A careless Knight slumbered beneath the shade of a nearly matured cherry tree in the Green Edge's South Meadow. The Elv's purple cloak, even more tattered and frayed than the night of his assault on the Van'Heatah's home, was wrapped tightly across his chest. The air began to grow restless with the chill of winter's approach. Over the last six months, the fair-weather seasons of this Kingdom had brought him great fortune throughout his crusade across the Green Edge. But now the climate had grown bothersome, and he stood at a crossroads of how to proceed with winter's imminent approach.

  Many paths stood before the wandering crusader. He could easily return to the outskirts of Camelot. The forever temperate lands just outside the former Kight's Kingdom were a paradise the Humans could only dream of. But this option was quickly thrown off the table. Now that his Knighthood had been stricken away, all his permissions were revoked. And after his last conversation with the Lord Nero, he knew it would be unwise to be spotted so close to their home, until his God-given quest was completed.

  A far easier path would be attempting to blend in. He might be able to disguise himself as a fellow farmer or milkmaster and take a brief respite from his crusade over the winter months. He could immerse himself in the culture of the Green Edge, killing or stealing enough to get by from the rats throughout this Kingdom. But lying was how the Knight of Commiseration was excommunicated in the first place. Why would he test his luck going down that road again? The idea of begging in-Elvish Mortals for scraps felt too disgraceful for a man of stature as well.

  No. Instead, Dion Isis would take a path he never set foot on before: that of a diplomat. Potential collaborators warred in the divided territories of Hilbarth just next door to this filthy land of crows. As he snoozed away his afternoon in the cherry grove of a stranger's farm, these possible allies were already en route to parlay. With his companion busy working the farmhouse of this strange property, the former Knight had tons of time to kill while awaiting his prospective associates. There was no doubt he would be stronger than them, but the power they held was not measured by Lightwell nor Radiance; it was in their pockets.

  As the hours dwindled, and Holy Sola began to set, a three cabin carriage rolled through the South Meadows from the West, falling upon the cherry grove like royalty—four steeds pulling the cart. The sound of hooves trampling viable soil stirred Dion gently from his slumber. When the crusader spotted that oversized black carriage among young cherry trees, he smiled grimly and rose to compose himself.

  When the carriage came to a halt before him, the dark doors swung open gently—perfectly greased and without a squeak. Three Mortals stepped out from the vehicle: a Human, a Hoof, and a Felid.

  Their leader, a stallion-legged Hoof, did all the talking for the group. He trotted out from the oversized carriage, the man's horse-like hooves hidden in white boots designed to fit his massive clompers. Each boot was polished to a shine, untainted by soil before his first step onto the cherry grove. He was meek in stature compared to most in his Clan, thin by every measure and barely reaching seven feet in height. The former Knight noted the man's lack of body hair, small frame, and stubby legs. Dion deduced this meek-looking Hoof must come from a diluted bloodline. But this meeting wasn't called to exact his God's judgement upon the wretch. He was here to negotiate with one of the most influential figures in the world of organized crime.

  The skinny centaur scratched at an underdeveloped beard as he looked over to the Knight. "Isis... I'm surprised you actually showed." He fussed at his navy duster, striped with white on the arms, making sure to dress at his most presentable before stepping in front of a Knight of the Round Table.

  Dion stood up to see he was a head taller than his potential associate, and the tallest at the meeting. As a Knight faced with this situation, Dion would have puffed out his chest, held back his shoulders, and make sure to stand wide to intimidate those he negotiated with. He would threaten and assault as needed for the glory of Lord Nero and the Round Table. But today, he stood without his Lord's blessing. He was a lone diplomat who required new, highly-advantageous foreign connections to return home. Dion tried to fold his arms in and haunch over to seem less hulking. He offered a false smile to his skeptical ally and called out with a jest. "Did you expect foul play?"

  The leader of the caravan didn't return Dion's smile. "Try not to hold it against me, but when I first received word from you, I thought someone was attempting an elaborate ruse. Think about it from my perspective, a rogue Knight claiming to be stranded in Corvus, asking to grossly overpay me for safe passage and some simple hunting... It still sounds too good to be true now that I'm saying it all out loud." He studied Dion with a frustrated expression. "I thought I would feel relief to see you in person. But now that I see you, I'm even more suspicious. Why reach out to me? Wolf's faction is the most powerful within K.A.S.H."

  "That may be true... but Wolf isn't the Top Earner, is she?" Dion raised a brow and reached out for his new ally's hand. "It's nice to finally meet you, Boar."

  The Hoof sneered at the Knight's hand but trotted over and shook it all the same. "Do you still go by Ser Dion?"

  The former Knight scoffed at the jest, "I always will."

  The handshake was just a little too tight for Boar's taste. When it was over, he rubbed his hand discreetly behind his back and peered out over the quaint patch of farmland Ser Dion rested in. "Well, if you're here, I suppose the rumors are true. This Kingdom really has become defenseless now that the big crow's gone. I'd be sad for the people," a grin crept across his face, "but their misfortune is too profitable to ruin my spirits." Beneath his duster, Boar was dressed in one of his finest suits, black coat, black slacks, and a black tie. His undershirt was a sky-blue button-down, crisp and freshly pressed with a pocket square in his coat pocket to match.

  "I couldn't agree more." Ser Dion refused to drop his false smile. "I think we'll both find our fill in the Kingdom, and I'd love to get the ball rolling on that front immediately if you don't mind." He fumbled around his pants pockets, forgetting where he had left something.

  Dion had no real work that needed to be done in this land apart from slaying the traitors of Camelot, which he was more than equipped to handle on his own. Hiring K.A.S.H. only served one function, to establish a relationship. Dion didn't have a Copper Pigeon to his name, and certainly not a bag of Gold Crows large enough to hire Boar. However, that small detail was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Dion carried something far more valuable than any currency: his name, and that would be his payment. Even if Dion refused to compensate Boar for his work, there wasn't a damn thing Boar or any other member of K.A.S.H. could do about it. A Knight such as himself stood in a league far above their own. Boar was aware of this, and luckily for Dion, he wasn't looking for any monetary payment out of their relationship either.

  Dion found the slip of paper he'd been searching for in one of his back pockets. It was folded over a few times, and the creases had left several wrinkles, but Dion unraveled a photograph and presented it to Boar. The Knight sat down against the comfort of his cherry tree once more. He spoke to Boar professionally, but at this point he already knew he was going to be the superior in their relationship. "I'll need a few dozen of those things."

  Boar squinted at the poorly treated photograph of his target. "Really? You called me all the way for this? I could have sent members of my faction to handle something so simple."

  "My hands have been rather full as of late. As I'm sure you could have guessed, I'm not in this Kingdom for a picnic—I'm working." He turned his gaze away from Boar and started clearing the dirt from underneath his fingernails. "I won't have much time to take care of small errands like this one. That's why I've sent for the best. This is a job that I would prefer to be handled by professionals, not some band of junkies you have on payroll."

  The Top Earner's ego spoke out. "And why would you think I'd be interested in taking up such a small chore?"

  "Because, if you complete this task for me, you will hold a favor from a Knight of the Round Table in your pocket."

  There it was. Boar adjusted his tone and picked his next words carefully. "And in what form should I expect to collect that favor without a-"

  "I'll pay it in blood." Dion was quick to answer Boar's rhetorical question.

  Boar was sure not to let his excitement show on his face. "I have enough foot soldiers." The Hoof knew it would take some negotiation to reach his desired endgame. "No—what I need from you is enough gold and silver to make this trip worth the strain it took to arrange it. Do you think people just walk through that big wall? It's impossible to cross without proper permissions, so I had to spend days bribing enough guards to let my party through. The whole ordeal has been quite costly, and I'll need to be compensated." Boar looked down to the photograph he had been presented with, attempting to do the math in his head. "Hunting won't be cheap either if you want it done right. We'll need traps and bait, plus transport to haul them to..." He looked up to Dion with a raised brow. "Where was it you needed passage to?" Before the Knight could answer, Boar was back to his calculations. "It doesn't matter, the point is it'll cost me a modest man's fortune to arrange it all."

  Dion raised a brow. "Well, you're far from a 'modest man', Boar. So, if you're about to spend all afternoon droning on about what you need, we won't get very far. I am very sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems your advisors have given you a false sense of importance in this meeting." The Knight sat up to flex his neck from one side to the next. "Let me make this clear: You. Need. Me." Dion's grin grew wider. "And you will do whatever it takes to gain my favor. There isn't any way you, or any other bookie in that rotting cesspool you call a castle will get your way unless every single one of my needs are catered to."

  "How dare you," Boar's professional demeanor fell victim to his temper. "The Black Bank is a monument to our founder, the man who-"

  "The Black Bank is a monument to pissing on every God of this world and all their teachings. Don't forget yourself, you're in the presence of a Holy Knight of Camelot—the very nature of your organization disgusts me and offends my Game Master." Dion's eyes grew darker. "Heathens such as yourselves will face Samael's judgement in time, but for now I'll have to find a way to make use of your resources. Never forget—this alliance will only be as long-standing as it is beneficial for me."

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  The two men fell into a silent staring contest, seeing which man would fold first. Boar was a consummate professional. Meetings with such high status figures did little to shake his nerves, nor did the looming threat of Ser Dion's violent response to his coming refusal. He had taken beatings and insults from plenty of his associates over the years as he built his empire. But Dion had not insulted him personally—he insulted Boar's business. So, as a professional, Boar made a business decision pertaining to the former Knight's arrogance.

  Boar turned his back and began walking back toward his caravan. "We stand at an impasse. Please, refrain from reaching out to me again until you have secured payment for this-"

  It was too easy; the negotiations were over before they ever started. Ser Dion spoke loudly over Boar before he had made it ten clompy paces.

  "Wu Maah."

  Dion's offer made Boar stop in his tracks. For a moment, the Hoof needed to process the offer. He smiled widely, realizing he'd won but making sure to not let Dion see the slip from his poker face. Before turning back, he made sure to put on his negotiating mask again. "Impossible."

  "I can... and if you do what I've asked, I will."

  Boar studied Ser Dion for any signal that the large Elv might go back on his word; he saw several. "That sounds like another offer that's too good to be true. You see, in my line of work, those who get far tend to keep their distance from such offers."

  Dion smirked down at the centaur, finding his frail horse legs amusing. "You doubt my strength?"

  "I know of your legend, Knight of Commiseration, but I fear you take Wu Maah's too lightly." Boar's face grew serious as he gave Dion his real offer. "Come with me back over the border to East Hilbarth. There, you will take his head. After that, anything you ask for will be taken care of, and so much more."

  Dion scoffed. "I thought I made myself clear. We're here working. Once all that is done, I'll claim your trophy for you."

  Again, Boar played hardball and turned away from Ser Dion. He began trotting back toward his company once more. "I'll gladly accept a down payment to begin work on your errands—I'd say six hundred of this land's Gold Crows should cover that. Plus, I'll need five hundred more when all's said and done."

  Dion didn't interrupt Boar this time. Instead, the former Knight began to snicker lightly to himself as he smelled a familiar scent drifting in from the west.

  Boar heard Ser Dion's laughter and continued speaking over his shoulder arrogantly. "No need for mockery, it's been a pleasure to meet with you. I'll be looking forward to-"

  The Human in Boar's party, a well-dressed woman matching her boss' attire, interrupted sharply. "Mr. Boar."

  "Hush, Ms. Mouse." Boar kept his voice low, attempting to signal to his long-standing assistant that negotiations were far from over.

  The small woman wasn't interrupting for the sake of their parlay. She pointed a pale finger beyond the grove and spoke with a fearful tone. "Please look."

  In the distance, the property's farmhouse burned with tall flames that illuminated the newborn eve. The shattered windows of the hillside home screamed out in pain from the blaze within. There was no warning to the sudden housefire, but it destroyed the two story home all the same. Boar paused at the eruption and turned to Ser Dion with suspicious eyes.

  "What's the meaning of this?" asked the centaur.

  "I told you," the exiled Knight sneered with pride. "We're working."

  Dion was quick to turn away from Boar's caravan and headed toward the smoldering farmhouse. The earners from K.A.S.H. were hesitant to follow Ser Dion, but Boar found himself intrigued by the Elv's work and instructed his companions to follow along.

  As they strolled through the cherry grove, the visitors began to hear desperate cries for help ahead. The screams were agonizing, hollers from the gut that cracked the vocal cords of each caller. The horrific pleas came in four distinct pitches, two in the higher range and two in the lower.

  As the former Knight and his new associates arrived at the burning home, the two higher-pitched squeals gave out. A loud banging noise grew louder inside the flames. Then, the front door swung open violently and a Human woman sprinted from the home, her body covered in flames from head to toe. The woman cried out with all her might as she crawled and clawed away from the door, desperate for anyone to rescue her family.

  "PLEASE SOMEBODY-!"

  The scorched woman's shrieks were silenced by a throwing knife that followed her out the door, toppling end over end until sinking deep into the back of her skull. She dropped like a doe when targeted by an expert marksman. Her screams became silence at the moment of impact, relieving her from the pain of flames that would eat her flesh long after she fell.

  Dion's partner, the cloaked boy, emerged from the smoldering farmhouse's threshold . He spoke without emotion as he dragged a wailing man out of the collapsing doorway. "I don't get why she was screaming. I thought these Humans loved fire." A middle-aged Elvish man squirmed behind the cloaked-boy, but he was unable to free himself from the stranger's grasp. Only a few moments prior, this man had been enjoying a simple day of board games with his wife and two children, now tears drowned his soot-stained eyes as he tried his hardest to crawl back into the flames defiling his children's corpses.

  Ser Dion called to his partner from a few yards out. "Sure made a mess, didn't he?"

  The cloaked boy continued marching out of the home, tightly gripping his target's ankle, dragging the weeping Elv along. "Aye, but his Lightwell's nearly empty. This filthy heathen kept diving in front of his kids. I had to stab him until his legs stopped working."

  Dion raised a brow. "And what of the mutts now?"

  The cloaked boy tossed the cherry farmer into the grass roughly by his leg and looked up at his superior with an unamused stare. "I've done my part. This one's all yours."

  The former Knight chuckled lightly, "That's my boy. You've done well. Now, fetch the gasoline if you could—I've got some words for this one."

  The younger crusader nodded and walked off somberly toward the back of the crumbling home. As the boy walked away, Dion turned back to Boar and his crew with a proud smile. "That's my son, Mathias. He's an excellent squire." The Knight raised his voice and shouted out to his son. "Love ya, Matty!" He turned back to the delegates of K.A.S.H. with a fatherly twinkle in his eyes. "He'll make a fine Knight one day."

  Mathias didn't return his father's affection. He didn't even turn to acknowledge the kind words. Instead, he just waved at the air, signaling he wasn't interested in being praised today.

  Dion understood the gesture well and nodded in approval to his guest. "Trust me, he's a good kid." The Knight then continued his work—this was his crusade after all. He strolled over to the crying Elv in the dirt before him, digging at his pants and coat pockets again. From the front pocket of his slacks, he pulled out a small journal. Ser Dion cleared his throat and riffled through pages of his own smudged script. Eventually, he found what he was looking for in the journal. He looked down at the crying man with a raised brow. "Benneth Noisewater?"

  The man tried his best to answer, but a faucet of tears and snot smeared his words. "Ya-Ye-Yes..."

  Dion swung a leg forward swiftly, striking the sobbing Elv in mouth. He roared down at the next traitor on his list. "Noisewater? Van'Heatah? Why do you people come up with the dumbest names after you leave Camelot? Does anyone have any creativity left in this world?!"

  The frail man rolled over and gripped at his face, beginning the wail for help again. "Please! Anyone, please!" He noticed the three well dressed figures behind his assailant and reached out in some desperate instinct to keep breathing until the next day.

  Dion was quick to silence this pathetic attempt by stomping out his target mercilessly. "Help?!" Dion rained down with his right leg until the pleas were replaced by gasps for air. "And who would help you? You flee from paradise to breed with these M'làda filth, and now you want help?" The sounds of leather slapping against flesh grew more moist with every stomp from the former Knight as his target's face was reduced to a shattered mess.

  Mathias came back with a large can of gasoline, made of some cheap, red-painted metal. The sight of his squire quelled Dion's temper, and he took the can from his son with a pleased smile. "Thank you, Matty. We'll be done here soon."

  "I hope so," groaned Mathias. "This crusade is taking too long with just us. Besides, those kids could barely use their Radiances. This is getting boring!"

  Ser Dion rustled the top of his grouchy son's hair. "You won't get stronger without it. After all, we still have business to attend to in this Kingdom." Mathias swiped away his father's hand, giving the earners from K.A.S.H. a parting look full of disgust before heading off into the cherry grove.

  Dion grabbed the beaten Elv by the roots of his greying hair and forced him to his feet. "You look thirsty. Here! Drink this." The former Knight shoved the spout of the can in the Elv's mouth. The beaten man squirmed and struggled as best he could, but he couldn't prevent the putrid liquid from pouring down the back of his throat; Dion's grip was far too strong. The heathen coughed and gagged, knowing his sins had caught up with him, letting even more tears leak down those bloodied cheeks.

  After a few moments, Ser Dion released his grip and allowed the man to fall and vomit up the fuel, but this wasn't over. He continued pouring gas on the man as he coughed up the contents of his guts. When the can was empty, Dion tossed it down at the man's back and began prodding at his pockets again. He pulled a book of matches from his back pocket and snapped one off.

  The half-dead Elv collapsed, knowing his fate. He asked weakly through broken bones, tears, and burning guts. "W... why?"

  Dion smiled from ear-to-ear and struck the match against his boot's roughened heel. "For Samael." He flicked the match at the heathen, and flames consumed him. "Praise be."

  A baritone's solo of agony rang into the evening sky, and Ser Dion Isis crossed off another name in his journal.

  Boar and his associates watched from a few yards behind in horror. They all had done their fair share of dirty work while climbing to the rank of Earner within K.A.S.H., but this—this was something they all found disturbing.

  As the Elv's screams died down, Dion turned back to his new partners with the same prideful look he had given when speaking about his son. "I apologize for that interruption. I'm sure you can relate the struggles of operating a family business." He marched toward the trio slowly, and when he reached the party, the massive Elv halted and let his hands rest behind his back professionally. "Where were we?"

  Boar stepped toward the exiled Knight. Without haste, he extended his hand. "Where do you and your son need to go?"

  Back in the carriage, the members of K.A.S.H. rode south to complete Ser Dion's first request. Weary of the path Mr. Boar had chosen, the Felid of their group, Lynx, raised his concerns.

  "Do you really think that psychopath has the power to defeat Wu Maah?"

  The carriage rolled along, and Boar watched the orchard and smoldering farmhouse sink into the hillside beside them. "It's like Ser Dion said, he's a Knight of Samael. Slaying monsters like the Lord of Stallions is his duty."

  "Is it wrong to say I miss my friend? Few Knights live as long as Ser Dion Isis has, and fewer have served the Round Table more ferociously. So, why would he betray his vows? Of all Elvs, why him? Was I wrong to pass such harsh judgments on a man who's shed more blood for our Clan than I? I know my Lord-father would have excommunicated Ser Dion just as I did, and that knowledge makes me question my decision even further. Why is it that so many honorable men fall to lust's temptation? Alas, I have been gracious in my own way. Dion has been given a quest, and I shall pray he comes home with news of glorious triumph. Come home soon, Ser. May your hand be merciless and your Lightwell infinite. Praise be."

  ? A personal note translated from High-Etherial, written by Nero Pel'Dragan, Elven Lord of Camelot.

  (To Be Continued...)

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