Prologue


    Crimson, or scarlet? What better describes the warm liquid covering my hands, face, and chest? My fingers clench tight around the leather straps that wrap artfully about my sword''s hilt. If not for their abrasiveness the long blade would surely have slipped from my blood-soaked hands.


    I step woefully through a field littered with the corpses of young men. The field I filled with their shattered bloody corpses. I’ll take her soon, bury her before the wolves come to fill their bellies with meat.


    I want to mourn her; the sorrow weighs heavily upon my rapidly beating heart. The rage, a flame burning through me as if I would burst into an unstoppable fire. The rage turns the tears trying to escape my eyes to steam. Evaporating them before they can pour from my dark red eyes and glide down my murky green cheeks.


    The weight of loss is heavy in my arms as I trudge through the mud. The rain intensifies as if to add insult to injury. If there is a God, he has surely forsaken me. Left me to rot at the cruelty of men for some menial sin I''ve committed. Perhaps my sin is being born of elves and orcs. My punishment is not only the loss of all I own, but all that I love. My Aurus, sweet mother, if you are in heaven tell that spiteful cunt God I''ll see him in hell.


    Rain pours down over the goosebumps on my green skin as it soaks my pitch-black hair. I brush it behind my pointy ears as I shovel mud over her lifeless corpse filling the large hole that has become her final place of rest. Aurus, mother, you sheltered me from the cruelty in this world. Even if the gods favored you, man came to bestow the penalty of your sins. I lean down to the grave pressing my forehead into the mud.


    “You didn’t deserve this fate, not for me, I’ll find that life you wanted for me, I won’t waste my life on vengeance, but I will have it, rest, and know you are not forgotten, rest, for all your struggle you have found peace,” I struggle against the pressing weight of sorrow as I stand.


    My eyes peer up into an infinite darkness as rain pours down over me. There’s someone looking down at me. Perhaps they are smiling, perhaps they are laughing. I step away from my mother’s grave into the heavy downpour.


    “Goodnight mother, may the shadows serve you well.”


    Chapter 1


    Blood Running Like Water


    It''s a disrespectful thing to do. To bury someone without a funeral. She deserved better, I owed her better. All the years of teasing, being tormented for raising a bastard son. She was so kind, so gentle and loving. It’s hard to believe she was once a warrior. I''ll never know how it feels to be like her. The only emotions I feel right now are rage and hate and I’m looking for any reason to express them.


    My cold red eyes peer down at a pint of mead as a small party of village men enter the tavern. The tavern maiden, a tall Ruksha woman with white scales, approaches the counter.


    Ruksha are a scaled species. Some call them lizard people out of disrespect, as a child I found most of them to act pleasant toward me. Maybe it’s because I saw how fascinating their culture was. So many pretty colors and talks of eternal love.


    "Drinking or sleeping tonight, I''ve got a one night only discount if you''re interested in both," the Ruksha woman asks, her long tongue giving her a raspy lisp.


    A tall brute of a man steps forward and smiles. He''s got a large nose and thin beady eyes. He is by no means a pretty man. I''m sure he''s been out tormenting young elves all day and probably reeks of body odor. Nevertheless, he throws a pathetic attempt of what he probably thinks is flirtation on the young Ruksha maiden. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    "Just drink, but I''m curious, I''ll give you four shillings if you show me those scaly young breasts of yours,” he says with a crude and disrespectful smirk.


    "Make it five, and your drinks are all full price."


    He pours a bag of coins on the table, and she reluctantly pulls down her blouse. The group whistle wildly waving their hands in the air like children. I just ignore it. None of this is my problem.


    I pull my cloak down further over my head as a young chamber maiden sits down beside me. She seems soft, probably warm too. I''m in no mood for company though.


    "My name''s Meredith, you rented a room, do you require an escort tonight?" she asks.


    Her thin ivory fingers run across my thigh longingly. I turn my head slightly toward her. She seems timid.


    "My name is Dirk, leave me be,” I reply raising my pint.


    She brushes her hair behind her ear nervously and looks over at the group of men. Her figure doesn''t move from my side though.


    After remaining at my side for a few moments her bright blue eyes return to me. Her lips are seem soft and gentle, and her skin seems smooth and inviting, nearly devoid of imperfections. Her voice is soft as she speaks under the pleasant aroma of her breathe so that no one else can hear.


    "Please don''t send me away, they''ll think I''m available, you don''t understand."


    I turn my head back toward her, she''s nearly in tears. She''s frightened, begging a stranger for protection from the monster that is human desire. It seems I don’t have much of a choice. She has drawn the attention of her would be abusers to me. One of the men stands.


    "Oy'' is that fuckin Meredith, who''s she talkin’ to o''er there?"


    "I don''t know, hey boss, why don''t we give him a looksy,” another man says standing.


    The two men approach, and Meredith grabs my knee nervously. This isn''t a good spot to be in, I''m sitting. I won''t have time to draw my sword or my dagger unless I toss my mead, what a waste. The larger man snaps his fingers in front of me his thin beady eyes glaring at me with disdain.


    "Well then, who the fuck you fancy yourself to be tryin'' to steal away my Meredith before she warms my loins?"


    I can feel her hand shaking on my leg and gently push it away. I raise my cup gulping down my mead so as not to waste it.


    "My name is Dirk, now kindly leave me be,” I say staring forward.


    This throws the oath into a frenzy and he grabs at my cloak pulling it off my head.


    “The fuck, he''s the green pointy eared bastard from the wanted poster!"


    He''s too slow, they''re all too slow. My pint of mead hits him square in his nose and he stumbles back. His partner gets it worse as I toss my dagger into his throat. He cuts his fingers on the blade trying to pull it out as he drowns in his own blood. Too kind a punishment for him, for any of these monsters.


    I draw my blade just in time to block the leader''s attack. The other men stand from the table, five''s a party. I kick the leader onto his back catching him off guard. The other men rush in eager to meet their demise. Blades and hatchets clank and twirl through the air, but only mine makes its mark. A hand, a foot, a few fingers, cut at the elbow. It''s like preparing meat for a feast. The only one feasting tonight though will be lady death on the poor souls of these cruel and hateful men.


    I make quick work of them, slow and inexperienced. The big one though, he''s been in battle, maybe a retired soldier. Probably dishonorably discharged for his misconduct toward young maidens. He''ll never touch a young maiden again though, not with those hands.


    "I am Lord Bornthall of Greshka, you will not forget that name boy!" he yells charging me.


    His swordplay is good, his footwork flawless. He is missing one thing though, no two. His hands, as I cut them off at the wrists. He screams in agony holding up his wrists as blood pours down his forearms.


    "I am Dirk of your nightmares, I give you this chance to flee before I take from you more than your hands,” I say readying my sword.


    It seems he does not seek the afterlife this day, for he flees like a coward. Meredith grabs my shoulder, and I turn to her quickly, worried she might be a foe.


    "Thank you,” she mutters.


    I sheathe my sword. The tavern is a bloodbath. The tables and pillars are painted with blood and the floor littered with disembodied limbs.


    She moves me toward my room, "please, you paid for a room, stay for the night, we will leave early in the morning."


    I look over at the tavern keeper. She should be in a frenzy, but she seems calm and composed. Not the first tavern massacre she’s seen. That or, not the first massacre she’s seen.


    "And what of her, the Ruksha woman?" I ask.


    "They''ll burn this tavern, if she doesn''t leave, they''ll surely, I can''t bare to say it, if you would be so kind sir, we could all travel together in the morning."


    I let Meredith escort me to my room. She gives me a bath. Her hands are as soft as her heart. We lie together, but I don''t treat her like her patrons. No, more as a friend, a companion. Her soft hair and gentle body comfort me, but I''ll need to harden her. I''ll need to teach her to fight if she is to travel with me.