“The undead have advanced further north, the plague has taken down entire villages now.” The king shook his head as he informed his council. Bela sat back, a golden goblet of wine in her hands. She was the only woman at the small round table. She had more than earned her place among the men, but it hadn’t been easy. Now she was the envy of most and viewed as a leader, it was something Belamica was extremely proud of. “If you pulled your men off of the post as Northruck and Bluff’s View, then they could make sure the city would be safe until our men arrived.” They all knew what city Bela was speaking about, it had to be one of the largest beside the stronghold the king maintained. If they were overrun with the plague, the kingdom wouldn’t survive through the winter. “Those men are deserters. They haven’t sent tell in weeks of current conditions, no doubt off in some whorehouse.” Brolin spoke, a burly, hairy beast of a man next to her. His tankard alone was the length of half of Bela’s arm, and he was well into it. Her body still ached from the fight just a week before. They had made songs about it, singing of the heroic beauty who brought down the darkness. She’d happened into a tavern and without a word from her lips was treated to round after round of drink. The men and women both sung of her new triumphs and it made Belamica uncomfortable. She didn’t want notoriety, she just wanted to avenge the light and bring glory to her heavenly father. “Send tell to them, if we do not hear back in a week’s time, we’ll send scouts to find them. Be it at their posts or some whorehouse.” The King gave a hearty chuckle and the men around the table joined in. As the guard filed out, they parted ways for the night. It would be an early morning of drills, and Bela needed sleep. But even as she prepared for bed, a pit of dread welled in her stomach. Something wasn’t right, but the elf couldn’t put her finger on it. She didn’t hear the sound of footsteps in her dark room, and by the time the cloth slid over her mouth and nose, the woman couldn’t seem to struggle. A dark figure held the warrior fast as she fell into his arms, within moments a second shadowed figure appeared. Without incident they carried Belamica from the castle, her lifeless form slung over the shoulder of one of the men. She couldn’t remember anything, that is until the pain began. It felt as if someone was using her stomach as a punching bag. Slowly, the elf came around, her wrists bound above her and her feet barely touching an obsidian stone floor. “Ahh, finally…I thought perhaps I would have to kill you for you to rouse from your slumber.” Bela squinted into the darkness but found it did nothing for her vision, the voice didn’t even sound faintly familiar. “You are to blame for the countless deaths of my minions, what have you to say?” An icy shot of fear slammed into her heart. For years they had been searching for the Necromancer responsible for unleashing the undead, he had no name, simply known in history as ‘The Dark Father’. He represented the very thing that Bela fought against, and he had her in the palm of his hand. Bela did her best to pull at the chains holding her, but she did nothing but bruise her wrists. “Kill me, demon spawn, I will never give you the satisfaction of breaking me. FOR THE LIGHT FILLS ME!” She bellowed, pushing past her fear. Belamica knew without a doubt, she would die this night.