Duke Darmit- Hopes Hold the capitol of the East March duchy.

  A powerfully built man sat upon a lavish wooden chair next to the fireplace in his study. Dark hair cascaded down his brow, unkempt and streaked with silver. Eyes that held a manic tinge peered between the strands of hair. Gaudy furs dyed in crimson and gold framed his figure. Woven into the shoulders of his fine silver and mythril armor. It made him look like a warrior of legend.

  The duke looked from his fireplace to the truly ancient man in pure gold and white robes. The symbol of a man bowing was predominantly displayed on both his robe and the brands upon the back of his hands. The church had sent an archbishop at his request this time. Darmit smiled to himself; last time it had only been a bishop. His gracious donations to the church of Rembrand were having the intended effect.

  The robed man swirled a fine crystal glass. Filled with a subtly glowing liquor in his hands appreciatively. “Now then, my fine duke, what has our stalwart ally called on us for today?” He leaned back and took a deep gulp of the amber liquid, sighing contentedly as he reached for a small silver tray of pastries placed expertly just within his reach.

  The archbishop already knew damn well why he was here. Darmit crossed his hands and leaned towards his guest. “Archbishop Candor, I formally request the church to launch a crusade against the Forsaken Lands once again.”

  Candor raised a silver eyebrow at the gravity of the request. “ Oh-ho, is it already that time again? The [system border] has been pushed back that far already by the godsbane? The last crusade we launched for you was exactly eleven years ago tomorrow, if I am not mistaken.”

  “Yes, I am at risk of losing several border towns, and the trade routes are already having problems with horrors wandering from the woods as the systems protections recede. Our cash cow of taxes that is Hopes End is the most immediate concern.” Darmit stressed the word our very intently.

  They both knew that if the borders were pushed back beyond the town, the king would no longer intervene if the town refused to pay taxes or, heaven forbid, attempted independence.

  “Hmm...” Candor looked to the duke. “ Am I correct in my assumptions that Hope's End will once again be at best an impediment in our crusade? If the church graciously offers to subjugate the fringes of the Forsaken Lands, solidifying your borders once again."

  “Unfortunately, yes… If anything, that town has grown more problematic. Scurting open rebellion by the barest of lines to avoid the king's wrath. But undermining my authority with every chance they are given. I'm sure you heard of the paladin your order sent to clean up that town and conform the chapel there to more...orderly standards.”

  Candor darkly glanced into the fire, dropping most pretexts of a holy and calm demeanor. “Aye, Aron Grix, he was my favored pupil on the cusp of the third tier. I had been looking forward to instating him as a high paladin myself once he passed his trials. He is part of why I came personally.”

  There was a pause, the silence hanging in the room more poignant than any words could be. “lost in the forest. Was the only explanation we ever received from that pit of heretics” He spat with venom that caused the duke to lean slightly back in his chair.

  The duke shifted uncomfortably for a moment. “I assume this means the church is amenable to my request for aid?” He was hoping to not sit in this man's presence any longer than necessary. Someone this powerful could snuff him out and replace him as an afterthought if it came down to it. These days the church held sway, dangerously nearing that of the king himself.

  The serene demeanor of a holy man once again descended onto Archbishop Candor’s features. “The church’s view on this matter is that yes, it is time for another crusade. It is also, we feel,. Time for some changes in Hope's End. We, of course, hope for your support in that matter.” He calmly plucked another pastry off of the tray next to him.

  Darmit gave a relieved smile. “Of course, anything for my friends in the church.” He would be happy to see that band of ruffians put in their place, especially if the church was providing the muscle needed to make it happen.

  Tentatively, Darmit asked, “Does the church have a solution for the town’s guardian cleric yet?”

  Candor looked into the fireplace, the flames reflecting unnaturally in his eyes for a moment before the fire itself froze in place, casting the room in hauntingly beautiful shadows. The fire struggled against his will, flickering back into motion for a heartbeat before the roaring fire shrank in on itself to a strangely dark amber gem of condensed flame.

  Candor drew the gem to his palm with a flicker of will, all light in the room gone save for the one held. “Yes, my dear duke, once things escalate and enough lives have been taken that we can move without fear of reprisal from the king. I will personally be your solution.” He gently blew on the orb of condensed fire, and it winked from existence itself, casting the room into pure darkness.

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  Vraxious- Hopes End

  Vrax braced his feet, eyes locked onto the charging wall of muscle ahead of him. He jammed the butt of his spear into the sandy ground. With both hands he directed it towards the man's face and dropped to a knee, trying to halt the momentum of the charge. It didn’t work. The man roared and kicked off the sand so hard it exploded around him in a wave. The spear hit him straight in the collarbone bone and snapped, only digging in an inch. The armored knee of the man connected with Vrax's chin, snapping his head back and sending him tumbling in a barely conscious daze.

  Torvald cursed loudly, running over to Vrax. “Ah, fuck, are you okay buddy think I went a little too hard on that one don’t know my own strength yet, ya know the deal Rare class in a big bastard, please don’t be dead.” All practically tumbled from Torvald’s mouth in a panicked run-on sentence.

  Vrax groaned pitiably and raised a hand to feel around in his mouth; he wasn’t sure if he had lost teeth or they were just all loose now. He flashed an Identify at Torvald, certain this bastard hadn’t hit quite this hard last month (Torvald Glenn, Tier 1 [lvl 7] (Siege Breaker).

  Dammit he did level up. Did he dump all of his essence into his [Core] and increase his already stupidly high strength? Torvald was an absolute mountain of a man, standing a full head taller than Vrax, who was already taller than most in town. Easily half again as broad as Vrax was, and if Vrax had to guess, double his weight in sheer muscle. A vicious-looking half-shaven hairstyle with a topknot. Held in golden bangles topped off the imposing look. But his kind eyes and gentle smile ruined the sheer intimidation factor for those who knew him. It also didn’t hurt that he would literally give his lunch to someone if Torvald thought they needed it more than him. Vrax had actually seen him do it too. His friend had the reputation of a gentle giant.

  Torvald helped Vrax rise from the bloody heap he had left him in. Slapping him on the back as he did so.

  Vrax spit a bit of blood into the sand and looked to Torvald. “You leveled up a couple times while I was chasing that rare class?”

  Torvald beamed, “Damn straight! I registered with the adventurers guild in town and joined a caravan heading north and back as a guard. Pay was kind of crap, but they fed me, and we had a surprising amount of fights. Shit in the woods is getting awfully feisty lately! We ran across an actual [Moss bear] just wandering around on the honest-to-God road.”

  Vrax frowned at the broken training spear sitting in a pile of splinters. Torvald took a ready stance again across from him in the training sandpit. Still completely unarmed, this was going to suck. Vrax matched up against him, loosening his cloak as subtly as he could. This time when Torvald charged, so did Vrax, swinging his arm around in an arc and simply tossing his cloak into Torvald's path. Vrax sidestepped as the behemoth charged face first into the cloak it wrapped around his head. The hidden netting inside doing its job and tangling Torvald for a moment.

  Torvald tore the damn cloak in half to free himself, whirling around, eyes darting to locate his elusive opponent. He just caught a flash of a green tunic behind him before something moist slapped onto the back of his head. Torvald froze as he felt the oozing roots of something snaking across his face. On reflex he slapped his hand across his face, stopping it from obstructing his airway. Vrax struck. Another spear somehow in hand, jamming down into the back of his friend's leg once, then snapping a kick out, bringing the big man to his knees. Torvald held up his free hand in submission, feeling the tip of a spear pressed against the base of his neck. His other hand still struggling against a wet ball of writing roots.

  Vrax poured some water from his canteen onto the sand, and Torvald sagged in relief as the ball of roots slunk down away from his mouth and towards the water on the ground, greedily draining it. Vrax took his spear and carefully scraped the roots into a small jar, quickly sealing the top.

  Torvald looked at Vrax in mock horror. “And what in the hells was that, cheating in a friendly sparring session?”

  “Oh, don’t even, you big bastard, have to level the playing field a little.”

  Torvald curiously examined the jar in Vrax’s hands. “And who is your new friend here?”

  Vrax flashed [identify] and read the results aloud to Torvald [Everthirst Root tier-1](lvl 2)

  “Is that a plant or an animal technically?” Torvald's nose was almost touching the jar, and the root within was desperately reaching towards the condensation from his breath.

  Vrax looked at it and just shrugged. “It kind of hisses sometimes, but I think that just means it’s thirsty.”

  Torvald raised an eyebrow and gave a chuckle at the terrible joke, “So where did you find this thing?”

  “If I said ‘inside a skeleton, would that make you more or less concerned? Vrax carefully placed the jar into a well-worn leather bag off to the side.

  “Honestly, that’s pretty tame for you.” Torvald rubbed some of the blood from his rapidly clotting injuries before pouring a small amount of faintly glowing amber liquid from a stoppered bottle onto them. Vrax reached out for the [Radiant Grass] potion, swallowing a good mouthful of it after swishing it around his aching gums for a few seconds.

  “Alright, as much as I'd love to keep training with you, I'm all out of surprises for today. I need to get stocked up and go find Feldwin.” Vrax paused for a moment, looking towards Torvald with a thoughtful expression. “And thanks for being patient. I know you have been holding off on fully committing to leveling just so you don’t get too far beyond me. I’ve made a decision, though. If I don’t get anything better very soon, I’m going to take [Forest Warden] and just trust I can evolve it into something that is less situational.”

  Torvald just grunted amicably in response, going to a large stack of stones on the edge of the sandpit he used to train with. He hoisted a boulder the size of a man's torso onto his shoulder with practiced ease. “Hey, maybe you can get angry plant wrangler. Oh, or horror hugger,” Torvald joked.

  “I only hugged that Devourer once! one damn time.” Vrax sputtered.

  “Treats the goddamned bloody-tufts like forest kittens and is worried about not being strong enough if he is stuck with a normal person class.” Torvald muttered to himself just low enough for Vrax to catch as he was leaving.

  Vraxious- Edge of The Forsaken Lands.

  Vrax stood in the midday sun; the town of Hope's End lay up the gently sloping hillock behind him. Ahead of him, sparse green grass led up to the curtain of willows marking the beginning of the Forsaken Lands. Vrax set his pack on the ground next to him and started double-checking his gear.

  Water check. I'd be awful fucking stupid if I forgot water was what finally got me. Shit tons of trap bits, check. Some healing potions, map, food, a spear, and a couple of daggers. Various camping supplies. Oh good, I remembered the antivenoms this time and a purge tablet.

  Vrax rifled through all his possessions for a few more minutes. Making sure he had everything. This was his normal ritual before setting out now. He had had some close calls just due to supply oversight, and he was determined not to let that be the case again. His best bet for running into Feldwin was the old abandoned fort.

  Some brave fools hired by the duke had tried to advance the duchy border actually into the forsaken lands. A full expedition of almost one hundred men. An even split between warriors and builders. They did start a really nice fort before something happened to all of them. Vrax still wondered about that every time he camped there. It was odd there were no bodies or half-eaten remains. Or at least signs of a fight. He and Feldwin both used the top of the half-assembled stone watchtower as a habitual camping spot.

  Vrax re-situated his pack across his shoulders and cinched his cloak tight at the waist, pulling the large mottled green hood over his head. He trotted towards the willows, slinking into a half crouch as he got closer. He felt the familiar warm tingle as he left the duchy border.

  Is it just me, or is that border like three strides closer to town than it was a month ago?

  Vrax fully settled into a crouch, body held low, cloak breaking up his silhouette, keen eyes scanning the nearest tree before he glided under it into the shadows.