The warlord smelled of old blood, horse, pig-iron but mostly arrogance. He rode through the market, as if this too was part of his domain, while trailed by two loyal retainers. Vendors and customers of the Night Market moved aside as a courtesy, though everyone knew he had no authority here. His helm was crested with antlers from a mighty stag, his scale-armor functional yet decorated, and his sword rattled in its scabbard as his horse clacked down the city streets.

  He may have entered the Market's main arch, but his destination lay on the outskirts, far from respectable merchants, near the paupers graveyard where the Bone-Witch practiced her craft. He reached her tent and hopped down before his retainers could help him off; he paid them no mind nor respect, they were only here at his council's insistence. He turned and faced the structure, a large tent made from various vintage garments, sewn together as if it was quilt. The clothing of the paupers, he mused. In the center, sat an old crone on a chair of bone, unnatural creatures skulking behind her.

  Her eyes gleamed in the candlelight, subtly glowing golden orbs set against an unblinking, gaunt face. Her hair was pale as death, wispy and slightly messy, held in place by a small band of ancient bone. It complimented her throne, which was assembled from vertebrae, on which she sat hunched over, staring down the warlord with a discerning gaze. She looked every bit as evil as he'd been told; he was impressed.

  As he entered the tent, her creatures, her stock, lined up and stood still, waiting for her command. Skeletons polished clean, shining like ivory. Zombies stitched together, mismatched from various races to form powerful monstrosities. And then the oddities, the specialty items - skeletal hands that moved independent of any body, floating skulls, legs attached to storage chests.

  "Witch." he spat, sneering with a hostile smile. "I demand an army."

  She smiled, teeth neatly ordered though clearly mismatched and quite possibly not her own. "Of course you do, mmm. Every man who thinks himself a king does. How many soldiers, hmm?"

  "Ten thousand. Ten thousand of your finest killing machines."

  "Oh, my. Ten thousand is quite a few. Quite a few. Hmm, and of the finest quality?" she cackled, eyeing the man's retainers and horse. "Is your treasurer arriving later, then, hmm?"

  He scoffed, and waved his retainers forward. They each carried a traveler's pack of gold coin, which they dropped before the Bone-Witch with an audible thump.

  "I have brought what it is worth." He sneered.

  "Gold? You insult me. What use do I have of gold?" she retorted, rolling her eyes.

  He gritted his teeth. "Fine. The gold, and I'll offer a herd of oxen as vast as the sky in-"

  "Cattle, hmm?" she interrupted. "What do I look like, a butcher?"

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  He eyed the lumbering creatures behind the throne.

  "Yes."

  She smirked, and the creatures behind her cackled.

  "I want not your gold, nor your cattle, would-be king. I want your dead, mmm." she said, after a pause.

  "I can not do that, my people demand an honorable burial... but my enemies, of course. As many as you want." He reasoned, unafraid of a legacy as a butcher.

  "No, all of your dead, or there is no deal. Your soldiers, your enemies, your descendants and ancestors alike. They will belong to me, hmm." She sat back in the chair, her price set with a certain finality in her voice.

  The warlord scowled, nostrils flaring with indignation. "You drive too hard a bargain, crone. My ancestors belong to the gods, and my sons will go to the pyres, not your workshop. You ask the impossible."

  "Impossible, mmm." she crooned, "is the currency of the Market. Gold is without value, cattle are irrelevant to us here. But the dead? I can work with the dead."

  He drew himself up taller, puffing his chest. "I will not be remembered as the one who bartered away his families' legacy and future."

  "Then you will not be remembered at all, mmm." She leaned forward, hands folded on her knees. Her eyes glowed hot now, like embers in a firepit. "Leave, if you like. But you leave empty handed."

  The retainers shifted uneasily, no one had ever dared speak to their master like this before. They knew not how he would react.

  After a long moment, he exhaled. "Very well. A compromise, then? My kin remain untouched, the royal line and the adjacent families are sacred. But you will have my enemies, their soldiers and their commoners. And..." he paused, weighing his words.

  "My commoners too." He said, flatly without emotion. One of his retainers gasped, but the lord raised a clenched fist to silence him. "But only when they perish of natural causes, of course. If the tally is short, perhaps even a lesser lord or two. I care not."

  She smiled grimly, tapping bony fingers on her chin. "Mmm, mmm. This is .. perhaps something I can work with, hmm." She move to drum her fingers on the throne of vertebrae as she thought for a long minute. "This is... acceptable. You will have your army, mmm."

  She turned to one of the zombies behind her and motioned with her hand. "Fetch the others, the Remainders. All of them."

  The zombie groaned softly, as if it could still process shock.

  "Yes, all of them. Everyone, mmm."

  As it shambled off, she faced the warlord once more.

  "You'll have your army, today, mmm, and they'll begin marching to your stronghold once the deal is blood-bound. I will even throw in some extras, free of charge, to help return my payment as needed, mmm." Outside, the sounds of bones creaking and sinew snapping into place could be heard.

  He read her terms carefully, and drew a dagger, cutting across his outer upper arm. He painted the signature with a finger and his bloodline; the deed was done.

  They stepped outside and watched the ranks slowly assemble. Skeleton creatures with two torsos, zombies whose limbs bent the wrong way as they moved, a lumbering giant creature made from hundreds of human arms. Each more ghastly and misshapen than the next, each easily straight from a man's darkest nightmares. One retainer fainted, the other stood frozen with fright. The warlord frowned, clearly he had been expecting more like what was showcased inside the tent, not these misfits and rejects.

  "These are abominations," he said coolly, his tone hiding the disgust.

  "These... these are bargains, hmm." she replied. "For commoners, this is what I can offer in such large quantity. For commoners, you get quantity over quality, mmm."

  "Hmm." he thought out loud, stroking his silky beard. He turned and saw the effect it had on his retainers, still stunned from this display of dark magic, "Yes, these will do nicely, I suppose. If you have any heart at all, witch, you'll regret this. I'll make the rivers run red using these monstrosities."

  "Just don't forget the payment, hmm." She mused, half coyly but her tone laced with an ominous danger.

  "Of course, of course. You'll have your bodies. In fact, " he motioned to his retainers with a slight nod and drew his sword, facing the dumbfounded lesser lords.

  "You can start with these two."