Chapter 0 - Prologue

This chapter merely sets the story up, sexy stuff in all the chapters onward

~


The morning air was filled with the desperate wails of newly defeated heroes, bloodied survivors lamenting as they were hauled off to whatever dark fate was in store for them. 

Their siege had failed catastrophically, and Galgar Reth could smell the burning flesh of the fallen invaders, their corpses stripped of loot before being thrown into a great pyre; it put a fiendish smirk on his face. 

Ah yes, another band of arrogant heroes and their lackey followers vanquished; the poor sods had barely scratched the exterior of his beloved, nigh impenetrable, stronghold. Unsurprising, as it had been the fate of many a hero before them. 

What did they expect? This was the long-standing home of the Black Wolf Marauder Company, a legion of erring knights, monstrous brigands, and morally ambiguous mercenaries. 

No matter the who, what, or why The Black Wolves would do it, for an exorbitant price, of course. Be it man or monster, if you enjoyed the thrill of a ghastly fight and could hold your own with the wildest of them, you were a prime candidate for the Marauder Company. 

The leader of such a dastardly cohort was an ardent admirer of power, and little else mattered as far as qualifications were concerned. To lead such savages took savage control, enter Galgar. His bloodline had led the guild for nearly a century, and he had only made the company fiercer in his time as their leader. 

They were men of inhuman stock with a vast propensity for violence and revelry, a perfect organizational fit for one such as himself. A Reth man's skin was bronze, hair maroon as if dyed in blood, and they were built like bears. In fact, one couldn't mention the Black Wolves without also mentioning the depraved bloodline that ran it. It was a fellowship of the world's deadliest, who were just as likely to carve you in two as they were to lend a hand in a tight spot. 

From the settling chaos, a gasping survivor crawled forth, a young man who must've fancied himself a fighter of sorts, now reduced to a desperate and dying dreg. 

Blood sputtered past his cracked lips as he attempted to speak, a once silver armor now tarnished by singes of fire and spatters of blood. 

"H-How? T-The keep was s-supposed to b-be empt-", his breaths quickly grew ragged with each effort. The Wolf Lord, Galgar, crouched down before giving a squinted glance at the sun. "Aye, you had us outnumbered 5 to 1 with your small army of companions. Must've heard that most of us were working down in Kerighast and decided to pay a visit, correct?" 

Almost with compassion, he began to gently run a plated gauntlet through the lad's hair, while also wiping some of the grime from his face. "Smart." 

The Wolf Lord was a man of two conflicting reputations, a devilish mad man and an honorable commander. The adventurer replied, "Y-You are worse than the m-mon-monsters that p-pl-plague us, killing men, w-women, and c-children for trinkets. Assassins and t-traitors the lot of you." There was a fire that burned in his eyes, that of a young warrior who refused to surrender. 

Galgar admired his insubordination as nothing that he had said was untrue; he would indulge the boy a bit longer. 

"You have grit, lad, but surely you've heard that each Black Wolf fights with the strength of forty men. Your little detachment from the Adventurer's Guild, most likely? Was like hunting wild turkeys for fun. I almost felt ashamed as split your friends in two." 

Galgar used his other hand to wipe some of the dried entrails from his plate mail, "I could've told you myself to turn back, but by the time the fighting started, you wouldn't have heard me over their screaming." 

Tears began to stream down the fallen soldier's cheeks. The arrogance of he and his comrades had cost them everything, and now their target stood before him; he could do nothing. 

Galgar gave the dying adventurer a final head pat before standing upright and dusting his knees off. "By the looks of it, one of my wolves caved your chest plate in, hammering a couple ribs into your internal organs." He spoke without emotion or concern. "I find no joy in watching such a proud young lad struggle like a pup." 

He gripped the hilt of his fabled sword, Crimson Fang, a serrated dark blade, readying it for an informal execution. 

"I will grant you your last words." The battered fighter rolled on his back and stared into the blue sky above, smoke still rising from the burning bodies of his friends and compatriots. He had hopes and dreams of protecting the realm from such evils, but now? He was to be but another victim to a wild man's bloodthirst. 

He gasped, "The g-gods ready a se-." 

His crumpled body convulsed and then fell still as the blade of Crimson Fang abruptly sunk into his chest cavity. Lord Reth let out a long, annoyed sigh. "Nevermind." He knelt and picked up the tattered robes of a fallen priestess, using it to wipe the blood from the blade's edge. 

Gazing upon the battlefield, he estimated the spoils of their victory, mainly the new lot of prisoners; morale would be up amongst The Wolves today. His men and women had a variety of twisted carnal desires, most of them corrupt, but he cared little for what they did with the new slaves in reality; they never lasted long anyhow. 

Today was indeed a good day for the leader of The Black Wolves Marauder Company. For two reasons.
 
 
~
 
Auron awoke with a tremendous tired yawn, prying himself from luxurious fur covers. He slept on a lavish bed decorated with the pelts of various exotic animals; it was one of the many perks of being a Reth. 

He had heard much of the fighting outside the night before. The ripping of flesh, the clashing of steel; he cared little for either. 

Such commotion was commonplace around the castle, and he had grown up sleeping through the night during another one of some do-gooder's failed raid. He viewed them as nuisances more than anything. 

With lazy strides, he traipsed from his large bed to the mirror adjacent to it, spending ample time to stroke his well-groomed ego. Auron did not see himself as a rabid warrior like his father and his fathers before him, opting to enjoy much 'nobler' pursuits. 

The stone walls of his room were well decorated with various portraits and landscapes, collected from the furthest corners of Aereth; albeit through less scrupulous means. Shelves also lined the bedroom walls containing some of the finest obsidian and marble bust from the 3rd and 4th Age; timeless collectibles to the aficionado with the right eye. 

Although he hadn't truly 'earned' a single one, they were his pride and joy.
 
---

The young benefactor strolled down the wide hallway that led to the kitchen with leisure and calmness, appreciating that many of castle's denizens were out on business. This way, they wouldn't harass him as they usually did; perhaps he'd actually feel comfortable in his own home for once. 

Many of the marauder company's members were big-league monster hunters and swords-for-hire, each a champion in some way or another, but to Auron? They were merely cockheads with a limited propensity for logic and reason. Perhaps to an outsider, the belittlement that he endured daily wouldn't have made much sense, as, despite the disrespect he garnered at home, Auron wasn't a weak man in the slightest. 

In fact, most commoners from civilized lands would've considered him a prime specimen. He was a dashing rogue when it came to aesthetics and for a human was exceptionally athletic, muscular, and tall, standing at nearly 6'3" and weighing roughly 195lbs of lean muscle. 

Sadly, such attributes meant little to the members of the Black Wolves, as nearly half of their ranks were quite literally monsters; ranging from Lizardfolks to Trollkin and the like. Such beast-races were gifted with incredible strength and stamina to make up for what they lacked intellectually. To them, he was little more than Galgar's runt, though they'd never say it to his father's face. 

Auron was used to it by this point, simply grateful to have much of the fortress to himself for a week or two. He suddenly froze, as if struck by a ray of confusion. There was something about today he was forgetting…then it came to him. 

It was his 20th birthday! "Huh, what do you know?" He said aloud, his voice echoing down the empty wide hallway. To be fair, the days and weeks mostly blended together in such a place as this. Plus, he had never truly had a 'real' birthday. It was challenging to maintain a childhood or enjoy such frivolous events when Happy Birthday is sung to you by weeping captives and bed wenches. 

No, today would be another quiet day in the keep, enjoying fine art and the rare serenity of an almost empty estate. Perhaps this year would finally be the year he left and began his career as a dealer of the fine arts? 

Auron considered himself a collector and had amassed a vast wealth of knowledge concerning art history from the pieces that he had collected over the years. From Va'Gio to Demeter, he had critiqued some of the most exquisite pieces.

He gave it a thought, scrounging about the overstocked kitchen for food, maybe next year. As he retrieved a sweet roll from the pantry he felt a faint tap on his shoulder. Puzzled, the birthday boy quickly spun around to get a better look at the stranger. It was a maid, a new slave most likely, trembling beneath her freshly pressed uniform. 

Father was a chauvinist and, as such, enjoyed to watch a scantily clad maid girl from time to time. Slivery blonde hair loosely hung from her white frill headpiece, as if they just pulled the outfit over her head and said, "Get to work." She was short and had to cock her head back to make eye contact with him, and he could see right down exposed cleavage.

"Oh, a lucky one," Auron chimed as he examined the poor lass. She was a half-elf from the Central Plains he presumed, her lily-white skin being the dead giveaway. By the looks of it, she was also barely of age, probably haven taken up adventuring as a 'fun' thing to do or to spite some overbearing parents. Unfortunately for her, sometimes the heroes lose the fight, or in Auron's experience, often. 

The pretty little thing may have been a headstrong adventurer at some point, but now all he could see was panic in her beautiful green eyes. 

"A-A lucky one?" She shakily replied. 

"Don't worry about it", he assured her quickly. This maid was indeed a lucky one, as many of the men and women were taken captive by the Black Wolf Marauder Company endured all kinds of torture and violation. Perhaps the existing maids had complained one too many times to Wolf Lord about being overworked, and she'd been spared; oh how Galgar did disdain their nagging. 

Almost all the castle's servants were prisoners from some battle or another, as finding willing recruits wasn't a choice for such an organization as this one. Auron gave a final lingering look, not that there was much to look at. Just a petite pair of legs shaking in thin black stockings. Only time would tell how she'd fill out. 

"The Lord Commander wishes to see you", she almost whispered while looking back down at the floor, "H-He said you would be the only one in a nightgown." 

"Night 'robe'," Auron corrected, slightly annoyed by his father's mischievous digs. 


The maid blushed, "He said he'd be in the solar." Auron placed his hands on the cabinet doors, "Shit, just tell him I'll be there shortly." A meeting in the solar never boded well. Almost always lousy news or news that his father thought was good but was, in reality, terrible news. 

He gave a sympathetic look as he fastened his night robes, "Chin up, uh, what's your name?" 

The maid sniveled but tried to wipe the snot away, "Cassandra." 

"Right, Cassandra, you got a pretty sweet gig here, bar the whole slavery aspect, and the brigands around here don't really mess with staff too much; in fact, that's one of the only rules around here." 

She was slightly relieved but then asked, "What of my friends? I think two of my shield sisters-." 

He stopped her right there, "Oh, they're fucked." He had seen and heard it a hundred times already. The pleading, the sad list of questions, why string her along? 

"Sorry, but whatever happens to them is going to be really terrible, just pray it's fast for their sake. Ok, doll?" Auron gave the short maid a farewell pat on the shoulder before leaving with the sweet roll in his mouth. 

As he walked away, he could hear Cassandra begin to quietly sob in the lavish larder.
 
~
 
The castle's solar was quite large in most respects. An obsidian fireplace sat at its forefront accompanied by grand portraits of the castle's previous leaders, which adorned its foreboding walls. 

It served as a quiet resting place for the lord and his most esteemed guests, but most importantly, it had become Galgar's personal winery of sorts. 

Despite his reputation as the leader of the Marauders, he was a man of wealth and taste, taste that many of his subordinates didn't share. Galgar was currently indulging himself in a cup of Tankiri wine, distilled by the Void Elves of an Age's past; it was a special occasion after all. 

Magical white flames quietly danced in the fireplace before him, and as he watched, the silent display grew quite somber for a moment. This was one of the few rooms on his property where he could feel human again. The massive yew door leading in creaked open, breaking the silence. 

"Come in lad," Galgar spoke without even turning his head. His son entered the room slowly and gazed upon the crystal clear flames. He could only see the silhouette of the two high chairs and a small table, drinks already poured for two. 

His father never celebrated his birthday, nine hells, he had only been around for six of them. Perhaps he was too hard on the old man, as he had indeed given him a life of leisure free of charge, all the while fighting and putting his life on the line for their family; his temper was merely in his blood. Maybe, just maybe, Galgar had remembered his son's birthday this year. With a sigh, Auron approached.
 
To say that the Wolf Lord was a large man would be a gross understatement, standing at almost 6'7" with a deity's physique was virtually unseen for a human. That wasn't to say, he was the largest member of his company by any means, but his size, combined with his innate ferocity, did demand respect. Medium length hair was tucked into a small bun, and his age was ever more apparent as silver strands visibly accented the maroon on his head; also sprinkled throughout his beard. There was a white eyepatch covering his left eye, with a jagged scar peeking past it. 

As the younger Reth sat down, he noticed that his father was also wearing a black robe of sorts, except his was even more exquisite; hypocrite. 
 
 The two sat in silence for a moment before Galgar let out a disheartened sigh and spoke, "Son, your mother, Gods rest her whore's soul, was much too soft on you as a lad." 

He handed Auron the other goblet of Tankiri wine. Dumbfounded by the remark but not surprised, Auron took the cup, "Well, good morning to you too." 

His father continued, "You and I both know it's true, lad… and If we're both being honest, she only stunted your growth by filling your head with childish aspirations and notions of a peaceful life." 

"Stop," Auron cut him off abruptly, "did you prepare this speech, or are we going to really talk?" His father's cold nature was nothing new, but if he was just going to hear a speech, he wanted to know now. 

"My apologies," The Wolf Lord didn't have too much experience being a good father. "How was your morning?" 

Auron was curt, "awful." 

"Great," Galgar continued carelessly. He set a scarred hand on his son's shoulder before speaking again, "You have the madness of generations in your blood boy! Of murderous despots and frenzied warlords, and I know that you desire to squander it on what?" He paused before resuming, "Seriously, what was it again?" 

Auron mumbled, "To be an art dealer." It was true, he did have dreams of collecting and selling art throughout the known realms; his father had noticed something at least. 

Galgar bellowed, "By the Great Wolf's blood exactly! An art dealer, you know I can't let that happen, boy! The Gods have blessed you with the heritage of tyrants, just think of them when you pursue such plebian hobbies." 

He tried to get his son to see his point of view. "Look up our forefathers, son, to the very beginning of our lineage," he pointed to a faded painting that hung high above the fireplace's mantle. "Agar the Dreadful, first to be afflicted by-. " 

Auron rolled his eyes and mimicked his father as they spoke in unison, "Gorgorion the First Lycan." 

"Exactly! And while some pesky hero slew your ancestor and deprived us of our lycanthropic blessing, the madness that afflicted him still runs in our veins!" 

The Wolf Lord was visibly excited, as such knowledge regarding his progenitors brought him a great deal of joy. "If I were to let you go and pursue your childish dreams, your ancestors would rise from the crypts below and gore us both! I mean it!" 

Galgar stood up from his chair and brushed his lap casually, "So, I need you to leave." His expression was very matter-of-fact, "Today." 

The young Reth's embarrassment turned into disbelief as he scanned his father's face, waiting for the punchline to such an awful joke. He let out a nervous chuckle, "W-What?" 
 
"You heard me, boy. By the Gods, I love you, but today is the wonderous day you go out and finally make something of yourself." He picked up his goblet and collected himself, "When I was your age I had already slain my share of adventurers, hunted my first dire werewolf, and was courting damsels such as your mother from here to The Western Dunes of Shabai!" 

Galgar took a long sip of the fine wine, "Gods rest her whore's soul." There was an awkward silence for a moment, father and son glancing around the dimly lit solar, both patiently waiting for the other to speak. "So, what are we waiting for, let's get you ready."
 
~
 
Auron had never been fitted for armor before, but luckily his father had planned this day for a long time, and under cover of the night had several maids gather the boy's dimensions; Galgar was a devilish one indeed. 

He would provide everything his boy needed: deeming that armor, a blade, and a mission alone would suffice. Provisions such as food or extra clothing were for cowards after all! The breastplate of armor was steel drake's scale, sturdy and flexible, but nothing too fancy. The blade Asmarii steel, reliable quality from some unnamed blacksmith. Auron believed this, but in all honesty, the Wolf Lord had pulled it off some fallen knight, slain in another failed raid. It had a sharp edge, and he hoped the boy would make it his own in time. Finally, a mission. Auron Reth, bearer of Agar's legacy, was now exiled until he had made a name for himself or brought infamy to the name of his forefathers.

The Wolf Lord escorted his son to the castle's perimeter, two large and familiar banners out front blew in the wind, bearing the guild's insignia embroidered onto them: A bloodied dire wolf's head. 

"Today is a good day," Galgar gave a hearty smile as he scanned the tree line that bordered his fortress. Auron was not so amused, as only a deep and crushing anxiety filled him now. 

This was his home, a home that he had never left in his life, and now he was expected to brave the harsh wilds of the world alone? In his eyes it was little more than a cruel death sentence, dealt by his own father at that; not surprising for a Reth. 

"You probably think I'm sick, don't you, lad?" The Wolf Lord grew solemn for a moment, "Your own blood sending you into the cruel wilds." The young man faced his father the Lord Commander, matching his gaze, did he plan on giving words of encouragement or inspiration? Not likely, yet Auron had to maintain some semblance of hope, that his father did indeed have a heart deep down. 

Galgar gave his son a mighty slap on the back, sending the young man sprawling into the earthen soil. 

"Well I am!" He laughed deeply and naturally as he began his walk back to the castle in his robe and slippers, not wasting a moment to glance over his shoulder, "Good luck, boy!" With that he was gone, and Auron Reth was officially in exile. 
 
Recovering his breath, the disheveled young man stood upright, dusting his armor off as he spun about for direction. What now? He looked out into the field before him, caked in blood and gore, pyres still burning with cinders and ashes. It was a cold and cruel world, and now he was a part of it.

