The day had progressed, Zeek finding himself enthralled by the retionship between Amon and Heka. It reminded him so much of himself and Lilliana before they’re fateful adventure into the Heart of Sorrows. The love, the commitment… the sacrifice.

  Verris spent most of his time gloating about finding such worthy participants in this fool’s errand, but he was paid no mind by the curious rogue. They’d passed through the Merchant’s Quarter in search of equipment to survive the trek to the Capital, finding reagents and herbs for healing, dried meats for rations, and a bcksmith’s whet stone to sharpen his dulling bdes. The essence crystal he’d used in the forest needed to be replenished, so the mage’s and miner’s shops both needed a visit.

  “What was that you used in the forest to burn the vines?” Verris was more inquisitive than usual today, perhaps his ignorance in the prior activities was getting to him. Did this have something to do with the letters he so often read and sent at night? “I’ve never known you quick-handsy types to be crafty enough for magics and that sort.”

  “Essence,” Zeek replied, “Get someone that can use magic to store some in something small enough to use, and save it for a rainy day. The saying goes: ‘a scroll is to a wizard as a crystal is to a rogue’.”

  “I see you’re well informed in many arenas,” Amon mused, “Where are you from?”

  “Nowhere special, just a vilge far to the south. Sorcerers and Demons used to pgue those nds, so the people there learned how to channel their magic into items while some learned their guiles from the Demons themselves. Very little remains there now, just a few vestiges of humanity here and there amidst the wastends they left behind. Lillianna was the st person I’d met that knew of those nds.”

  “That is the woman in this ‘Heart of Sorrows’?” Amon brushed his beard, allowing his own musings to lead him away from the conversation.

  “Yes.” Heka’s voice was as soft as spider’s silk. “She remains there, trapped, if our friend’s memory serves.”

  Zeek’s gaze shifted, his face darkening; how much did she know? What all had she gleaned from her tryst into his mind? He’d have to stay on guard to keep his secrets as his own around her.

  “You seek the love lost to a byrinth as menacing as it is vast, tempting those to follow you with the riches and trinkets you’ve found in its walls. I can see the allure of this pce, but I still find it most intriguing that the people of ancient Kemet left some of their most interesting technologies behind its doors.” He tilted his head thoughtfully as the group navigated the busy streets, “Perhaps we will find the answer soon, or, at a bare minimum, more of their treasures in its depths.”

  Verris stopped, scanning the streets for what he believed to be the miner’s shop; crystals and shining ore were on full dispy beyond the entryway, making Kemet’s miners appear to be a promising find. “Over here, I think we found your rocks.”

  Zeek took no time at all making his way into the shop. “Excuse me,” he said softly, “Do you have any…uh…” He fumbled to find the words in the local dialect.

  “Please excuse my friend Bu-set, he is not from our nds. He is seeking shu-aat, a variety of sizes should do.”

  “Thank you, Amon,” Zeek said sheepishly, “Did I say it right that time?”

  “You’re getting there.” His accent was thick and smooth, a true student of the city Kemet.

  Zeek examined the crystals, comparing the size and utility of each. The shop’s clerk eyed him quizzically. “Is there something he’s looking for in specific?” He asked Amon. Amon simply shrugged, a mesmerizing smile ever-present on his face. Heka, on the other hand, was happy simply clinging to the smoky bck fibers of Amon’s robes. She’s eyed the stones and crystals from the safety nearest his skin, his warmth feeding her very essence as she decorated his apparel; Amon would always tell her how he loved the way she’d stain his robes to match his skin, contrasting the inid gold against the charcoal surface she created.

  Verris picked up a ruby and compared it to the blood red shell adorning Regalia, before putting it back with an unimpressed roll of his eyes. He held no interest in the trinkets of weaker fighters, though he couldn’t argue the viability of having them in a pinch. For him, Regalia, for all her needy rituals, would always be his ace-in-the-hole. The shopkeeper gazed in his direction, a sense of wonder seeming to wash over his face as he digested Verris’ appearance in its entirety.

  “I’m keeping my hands to myself,” Verris groaned impatiently.

  “What kind of weapon is that?” asked the enthralled shopkeeper.

  “Oh, Regalia!” Verris roared to life; it wasn’t often he had the chance to gush over his favorite weapon. “She’s a beauty isn’t she? Got her on a job in the Scarlet Caves up north. The miners up there needed an adventurer to clear some kind of carnivorous crystals from a chasm they’d opened up. My hammer chipped half-way through the job and some of their shards got stuck in the cracks. It was a bloody mess in there before I put two and two together. One of the miners had fallen into the chasm and bled to death on the crystals; they ate him and came looking for more. When the job was done, I bagged up the crystals and fashioned Regalia’s head out of them.”

  “You made that thing?” Zeek didn’t know whether to be perturbed or impressed. He’d never seen a weapon quite like Regalia, let alone one with the abilities she held. “That expins why I couldn’t pce the craftsmanship. I’ll have to leave tending to metalworking to you.”

  “I come cheap,” he said with a smirk.

  Amon eyed Regalia with something akin to disgust. “A weapon built on the corpses of fallen men, how…” he searched for the word, “utterly cssless.”

  Verris shrugged off the ridicule. “In a one-on-one fight, blood always spills, and no matter who it spills from, that means I win. Say what you will, but a real man doesn’t need his wife to fight for him.” A deafening silence fell over the shop, the clerk looking from person to person as the tension in the air threatened to suffocate him.

  “You forget your pce.” Amon’s golden veins began to glow as the charming smile melted off his face, giving way to a menacing grimace. Waves of heat wafted off Amon in bands as volcanic smoke and fme began to dance around him. Zeek took a handful of stones in one hand and walked the clerk outside as things began to escate. Heka took her physical form, her armored dress a near-molten-orange as she slinked outside.

  “Perhaps you never knew it in the first pce.” Verris wrapped his hands around Regalia’s grip, closing the distance toward Amon. The smoke in the shop was thick and bck, the scent of molten earth and brimstone filling the open space. Regalia’s head swung through the bckness; Amon stood, unseen and unflinching, as the mace flew inches away from his face. His breath was slow and deliberate, molten ash mixing into the smoke and forming a scimitar in his hand. Heka shuddered outside as she felt Amon pulling on her essence, forming and solidifying an array of objects inside the smoke-filled shop.

  “Heka is a warrior,” Amon said, the emotion drained from his voice, “A true Queen amongst the Shu-Ra.” The smoke cleared as Verris swung again, sparks flying off Regalia as she was met with one of many floating weapons surrounding Amon. Weapons were slowly swirling around him, all pure bck, red cracks leaking thick tendrils of bck smoke. “I am a King amongst men, and you, a petty man against a God.” His eyes seemed to glow, pure red heat snaking into the air.

  “Gods,” Verris bellowed, “Don’t walk!” With that, he pulled the rug from the shop’s floor, hoping to drop Amon, only to find the other end alight. The smoke was suffocating; it smothered everything in the shop. Verris dropped low to the ground, while he was brazened, he was no fool; he threw a handful of stones over to his right. In seconds he felt the air shift in that direction. He threw a few more in that direction before gambling a leap toward Amon, who’d been skulking toward the sound of the stones; Verris had realized he wasn’t the only one blinded by the smoke.

  “A rat like you can’t escape me,” Amon shouted as he blindly brought the full force of all his conjurations down where the st stone had nded. Without carrying the weapons, he couldn’t have known they’d missed their mark entirely. The impact of Verris colliding with him, his full force summoned to bring down the smoldering weaver, knocked the air out of his lungs. The two men came crashing out of the store and into the street, smoke still billowing out the store. Regalia was in his hands now, towering over the crumpled man.

  “I see no god, just a prideful man with no sense of his own weaknesses. I am a warrior, I’ve faced wraiths, magicians, wizards, sorcerers, the undead, daemons, and creatures you couldn’t hope to defeat. I’ve defeated man-eating crystals, how could you hope to beat me hand to hand? Your fmes, your smoke, and your bravado will only get you killed in the end. Know your pce, magician; I clearly know mine.” He reached his hand out to the heaving weaver, and, after a few moments, Amon took it.

  “I still find your weapon repulsive, but it is not my pce to speak on one with more experience. If you speak on Heka again, or dare to disrespect her, I will melt the meat off of your bones and fashion a weapon of my own.”

  “Fair. I can respect a man who stands for his own. Was hoping you’d learn a new trick out of the scuffle, but respect is as fitting a prize as any, your highness.” Verris nodded his head and pulled Amon back to his feet with a satisfied smile.

  Heka rushed to Amon, holding him and caressing his face, a concerned look on her face. Amon looked at her, humbled by the experience, but mostly unharmed. Heka melted into her husband, smoke binding to his skin and clothes, bckening his robes once more.

  “I assume this should suffice?” Zeek looked at the shopkeeper sheepishly, the man nodding agreeably as he continued to eye his shop with a respectable amount of fear.

  “I’m fairly certain there shouldn’t be much damage inside,” Verris said with a shrug. “The weaver over there burned the rug and smoked out the pce but it should otherwise be fine.” The shopkeeper allowed himself a shaky sigh before rushing back into the store to ensure nothing was damaged.

  “If you two are finished dragging your gargantuan egos around, I believe we still need to pn and prepare for a long journey. We’ll need both of you in one piece, otherwise…” Zeek allowed a devilish grin to cross his face, “An amalgamation will do.” He ughed to himself, grimly, before turning to continue his walk down the busy streets of Kemet’s marketpce.

  “Well…That was rather dark, was it not?” Amon seemed to taste the rot from Zeek’s response.

  “He gets worse, trust me.” Verris replied, patting him on the shoulder as he began to walk in the rogue’s direction. Amon followed soon after as the group disappeared into the crowd.

  Mersk eyed his dagger, twirling it in his hand absently. He’d reluctantly accepted his new position as an emissary of what seemed to equate to an eldritch lord. While she may have a certain sense of dark attraction, his new patron was terrifying for most to behold. He crept through the streets of the local town, searching for a ‘desperate wretch’ by the name of Zeek, to no avail, of course.

  As the night continued to crawl, Mersk found his way to the local tavern; any sleuth worth his salt knew exactly where to find the talk of the town, and this Zeek figure apparently left a mark wherever he went, for better or for worse. His eyes scanned the small tavern as he found an empty table, dropping coin to a waitress, receiving a swift ale in return. The room seemed to be abuzz with rumors of a recent commotion.

  “Have you seen the room at the Inn?” One of the patrons seemed to be well intrigued.

  “The one with that bloody sigil on the door, right?”

  “Whoever was in there left in a hurry; I heard they killed a man right in front of the room too!”

  A room in the Inn? A bloody sigil? A murder? Now that sounds interesting.

  “Wasn’t there a man there that kept feeding the Labyrinth?”

  “I heard he was cursed, no wonder the Inn got cursed as well!”

  “A man that fed the byrinth…” he mused to himself. “Cursed to boot? I think this would count as leaving a mark, maybe literally.” With that, he sipped at his ale as he continued to listen to the happenings in the town. Whether or not the man had left town seemed to be resolved; he’s in the wind. Next step should be looking into the Inn and the mark he left there.

  After a time, the tavern had disappeared around a street corner, the Inn seemed to be close by. Mersk followed a pair of drunken bowmen as he casually walked the street a distance behind them, knowing they’d be heading to their rooms. He’d scanned the tavern for anyone wearing foreign garb, forester’s breeches, and things of that nature; the Inn wasn’t for permanent fixtures, after all. The men seemed to continue to stumble forward as the light from the Inn started to come into view. He allowed himself to ease his pace, he’d found his quarry at st. The doors remained open, the mps and hearth continued to radiate a warm light from the entryway as his boots continued to carry him through the doors.

  “Hail stranger, welcome to my Inn.” The Innkeeper was a small man, his hands were still smooth, knuckles boney and clean. “What can I do for you?”

  “Hey there,” he rested his arm on the desk in front of the small man. “I’ve heard some strange stories of a cursed sigil left in the wake of a recent tenant. I’m an apostate capable of removing the curse here, if you’d so allow, of course?”

  “Ah, I’d left a message with the guild, I’m so gd you came! This way!”

  This man seemed far simpler than Mersk thought. There were no apostates in this area, let alone clerics capable of really cleansing anything more than simple poisons or tainted injuries. Fooling this simpleton into thinking his Inn was cleansed, if it even was cursed, could be a quick way to thicken his purse. “Yes, after you,” he said, smoothly.

  The Innkeeper led him to a room toward the back of Inn with dark brown stains on the back wall accompanied by staining on the stone floor. The door was adorned with a bck circle, a centered line running from the top of the circle to the bottom of the door, surely touching the dark staining on the floor. “This… Now this brings me back.”

  “You’ve seen this before? Is it something you can remove?”

  “You’ll need to clean the symbol off, but the taint behind it will need to be removed first. I’ll need you to keep everyone away from this wing for, maybe, half an hour. It shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Why, of course sir!” The innkeeper ran off with a smile, hurriedly barricading the corridor with the vigor only a true businessman could muster.

  “Sales must’ve slowed; superstitious lot, aren’t they,” Mersk mumbled to himself. The room was in disarray, a small pack on the floor, books strewn about the bed, blood dotted on the fur sheets. A fight had happened here, or, at the bare minimum, very close by; whoever was staying here must’ve arrived in bad shape. His mind’s eye opened; an injured man fumbling through his things to escape as soon as he’d entered; he turned toward the door, “Knives,” he thought. He walked towards the door, tracing the walls, watching the man swiftly shuffling toward the nearest exit. Before exiting the room, he spread the contents of a phial into the air; the room began to shift, lifting blood from every surface and filling the phial before he applied a cork stopper.

  He slipped out of the doorway, fingers still tracing the surface of the walls; no more than ten paces ahead was a small crater in the wall, though, this one was oddly bereft of blood. “So… he had help?” He paused, pondering the information he was given, “He’s not supposed to have any allies here. So, this must be…”, he let his fingers caress the smooth crater, “an enemy or a hungry mercenary. He couldn’t have had much fight left.” Slipping back into the room, satisfied with his inquiry, he collected the adventurer’s pack and books before slinking out of the wing and onto the streets. The night air was crisp and weighty, heavy with the scent of burning wood and herbs.

  “Oh! Thank you again sir!”

  Mersk spun around to see the innkeeper waving, smiling just a few inches away. He knew he’d slipped out of the inn undetected; how did he get here?

  “You’re quite welcome.” He reached out to shake the man’s hand, leaving a bck stitch on his palm as he released it. “I hope to see you again soon!”

  “As do I sir!” The innkeeper spun on his heels and trotted back to his business, unaware of the bck stitch dissolving into his palm.

  “If I need you,” Mersk mused to himself, “I’ll call.”

  With that, he walked back down the town’s streets, slinking back to the Heart of Shadows, under the reign of its newest sovereign.

  “We will break her,” came a chorus of voices in Mersk’s mind.

  “And we will use this Zeek to do it.”