I’d suggest rewording the last part of the first sentence and the second sentence here, because they sound much more like summaries of facts than observations, and that makes them less interesting than the first bit here. If you have a short description of, say, his legs being deathly still and his lips shaking frantically, I think the reader would catch your meaning and the narration would feel less dry.


He didn’t know it at the time, but this habit of leaving his kill with a final thought would make Mortis the most feared assassin in all of Sanctuary.

This is an interesting thought, but now seems like the wrong time to bring it in. It takes the focus away from the action, and it’s a blatant here-you-go move by the narrator, since, as you say, none of the characters here know this. Both of these facts distract from the story at hand, though you could probably get away with just this sentence; it’s not the most elegant way to reveal information, but it does work. If you keep this here, though, I’d cut the rest of the paragraph, because it just holds up the pace.


What truths would he whisper in your ear, as you lay dying from the claws marks on your throat?

That should be “claw marks.”


Lemi, the first human to fall victim to the demon’s wrath, just stared wide eyed and fearful up at the winged beast above him, mouth opening and closing in a desperate effort to make words.

Technically, that should be “...stared wide-eyed and fearfully...” I’d also cut “the first human to fall victim to the demon’s wrath,” since I think it’s pretty clear that he hasn’t killed any humans since leaving Hell at least.


Though Jake had been in there some time, he was still far from achieving the foul act he was trying to force the girl into, and when Mortis ripped the door open, he could see she’d put up a hell of a fight.

“Jake had been in there some time” and “she’d put up a hell of a fight” both seemed a bit too casual in terms of tone to me; I’d suggest rewording them to something less conversational.


The girl herself had also been beaten, one eye swelling already from a heavy blow, and visible red marks circled her throat.

A few nitpicks: I don’t think “herself” is necessary here, and I’d switch the order of “swelling already.”


He paused when he saw that the silhouette was far too big to be his door guarding comrade, and the golden eyes glowering in the dark.

The part on Mortis’s silhouette needs a bit of rewording, because if I’m reading this correctly, you intended for the essence of the sentence to be that Jake sees two things: a silhouette and golden eyes. As it is, the “that” prevents the first part from fitting. I’d revise this so that it reads something like “...he saw a silhouette, too big to be his door-guarding comrade, and two golden eyes...” Also, “glowering” seems like the wrong verb here; did you mean “glowing in the dark”? If you truly meant that Mortis was staring angrily at Jake (which I’ll believe quite readily,) then the ending should be “at him” or something like that.


“You? What’re you doing in ‘ere?”

Since this is still Jake speaking, this should be part of the previous paragraph, not on its own line.


“Jake, let the girl go,” Mortis said in a voice so cold it could of turned rain to hail.

That should be “could have,” which is also a bit conversational in tone. I’d try to reword it altogether, honestly.


But Mortis’s attention had left the thief now. Now he was looking at the girl.

This felt a little redundant to me, so I’d try to combine these into one sentence.


She lay under the weight of Jake’s hefty gut, gasping from her battle exertions. She looked no older then seventeen.

This part also seemed like it should be with the following paragraph, in that both describe the girl. I’d also see if you can’t work her age into another sentence, because it feels a bit insubstantial on its own.


Long, golden hair.

Technically, this can’t be a sentence on its own. Additionally, the entire description of Ellie is presented from a very human perspective, and given Mortis’s background, I don’t think it fits. What you say here about her being beautiful in a certain way and her pale skin indicating something about her lifestyle are conclusions that require some degree of familiarity with people in general (and beauty is also subjective and culturally influenced.) I didn’t get the feeling that Mortis got this sort of background from Zac, so this seemed more like the narrator making a value judgment for him. To address this, I’d either spend more time on Zac and Mortis before this point, so that you can establish that Mortis has the necessary knowledge, or move the focus of the description to something more universal, such as her fear or desperation.


The pale skin of someone that spent more time indoors then out exploring the countryside.

That should be “...someone who spent more time indoors than out...”


Thinking back on it now, Mortis could only compare the change that occurred in him to the one other fateful moment in his life; the one that flung him into this new world, and had given him his free will.

I didn’t like how you suddenly shifted the time of the story to a moment in the future with “Thinking back on it now...” et cetera, because throughout this entire part, the narration is focused completely on this time in the past, except for the little hints about Mortis later, which don’t seem to fit anyway; there’s no sense that this isn’t the present, if you catch my meaning. Because of that, this didn’t read smoothly to me.

Also, this is one instance where it feels like you’re spelling things out for the reader a bit too much. Your point is clear, no doubt, but I think it feels forced if the narrator comes out and says “There is a connection between X and Y, which means you should read all of this in this manner.” Comparisons like this one are generally best done over the course of some character interaction or left implied, in my opinion; the first option allows you to draw the reader in as things unfold, and it can often seem more natural if the reader finds something out at the same time as a main character. The second is nice in that the real world tends not to have clear-cut ways of how to interpret something or an obvious meaning behind an action, and sticking to this can help lend a story a sense of coming alive.


In fact, Izual severing his mind from the Hell Lords was not all that different to the realization that dawned the moment he saw the girl at all.

This should read “...different from the realization that had dawned the moment he saw the girl,” and technically, this comparison should be between his reaction to Izual freeing his mind and the realization. That aside, this feels redundant to me given the previous sentence, and perhaps even more so than before, this reads as if you’re sledgehammering a point into the reader’s mind. It’s clear, all right, but it doesn’t feel natural and so isn’t as engaging as it could be.


Her lips quivered with fear and exhaustion, and her beautiful, frail body was the jolt Mortis’s heart needed to feel.

I’d cut “beautiful” for reasons discussed previously and refocus the second part of the sentence on Mortis’s reaction, because that’s what matters in the end. This section of the story is about him adjusting to people, as it were, so I’d spend a bit more time on what happens to him, not on what triggers those changes.


He finally understood Zac’s insistence in the protection of women and children.

Again, this paragraph felt too much like the narrator announcing facts to the reader. It also seemed much too complete a change in perspective for Mortis; since this is the only experience in his life of its kind, I would focus more on realizations specific to the situation (i.e. Ellie should be protected and Jake needs a smacking) as opposed to the broader conclusions here. I’ll certainly believe that this event leads to the general beliefs you mention here, but their establishment should not happen immediately, in the heat of the moment. They seem much more like the kind of thing that would come out of a few hours of reflecting, not an instant revelation.


Mortis wouldn’t realize until later what a profound effect these new feelings would have on him.

As with the part on Mortis’s later career as an assassin, this jump into the future felt like a bit of a pace-killer. I’d suggest either trying to write it out and add it in later, or at least trim this down to a sentence or two so that it isn’t as disruptive.


The girl managed to free an arm from the fat thief’s gripping fist, and let her palm fall loosely in Mortis’s direction.

“Gripping” seems redundant here, so I’d delete it.


Her fingers had been crushed during her resistance, and Mortis was sure at least two were broken.

I’d suggest describing her fingers as opposed to just saying “they had been crushed,” since the reader should be able to infer that from a decent image.


Jake scowled and raised his fist again, ready to back hand her.

“Backhand” is one word.


The two thieves outside may have been listening intently to the new developments in the carriage, but they certainly weren’t prepared for what happened next.

This seemed a bit too informal in tone to me; I’d suggest rewording “may have been” and “certainly weren’t prepared” in particular. Let me know if you want some starter ideas for this.


Spluttering and clearing mud from their eyes, they stared in horror as Jake, the entire left side of his faced caved in from the chin to his scalp, floated past them and began to head downstream.

That should be “from his chin to his scalp” for consistency, and “downstream” sounded awkward here, since there’s no up- or downstream without a current, and a water-filled ditch doesn’t seem like it would have one.


“That is the wrath of Hell descended upon poor Jake there. Run now, before we experience it ourselves, I reckon.”

This sounded way too calm for the situation, and also a bit too dramatic; I could see this sort of thing as a line in a play, perhaps, but I can’t imagine that these would be the words coming out of anyone’s mouth when confronted with a raging demon.


“You should be ok.”

That should be “OK” or “okay” (I prefer the latter, personally.)


A strong arm wrapped itself around Mortis’s neck, and he felt the pain grow sharper as more pressure was applied.

I’d reword this so that the first part isn’t in the passive voice, and I might suggest a more...active description in the second part; this comes as a surprise, after all, so it seems like it should read faster and more suddenly than this, though maybe that’s just me.


Dreg had slipped through the gaping hole in the carriage behind them, and thrust that small guild knife deep into Mortis’s lower back.

I thought this sounded a bit too much like a summary of what had happened; personally, I’d think it’d be fine if you just hint that Dreg is the attacker here, because the reader should be able to figure out what happened from there.


He slowly choked Mortis to his knees, and gave the knife a hard twist when the demon raised his claws to slash.

“Choked Mortis to his knees” sounded odd to me, because the normal meanings of “choked” aren’t really similar to this usage, which may or may not be technically correct. Also, “slowly” doesn’t really seem to modify “choked” to me, but rather the speed with which he dropped Mortis, which is another problem. I’d try to reword this to something like “He tightened his hold around Mortis, slowly bringing him to his knees...”


Mortis lowered his hands and concentrated on trying to breath under the thief’s heavy arm.

That should be “breathe.”


Dreg fell backwards screaming, pulling the knife from Mortis’s side and stabbing it blinding over his head towards his assailant.

That should be “blindly.” I’d also suggest replacing this use of “screaming” or the one in the previous sentence with something else, since you probably didn’t mean to compare their actions.


The girl dodged the slashes, but was forced to let go when he finally nicked her arm.

“Slashes” contrasts with “stabbed” in the previous sentence, so I’d replace it with something else, perhaps “attacks.”


By this time, however, Mortis had regained his breath and had Dreg firmly in his grip.

The way this reads, it sounds as if Mortis has a grip on Dreg when he finally manages to nick Ellie, and that seems unlikely. I’d change the wording of the last part here to something like “and reached out to seize Dreg firmly.”


Both he and the girl sat silently for a few minutes; he wincing with pain from the wound in his back, she looking in horror at the pieces of jelly and gore still stuck to her fingernails.

The semicolon here should be a comma.


She looked up at Mortis her hands still clawed in front of her.

There should be a comma after “Mortis.”

[RevenantsKnight]

From this side, the carriage looked fine to Teddery, but as he entered through the door and peered in, he saw that half the opposing wall had been completely smashed out.

I’d change “From this side” to “From his side,” since “this” implies that the narrator is on the same side of the carriage as Teddery.


“Bllooooodyyy hell!” Teddery cried , “I said ‘ave the carriage ready to travel’, not ‘blow the freakin’ wall out of it’.”

There’s an extra space in between “cried” and the comma.


Apparently they’d been talking.

There should be a comma after “Apparently.”


“Sorry,” Mortis said, “Blame Jake if you want.”

The comma after “said” should be a comma.


A small, frightened face appeared from behind a tree not far off, and the boy emerged.

Hrm...this seemed a little redundant to me, since he technically emerged when he looked out. I’d see if you can’t rework this a touch.


He walked slowly past the screaming Lemi, only giving his dead father a swift and pained glance, before running to the carriage and clearing the doorway in a single bound.

The “only” here should be after “father.”


“Oh Erod, Erod I’m so glad you’re ok.”

There should be a comma after the second “Erod,” and “ok” should be “OK” or “okay.”


“Yes. Dreg got me good, but it’s healing. Slowly. I’ll be fine. Right now we have more important things to focus on. Like getting you out of here.”

This read a bit awkwardly to me as a whole, because the lack of narration in this all makes it seem as if Mortis just says this all without doing anything like looking around, pausing to think, or other sorts of natural in-conversation actions. It also makes the transitions from one idea to another feel abrupt, since he appears to change the subject without warning. To address this, I’d break this up some with narration; for instance, you could have all of the dialogue up to, say, “healing,” and then have Mortis try to move, wince and then add “Slowly.” That would add more context to what he says, giving the reader a better idea of the scene as well as making it feel less, well, odd. This is also a problem with the following bit of Teddery’s dialogue; I’d suggest a similar treatment for that part.


“Recon I’ll just take this ‘ere carriage and go further west.”

That should be “Reckon.” “Recon” is slang for “reconnaissance” (or perhaps it’s a standard shortened form now.)


“And that should be plenty o’ time for ya to…” he paused, gulping slightly, “for ya to do what ya gotta do.”

Truthfully, I didn’t quite buy your assumption that Teddery would come to the conclusion that the guild needed to be cleaned out. Prior to this part, there wasn’t much to suggest that Jake was indicative of the majority of the thieves, or that the rest wouldn’t straighten up under Zac.


Mortis looked at the thief leaning over him, surprised that he’d already predicted the demon’s future agenda.

If Teddery’s thoughts surprised me, Mortis’s were even more unexpected. He doesn’t know the rest of the guild, it appears, so why would he assume that most of it is rotten? There are, after all, several examples to the contrary so far. I’d accept that he does this after Zac tells him later, but at this point, too much seems unknown for him to make this decision so cleanly.


“Always wanted kids o’ me own,” he grinned.

I’m a little surprised that Teddery would say this without asking them if they have other family or something along those lines. Seems, well, cold...


“I don’t think the ‘orses need a driver; they seem pretty well trained, but maybe’ll I’ll just guide em for awhile anyway -“

That should be just “maybe.”


“Ya know last night, when Dreg gave Zac that slap and ya almost killed him for it? Yer were defendin’ your teacher.”

Not sure if some people actually do this, but the switching between “ya” and “yer” for “you” seemed odd to me. Either way, though, I thought this felt much more believable than the parts you tried to introduce by straight narration earlier.


“Now git out of me carriage,” he grinned, “I got a long trip ahead of me.”

The comma after “grinned” should be a period.


They made it to where they were going, Mortis heard later on, and went on to live out their lives as normally as an ex-thief and two orphaned noble-children could.

I’d suggest dropping this paragraph from the story, since it doesn’t really matter at this moment what happens to them, and you could always work this in later in a memory or something. Also, the idea that Ellie and Erod just accepted Teddery without trying to make contact with any remaining family or friends isn’t really viable in my opinion, given what you reveal of their circumstances. There could be reasons why they don’t, of course, but since I don’t think you have the time here to explain much without dragging the story off track, I’d save this for later, where it won’t be as confusing.


When he returned to the home, early the morning after the raid that went bad, he was surprised to see his teacher still awake and waiting for him.

I’d just word this as “When he returned home early the next morning, he was surprised...” since there’s no other place that would be logical for him to go, and the reader will probably assume that it’s the day after the raid anyway.


“Ah, you’re home lad!”

Technically, there should be a comma after “home,” I think.


Or back at the beginning, with the rain and the carriage being late.

I think this should end with a question mark, not a period.


As it turned out, once he found a way to start, he didn’t stop, and the whole tale was spilled to his old friend within an hour.

“Was spilled” read awkwardly to me, as the passive voice doesn’t sound appropriate here, and “spilled” isn’t the sort of action that usually occurs over a long period of time; tipping over a glass, for instance, happens fairly quickly. I’d say it also doesn’t work in the informal sense of “spilling the beans,” since that’s too casual for the narration. I’d suggest finding a different wording here.


Zac nodded slowly throughout, his fingers peaked neatly under his chin and resting on one knee.

The way this reads, it sounds as if his fingers are resting on his knee, directly under his chin, and that’s probably not a comfortable position in which to spend an hour or so, even if he is pretty flexible. I’m not sure what “resting on one knee” meant there, but this could use some clarification.


By the time it was over, Mortis was unnerved to see neither surprise nor anger on his teachers face.

That should be “teacher’s face.”


Mortis allowed his surprise show. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

That should read “...allowed his surprise to show.” More importantly, this read rather, well...dully to me. This doesn’t really do much to convey Mortis’s surprise in that it reads very matter-of-factly and without much urgency. I’d suggest trying to give this a stronger image so that it pulls the reader in more, and see if you can’t change the wording to make it read less like a general summary of Mortis’s reaction.


“No of course not!”

There should be a comma after “No.”


“The thieves who I worked with back in my day have all retired and been replaced by younger, newer men, who think there’s now harm in beating up a defenseless traveler or taking advantage of the odd woman here and there.”

That should be “there’s no harm,” I think, and the comma after “men” is unnecessary.


“In short, I believe the time of my thieves’ guild has come to an end. No longer do they rob for the challenge, they’ve just become a pack of common thugs.”

I’d switch the order of these sentences, since the second really relates to the middle of the paragraph. Also, the comma after “challenge” should be a semicolon.


“So I figured; why not kill two birds with one stone?”

I’m not sure here, but I think the semicolon here should be a comma, since “So I figured” isn’t something I’d call a complete sentence.


“Someone who can feel, who has his own beliefs and morals, and can know right from wrong.”

I’d word the last part as “...and knows right...,” but that’s just me.


“Or thirdly; something inside you might shift just enough to set you on a path, one I’ve been trying me very hardest to push you along since our lessons began.”

The semicolon here should be a comma.


“Tales of the dark beast who slew an entire thieves guild are going to spread like wild fire!”

“Wildfire” is usually one word, as far as I know, and that should be “thieves’ guild.”


“Don’t worry lad, I’ll be fine.”

There should be a comma after “worry.”


He was assassin, and most importantly, he was Mortis.

I’d word that as “He was an assassin,” though it may work as it is.


And it was a fact he was slowly becoming more and more comfortable with.

I’d reword this sentence somewhat, since it’s unclear what you mean by “a fact” after all of those statements.

The last part with Zac seemed especially clean to me, though I have to admit that I was rushing a little through that part. If I missed anything, my apologies.

Overall, I thought that this installment had some definite strengths, and in general, it seemed to read smoothly. If the bluntness that crops up every now and then gets addressed, this should be pretty engaging, all right. Thanks for posting!