Note and Disclaimer: See introduction.

Chapter I

Duncan woke up with a start, his breath coming in quick, hollow draws. He stared up at the rather cloudy and dull night sky, and reached up to brush his short dark hair back from his sweaty brow. By the Hells, he was so tired. Excitement at the prospect of what he was about to do kept him awake most nights lately, and though his body was crackling with pent-up energy born from his desire to do what he must, the stress was surely starting to wear him down. At least, that was the best explanation he could come up with about his weird dream. True, it was not the first time he saw the unknown warrior, the Dream Walker as he had come to call the mysterious man, and certainly it was not the first time he dreamt about destroying Yartar. Those dreams were the only ones plaguing his mind – either he slept dreamlessly and out of fatigue, or the damned city of Yartar was brought to its knees before him. For more than ten long years, such had been his routine, and a handful of times the Dream Walker had just wandered into his unconscious mind, watching and laughing, but he had never before talked to him. Yes, Duncan had shouted at him, had demanded to know who he was, why he was there... but he had never answered, much less had he dared intervene. Now... now Duncan had been granted an answer, albeit a rather cryptic one, and he had been pointed in a direction. It unsettled him.

He sat up on his bedroll, casting a quick glance around out of habit to make sure that his things were just as he had left them, and seeing that it was so, he thought about getting some more rest, but he quickly dismissed the idea: he was close, so close to the city of his childhood... there was no time to lose. Dawn was but a short while ahead, and even if he lifted camp at the moment, he would not get to Yartar's gates before they were opened for the merchants to pour in. He dressed up and diligently prepared to leave the small campsite. Surveying the area one last time, he approached to road with long, confident strides that never betrayed the turmoil in his head. Should he seek out the man the Dream Walker had told him about? Would it be a trap? Would it be real? More importantly, would it help him to accomplish his goal? He thought it could very well do so, and he made up his mind. After all, uncertainty was but a weakness, and he was resolved to approach the city and the Bitch within its walls as just the opposite thing of weak. He smiled as the road became visible, just a couple of miles away from his destiny.

Fair enough. Onwards to Yartar and to this Fragrak I go...

&&&&&

She was beautiful, Yartar. The City Hall stood proud on the eastern side of it, and the tip of Timora's temple could just be seen behind the walls. Right next to it, a new, insulting monument had arisen in Duncan's absence: a temple of Tyr. He snorted when he saw it, recognizing it at first glance for what it was even though he was still a good distance away: nobody should be surprised, after all the Bitch did worship Tyr, didn't she? Duncan kept walking, sinking in old bittersweet memories as he neared the gates. However, he was not alive because of sheer chance, and his finely tuned senses told him that there was someone close by paying him close attention as soon as he set one foot under the shadows of the great white walls.

They can't have recognized me, can they?, he thought, distressed. If people still remembered the Blake name, then his situation might just get really awkward, really quickly. He tensed, and moved his right hand to rest at the hilt of his dagger, slowing down and throwing a couple of suspicious glances around. Then he saw it. A figure detached itself from the shadows and approached, coming to a halt a scarce couple of yards away.

"You must be Duncan Blake, then?", the newcomer said.

Fuck.

Duncan frowned and assessed the man in front of him. He'd be damned if after all this time he was going to back off now. If this fool stood in his way, just as he was doing, then he'd have to kill him. Deplorable, really, because surely the scoundrel could have other uses, but...

The other man saw a flash of steely determination crossing the younger one's features, and a hint of something darker and much too sinister for his own liking. Carefully, as one might thread around a wounded dire bear, he took a step back and held up his hands.

"I got a message for you. Fragrak is waiting. He will meet you at the Guild's quarters."

Fragrak. So he's real after all. "And you will tell me where to find those quarters." He formulated the sentence as a statement rather than as a question, but arched one of his eyebrows to allow his interlocutor to keep talking and to give him his message.

"Well, I cannot do that." Upon seeing the expression glistening in Blake's eyes, the man quickly back-pedaled himself out of the situation. "I mean, of course I can tell you... but you see, the door is warded and you will need a special token to get in. I don't have them tokens to give around, they're only awarded to the Hand of Yartar members, you see?"

Patience. Whatever god who's listening, grant me patience... Duncan felt the need to roll his eyes or pinch the bridge of his nose, but he restrained himself and said, slowly and deliberately, "What is your name, Fragrak's errand boy?"

"Name's Morcis. I am not Fragrak's errand boy, though. He is pretty new to the city and..."

Duncan held up a hand to stop him. "And, pray do tell, how am I supposed to meet with Fragrak now, Morcis?"

The older man had spent nearly 20 years working for the Hand of Yartar, the local thieves and assassins' guild, and he had seen crazed maniacs and thugs and everything in between. He had never seen what lurked in the depths of the younger one's eyes, and the chill it sent up and down his spine made him realize that he didn't want to see it ever again.

"Grassar's the man you are looking for now. He is in charge of this kind of stuff. Go and talk to him... Should be easy to find, he's surely at his warehouse, close to the Waterbaroness palace. That is on the western bank..."

"I know where that is", Duncan barked out. He glared at Morcis, gauging him, controlling the overwhelming desire to kill him that had surged through his chest. After all, the man had just turned him into an errand boy, hadn't him? But as the thief took a step backwards, he smiled and gave him a curt nod. He was sure that the man would stay in Yartar. Where else would he go? And if he ever needed information, he was sure that he'd get it fast and true. He saw it on the cowering man's eyes. Indeed, as he had suspected, this scoundrel could prove useful. As he walked on into the city, deciding if he should go and try to find Grassar straight away or if he should find an inn and re-acquaintance himself with the city first, he laughed almost merrily. Everyone and anyone had some use.

And I shall exploit them all before I destroy them.