"You ask what a monster is…"
The voice was a low, resonant rumble, a profound question dropped into the vast, echoing silence of the tent. The air hung thick with the scent of aged paper and beeswax candles, their small flames the only witnesses to the monologue.
"Is it a terrifying beast, a creature of nightmare with impossible powers? Yes, in the folklore and myths that haunt our sleep, it absolutely is. It's the dragon's roar, the vampire's kiss, the shadowy thing under the bed, pure, unadulterated, external terror."
"These monsters are easy to fight, in a way, because they are clearly not us. We can point a torch or wield a silver sword and declare the battle begun…"
Lucan, barely nineteen, leaned forward over the massive campaign table, his eyes, the deep, unsettling violet of amethyst, fixed on the worn pages of the book before him.
The Monster That Lurks Within.
Heavy, bruised bags shadowed his striking features, the mark of long, sleepless nights spent reading after crushing rebellions.
"But you hint at the more chilling truth, the monster, perhaps, is all beings."
He looked up, scanning the enormous, empty room. His dark dusty blonde hair, swept back from his brow in rough, uneven layers, did little to soften the sharp angles of his face. His ears, distinctly pointed, betrayed the subtle, unwanted grace of his Elven blood mixed with a harsher, unknown lineage.
"The true horror, the one that makes our blood run cold, is the realization that the capacity for monstrosity resides not in scaled hide, but in the very core of what it means to be alive. We are the only creatures who build cathedrals to peace and, in the next breath, engineer systems of unimaginable cruelty."
"A beast with claws merely follows instinct; we, with our consciousness and free will, choose to create systems of pain."
He stood, a sudden, commanding height of six feet six inches, his wiry frame built for the brutal quickness of a fighter. Dressed simply in black trousers, black boots, and a stark white button up shirt, he carried the unnatural gravity of a man twice his age.
"The most terrifying beast of all is the one that looks back at us from the mirror, the one capable of empathy who yet chooses destruction."
Lucan took the heavy book, its final sentence echoing in the stillness, and slipped it into the sack beside a cot. His head whipped around, violet eyes settling on the two figures waiting at the far end of the table.
There sat Lord Vadask, a man swollen with excess, his face slick with sweat despite the hour. He was dressed in robes so richly embroidered they seemed to mock the recent starvation of his subjects.
Directly behind the Lord stood his personal guard, a massive man roughly the same towering size as Lucan, encased head to toe in full metal plate, a colossal hammer resting against his back like an afterthought. Lucan's gaze lingered on them both, assessing the fat man's arrogance and the heavy man's readiness.
"Tell me, Lord Vadask," Lucan said, his voice dropping to a low challenge as he watched the lord sip delicately from a silver cup.
"Do you know what a monster is? Is it a great big beast that thirsts for blood? Is it a spectral being hiding in the dark? Or is it a man who slaughters his own people for control?"
Lord Vadask flinched slightly at the pointed question, his expression shifting from boredom to guarded disdain. "This has no relevance to our arrangement, Mr. Thalor," he replied, his voice laced with the condescension of old wealth.
"Lord Thalor," Lucan corrected, the title a cold, brittle assertion.
Vadask let out a dismissive scoff that barely moved the chins resting on his collar. "A bastard is no lord. Your relation to a man of high standing does not secure you recognition."
Lucan took a slow step forward, his shadow engulfing the space between them. "You forget yourself, fat man. If not for me and the Black Tide, your own people would have strung you up by your small chode before the week was out." His violet eyes were sharp, unforgiving.
"You insolent-" Lord Vadask began, his face bulging with offended rage.
Lucan's voice cut across him like a knife edge. "Shut up. As it stands, your forces number barely a thousand after the rebellion. The Black Tide stands at double your men and we occupy your walls. You will pay my family what you owe, ten gold."
Vadask looked truly appalled, his cup clattering against the table as he hauled himself clumsily to his feet. He barely gained any height. "Ten gold!" he shrieked.
"You said six!"
"The contract included a revised hazard fee for your unique level of incompetence, Lord Vadask. Until you pay, we hold your city."
"You little bastard, you are a mistake! I will not pay you at all! Tell your lord that his bastard son can go-"
Lucan snapped his fingers.
Shlick!
Behind Lord Vadask, a gold, twelve inch dagger, its pommel intricately carved with a snake design, appeared across the throat of the heavy plated guard. Blood instantly spluttered from the guard's neck.
A heavy, gauntleted hand clutched uselessly at the wound, choking sounds vibrating through the thick metal of the helmet before the massive body toppled over the table with a crash that rattled the candle flames.
Lord Vadask stared, breath catching, at his fallen captain. Standing over the body, cloaked in a black hood and black leather armor, was the assassin. He was already cleaning the gilded blade.
"The fat lord's men outside have been subdued, My Lord. Your orders," the hooded man, Copperhead, stated, his voice a dry whisper.
Vadask collapsed backward onto his expensive robes, a whimpering heap on the tent floor.
"Good work, Copperhead," Lucan said, his gaze shifting back to the terrified Highlord. "Tie those men up, leave them in the cages." He gave Vadask a large, unsettling smile.
"Lord Vadask, why the long face? Let's take a walk back to the city. While we're at it, show me your treasury!"
He turned toward his armor hanging on a stand. "Copperhead, gather the forces. We are taking the city."
"Yes, My Lord," Copperhead said, melting away behind the flaps of the tent.
"All you had to do was pay us, Vadask," Lucan murmured, fastening the straps to his chest plate. "This wouldn't have happened."
"The Council will hear about this, Lucan."
"What do you mean?" Lucan asked, pulling his chest plate into place. "It was in the contract you signed." He completed the initial strapping of his half plate, the process second nature.
"Roland!" he yelled.
Large, heavy footsteps entered the tent. Roland was a brute of a man, his black hair and beard framing a scarred jaw and keen green eyes. He wore heavy black plate with a purple sash indicating a leadership position.
"Yes, My Lord!"
"Gather some men and tie up fat man over here," Lucan instructed, finishing the final buckle on his breastplate.
"Yes, Lord."
"Good man, Roland, now take the fat man." Lucan watched Roland approach Vadask and drag the lord away as he finished donning his armor.
His upper body was now wrapped in layered, segmented plate that fit closely to the torso, each piece overlapping like armored scales to allow movement without sacrificing defense the suit strongly resembling the coiled body of a snake.
The shoulders and arms were fully armored with articulated plates that bent naturally, giving him a sleek but intimidating silhouette. Beneath the plates, a ragged skirt of torn black fabric hung unevenly, revealing flashes of chainmail underneath that shimmered faintly through the frayed gaps, underscoring the many battles this armor had endured.
Lucan took his helmet from the table beside him.
It was a full, faceless metal helm with a dark, worn finish and a sharp central ridge running from crown to brow. The lower edges flared slightly around the jaw and neck, with layered plates that further reinforced the image of armored scales.
Scarred and weathered, it completed his transformation from a philosophical half elf to the Viper of the Riverholds.
And the Viper had a city to loot.