Igvild was still chortling to himself as we crossed a busy street and started walking down a residential area. We were moving away from the northwestern, river side of Bruhle and towards the middle of the horseshoe which curved to the southeast. Here, the buildings became larger and more impressive looking. There was a tiered system to the streets here, with each subsequent street being higher in elevation than the one below it as the street twisted like a snake back and forth climbing in elevation until it eventually reached the highest buildings in Bruhle.

  Igvild had once again donned his floppy hat and he mimicked my own look of covering his lower face so that one could only see his large nose and darting eyes.

  “What building is that way up there?” I asked, pointing at the large, white building that I remembered seeing when first laying eyes upon Bruhle. It had been center-back of the horseshoe.

  “Temple of the Eye,” Igvild said, stopping to look up at it as well. “Acolytes and their ilk. You find ‘em in every big city, although that one there is nicer than most since it was built by my people.” I nodded and looked at him. His voice had grown quiet when he made mention of his people.

  “Igvild, why do people not seem to like Dwarves that much? I also haven’t seen any at all in Bruhle, but there’s every other sort of race around.” Igvild ruminated on the question a bit before answering.

  “It is because Dwarves are Isolationists. We keep to ourselves. Our own Strongholds are hidden deep within the mountains and are forbidden to outsiders. Dwarven Traders are very particular about whom they trade with and where they go, because we don’t really need anything from any of the other races, or so the Elders of the Clans like to believe.” Now Davros heard anger in his friend’s voice and Igvild squeezed his fists so hard Davros heard the dwarf’s knuckles crack. The Dwarf turned to look Davros straight in the eye.

  “Dwarves ain’t friends with other races. We ain’t even friends with each other most of the time.” I didn’t know what that meant, but I could see that Igvild was looking more and more depressed with each word he uttered. I gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “But you and I are friends, aren’t we?” Igvild looked up at me and he seemed to wrestle with something inside himself. He shifted from foot to foot and rubbed his nose.

  “Aye lad. We are. That ain’t no small thing to me neither.” I lowered my face scarf and smiled.

  “I didn’t really have friends at the Orphanage. I’m glad I met you, Anya and Valka.” I made a fist. “I’m going to keep getting stronger so we can win through more Dungeons for the Graf. If we do well, we’ll get more rewards and we won’t have to go hungry or worry about anything ever again.” I took a step back startled when Igvild burst out laughing.

  “Ha, lad! That’s one ‘o the reason I like ye! So naive! Ah, but yer the most sincere Human I’ve ever met.” Igvild patted me on the arm when he saw my flabbergasted expression and he got his laughter under control.

  “That’s actually something else I wanted to talk to ya about.” He beckoned me closer and put a finger in my chest. “You know we’re Awakened right? Do you even know what that means? Bloody Awakened! You’ve a rare class that packs a punch too. Do you really want to tie yourself down in some backwater country like Czakovey serving a Nob Nutter like the Graf von Kohlburg?”

  “Nob Nutter?” I asked. I felt confused over what Igvild was saying about the man who had showed genuine interest in my skills enough to spend a hefty sum of gold to acquire them. “What do you mean?”

  “Lad, listen to me.” Igvild waved me forward and he looked around. I did too, but we were the only ones this side of the street standing in front of two well manicured bushes in front of some blue stone townhouses. “He’s nuts, that Nob we’re working for. Ye can see it in his eyes. Now, don’t get me wrong. He’s got a good chance of pulling off this coup of his. He’s got you, me and that Brute General of his…,” I didn’t miss his smirk when he put emphasis on the word ‘General’, “…but honestly, who cares? This sort of thing happens everywhere and constantly. Succession battles, land disputes, religious nuttery and so forth. Whether he winds up winning or gets himself and all his men annihilated it’s just another season in the Withered Lands.”

  “Okay,” I said, neither agreeing or disagreeing. “Why is the Graf nuts, as you say? He gives us food and a place where we belong, doesn’t he?” Igvild shook his head.

  “I think one part of it is getting thrown over by his own Sister for his half-brother. He loves to go off on rants about how weak Friederich is and how he’ll make his Sister regret betraying him, even when he’s alone in his tent.”

  “Have you been spying on him?” I asked.

  “Of course! I like to know who I’m working for…and where they keep their valuables if I need to get away quickly.” Igvild winked. “The other part is that sword he keeps. That weapon is an ancient blade made by my people during the Age of Heroes. It’s cursed.”

  My eyes widened. “How is it cursed? Is the magic in it bad?” Igvild snorted.

  “Blades like that were given out as traps. Oh, it has some interesting enchantments, but woven in between them is a subtle Rune of Confusion that one would easily miss if you didn’t know where to look for it. The rune turns its wielder into a gibbering idiot over a period of time unless you have a high enough Will to resist it.”

  “So the same sword that belonged to his father and that his brother wants is actually driving the Graf crazy? Shouldn’t we tell someone about it? Maybe Valka could…” Igvild was shaking his head, frowning.

  “He’ll never believe us. Plus, the sword already has hold of him. In all likelihood if you look back through his family tree there are multiple instances of Grafs losing their minds, but they probably view it as a disease of the Blood. If they haven’t kept it a secret, that is. Torlack likely suspects something, but that Brute is all in on that lad and is probably just using him for position or money or whatever land he has been promised. Don’t forget that he’s half an Orc and they are the trash and the doom of this world.”

  I let out a breath and nodded. I didn’t want to upset the Graf, whether he was truly going to lose his mind or not. I rubbed my chin and Igvild sighed and tossed his empty bottle into a well manicured bush behind him.

  “We’re fine for now and I did agree to open a locked door nobody else can apparently open when we finally get to Bludgard. Still…” Igvild fixed me with a stern gaze. “If it all goes to Hell you and I will need to run. It’s a great big world out there and even if it is mostly full of terrible monsters, dungeons and stuck up Nobs two Awakened can do very well for themselves as long as they keep a low profile. Ye ken?” Igvild grinned and I suddenly realized what it was about my friend that had changed and which I just now realized.

  “How come you’re talking different? Your accent is different too!” Igvild laughed.

  “You really need to get that curse lifted from your Focus. It is ruining your ability to pick up on all the little things going on around you too. I was wondering when you’d notice! C’mon.” Igvild started walking again. From time to time he would point out certain landmarks and mostly remarked upon the architecture and I learned to my amazement that Igvild had been in Bruhle once before 50 years earlier. It made me curious as to how old the dwarf was, but he was coy about it. Only saying that he was older than he looked. I couldn’t tell how old he was by looking at him either!

  “One thing I will warn you about lad is that the Graf is doing us one particular favor, especially for you. Awakened with Classes like yours have to be Level Blocked to not advance beyond Level 19 into the Advanced Ranks and you don’t have one yet. Eventually, one of the religious nutters is going to notice that and make a stink about it. The Blinking Eye ceremony happens in a few days. Marfa’s Eye is shutting while Imbolc’s Eye is opening. The Acolytes of Imbolc are the ones who preach loudest that all Awakened should be rounded up and permanently locked with Manastop bracelets!”

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  I was about to ask Igvild more about that, but at that moment we turned onto a main thoroughfare and we were surrounded by crowds once more. I had to dodge out of the way of a large Beastkin who appeared human, but had the ears of a wolf and fangs to boot. I tried not to gawk as I quickly gave way to him and several others who were walking the other way. Igvild navigated the streets like an expert and were it not for him guiding me I would have surely been swept away like a leaf caught in a water flow.

  “Refugees from further East everywhere!” Igvild barked at me from over his shoulder.

  “Yes, I heard about that. Orcs.” I answered him.

  “Scum o’ the Withered Lands!” Igvild growled and he turned another corner and I ran to catch up. “I’ll show you!”

  The alleyway he led me to was nearly as crowded as the main street, but this time it wasn’t filled with people moving to and fro, but rather groups of different people huddling under makeshift lean-tos or crowding into whatever crawl space they could find. Igvild indicated them all with a wave of his hand.

  “All Orcs know how to do is consume and destroy. They create nothing but chaos, misery and wrath. Every generation it’s the same thing over and over again. A new Chieftain brings the separate clans together and drives them West to burn everything in their path and what do the Nobs do? Nothing, because fielding armies costs money and they’re only peasants. It’s only when the big cities and Nob properties are targeted that they act.”

  I looked around at the people in the alleyway. Some looked at me curiously and I checked to make sure my scarf was still covering my face. Others wore expressions of despair and hopelessness. It was like I was back in the Orphanage. These people had lost everything and didn’t know what they were supposed to do next. Madame Fevre would have said their punishments were likely deserved as nobody was ever truly innocent, but when I saw another Beastkin mother clutching desperately at three children who had ears and eyes like cats I felt nothing but sympathy for them.

  “I wish I could help them,” I said softly. “I want to help them.”

  “Hmph. You’re better than most then. It’s why we’re getting that curse removed from you now. It’s the only way you’re going to become as strong as you can be.”

  At the end of the alley Igvild came to a stop before a door that looked as if it was being held up by the will of the Eye alone. It had been painted red once, but was rotted, chipped and scrawled over with different symbols that hurt my eyes to look upon them. The door swung open at our approach.

  “Good, you’re here.” Lieutenant Anya stood framed in the doorway. She looked down at Igvild. “I thought you were bringing him straight here? I’ve been here almost two hours!” Igvild only shrugged his shoulders in reply and Anya sighed. Her face looked wan and there was a tenseness about her that made me stop short before coming any closer. She saw my reaction and forced a smile onto her face.

  “Things are moving quicker than General Torlack anticipated. Valka is still talking to the Burgomeister, but there is also an envoy from Friederich who is causing some…difficulties.” She looked over my shoulder back down the alleyway then to me again.

  “We’ll discuss it after our business here is concluded. For now, just come in and let Booshka Krait have a look at you. She should be able to remove the curse.”

  I followed Anya and Igvild inside, the door swinging shut behind me with a bang that made me jump. The interior of this…hut? Hovel? Whatever it was, it was hard to see and there were items stacked on shelves everywhere floor to ceiling. Was I in some antique shop? Some of this stuff looked old and was covered in dust and cobwebs. There was also a strange scent that reminded me somewhat of Madame Fevre’s office. Pungent like incense, but it couldn’t quite eliminate the hint of the stink of the alleyways outside.

  “Well, bring him forward. I don’t have all day!” A voice croaked from somewhere ahead in the shadows. A chill ran up my spine to hear it. There was something wrong about that voice and I felt a deep sense of foreboding settle over me. Where had Igvild and Lieutenant Anya brought me?

  It wasn’t just the voice that was wrong either. There was something wrong with the hovel too. It was far bigger than it should have been. Out in the alley, one only saw a small hut with an old red door squatting at the end of a dead end alleyway. The walls of the buildings it rested between had almost seemed to be helping it stay up. One could estimate to fit three or four people inside total. The interior was larger than some taverns. This was magic.

  “Sit down here. In front of me here. Ah, yes I can smell Imbolc’s Fire in you, boy. Ash and smoke!” Igvild, Anya and I each took a seat from amongst the ring of chairs surrounding a fire pit burned down to embers. I sensed something different about the lingering flames that remained hidden in its ashes. I felt that if I reached out to them, rather than accept me, they would recoil instead.

  The chairs were remarkably comfortable. High backed and made of some leather. I sank down into mine, as did Anya. There was even a chair sized for a dwarf and Igvild was able to sit in it comfortably with both feet on the floor. It was the smallish creature seated in an extra large chair across from me that captured my full attention.

  It was an old woman. At least, I think it was a woman? Beastkin, but a frog? A Salamander? She was wrapped in dark robes head to toe, but I could see the thin blue veins running through the parts of her pale, white body exposed upon her face and hands. The irises of her eyes glowed a bright green and they stared at me intently from across the fire pit. One eye squinting, the other wide and staring.

  “So, a new Pyromancer, eh? And none of the Eye Seekers have put the Level Block on you yet?” There was a series of croaks that I realized was laughter and I swallowed. Lieutenant Anya then spoke up.

  “Booshka Krait, this is Davros whom I was telling you about. He is an Awakened that Graf von Kohlblud purchased from…”

  “Can he not speak for himself, Sylvan Blood?” Booshka Krait’s strange eyes fixed on Lieutenant Anya who sat up stiffly in her chair, but she did not speak again. I felt confused by everything that was happening so I said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Who are you?” Booshka Krait smiled, revealing rows of broken teeth. Not a frog. Frogs don’t have teeth. I don’t remember which boy at the Orphanage had told me that, but it flew into my mind in an instant.

  “I am Booshka Krait. Like you, I am an Awakened. One of the few who have settled permanently in this city. I have been dwelling in the alleyways of Bruhle for a very long time aiding those I take an interest in like I once did for your poor, exiled friend there…” she indicated Igvild with a twitch of her head, “…and the elf-blood who dreams of the sea over here…” she nodded at Lieutenant Anya. “I have agreed, for payment of course, to consider aiding you, little flame. First, remove that hood and scarf, no need to be shy.”

  I hesitated for a moment, then pulled down the scarf and cast back my hood. Booshka Krait’s leaned forward, her interest obvious as she gazed at my face.

  “My oh my! A Fleshmancer has been at you, haven’t they? One wonders what enemies have you made?” She must have seen my confusion, because she croaked out another laugh. “You are not here for a Flesh Molding potion for that unfortunate face? Good. The ingredients are difficult to nearly impossible to get.” Lieutenant Anya sighed.

  “As I already informed you earlier, Davros bares a Curse that is debuffing his Focus attribute so that he is unable to increase it. We would like you to remove it.”

  “Why? Those that lack focus get to enjoy the bliss of ignorance. You can be our next Burgomeister! Better yet, become an Acolyte of the Eye. They actively promote ignorance!” There was more croaking laughter while the rest of us glanced at each other. Igvild looked like he wanted to be anywhere else right then and Anya looked as if she had just bitten into a lemon. I decided to speak up.

  “Can you remove the curse? I don’t want to be ignorant of anything. Madame Fevre always said I was slow, but she said that to everyone. I don’t want to fail my friends the next time we go into a dungeon either. I want to get stronger and help the refugees.” Booshka Krait’s laughter cut off abruptly. Her eyes seemed to glow even brighter and suddenly she was out of her chair and standing before me. Booshka Krait was short and even sitting down I was eye to eye with her.

  “You want to help the refugees? Even if most of them are Beastkin and demi-humans? How very unhuman-like of you.” She reached out with a white, veiny paw and touched the side of my cheek and traced it upwards to where the crack in my skull was. Her hand hesitated when she found it. “The Curse of Abu-Sai Ashgur? Did you piss off a Wrath Demon too? You are an interesting one,” Booshka Krait said softly. This close to me, the scent of incense was stronger. It made me feel woozy and I blinked, rubbing my eyes.

  “I suppose I could do something, but my fee has changed.” She was back in her chair after I finished rubbing my eyes. How did she move so fast? I could still feel the chill of her hand on my cheek. I had thought feeling cold a problem consigned to the past and it was like being visited by an old nightmare. Whatever she wanted I hoped it didn’t involve her touching me anymore.

  “A fee was already agreed upon,” Anya protested. “A rare item we obtained from the Bleakthorn Holler Dungeon is more than adequate for removing a curse!”

  “If the Curse of Abu-Sai Ashgur were a normal curse I would agree with you.” The little woman produced a thick book from thin air and with a word it began to float in the air before her. None of the others seemed affected by this display of magic, but I gawked at it. As a Pyromancer my focus would always be the power of flames, but I was not limited to only that. There was so much more to magic and so many possibilities. I hoped to explore them all someday.

  “By that look on your face young man you really haven’t gone far beyond your own homestead, have you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Madame?” I said.

  “Madame? Ha! Madame Krait. Yes, I should have people start calling me that. A little bit of respect for a poor, old Beastkin like me, yes?”

  “Madame Fevre always demanded respect, er…Madame Krait,” I answered. The book floated aside and Booshka Krait, or rather Madame Krait, was smiling a wide frog-like smile.”

  “You are growing on me, young Davros. Sincerity in a Human! What next? Empathy in Orcs? Now listen carefully! You can keep your dungeon item. Save it for your foolish Graf. Instead, I propose this. I will remove the curse and in return you will enter the Forsaken Garden solo dungeon and recover for me the Silveron Seed. With your affinity for fire you should be able to handle it without any trouble.” Both Anya and Igvild leapt to their feet.

  “No! You would be sending him to his death!” Anya spat. Igvild glared daggers at the old Beastkin.

  “With all due respect, o’ wise Madame, Davros would ‘av to be at least Level 7 or higher to enter that dungeon.” Booshka Krait waved a hand dismissively.

  “Then he need not do it until he is Level 7. As he is already Level 5, I would imagine it won’t be long before he is an appropriate level of power to conquer it and with the curse removed he should have no issues.”

  Anya and Igvild both looked at one another uncertainly then Anya spoke.

  “The decision is yours, Davros. None of us will be able to aid you within a solo dungeon. The Forsaken Garden is a dungeon that has taken the lives of many adventurers.” Anya whispered.

  I rubbed my chin and stared at Booshka Krait. She stared back impassively. What did I want to do? I wanted to get stronger, it was as simple as that in my mind. What better way to do so than to explore more dungeons?

  “I take it that a solo dungeon is just that? I enter and have to defeat everything inside it by myself?” I asked. Anya nodded.

  “The dungeon is located in the oldest part of Bruhle, which is near the southern most tip of the horseshoe. A bad part of the city, to be clear. A disgraced nobleman’s private garden, it was the site of dark experiments over 200 years ago. A Dungeon Core formed there and it became a Dungeon. It is filled with twisted creatures and plant monstrosities.” A look of understanding flashed across Anya’s face and she looked over to Boosha Krait who nodded in response to Anya’s unspoken question.

  “With his Fire magic, Davros has an excellent chance of conquering the dungeon and bringing me the item I desire. Not only that, but I would imagine he would be able to safely bring out many other powerful items.”

  “I will enter the Dungeon,” I stated firmly, my mind made up. Anya sighed in acceptance, Igvild held my gaze and nodded once while Booshka Krait cackled and clapped her hands.

  “Good. Good! Now that we have that out of the way, let’s remove that little Curse, shall we?”