“Valeyn has left us. After defending the people of Fairhaven from the fallen goddess Maelene, she simply vanished, leaving us behind. 

Peace held for a time. The people of Fairhaven attempted to rebuild their lives, however this proved difficult. Maelene’s betrayal of her own people was an injury that would not heal easily. 

Similarly, our enemies were forced to pause and reassess. Bythe of the Iron Union had discovered the existence of his daughter, Valeyn, and it seemed only the gods themselves knew how he would react. The Iron Union’s campaign against the Outland Alliance paused for three years while Bythe schemed in his Ironhelm.

Throughout the known world, it seemed that a storm had paused and people were given the briefest of moments to collect the scattered pieces of their lives. For a while, we were allowed to hope that this change might finally bring a lasting peace. 

Sadly, as a storm may hold its breath for a time, it cannot simply stop – and its inevitable resumption seemed all the heavier for the respite.”

~Aleasea of the Ageless



The tavern reeked. The traveler immediately identified it as one of those places where a man could lie undisturbed for hours – if not days – dozing in a pool of his own fluids as long as he routinely paid for a drink. He walked across the timber floorboards, carefully skirting the various puddles of unidentified liquids as he made his way to the bar. It was dim, despite the harsh midday sun outside. Such reminders of a brighter life were unwelcome in places like this. He reached the bar and rapped his knuckles politely but firmly on the sticky benchtop. An older man emerged from the gloom and approached. He had a drawn face and wide eyes which gave him the look of a man who was constantly in a state of terror. The traveler looked at him thoughtfully and considered this might actually be true.

“What do you have to offer a weary traveler, sir?” he asked in a clear and refined voice.

The barman looked at him cautiously before answering. “Ale, I’ve got a bit of grapewine left if you want it?”

The traveler smiled somewhat disapprovingly and scanned the bar shelves. “Anything a little more...what’s the word...civilized?”

It’s possible that another barman might have taken offense at such words, no matter how politely offered. It’s possible that another barman might turn his back or even reach for a weapon under the bar at such a remark – but the traveler was an excellent judge of a man’s nature.

“Of course, sir.” The barman eagerly turned to the top shelves and returned with a bottle thick with dust. “Grainmalt from Rhaskiton, aged ten years!”

The traveler looked at the remaining brownish liquid in the half-empty bottle and correctly judged that it couldn’t have been more than two years old and was most likely watered down. Nevertheless, he offered his thin smile again.

“How much?”

The barman glanced sideways in the obvious tell of the less practiced swindler before proceeding. “Stuff like this is rare out here, sir. I’d have to ask for fourteen copper slots for a glass.”

The traveler held the barman’s terrified eyes for a moment, his thin smile never faltering. “Of course, a high price to pay for such a luxury, but I can imagine the dire straits of the economy this far into the Outlands.” He reached into his belt and produced a small pouch laden with coins. Almost carelessly, he began tossing them onto the benchtop. The sound they made as they rolled and clattered onto the wood seemed to reverberate throughout the entire room, attracting the attention of every eye. Coin after coin was tossed onto the bar, almost disdainfully, until they began to pile and roll over the edge. When the well-groomed traveler was finished, he rolled up his purse and returned it to his belt.

“I believe you now have roughly a hundred and fifty slots, perhaps a few more have wound up down by your boots there, I wasn’t keeping track. May I take the bottle, if you would be so kind?”

The barman stared at the traveler mutely for a moment before slowly pushing the half empty bottle across the benchtop. The traveler smiled but raised an eyebrow.

“You’re disappointing me, barman.”

The barman’s permanently frightened expression seemed to deepen, and he took an involuntary step backward, seemingly convinced something very bad was about to happen to him. The traveler closed his eyes and shook his head patiently.

“Relax, sir, I merely wondered if you expected me to drink this from the bottle, like a savage?”

The barman chuckled in obvious relief and rushed to place a grimy glass next to the bottle. The traveler picked it up, inspecting its myriad fingermarks against the light with curiosity, before also taking the bottle and turning to the room.Every eye was on him.

To be fair, the traveler would look out of place even without the ostentatious display of wealth. Tall and slender, he looked to be a well-groomed man in his early middle years. He wore a black frock coat of shimmering silk with a matching waistcoat. His black hair was slicked back against his head, revealing a slim face with dark eyes and a high forehead. He scanned the figures seated at the tables and seemed to appraise each man in turn.

The room was hardly full. As remote as Ashran was, it wasn’t busy enough to sustain the usual retinue of drunks and degenerates that a larger town would support. The Royal Inquisitor looked over the face of every man in the room then addressed the gathering in a clear voice.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. My name is Exedor, and I’ve travelled far to come here. I’m looking for someone, a stranger to this town. I have reason to believe this someone has passed through here recently.”

The room was predictably silent. It was as if the Inquisitor hadn’t even spoken. Unperturbed, he continued. “The stranger is a woman. Actually, she’s little more than a girl, but tall and fit with a man’s bearing. She’s really quite impressive. Her name is Valeyn, and I am told she passed through this town no more than two months past.”

Again, the room was silent. Some of the drinkers were still watching him, others had returned to their thoughts or quiet conversations. The Inquisitor smiled again and, with a slow but deliberate gesture, opened his coat to reveal the purse hanging at his belt.

“I am, of course, willing to compensate any man who might offer me his...expert knowledge in this matter.”

Shuffles and murmurs began punctuating the silence, as if the room itself were now waking from a slumber. The Inquisitor was patient.

“Here!” A swarthy-looking, middle-aged man with greying hair and a rough beard gestured from his table at the back of the room. Two men sat at the table. Sallow looking creatures with their misspent youths long lost to them. 

The Inquisitor nodded in reply and walked over to join them. He glanced at their faces and judged them both before taking the empty chair offered to him.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Exedor, placing the bottle on the table and gesturing to the barman for more glasses. When they were delivered, Exedor poured three serves and offered a quick toast before downing his drink in one swift movement. The other men followed his example, and the Inquisitor quickly refilled the glasses with a grimace. “By all the gods, I’m a long way from home, but that must be the worst grainmalt I’ve ever tasted. Does he make it in his bedpan?”

The bearded man seated in the center of the table – clearly the alpha of the two – answered directly. “You’re looking for that bitch?”

If the Inquisitor was offended by the vulgarity, he certainly showed none of it. “I’m searching for Valeyn, formerly of Fairhaven, yes. I take it you’ve seen her?”

The bearded man glanced at his large, brutish companion and nodded. “Yeah, she was here, about a couple of months back like you said, but before we go any further with that, let’s talk terms of compensation.”

“Of course,” Exedor replied and reached for his pouch. He removed a small disc of black metal and placed it on the table. Both men looked at it as if not quite believing it was real.

“Is that an Iron Union marc?” the bearded man asked.

“Yes. Pure Darkiron, sell it or melt it down if you like. I’d imagine with the current state of the Outland economies you could probably buy half this tavern with it, if you felt so inclined.”

The bearded man glanced again at his companion, greed evident on his face. “And what if I felt like buyin’ the whole tavern, not half?”

The Inquisitor poured another round of drinks. “Why don’t you let me assess the value of your information? Then we’ll see what sort of arrangement we can come to.”

The bearded man stared at the Inquisitor for a moment, clearly sizing him up, then nodded. “She came through town a couple of months back, like I said. All alone, just a girl and with a big damn sword on her back like she was playin’ at bein’ some kind of warrior. Stopped at the traders across the way to get some supplies, I think.”

Exedor nodded and downed another glass of the putrid drink, gesturing for his companions to do the same. Once this was done, he refilled their glasses again. “Please continue.”

“Well, like I said, she was just this woman all alone out here in the Outer Wild, so a few of the boys thought they’d offer her some protection, y’know, from bandits and the like.”

“Extremely thoughtful of them,” the Inquisitor replied with only a touch of sarcasm.

“I know it was – that’s what gentleman like us do – but it turns out little miss high-and-mighty didn’t want any of our help. In fact, she was downright rude to one of them – a friend of mine with nothing but the noblest of intentions.”

“Shocking manners,” the Inquisitor agreed.

“Exactly! You can’t let these women walk around disrespecting us like that. You need to keep social order in a civilized society. I mean, we’re not savages.”

“Certainly not, sir!” the Inquisitor toasted his miserable companions and drank again.

“But the bitch wouldn’t have it – just turned her back on us like we weren’t even worth her time. Disgraceful behavior. So a few of the boys followed her out of town to give her a talkin’ to and...well…that’s when she turned on us.”

The Inquisitor’s playful demeanor seemed to drop and his eyes hardened. “Go on.”

“Well, I was only at the back of the group, but she wasn’t like anythin’ I ever seen before. She just turned on us, didn’t even bother to draw her weapon, and before we knew what’d happened, she’d broken Braw’s arm and sent Jerdyn flying into the trees somehow. Well, after she attacked us, all unprovoked and the like, then we had to defend ourselves, right, for protection?” The bearded man looked to the Inquisitor for confirmation. Exedor didn’t reply. 

“Well...” the bearded man continued, slightly uncomfortable now, “well, two of the men...defended themselves...with knives and...well, I guess she didn’t take too kindly to that. I’m not too sure what happened – maybe I’d been drinkin’ more than I thought – but it seemed like I just blinked and then she was standin’ over both of them. They were lyin’ in the dirt. One had his neck broke somehow. The other had his own knife in his chest.”

“And what happened next?” the Inquisitor pressed.

“Next?” The bearded man’s large companion spoke for the first time. “We ran, that’s what happened next. We all did. We figured out later when the other one came through, that she must’ve been some kinda witch or somethin’. Either way, we weren’t hanging around to get cursed.”

The Inquisitor’s head snapped around to look at the new speaker. “Who was the other one?”

The bearded man shot his companion a black look. “Why you go runnin’ off your mouth for? That’s new information he never asked about. He has to buy that too, if he wants it.”

The Inquisitor reached over and carefully re-stoppered the bottle. “Tell me about the other one.”

The sallow-faced, bearded man looked at Exedor, and for a moment they simply stared at each other. Eventually, something in the bearded man seemed to relent and he spoke. “A few weeks later, another woman came through. This one was old, ugly, some kinda witch. We all kept away from her, especially after what her friend did to us.”

“And how did you conclude that she was linked with Valeyn?” the Inquisitor asked.

“She was asking for her, same as you, only she wasn’t offering no coin as payment. Most of us stayed away from her, but somehow she still managed to find out what she wanted to know.”

The Inquisitor nodded. “Yes, she usually does. Very interesting. And which way did they leave?”

“Along the south road,” the large companion answered quickly. It seemed as if he suddenly wanted the Inquisitor to leave the same way.

“Indeed,” Exedor answered thoughtfully and slowly rose to his feet.

“Hey, where do you think you’re goin’?” the bearded man asked, also rising. “We still gotta negotiate the terms of our settlement.”

The Inquisitor looked at him, and all pretense at a friendly demeanor had now vanished – replaced with a cold and unforgiving stare. The large man also got to his feet but instead of confronting the Inquisitor, he turned to his companion.

“C’mon, Cane, forget him. We don’t want any more part in this business, do we?”

“Shut up,” Cane snapped at his friend. “This liar promised us fair compensation even before we gave him the extra information on the witch. He owes us a settlement.”

“The terms of our settlement,” the Inquisitor replied, “are that you may keep the coin already given and whatever remains in the bottle of that disgusting excuse for a drink. It’s far more than you can ever hope to earn in a rathole like this.”

A sick leer spread across Cane’s weathered face. “I don’t think that’s true – not when we got that purse of yours right in front of us. Yeah, we may not be as civilized as you prissy folk in the Iron Union, but we sure know how to handle an arrogant fop like you.” The room fell deathly still as Cane produced a large and cruel looking knife from wherever he’d been concealing it.

Exedor did not react. For a moment they all stood in place, staring at each other again, only this time it was the Inquisitor who broke the silence. “No, I think I’m right. I think it was all you could’ve hoped for. After all, you really don’t have anything much left in your life do you, Cane?” Cane frowned slightly as the Inquisitor’s eyes turned a dark shade of red and his skin seemed to pale slightly.

“Your best years are far behind you. You do nothing but drink in this wretched tavern and dream of bedding the cheapest whores you can’t even afford anymore. This will be your life now, day after day, bleeding on and on until the liquor poisons your body and you die here alone.” The Inquisitor’s voice had become soft now, almost seductive as he leaned across the table looking into Cane’s eyes. “Why prolong this existence, Cane? Why delay the inevitable decline into death? Every day is only going to get worse. Why not just end it now?”

Tears were slowly welling in Cane’s eyes. He looked thoughtfully at the Inquisitor for a moment, then he raised the dagger to his own neck and started sawing into his throat as if it were meat. The tavern exploded within seconds. People began overturning chairs and looking to escape from the murderous scene before them. Exedor merely stood where he was, and watched Cane complete his own brutal suicide with genuine curiosity. Cane’s large friend recovered from his shock and made a futile effort to remove the blade from his friend’s neck, but it was far too late. 

“Cane! Cane! What are you doing? What did you do to him?” he screamed at Exedor. 

The Inquisitor shrugged. “I only told him who he really was. Is it my fault he didn’t like what he heard?”

The patrons threw open the tavern doors to make their escape but stopped in terror. Figures blocked the exit. They stood tall and silent, dressed in robes of deep crimson. On their heads, they wore helms of dark scarlet metal, any human features lost to darkness but for a labored breathing that emanated from somewhere within.

“I’m sorry,” the Inquisitor said in a voice that carried across the din. “I neglected to introduce my associates to you all. Quite rude of me to leave them lingering outside in the street. Please, do come in.”

The patrons of the tavern screamed again but gave way as the crimson figures slowly entered in single file. The door slammed closed and six of the creatures stood facing the terrified drinkers.

“It’s a shame it has to come to this – it honestly is,” the Inquisitor soberly declared. “But there’s a reason people like me exist, and it’s because people like you exist. If you could only help yourselves, if you could only behave in a civilized way, all this simply wouldn’t be necessary.”

The Inquisitor watched as his associates reached up to their crimson helmets and, one by one, unlatched their faceplates. The screams in the room were abruptly silenced and Exedor felt the temperature drop – as it always did. The truth was, he was never entirely comfortable with what was about to happen next. He certainly didn’t fully understand it, in much the same way he didn’t fully understand the new gifts Bythe had given him, but he never questioned it. Bythe was never to be questioned. Bythe’s High Constable and Royal Inquisitor knew this was the difference between himself and Yvorre – between himself and Valeyn. 

Although he had seen the Faede perform their work countless times, it still managed to discomfort him on some vaguely human level. There were sounds of bodies falling limp to the floor. There were muffled noises and distant moans – strange guttural sounds. He watched a young woman turn away from the Faede and walk as if in a daze. She stumbled on an overturned chair and fell to the floor without a sound – it was impossible for her to make a sound. The Inquisitor glanced down at her upturned face as it thrashed left and right. Her face was smooth with only her nose as its single feature – her eyes and mouth were gone. Exedor knew she was still conscious inside her mind, but she’d never be able to communicate again. The thought gave him a chill as he watched her start to thrash about with dull moans from within a throat with no mouth, and he looked away. He’d always thought this was the worst possible result from the Faede’s work. 

Another man fell to the floor and this one did scream. His arms and legs were gone, leaving nothing more than a squat torso under a head with a terrified face. The Inquisitor vaguely wondered how the Faede decided which part of their victims to take when they left people un-whole. Was there some level of deeper insight or judgment at work? Was it malicious pleasure, or just pure chance? Within a minute it was done. Everyone in the tavern had been taken. He looked at the bodies as they rolled on the floor, either in silence or screaming in fear and panic. None of them would ever be whole again. If the gods were still merciful, then hopefully most of the wretches would be dead within days.

The Inquisitor sighed, and walked back to the table where Cane still lay spurting blood onto the floor. He was surprised to find the man was still breathing, although his face was deathly white and he surely had no more than minutes of wretched life left.

“I’m glad you were able to watch,” Exedor said as he gently leaned over to retrieve the coin. “You see, I’m not at all a bad person, Cane. I gave you the merciful option, but for these poor souls…?”

The Inquisitor gestured over his shoulder and shook his head gravely. He sighed and then – as if catching himself in a moment of pity – abruptly straightened and turned for the door.

“You people bring this on yourselves,” he called back as he stepped over the body of a man twitching violently on the floor. He turned to the nearest of the Faede.

“Retrieve the money.”

The creature turned without a word and walked over to where the barman lay with his terrified eyes now erased from his face. Exedor didn’t wait. He gestured to the remaining creatures and walked to the door. He now had two quarries: Valeyn the fugitive godling, and a surprise target – Yvorre the Betrayer.

The Inquisitor wondered what reward Bythe would bestow upon him if he returned with that traitorous witch in chains. What new opportunities might open to him and how might he use this in his own plans?

The Inquisitor looked over his retinue of Faede and wondered how they would react toward their old mistress. Would they even recognize her? He shrugged. Once he’d doggedly served Yvorre. Now, by some twist of the fates, he was to hunt her down. Justice was very satisfying. The Inquisitor knew that Bythe – the world’s last true god – was smiling on him.