Episode #16: Blades and Brands

From the Ashen Codex of Lady Penitence

In the Name of the Raven Queen

From the hand of one penitent

From an utterly lost soul


To whomever reads this:

I pray your gods are good and powerful.

Halderek had ordered us to drop our weapons and parley, while Ecaris shouted at the foes to do the same. Poor Ecaris; ever-faithful to the Empire and its chain of command, ever faithful that order and civilization will prevail. But Halderek blasphemed the Empire, so it was clearer than ever that he was beyond hope.

A chilling fog rose up around us, slowing our senses. But I felt a sudden surge of speed, and broke through the mist, charging towards the perversely altered Thyatian captain. My blood was starting to grow hot. I threw down my sword at Halderek’s feet, as he had asked.

“I don’t need a sword to kill you,” I hissed.

Even beneath that shadow of foul sorcery, I could see fear in his eyes. He stepped back.

“Little raven,” he said mockingly. He gestured to the archers, who let fly. Several shafts punched through my armor.

I fell to my knees. Anger began to pulse through me, blooming through my limbs, as a dormant ember takes light again with breath placed upon it. The anger began to suffuse me with an unholy strength. There was a scorching sensation at the hollow of my throat, as though a live coal had been placed there. On my throat, a familiar sign flamed into being: two devilish eyes and a sword. The Mark of Amon.


I heard his voice in the rush of my own blood.

A gift, Amon said. Then he laughed.

So he still had his claim on me after all. Then it was all for naught. The Raven Queen would not take me to her cool marble palaces; my soul was destined for the pits of Hell.

I snatched up my sword. Surging with rage, I struck at Halderek, feeling stronger than I had ever felt before. I caught flashes of my companions here and there: Gregor punching two corpse-skinned knights, a whirling dervish of punishment; Ecaris in the mists, grimly raining steel on the foes.

Then there was an opening. My sword flashed, and Halderek’s head went flying. But a foul mist exuded from the corpse. Cold claws pierced my heart. I began to sink into a darkness where flames licked the edges. I saw no infernal architecture just yet, but that ringing voice in my blood returned:

A thousand thousand have tried to run before you, and they’re screaming in my halls today. You think your feathered bitch queen can save you, where a hundred other gods have failed to save the other fools?

Despair. Despair. I cannot even now write the truth of it, the depths of it. But just as I began to see the dim outlines of Amon’s realm, I felt my course arrested. A gentle light called me back. Just before I woke, I saw a vision: some sort of holy charm. Avandra!

I awoke only second later to find myself changed. Amon’s malison—his gift, his curse—had lengthened, thickened and curled my horns. My lips failed to close around unfamiliarly large fangs. I wanted to retch.

A couple of the natives were hanging back, eyeing us, not attacking, but not offering aid either. Halderek’s head was mouthing words. Elody came to try and console me, but all I could think was:

I am lost. I am utterly lost.

Somewhere, in the memory of my teachings, I remembered a piece of scripture from the Avandran faith, a tenet that her servants observe: Strike back against those who would rob you of your freedom...