On the back of a wagon were Dante and Ireishil, a pair of gefyls leading them down to a collection of Atharot churches. Dante moved himself up the wagon, standing on his knees while he spoke. “Excuse me. Do you know anything about the Athorists we’re soon to meet?” He asked, the coach chuckling before he replied. “Why, you were a real shut-in back at home, huh?” The coach teased, Dante ughing a little while they went on to expin. “Well, Atharot is… the ideal state of being, really. Those Athorists always tell you the same thing. Two arms, two legs, 1 head, no face, glowing skin, sort of the medium between what we all are. It’s what we’ll all be once the Darkness is gone, ‘parently. I look forward to it.” Dante scooted forward, taking in the scenery while thinking of the Darkness. It wasn’t a term he was entirely familiar with, though it also wasn’t the first time he’d heard of it, something that he decided not to worry about for the moment. “So… do you think that they’ll accept us? My horns and your tail?” He somewhat jokingly asked, chuckling as Ireishil simply id back on her arms, finding no amusement from his jest. “No. They will likely treat us like we’re no better than dregs.” Squinting, Dante scooted closer, looking over the parchment Ireishil had in her hands. “Why do they want us here, then?” “They have a dead priest. They want you to revive him. Then we leave.” He nodded, rubbing his hands together in preparation as the wagon drew closer to the front of the church. “Wait, wait. I remember my instructor telling me that those Atharot people didn’t like the Undead. Won’t they, er… not want me, an Undead, to go make one of their priests an Undead?” She shook her head, getting ready to hop off as they parked along the doors. “You’re thinking too much about this. If they try anything, I will deal with them.” Jumping off the wagon alongside her, the both of them stop before the church before them. It was anything but humble; paintings, stained gss windows, and decorated furniture were strategically pced around the white-brick cathedral, with multiple merchants waiting at other entrances to sell their goods to the people of the church. A common service appeared to be grafting, with individuals who had either lost limbs, or wanted superior ones lining up in front of the medically-prepared stalls, ying upon parchment-covered services and having stitched limbs healed onto their body. Standing before the gate was a guard in heavy pte armor, their halberd raised to block Dante and Ireishil from entering the door. “What misfortune has brought you two outsiders here?” They hissed, Dante giving a slight awkward chuckle before answering. “Uhm… we’re the - we’re the cleric team you asked for.” While Dante spoke, Ireishil showed them a sheet of parchment provided by the Guild, earning an annoyed sigh from the guard. “Be quick. I don’t want either of you heretics in here for long.” Dante mostly ignored the comment while he walked down the halls, surrounded with more depictions of this ideal being. It was almost custrophobic at some turns, as if they somehow didn’t have enough space to store all these statues of a faceless man. “Where are we supposed to go, again?” Dante asked, Ireishil reading off the parchment in response. “It says to… keep going until there’s a left, and that they’d be waiting there.” Following these fairly vague instructions eventually led them to a group of 3 of the Athorists. They all wore identical white hooded robes with shaved heads beneath them, with a symbol of the Athorist humanoid tattooed on the top of their head. One of them turned to Dante, their body trembling and their breathing heavy while they spoke. “Greetings. It is unfortunate we had to settle for you, but it is better than nothing.” Dante only gave a shrug as a response, looking up to see a slightly irritated look on Ireishil’s face, her eyebrows furrowed while she waited impatiently for the Athorist to lead them. “Very well. Follow me then, it’s down here.” A short flight of stairs underground revealed a rge room cast in sanitized stone brick, and in the midst of it was an operating bed. The room smelled strongly of potent chemicals, the intense aroma causing Dante to wince slightly while he stepped further into the dimly lit space. On the operating bed was a body buried in cloth, its face wrapped tightly with a sheet of fabric. Its body was still and lifeless, with a small amount of blood trickling from around its face, staining the fabric that seemed to be restraining it. Deciding to get this over with as quickly as possible, Dante walked over to the operating table, raising both his sigil-covered hand and normal hand, pressing both of his palms against the midsection of the body, then mumbling the word “Subortus.” to himself. It began strong, though each pulse seemed a little weaker each time he pressed down, eventually slowing and fading into almost nothing. Dante stopped for a moment, looking down at the unmoving body to see Subortus yet to have an effect on it. “How… how long has this person been dead?” Dante asked, the athorist snorting before he answered. “That is not your concern, undead. Do what you have been paid to do.” “It’s…” Dante roamed his hands along the body, feeling how loose and calloused the skin was. Something could be felt beneath this shell of skin, a mass that rose and fell rhythmically beneath Dante’s fingers. “This person, they’re… they’re not dead, there’s… something alive inside of them. Something breathing.” Ireishil raised an eyebrow, then shot a look over at the athorists, them all gncing between each other before one spoke up. “As I said earlier, undead, your job here is to perform your heretical spells then leave. That is all.” “I - I don’t think this is a good idea, maybe - ” “No! We already paid your bsted Guild, now do your job!” Dante exhaled sharply, continuing his attempts at reviving the strange body before him. The pulsing of Subortus grew more rapid the more firmly Dante pushed his hands into the bloated body, the thick yer of skin shifting around under his grasp, feeling more like a loose set of clothing than something that was actually a part of its body. Dante tried not to show the disgust he felt from the rubbery sensation of the body, instead watching as the red pulses grew faster along its body, reaching a peak and stirring the body to sit up. A gurgled, muffled scream left the being, it whipping its head around and going to try and grab Dante, the tovron narrowly avoiding the creature’s grasp. The nails of the risen corpse cut across Dante’s chin as he quickly stepped back, reaching for his dagger while Ireishil quickly intervened, bashing the creature back with her shield. The risen corpse’s screaming grew louder as it ripped apart the fabric and skin along its body, revealing a totally white body, various oils injected into its bloated skin and mangled limbs, and both his arms and legs seemingly stitched from the corpses of various other races. Its head was little more than a massive, bloated cyst, though the mouth of the being managed to chew through the flesh on its face, revealing its gnarled teeth dripping with blood and saliva. It collided against Ireishil’s shield and raked its fingers across the wood, leaving marks of blood from the skin wilting from its fingers, revealing sharpened finger bones. Ireishil stomped forward and bashed her shoulder against the creature’s chest, knocking it down to the ground long enough for Ireishil to keep her foot on its chest. “Do not harm the vessel! It will soon shed its mortal coil!” One of the athorists called out. The body snarled, bringing its head down and sinking its fangs through Ireishil’s armor and into her leg, its hold with its teeth released when Dante hesitantly stepped forward and stabbed his dagger into its side. The blow earned an ear-piercing shriek from the being, its shriek ending when its body began to enter a seizure, foam leaving its mouth while its limbs wildly filed around. Dante quickly went to confront the 3 of them, Ireishil grabbing one by their colr while the body started banging itself against the wall. “Whuh - what did you do to that poor man?” Dante questioned, struggling to get out his words while the priests began to answer. “As if you people, you whose difference from that of a dreg is negligible at best… a - as if you could even comprehend! We work tirelessly to create perfection! And you want to sit here babbling over the morality of it, as if debating ethics have ever driven our society forward! Bear witness to our progress…” One of the priests muttered out, walking over to the body and reaching their hands forward. “It’s… perfect - ” The being let out a snarl from being touched, its body ripping apart and causing another set of arms to sprout out from its fake skin. This new set of arms was only tendon and metal-reinforced bone, this arm shing forward and sshing vertically across the athorist priest’s hand, splitting through his palm and nearly to his wrist. The priest screamed out in pain as the degloved, risen corpse spun around on the floor and scurried away. Dante went forward to try and protect the hurt priest, casting Remedium on the man’s bleeding arm. “Dante.” Ireishil urged, looking back to see more athorists entering the room, one holding up a spell tome and readying a fire spell in their palm. The sounds of chains and metal snapping could be heard from the corridor, followed by a loud, echoed hollowing of dozens of beings. Dante watched wide-eyed as numerous other grafted bodies all began to sprint out from the hallway, his time to fully understand what was even happening cut short when Ireishil quickly pulled him by his arm out of the room, the st thing Dante seeing being the athorist mage casting fire onto the horde of grafted bodies whilst the others fended for themselves.

  A shocked look still on his face, he walked alongside Ireishil to the wagon awaiting their return, heaving a deep sigh while he pulled himself onto it. Looking up at Ireshil, Dante noticed that she was unphased by the whole ordeal, a neutral look on her face while she rested her arm along the wagon’s wooden barrier. Dante found a little soce in Ireishil’s apathy, hoping that it was earned from incidents like these being common and easily survived. “Was that… stitched together person normal? You don’t really seem, er… bothered, by it.” She shrugged in response, turning sideways towards Dante as she let her arm hang out of the wagon. “I mean, you seem like you’re not really bothered by anything. Have you been doing this for a long time?” “You could say that.” Figuring that was the best answer he was getting from her, Dante only id back onto the wooden boards, staring up at the bright sky while the journey home toiled on.

  Standing around the crowd of people fetching missions struck a strange, child-like sense into Dante while he was beside Ireishil. It felt as though everyone around him was so much more experienced than he was. In this a brief moment, his understanding of just how much a wider scale everything was in this city compared to his home began to set in, the realization somewhat visible on his pale face while he exited the area alongside Ireishil. Their next destination was a much further distance than the simple day-long treads he and Ireishil had been going on prior. They were currently within the region of Hospuria, but the city they were headed towards is in the eastward way of Tsiuc, which required them to go across the border between the two regions. The first of many carts were ready for them, Dante still lost in thought while he climbed on top of it. “I’ve… I’ve never been this far away from home before.” He muttered to himself, Ireishil gncing over at him from his mumbling, Dante noticing her gaze and speaking to her. “Ireishil… what regions have you been to before?” He curiously asked, Ireishil looking up and around before answering. “I’ve been to many different regions. Both on the western and eastern coast. Including a tour in the Stygian Desert.” “Oh. Interesting. Is Tsiuc really any different?” “Expect many people you have not seen before. Hospuria is a gentler pce, but the regions outside are less so.” “Right. I suppose Hospuria was rather out of the way during the wars.” Dante theorized, Ireishil only shrugging her shoulders in response, not showing much interest in Dante’s geopolitical muses.

  The wagon toiled on towards the border, heading inside of what appeared to be some sort of tent city filled with deformed-looking people that Dante had not seen before. Bending over the wagon, the sight was almost too awful for him to keep looking at; starving children limping across the road, what looked like vinnans covered in dirt and grime with extra legs and heads. Dante looked back at Ireishil, her looking as if she was trying to keep her gaze away from the area they just entered as he sat back down towards her. “Do… do you know what this is? I’ve never seen anything like this in my life.” A sigh left her, looking back away from the bottom of the cart they sat in as she answered. “These are dregs. Some are not born as we are, and are outcasted.” “Dregs? Wasn’t that what those Athorist people were calling us?” The mention of the Athorists caused a more annoyed expression to form on Ireishil’s face. “Yes, because they are foolish. If we were dregs, we would be stealing and robbing for our meals. But I protect naive rich men with a taste for adventure for mine.” Unlike the ft way she had spoken around Dante in the week he had known her, Ireishil was now talking with much more anger in her voice, her arms shaking slightly while she held them defensively around her chest. “...oh. I - I’m sorry.” Dante wearily spoke, not sure how to react to the outburst. She pinched the bridge of her nose, giving another deep exhale. “It’s not you. I shouldn’t be getting angry with you. I apologize.” Dante gave a bit of ughter to try and mend the increasingly uncomfortable atmosphere of the cart. This was not helped by the increasingly loud cries of children from the mutants surrounding them, Dante wincing as he heard a shrill scream echo from the distance. “I guess I am a little over my head though, haha. But I’m gd that I have someone like you to experience this strange world with.” He smiled, bending down towards her and awaiting her response. All Ireishil did was stare at him bnkly, her shining yellow eyes stuck in space as the cries of the passing dreg vilge soon fell behind them.

  A sign attached to a tree came into view, prociming a message which read “WELCOME TO HOLBECK” painted in red letters. This city would be Dante and Ireishil’s new temporary home, with their mission to aid a wounded viginte group that had enlisted the Guild’s services. The city itself was small and secluded, with the only real contact it had being that it was quite close to the Tsiuc-Hospurian border. Other than that, it was woods for miles until any other sembnce of civilization could be found. One could figure that there were likely many bandit camps in those said woods, something which Dante presumed alongside the other bit of information he was given. The main line of defense for the city was a viginte militia who called themselves the Wolves, a fairly nomadic organization devout in its unique Idolist sect. Stepping off the wagon, Dante was fnked by Ireishil as he walked around the city, trying to find anyone that came equipped with a bow as he congregated with some passing citizens. “Hello, have you seen the, uh… the ‘Wolves’ anywhere?” He asked, an older vinnan man sporting basic cloth armor nodding. “Why yes, I have! Those ones are returning soon, and they bring with them the bounty which the Force of the Hunt had granted us.” “The Force… oh, does this vilge worship Idolism?” He asked, Ireishil turning over to the elderly man, waiting for his answer. With a thumbs up by the old man, he then pointed over to a rge statue of a deer-looking figure behind one of the sniper towers, it being a shrine to the Force of the Hunt, one of the deities of Idolism. “We’ve got centuries-old pieces for the other forces, too, but they got dinged up a little in the war. Still workin’ on getting them back in top shape.” The man expined, Dante giving a simple “Understood.” in response, turning around to see Ireishil readying one of their rations. While they went to quickly eat their rations of bread and liver, the stomping marches of countless archers stopped in front of them, a vinnan in a long coat and slouch hat stopping before the both of them, with two simirly-dressed individuals bearing a green banner with a bck wolf painted onto it. Dante got up to introduce himself, the vinnan giving a quick salute while he introduced himself. “Hello, I take it the both of you are with the Guild. Name’s Pryderi, and I’m the captain of the Wolves.” Finishing up his loaf, Dante shook his head as he returned with his name. “I’m Dante, and this is Ireishil. Where are we needed today?” Pryderi did a come here motion, prompting Dante and Ireishil to follow behind him deeper into the vilge. Multiple watchtowers were built in the corners of the wooden palisade-covered settlement, the archers stood on top of them firing arrows at any bandits drawing too close. Pryderi looked back at the both of them, starting to expin as they came closer to what looked like some sort of tavern. “We don’t typically work with the Guild. But we’ve got something big coming up, and I think the little extra help could go a long way.” Upon entering the tavern, the entrance of Pryderi was met with some cheers, him sitting down and inviting the both of them to sit across him as they rested on the table. “I see. So, uh… so where are the injured?” Dante asked, Pryderi chuckling, resting an elbow on the table. “Well, we don’t have any yet. We’re pnning on stopping by a nearby bandit camp and forcing them out of the area. And chances are, that’s gonna create a lot of injured. More than our own healers can handle.” “Oh. I understand. When is that going to happen, then?” Taking a map out from his pouch, he reached over the table as he connected between Holbeck and a camp within the woods marked with a circle. “Since you got here a little early, we’re gonna move our rendezvous to tonight. I understand you’re new to the guild, and that you’ll be a little nervous with all the chaos around you. But you won’t be alone.” Just as he said that, a middle-aged Dendriko with a mug full of whiskey in his hands approached the table. He knew the Dendriko as a race of shorter, fur-covered naturalists, with Dante seeing the naturalist part in the form of this particur Dendriko being naked outside of the steel breastpte he wore, the rest of his body covered by his grayish fur. This dendriko leaned his hands against the table while he looked Dante up and down, narrowing an eye while scratching at his beard. “Ah, you’re that greenhorn cleric, aren’t ya?” He asked, giving a handshake as Dante responded. “Er… yes, I am. Are you a cleric too?” “Course I am! May not have that same fancy Guild amulet, but I’ve likely got more years under me belt than the one who taught ye.” Dante chuckled, finishing the handshake as the man further spoke. “Name’s Vikm, and I heard in the middle o’ all the cheering your’s was Dante. Pleased to meet you, but know that big school of your’s canny match up to me experience.” Dante cocked his head, taking out his journal while he somewhat misconstrued what Vikm said. “Oh? What is it, another spell you know?” Vikm ughed out, patting Dante on the shoulder as he took another swig of his drink. “Haha! I like your moxie! You’ll fit in just fine!” Dante awkwardly stared down at the shorter dendriko for a silent moment, before Vikm caught on that he wasn’t bantering. “...oh. You really think it’s just pricking yourself and getting indented with a spell, do ye? No, d, there’s much more. You can heal the body all you want, but the mind and soul can’t be remedied from any healing spell.” Vikm shrugged, putting his drink away as he started looking through Dante’s journal. “Atleast, the ones you don’t get from dark pces can’t. That school of your’s hooked you up good, maybe. But did they even tell you what those spells mean? Or do you just cast them without a second thought?” “Well… they kind of sped me through all of it. Was there something else they were supposed to do?” Vikm shook his head, letting out a hearty groan as he plopped down in front of Dante. “Where would I even start? The spells yer castin’ got history longer than your oldest ancestor. Those words didn’t just fall on someone’s head one day. The oldest shaman of the Forces were given every spell we have to this day through ancient trials. If you really want to understand what you’ve been doing your career, you oughta get proper education. Not that ambrosia-feedin’ in-and-outin’ pce ya call a school.” “Wait, ambrosia? What’s that?” Vikm sighed, looking up at Dante nodding his head as he talked further. “You really were tucked warm from the Guild, you were. Working your mana, getting spells, it’s a long process.” He then pulled out a small, metal container, opening it to show a small cube of an orange, strongly herb-scented powder. “But with ambrosia, which is probably what they were putting in yer food, it makes it all much faster, only drawback being getting hooked on it if ya take too much of it.” Now that he mentioned it, Dante did recall the school’s food having a bit of a strangely powdery taste. To think of getting drugged like that without even knowing did unsettle him slightly, though it also gave him a feeling of closure in being in and out of that academy so quickly. “I see. It’s starting to get a little dark, I think we have to go do that raid soon.” Dante stated, Vikm turning around and preparing to leave the tavern along with a few other members of the Wolves, stopping to give Dante a few words before doing so. “Remember, d. Your magic does the trick on their body. It’s on you to make sure everything else is squared away.”

  The conversation stuck with Dante as he marched upward a mountain with Ireishil standing at his fnk. He decided to try and remain quiet due to the hostile nature of the area, the several other archers with him doing the same as the bandit camp came into view, signified by a bellowing of smoke emitting from its center. “Take cover, ds.” The sergeant of the squad ordered, prompting Dante to stand behind a tree. Inching forward let Dante get a better view of the camp, noticing the several hastily-constructed log cabins and storage structures built within its trap-den grounds. What had caught most of Dante’s attention was the massive fire emitting the smoke, his eyes narrowed while he looked at the seemingly uncontrolled fire slowly increasing in size. Time passed him by with uncertainty and dread, Dante only recalling that his part of the pn was to simply wait for the horn. Whatever the horn meant was beyond him, but soon he heard it go off in the distance. As it echoed through the forest, all the archers around him drew an arrow, firing as many as they could in the general vicinity of the camp. While some bolts of magic and arrows were fired in return from the bandits, none of them seemed to actually nd on anyone, with the bandits who had survived the initial attack hurrying back inside of their cabins. The sergeant ordered a charge, his squad running into the camp while Dante hurriedly ran behind them, his hand ready on his dagger while the wind howled against their approach. They soon entered the camp, fights breaking out all in what felt like every direction while Dante scurried about, looking for any allies that were injured. Looking over his shoulder to a familiar voice, he saw Vikm from earlier, his spells bright and fshy while he encouraged the injured to keep fighting. “Is that what he meant by mind and soul..?” He muttered to himself, looking over at a couple of archers with some shallow knife wounds. Drawing in a deep breath, Dante brought his head up, readying a more fshy spell to restore morale. “Pervestigationis” it was called, one of the ter spells he learned that casted a rge bolt of healing power into where he was looking. Chanting out the word, Dante casted it into the archers, them flinching before feeling their wounds come undone. “You’re healed! Keep on the good fight!” He yelled out, the archers giving a quick salute with their bows before running back into the fray. Feeling some eyes falling onto him whenever he casted it, Dante could see morale remaining steady at the sight of the terrific dispy of healing magic, a slight smile growing on his face. The weeks of idle, simple medical care for the Guild had finally led to this moment; Dante now out in the throes of battle, supporting the fight against those of wicked intent. His adrenaline pumped through his veins while Dante marched steadily throughout the vilge, Ireishil close behind him while he tended to any injured he came across.

  The fighting soon settled down, Dante and many of the Wolves all gathering by the fire growing within the middle of the city. An intense exhaustion pounded in Dante’s mind from the spells he had been casting, him having to stop and take a moment to regain his energy before walking forward. “My, I didn’t know they teached ya the fancy ones. But yer tuckered out now, aren’t ya?” Dante looked over at him with a flustered look, heaving a deep breath while sitting against a nearby wooden table. “I… I am.” “Just about out of mana, then. Best get back with the rest and get some sleep in. Best be careful, use any more spells, and it’ll be your blood instead.” Dante figured Vikm to not be literal with the procmation of blood repcing mana. Dante stretched out his arms whilst yawning, heaving a grunt as he id his back on the table, looking upwards as his whole body ached with fatigue. Every one of his senses felt like he just had run hundreds of miles straight, a faint taste of metal in his mouth while he listened to the shambling around him grow quieter. That was, before some shouting about a bomb was heard not too far away, followed shortly by an eruption followed by fmes reaching to the sky, letting out a deafening sound that sent a slightly concussed Dante falling down to his back. Dante quickly scurried back onto his feet, his ears ringing while he took in his surroundings, the other clerics working tirelessly to mend the rge group of archers suffering from burns. Managing to clear his head enough to focus on a small pile of people in front of him, he mended their wounds as quickly as possible, the shouting and cries of those afflicted hitting against his mind like salt to an open wound. Drawing in a sharp inhale, Dante then took a piece of ripped leather, biting into it while straining himself to keep using his spells. Bits of metallic fragments were embedded in the soldiers injured limbs, Dante just barely managing the strength to pluck them out and clean them with a piece of gauze, then perform Remedium on the wounds. He felt his strength wane as he healed the nearby soldiers, the words he mumbled through the leather growing weaker with every body he mended. His vision grew blurry as the heat of the intensifying fme blew hot winds down the back of his neck. Seeing the piles of bodies around him lessening in number granted him enough hope to perform a revival on one of the st fallen before him, him just about to colpse onto their chest as he pced his trembling arms into him. In the distance, Ireishil managed to find Dante, yelling out his name while she ran over to separate him from the newly awakened undead. She easily picked up the small tovron from the ground, holding him up over her shoulder as she carried him away from the ordeal, him finally fading into a deep rest as he felt his body bounce along her every step.