Saran was sitting on the rickety steps of his family’s new home, elbows resting on his knees as he drew nonsense doodles in a patch of dirt with a stick.  He frowned, pouting his lips, before he kicked at that dirt with a bare foot, sending a cloud into the air.

        After Papa had left, Mama had done what she could.  But very quickly they could no longer afford their nice home in the lower part of town.  Now they were in the slums, living in what was virtually a hole in the wall.  Mama was trying hard but she had two children to support.

        And he was supposed to be the man of the house now!  He was eight now, he could do it!

         He had to do something…  Mama needed someone to help her.  Besides just Tana, the young lady from the hole above theirs who was watching Abi while Mama was working.  She needed him.

Necronim spread his map out over one of the crumbled rocks that had fallen from the cliffs edging the Upper Reaches. Kalya crouched next to him as Kwaaku scouted ahead on the rough path that led up from the Great Forest into the mountains.

“How far away are we?” she asked quietly.

“A good two days ride still,” he replied as he brushed the tips of his fingers over the map’s surface. Tapping one spot, he continued, “Scy said the tower was at the base of Temer here. We might be able to make it there in one day but it would be a hard ride. One I’m not sure the horses could put up with Scy and me on.”

Kalya frowned then asked, “Why do animals not like the undead?”

The only real change between fanfic and original story for Lymalis is really the reason for her spots of weakness. Because she was a High Elf turned Blood Elf not of her choice in the fanfic and used meditation to stave off her thirst for magic until she absolutely had to drain it from something, whereupon she would flee into the wilderness. Since my elves aren’t mana sucking leeches (a good enough term as any, I think) I had to do some changes – which will be revealed later on.

Beyond the small change of her affliction, she’s still essentially the same slightly cold, elusive hunteress but who also has a deep affection and care for her younger brother than is seen in the fanfic.

        The angry shouting of his parents had driven him to hiding in their room underneath the covers on the bed. Through the walls and the thick quilt that covered him, he could almost pretend he couldn’t hear them.

        But only almost.

        Saran bit his lip as he heard Mama’s voice rise in volume and huddled down further underneath the quilt. There had been tenseness in the house ever since the birth of his baby sister but this was a new argument – one entirely different than any other. This argument was about him.

“Oi, Tathdyl!”

“Sir?” he answered after drawing back from one of the battered practice dummies in the yard. Sweeping his dark hair back from his face, he blinked as one of the Guild Masters jogged over to him. “Is something wrong, sir?”

The man gave him a frown then pulled a folded piece of paper from within his tunic, holding it out to him. “One of the street whelps delivered this. From your mother.”

His eyes widened and instantly several thoughts flashed through his head. Then, with shaking hands, he took the paper and unfolded it to read the simple note his mother had sent. “I…I need a break in training, sir. Two…maybe three weeks at least.”

“You have one,” replied the Master sternly. As he blinked in surprised, the man added, “You are a full member of the Guild now, Tathdyl. We need you to start running real missions as a leader soon to teach the upcoming runts. A week is all we can spare you.”

"Who was that elven woman?" asked Kalya as they rode north from the point of defense where the mixed company was keeping the undead hordes back. The coast of the Great Forest was under their feet with the huge, ponderous trees to their right. Along their left side came a brisk wind, blowing against their faces and filling their noses with the smell of the sea.

Necronim glanced towards her from his eleventh attempt to calm his horse when it got spooked from his presence on its back and replied, "Lymalis is the elder sister of a sometime traveling companion of mine and Kwaa's."

Kalya wrinkled her nose at that, asking, "Only sometimes?"

Necronim leaned over as he pointed to an area outlined with elegantly drawn mountains on a battered, aged map. It was spread out over the ground in front of him as a group of elven mages finished setting up for their teleportation spell. Since it could take weeks to a month to cross the Great Sea and they didn’t have that sort of time, the chieftain had asked Marrik for his help in getting the group moving.

The elven leader hadn’t seemed to like the idea of actually helping an undead but he’d acquiesced.

“This is where we need to go according to Scy,” stated the rogue, jabbing the end of his index finger at an area near the base of the great Temer Peak. “There is a tower there belonging to a former mage of Tyr Edé. He apparently fought in the Great Forest with the elves to defend Soinda but was on the outskirts when it did fall. She says he was found at the edge of the Upper Reaches by a dwarven scout and nursed back to health.”

Shaking his head, he continued, “He has their favor apparently, hence the closeness to the peak. But visitations by dwarves are few enough that we should be able to make it to him without trouble.”

It was a trial and council of war all at once.

Gathered within the chieftain’s area were several bodies, making the usually open and airy space cramped.  Jojki stood at the back of the area in the center of the rise of stones with Caren flanking him on his right and Sarga on his left with Toru, Alisa, and two other warriors blocked the entrance with their bodies, allowing no one to leave or to enter whilst the meeting was ongoing.

A stern looking Kwaaku hovered near his aunt's elbow and beside him stood Necronim and Kalya.  On Sarga’s side, Marrik and two of his men mirrored their positioning.

And in the center of his whole tableau stood Ashkaer with a smile that told he regretted nothing he had done.

“Kala, Kala!” exclaimed the youngest of the centaur young ones as she came bounding towards Kalya through the grass. The woman turned away from the elder males who towered over her by a hand or two – even though they were only thirteen! - she had been trying to explain the kicking game she’d played as a child in her long ago home of Kassai village in Tyr Edé.

Leaning down slightly to be on level with the ten years old child whose head came to just above her elbow, Kalya asked, “What is it, Tarna?”

The centaur bounced on all four white-socked hooves, her blonde tail flicking, and chirped, “Nec is coming!”

A hand on his shoulder woke Necronim from a half doze and he twitched before opening his eyes to see the familiar, dark-furred face looking down at him. Relaxing again, he grumbled, “Been a while since you needed to look at me.”

“I had been hoping it would be a few more years time,” said Caren, her amber eyes shadowed as she frowned at him. She twisted her torso around where she lay next to him to reach for a nearby open bag as she added, “You are very lucky, Necronim, I hope you know that.”

“Lucky?” he repeated. “Lucky would be having Ashkaer’s heart in my hands. Or maybe his brain. You think he still has either of them?”

Sunlight on his face and laughter in the background woke him. He sat up slowly, feeling the aches of the past week in his muscles suddenly anew as the last vestiges of sleep withered away.

Rising from the bed, he stretched then turned towards the window, pulling the curtains closed. As his teacher had said, you could never be too careful – someone, even a fellow student, will stab you in the back if they see a need to.

Turning from the window, he dressed slowly, relishing the fact that he could do so in the durable but comfortable cloth of his youth and not the dark leathers of late. As he sat down to pull on his boots, he paused at the sound of tiny footsteps in the distance. Just as a smile appeared on his lips something fast moving threw open the door and launched itself at him.

Laughing, he caught the flying form and fell back onto the bed with a brown-haired nine year-old in his arms.