"He has my son."

Nobody within Duke Bohemond's Solar dared to say a word. Nobody dared to look him in the eye. When news broke last night that young Lord Emmerich was nowhere to be found, nobody was really panicking. After all, he tended to disappear for lengths of time by hiding away in a castle not to be disturbed. Even skipping feasts and meals wasn't too far out of the realm of possibility.

The panic, however, was dialed to another level when a guard realized that the beast pit was conspicuously empty. It didn't take long for anyone to put two and two together, and search parties were inevitably put out.

Nobody needed to have bothered when a bat dropped into the solar of Castle Bastonne and dropped a letter before fleeing the scene with a few high-pitched screeches. Sentries on the turrets and towers never saw the little beast, thanks to it happening at night and with it practically blending in with its surroundings.

The letter itself was written in Emmerich's handwriting, which was easy for his father to identify and notice. Once this had been discovered, a multitude of individuals had been called for an emergency meeting within the solar.

It was very rare for Bohemond to spend much, if any, time at all within this room, as he spent more time within the training yard or the armory than anything else for his off time. It only showed just how serious the situation was considering the circumstances.

As Bohemond sat at his table with his elbows propped up and his hands clasped together, pressed against his face, the intensity of the room was practically radiating off of the Grail Knight.

Standing next to the table was his steward, Richaud, who looked more than a little uncomfortable. Next to the steward was Lord Bastien, who was staring out the window, wanting to be anywhere but there. To the back of the room was a serious-looking Yasmine with arms folded, her brows furrowed in a pensive manner as if she was in deep thought.

Sitting to the right of the blonde damsel was the niece of Bohemond, Louise, who looked beyond worried, clenching her gown with tightly balled fists while attempting to swallow down her worry about the troublesome bookworm of a boy she'd known as family for as long as she could remember.

Feeling the silence was getting a bit too stifling for his tastes, it was the steward Richaud who had followed his liege's statement. "Yasmine. Would you care to explain how it is that your thorned collars failed in suppressing the necromancers' magic? Especially after all the trouble that was put into catching them?"

Realizing the shifting of blame, the damsel haughtily raised her nose. "The problem was not my collar, of that I can assure you."

"And yet we have three missing prisoners, and the heir to this very dukedom now in their clutches, probably standing over his shoulders as he was forced to write this letter."

"If there is anyone to blame, it is YOU, ser steward of Bastonne. It is you who chooses the staff of this castle, is it not?" When said steward reluctantly nodded, a deadly smile crossed her lips. "Your guards never checked for warpstone on the Skaven we held."

"H-how could you have possibly known that it's warpstone that destroyed your collar?"

"It makes far too much sense for it not to be. THAT-" She then reached in one of the leafy pouches on her dress and pulled out a green dust held within her hand. "-and I can smell the warpstone within from when I inspected their prison. I did my job. It was someone in your employ who negated my hard work."

"Then they will be punished!" The steward quickly stammered, puffing his chest out to put on a brave front. "Simply firing them will not be enough! We will-

"Never mind who is to blame!" Louise seethed, her eyes wide with anger and worry. "Here you are looking for someone to blame when we should discuss how to save my cousin! Have you forgotten the point of why this meeting was called!?"

Feeling suitably chagrined, nobody, not even Yasmine, felt the urge to counter that part. "My cousin, the heir of this dukedom, is being kept to the tender mercies of the Barrow Legion, who probably have fled back to Blackstone Post to lick their wounds." The young girl then stood up and turned to face everybody in the room with a fiery glare. "Should we not look to find ways to save his life? To ensure that he's returned home where he belongs?"

"Hard to dispute that." Bastien acceeded, speaking for the first time. "The letter says that the foreigner wants a fight, but I think we can negotiate back with him. Seemed mostly reasonable after all."

"He may be less reasonable after what happened to Riffen." Yasmine countered. "Say what you will about Lyle Spoletta, but you cannot deny that he genuinely cared about the common peasant, especially after his deception was revealed." Her look then became more regretful, looking away from prying eyes. "If-no. WHEN he discovers what happened to the village he saved, I daresay he'll be more inclined to harm young Emmerich in revenge…though I would hope that wouldn't be the case given what I've gleaned from the foreigner's character."

Luoises' expression then became spiteful, glaring directly at Lord Bastien. "Oh, I do wonder how and why that village suddenly was reduced to a smoldering ruin just recently, even though an investigation MUST be made before taking such an extreme action!"

The lord formerly in charge of the village in question frowned heavily at the accusation. "I don't appreciate your tone, young lady. I'll have you know I'm as confused and infuriated by the loss of my village as well since I've only just received word of it being destroyed at the same time as you did!"

Louise rolled her eyes. "Oh, and I'm sure that you inheriting your recently deceased relative's lands will be so painful and contrite for you, won't it?"

Bastien's cheeks turned red at the unsaid accusation. "I don't appreciate that tone, girl!"

"Even I must admit, the timing of it all is strange." Yasmine declares with suspicion. "For so many villagers to die shortly after a rebellion…I wonder, Lord Bastien, if I were to take a stroll through your former land what do you believe I'll find? The signs of Greenskins? Beastmen perhaps? Or the butchery of men slaying men."

Bastien looked away, affronted. "It matters not to me if the ogres made a meal of them. They turned their back on the crown and forgot their place. The way I see it, the lady punished them justly."

The damsel's eyes glowed sickly green, which suddenly made the lord a great deal more nervous. "Bold of you to claim you know the Lady's will better than I."

Richaud was quick to come to Bastien's defense. "He meant no ill will toward you or the Lady, Yasmine. But, to cast blame on him for the destruction of his village is asinine when we have greater threats to tend to." He then looked to everyone in the room, ensuring that he had their undivided attention. The only exception was Bohemond, who was glaring a hole into his desk, which only convinced the steward to leave his liege lord alone for the time being. He knew how he could get when his wrath was stirred, after all. "First, we must try and buy time. Like I said before, negotiation could be key to Emmerich's salvation…perhaps a temporary truce to gain the support of other Brettonian Dukes?"

"With due respect, Richaud, I wholeheartedly disagree." Louise huffed. "Emmerich's safety must be sought after above all else. There has to be something we can give him to see my cousin returned to safety. Gold, Artifacts, anything to appease him!"

Bastien shook his head, disgust on his face. "The gold is practically holy compared to that vile defiler of humanity! I would sooner slit my own throat than to give this man who has ruined my land even a single copper!"

"You would damn your future liege to this man you call a defiler so easily?"

"Of course not! But I will not discard our pride and wealth with such ease! Plus, giving him what he wants could only further embolden the madman!"

"Not if w-

Bohemond's fist smashes into his desk with a sickening crunch, silencing any infighting within his solar. "He has MY SON!"

No other words were uttered. Nobody could meet the Duke's gaze as his outrage shook the room, his eyes glowing with an intensity that only a grail knight could have. The letter sent to them was not a part of the destruction for when Bohemond's fist met his desk, allowing him to re-read it once more. Veins pulsed on his head, and teeth grit together like iron meeting iron.

"If it is a fight Lyle Spoletta wants. It is a fight I will gladly give him."

Nobody dared to object. They all knew that tone, even those who had only met the duke for a short time.

The gauntlet had been thrown. Brettonian pride had been wounded. The only recourse was to draw steel and put the wrongs right.

"Call the banners. The Lady wills it."

…

Nalga drank another deep swig of her beer, fresh from the brewers. She felt that she needed it, considering the fact that a lot had been dropped on her plate.

She'd been busy these past few days. Batgrig had been working the gunsmiths overtime to get the firepower her new necromantic overlord had asked of her. She'd been trying to get the smiths to repair the obliterated defenses from the arrival of the beastmen. Getting the average citizens of her karak, who had thankfully been spared from the earlier attack, to try and calm down from the new arrangements had been a challenge but manageable. Sure, she felt like she was hardly getting sleep today in her short but stout body, but in her mind, sleep could wait. The survival of her people was paramount, even if she had earned the scorn of her father and those close to him.

Which was why she was currently entertaining the familiar necromancer who had both saved her from a slaughter and had pressed her into vassalage.

Lyle Spoletta had changed quite a bit since she had last seen him. For one, she didn't remember seeing a streak of blue going through the right side of his otherwise black hair. Secondly, when she first met him, he seemed whimsical, bordering on smartass, but even then, he seemed kind with his intentions, which was rare for a necromancer. He smiled and joked and even made her feel at ease when they were briefly alone. The umgi made her reminisce on easier times when her brother hadn't been forced to take the slayer oath and when Nalga didn't resent her father.

Looking at him now, Nalga could only wonder if it had been an act, only to realize that wasn't quite it either.

"How many guns do you have available?" His question was hard, like granite. He'd been humorless since he'd stepped off that manticore he'd flown in with. It'd been so frightening one of her guards nearly shot at with a cannonball.

Something had to have happened. "Three hundred and twenty-three."

His frown could give even the most sour of Grumblers a run for their gold. "Not good enough."

Nalga frowned but wasn't cowed. Yes, something had definitely happened. It was as if she was talking with a brand new umgi. "Not much to be done about it. Thought we'd have more time, is all."

"You don't." His voice cut in. "You're dwarves. Aren't you supposed to be good at building shit?"

Nalga stiffened. Just as she was beginning to wish that she had asked for her guards to be present, she soon began to have an idea of what was happening. Just behind Lyle, one of the runes near the entrance to her dining hall room was glowing a dull blue. It was small but noticeable.

Those runs were a gift from her father's uncle. A rune that could not only disclose the presence of magic, but also siphon it off to help empower other runes. Having an idea of what was happening, Nalga continued with the conversation, revealing nothing. "Aye we are. Need time to make the 'shit' that we build, Lyle. Like tempering metal at a forge, guns are not something we rush. The last thing we want is to insult whatever pride we have le-

"I could give two shits about your pride." the guttural undertones in Lyle's voice were unmistakable. "Your pride isn't gonna help me turn a bunch of Bretonnian knights' armor into swiss cheese." His hands tensed around the armrest, and the dull light behind him grew slightly brighter. "You're pride isn't gonna stop those same knights from killing people that just wanna live to see another day. It sure as hell ain't gonna help me take Bastonne any faster."

Nalga caught the slip up. "You haven't taken Bastonne yet?" Lyle became silent. "You ran right into a grail wall didn't you-

"You're changing the subject, and I'm not finding myself all too inclined to care for it." Lyle growled out. "Are you that quick to forget that if it wasn't for me, you would be goat food right now." The Lichemaster began to huff and puff, he wasn't becoming angry per se. It seemed as if he was becoming more…menacing. As if there was a cold and threatening tone, it was putting Nalga ill at ease.

"I'm trying to bring change. Actual change and bring improvement to Brettonia, which they haven't had in hundreds of years or maybe over a thousand years! But ever since I got here, I've gotten endless shit for trying to be the nice guy. I've fought goatfuckers, goblins, and knights with their heads so far up their asses they give their rectums a better polish than their own armor!" Lyle's eyes begin to glow blue further as he paces up and down the table separating the pair. "But, do the knights want change? No! Instead, they'd rather see their peasants get turned into fertilizer than do the bare minimum for them because that's what they've done for years! Worship the Lady and be insufferable higher than thou pricks because that's just too damn easy for em'! Meanwhile, I have people like YOU, making excuses for why it can't be done!"

Nalga frowned, refusing to back down, her dwarvish pride raising her gorge. For a moment, she lay silent, allowing the human to rant in front of her to let him wear himself out "What's happened, Lyle? You're not usually as brutish as grudgebearer."

"It doesn't matter!" Lyle suddenly exploded, startling the female dwarf. "None of this matters! This…this…urghhhhh." Lyle's left eye suddenly began twitching. "It doesn't…mat…erm…" Nalga found herself getting perplexed by what she was seeing before her. The necromancer's face was switching between looking infuriated to looking like it was listing off as if going through a migraine, cringing all the while.

In his state, Lyle couldn't see it, but Nalga was slowly reaching under her desk. It would be so easy to pull out the pistol and blast this umgi's head off, especially at this range. It would solve so many problems. Her people wouldn't be under his thumb, and it would remove a great threat that was right before them.

Yet she hesitated. Her fingertips brushed the dwarven steel-made pistol strapped underneath the desk only to see his eyes listlessly looking about.

It would be easy. So, so easy. Sure, she signed a contract, but she was sure her people and, more importantly, her father could overlook it in this case. Perhaps he would no longer scorn her as he does his own son.

In the end, however, she sat back in her chair, observing Lyle as the pain in his face seemed to fade.

"Lyle?" Just as she called out to him, concerned, she noticed the rune glowed to its brightest yet, before eventually dying down and returning to its normal hue from before. She stiffened as she now had proof of what she had realized previously. "Lyle, are you better now, lad?"

"I…I think so I…Christ." Suddenly flopping back into his chair, the necromancer shook his head, holding a hand to the side of his head as if trying to deal with the idea that he had been struck there all of a sudden. "I…what was I discussing?"

"...Lyle…what happened out there?"

For a moment, Lyle said nothing, his earlier disdain and anger suddenly ebbing away like water sinking into a faucet. The dissatisfaction and general sense of dispassion that had built up in him ever since he had come to Karak Ziflin was fading, and its place was emotions he felt he was becoming far too familiar with previously.

He told Nalga everything.

He told her about his loss and subsequent escape. He told her about everything that happened at Riffen, his capture, his escape there, and what he'd found at the village he had just managed to save. All the while, she sat there, not able to hide her own emotions as the dwarf went from surprised to impressed, to surprised again, and to visible anger. Eventually, she huffed.

"There's a reason why us dwarves can only respect umgi so much, especially in Brettonia. The way they treat their people…we may tolerate and work with them, but we…well I most certainly don't care for them, nearly as much as I do the Empire to the east."

Lyle wasn't looking at her, more interested in the table in front of them. "Never met these Empire guys, but it's hard to imagine them doing worse."

Nalga huffed and shook her head. "For Valaya's sake, you really weren't acting when you were first here. You're as bad as my brother."

Lyle looked at her with a befuddled look. "Huh?"

Nalga looked seriously into his eyes. "You genuinely cared about those people, butchered at Riffen, didn't you?"

"Of course I did!" Lyle fired back, some of his passion returning. "I mean, what the fuck!? Who wouldn't care for a bunch of people whose village's entire purpose is to shovel shit and literally give up their teeth to orcs for ransom! But God forbid I do something about it! Or rather, Lady forbid it!" He spat sarcastically.

Nalga was, once again, surprised, but again she was relieved. It seemed that he what he spoke of before regarding freeing the people of Bretonnia was more than just a smokescreen or attempt to deceive her. The passion there was too real, too vivid. She would know since understanding how genuine the suitors her father presented her was often a game to see if they genuinely meant what they said. Dwarves made for poor liars compared to humans, she found, so it was easy to see.

Lyle was very dwarfish in her opinion in the fact that he wore his emotions on his sleeve but wasn't so overemotional to be compared to an elf. No. He didn't seem as soft as that folk across the sea.

Eventually, she popped the question. "Lyle… let's say I give you the guns you need. What exactly is your plan? What will you do afterward?"

Lyle was still heaving his chest after his mini tirade, but his mind quickly cooled when the implications of her question settled. She was staring at him with intensity, scrutinizing him. Realistically, she was in no position to ask him that question. It was technically none of her business. If this was him, just as he arrived here, he probably would have been tempted to slap her on the spot.

Such thoughts currently pervating in his mind made him feel shamefaced, urging him to answer. With such sentiments in his mind, he huffed and spoke with determination. "First, I'm gonna head back to Blackstone Post and rally the troops, so to speak. Then, I'm going to arm the undead under my control with the guns you gave me and take them back to Bastonne…from there, I take on Bohemond for round two."

She cocked her head. "And you think that you'll be luckier this time? Just because you have some of my people's finest craft. Not to blemish my people's hard work, but Bohemond is a force to be reckoned with, Umgi. There's a reason why you lost so soundly last time."

"Uh-huh. And there's a reason why I'm going to hand him a massive "L" this time around."

The female dwarf shook her head. The similarities between him and her brother were far too close. "Nice to see you aren't lacking in confidence, as usual."

Lyle smirked. "I try."

Despite herself, Nalga smiled. "Tell you what umg-...Lyle…hang around for a few extra days, and I'll have four hundred guns total. Can you make something from that?"

"I don't see why not…also sorry for sounding like an insufferable, demanding prick a few moments ago. I'm not entirely sure what came over me."

Nalga then frowned, leaning forward. "Chaos…chaos came over you, Lyle."

"Chaos? Well, I mean, it's been chaotic as hell, that's for damn sure…oh, you're talking about it's gimmick with magic, right?"

Nalga looked surprised and mildly horrified. "G-gimmick with magic?"

"Well, yeah, I mean the one who brought me to this world, Freddy, she mentioned offhand that chaos magic is pretty nasty. Said, I shouldn't use it, but I don't think she has much to worry about since I barely know what it even is."

Nalga sighs explosively, pinching the bridge of her knows. "Lyle…chaos is…how do I put it…Lyle, did you know that my people, the dwarf, don't use magic, at least like the rest of the world does? We have no mages or wizards to speak of."

Lyle raised his eyebrows in surprise. "No shit?"

"Yes, err…no shit. Instead, we trap the winds of magic within runes to help our people for smithing or to use it for battle, with the help of our ancestors. The reason for that is to limit the amount of chaos that can be exposed on us."

The more Lyle listened, the more concerned he became. "So…what happens when you get exposed to chaos?"

Nalga chewed on an answer before doing what her people were often best known for. Being blunt to hammer home the message. "It depends. You see Lyle in another plane of existence, there exist four gods. Four Gods that want nothing more than to see all of this world devolve into nothing but disorder and destruction. Gods that my ancestors fought against for the very survival of this world, something that we Dawi hold with great pride ourselves. That is what chaos is." Seeing that she now had Lyle's full undivided attention, she continued on. "As I mentioned, there are four Chaos Gods. Khorne. He represents one's thirst for bloodshed and violence, demanding both in large quantities from his followers, as well as skulls to make up his throne. Nurgle represents disease and pestilence and gives both to his followers as a way of showing his…love. Slaneesh is sensations incarnate, looking to enjoy the highest of feelings at the pain of suffering of others, even from their most loyal followers…and I fear you've gotten the attention of one of the most dangerous ones, Tzeentch…the changer of ways. His 'gimmick,' if you want to call it that, is magic and manipulation. He enjoys crafting plans upon plans and deceiving others with complex plots while using magic to achieve those aims. Out of all his followers, magic users who lose control of their power or desire more of it can often fall under his sway."

By now, any mirth in Lyle was being smothered out like a dying light. The implications of what she had just mentioned. "Okay…that…actually sounds more ominous than I thought it would, but I'm pretty sure I'm okay for now, I mean I'm confidant that-

Nalga then pulled from her table a small mirror and turned it right at Lyle's face. At first, the necromancer was confused as to why she was doing so until he saw a blue streaking highlight in his hair. He tentatively touched it as if trying to make sure it was real. "Okay, I didn't even know there were dye jobs in this world."

"That ain't no dye job, laddie. That right there is a mutation. It's a small mutation and probably won't change you much in the grand scheme of things, but I have a feelin' that since you don't know about chaos, you haven't been too careful with your magic, have you?" As Lyle realized that she couldn't be more on the nose, he coughed and tugged on his shirt. "Have you?" She glared at him with a stern look that a mother would approve of.

"Erm…I do remember my nose bleeding for a bit…and a migraine coming over-

"And you decided to keep you usin' magic after that!?"

"Well, I was in a battle to the death with an orc! I didn't have many options besides letting peasants I was protecting die!...only for them to fucking die anyways-Goddamnit!" Lyle cursed as he slumped in his chair, flicking with the blue highlight in his hair while he ground his teeth. "So…this isn't a bad mutation, you say…what would you consider to be a 'bad' mutation."

Nalga shrugged. "Never seen them myself. But I've heard stories from my father and brother. Stories of men with horns jutting from their heads. Stories of tentacles replacing their limbs. Stories of their bodies mutating into cancerous masses, that no longer resemble reasonable sentient beings and the like. Chaos can literally twist a man until there is nothing left of a man I've heard."

Lyle audibly gulped. "So I lucked out here."

"For now. If ye keep taking chances, though, I don't know if that'll last. Tempting fate is what you'll be doing."

"...message received."

"Good. You're learning…to be honest, I'm surprised your Freddy gal didn't tell ye sooner."

Which was just another thing to notch on his list of things that Lyle would have liked to hear from the female necromancer sooner. Things were starting to get to the point where the Lichemaster wondered if Freddy hadn't informed him of these things because she didn't have the time or chose not to.

He was starting to hope the niggling feeling in the back of his head was only him being paranoid. "Well, you're not alone in that surprise. But, it's something to consider for another time." Lyle then leaned forward. "So…four hundred guns?"

"Four hundred guns." She nodded. "Three days. I signed a contract and like any good Dawi worth their stones, I will live up to it. I'm curious though, Lyle. Let's say somehow you win. You beat Bohemond Beastslayer, and you conquer Bastonne with your merry band of sociopathic necromancers. What happens then?"

"Well, naturally, I draw, quarter, and vivisect every motherfucker involved with what happened in Riffen. If I'm feeling particularly sadistic, I will personally raise the ghosts of every poor villager in that village so that they can fucking sodomize the motherfuckers involved until they're their screams force their throats to bleed! The mothfucker who went out of his way to piss on their lives-FUCK THEM, I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE EM-" Lyle suddenly stopped himself, inhaling and exhaling. He winced when he saw the perturbed expression on Nalga's face. "Sorry about that, I…look I just. Sorry about that."

Nalga, however, held up a hand. "I get it. Ye care. I can respect that." She meant it, too. His voice's volatility could give even the coldest of grudge-bearers respect. She reached towards the table and turned the nozzle. Thankfully, ice-cold beer was stored within this meeting table for such occasions. On the table were two tankards, which she placed underneath a faucet to fill with Grey Mountain Beer. Lyle himself cooled his temper as he saw the tankard slide toward him with the foamy yellowish liquid. Much to his embarrassment, he felt his mouth water. "Don't be shy now." She said enticingly. "Down it and scream all ye like. Me and my brother would do it all the time, whenever father would crump us in all the wrong ways."

For a moment, Lyle hesitated, only because he was sure there had to be a more productive way to use his three days' worth of time here. When he suddenly realized that there wasn't, his hand immediately darted for the tankard, suddenly falling in love with the smooth and sour taste that went down his throat.

It must have shown on his face because Nalga suddenly had a shit-eating grin on her face. "Never had a dwarven beer while right' an' pissed have you?"

The drinks flowed rapidly that day. And for that, Lyle was grateful. After all, it allowed him to procrastinate on whether or not he felt it was right to revive two fallen comrades of his.

…

Gerome sat alone, away from the 'festivities' that the kn-no. The brigands he had been forced to work with were all sitting at a fire, drinking and singing at the slaughter they had all just taken part in. Meanwhile, the sullen and mutinous peasants unfortunate enough to survive in Riffen stared with pure wrath and resignation at their captors. The steel-plated thugs who had arrived at their home killed half of those they had loved and had thrown them all in cages to be sold into slavery by the Drucci.

Gerome had felt more than a few of those heated glares come in his direction. In the past, if any peasant had dared to look at him in such a way, they would lose a finger, or worse, as tradition and standards demanded.

But, now? All he felt was shame. A shame that burned within him more than any defeat he had suffered at the hands of Lyle Spoletta. A shame he knew would be magnified if his family ever found out what part he had to play in the decimation of the village of Riffen, even if this was for them.

Killing them had been one thing. But this? He couldn't bear to wear the steel chalice necklace that he usually kept around his neck. How could he when he strayed so far from the path of chivalry not too long ago?

Lyle Spoletta went out of his way to mock the nobility and chivalry…how could I dare return such heat to defend it after what I have done?

He could still remember it. The smell of the blood, the waste, and the smoke. He could still feel the ringing of screams of women and children in his ears. He could even remember the boy whose throat he had slit open on instinct when he felt someone behind him. A one-eyed boy who had a look of shock on his face. It was a face that stuck with him in his dreams even now, warding off sleep no matter how desperate his attempts to achieve it.

Even now, he could hear the women and children currently stuffed in the cages with many other peasants. Gerome tried to harden his heart, but their wails only reminded him why he was doing this in the first place, which made his throat tighten and his eyes water. The Artoisian bit his lip and tried to tune out the sounds of their mothers, futilely attempting to calm them.

They were headed to the western coast. There, they would be smuggled through a port city called Rione. It was often confused for another small city, Brionne, but that was neither here nor there. Through their, the unfortunate peasants of Riffen would become chattel for the dark elves.

Enslaved people for the rest of their miserable and hopefully short lives.

Gerome sighed deeply, seeing if he could attempt another failed trial at sleeping again, when he felt a sudden thump hit his temple. Not enough to actually hurt, but indeed hard enough to get his attention. The landless lord snarled, thinking it was one of those lowly curs seeking to have fun at his expense, only to turn and see a disembodied, tapping its fingers on the ground.

Gerome scrambled, drawing a dagger from his belt and pointing it at the undead hand. "Y-you! Wh-what is this? Who or wh-wha!" he was suddenly so befuddled and so startled he barely knew what to say! Where did this hand come from!? Why was it here!? Was this the work of Lyle Spoletta? Did he know his involvement in Riffen and come to claim revenge?

The Artoisian blinked when the hand suddenly pointed at him before pointing in the direction of caged peasants. Riffen felt his face go hot. The message was clear.

"I-I had no-!...I did not want this!" He said harshly, to the hand, feeling defensive. "Wait-what am I even doing-I'm conversing with an undead for the Lady's sake!"

Thing then flipped Gerome off, before pointing back at the people that were imprisoned.

"I… I'm doing what I must." The landless lord said more to himself than Thing, looking away shamefaced. "I'm doing what I must for my family…you… you're Lyle's creature aren't you?" When Thing gave a thumbs up, Gerome sighed. "I should have known. Even now, that bastard haunts my steps. Why are you even here? To gloat at my situation? To-

Thing emphatically points at the peasants, shaking all the while.

"I…ah, of course." Gerome sighs, looking away. "I remember his lie being exposed…even now he mocks me…even a necromancer like Spoletta finds a way to care more for the common peasantry than I." His tone had become bitter at the irony of it all. That damned foreign boy had meant more of what he said than even Gerome himself had his own words. Then Gerome's eyebrows shot up in realization.

"Wait!...wait, if you're here to help the peasants then does that mean Spoletta…" Gerome's eyes widened in realization. "He's escaped, hasn't he!?"

The hand had gone noticeably still, not making any overt moves, but it had tipped its 'hand' no pun intended. Gerome's first instinct was to get to one of the bandits and send a rider for Castle Bastonne, only to blink in realization.

If Lyle had truly escaped, then they would already know by now, wouldn't they?...plus even with that being said, why should he mention it all? Gerome stared bitterly at the brigands, laughing and drinking, bragging about their kills at Riffen and the pay they were about to enjoy. They knew that Gerome was not truly one of them, and that was how he liked it.

No. He was not one of them. Perhaps in a twisted sort of way, there was a way for him to regain some shred of honor or maybe just piece of mind.

After all, he had done what was asked of him. What happened afterwards was not his problem. "Rione…we're headed to Rione. It's near Bordeloux." The hand stiffened in surprise. Regardless, Gerome pressed on before he lost his nerve or thought better of what he would say next. "Listen. You can tell him where these people are going can't you? They'll be stored at that port for a month! That's how long he has to free them from a life under dark elves!"

The hand was shaking as if surprised that Gerome was willingly offering this information. "Oi, Knight!" Gerome whirled around, seeing one of the brigands drunkenly stumbling toward him. "What you yellin' at over there?"

"I'm… I'm yelling at." Gerome flicked his eyes toward the hand only to realize that it was gone. Fast bugger, isn't it? Gerome sighed, feigning tiredness, which wasn't too hard. "Myself. Just yelling at myself."

"Well fucking settle it down then." He slurred. "Hard to enjoy a drink with you brettish howlin' and screamin' about somethin' or the other." He then fumbled his way back to his fellow brigands, a big grin plastered on his face.

Relaxing his shoulders and looking back to make sure that Thing was well and truly gone, Gerome sat back on his bedroll, wondering if he had just made the right choice.

The fact that sleep had finally come easily to him that night told him all he needed to know.

A/N: Not much to say about this chapter, other than it's a build up for the next one. I'll have actual author responses for the next chapter because I'm a bit short on time and I wanted to get this out to you guys ASAP with real life starting to run intereference for me. Other than that, thanks for continuing to read and review my fanfic, I greatly appreciate it my guys.

Also WTH is with this new Warhammer 3 DLC being the price that it is? Seriously? You could get entire Steam games for the price that they're charging! Seriously!