Chapter 1-2: Kalstra

Kalstra’s carriage bumped along the dirt pathways of the Outer Ring, making haste towards the South Gate of the Capital. They were in a rush, not only because Kalstra was excited to make his offerings to the Duke d’Grei, but also because when the sun set and the fog rolled in, the carriage driver who sat outside did not wish to be stuck in the Outer Ring. Kalstra didn’t mind the rough journey back. He had heard of how the man-eating fog still creeped in and took the lives of those unguarded at night in the Outer Ring, unlike in the Capital. Although in the carriage, he didn’t want to risk being stuck in a carriage at night when the fog came. He had too many ambitions to be killed in the same, pathetic way the lower-class citizens of the Outer Ring did.

Kalstra was bundled safely in his cloak in the sanctuary of the carriage and had a fur throw over his lap - it kept him warm from the Outer Ring poverty that rolled by outside his window. Huddled up in himself, he fumbled with the chest he had picked up, trying to get it open rather impatiently. He had picked it up personally from this dreaded place at the orders of Marquis d’Marco, his current master, but he had plans to claim the merit of securing the goods as his own when meeting Duke d’Grei. Serving under a master like the petty Marquis d’Marco offered him no shining future, but the Duke was different. The Duke was powerful and old, and although he had only been a Courtier for less than a decade, he held one of the four military seals and reigned over the Southern Army. To serve as a head attendant for such a man would lead him to glory.

Thinking of such bright prospects, Kalstra almost forgot about the displeasing grime he had forced himself to step into to retrieve this chest. The Outer Ring was much worse than the Lower Ring of the Capital. The Outer Ring nobility had their own estates and mansions which they kept impeccable, but the cities of the Outer Ring were filled with lowly artisans and labourers, if not dangerous criminals like the one he had met to claim the chest. Thinking back to the small, musky room at the back of that tavern, he snickered. In the Capital, beauty quite often signified power. The man behind the infamous Kar’yaja Shadow Guild was as beautiful as a blueblood or a trickster. With a face like his, he could find an influential patron and have limitless possibilities, especially as a member of the very capable Kar’yaja Shadow Guild - it was a pity that such a beautiful face and competent person was stuck in the slums of the Outer Ring, never to be noticed by anyone worth mentioning. Kalstra had greatly enjoyed being flattered by someone like that, regardless of his lowly status. After all, in the Capital, it was rare that Kalstra had someone fawn on him in such a manner. He knew that even the lower-ranking servants of House d’Marco gossiped about him behind his back.

He no longer paid any attention to the scenery of the Outer Ring outside, drawing the curtain half-closed. The curious and predatory eyes of mercenaries and strong labourers peeking in scared him, and he had a chest to figure out how to open.

It won’t open. Greatly annoyed, he found his patience quickly depleting. Finally, he raised the chest high above his head, then slammed it down onto the floor by his feet - just as the lock had been rusty and stiff, the wood was worn and old, as if even the Kar’yaja Shadow Guild couldn’t afford anything of better quality in the Outer Ring. The chest broke on impact without much resistance, and Kalstra flinched and hid under his throw at the debris of splinters that flew up at him.

“Are you alright, Head Attendant Kalstra?”

Tentatively peeking out from behind the fur and seeing that the chest had broken, Kalstra felt a smile spread on his face. He bent over in his seat to eagerly pick up the papers from the remnant pieces of the chest, hastily shouting back out at the driver, “Perfectly fine, perfectly fine! Focus on driving! Remember, the Marquis ordered for the goods to be delivered tonight!”

The carriage sped up slightly. Now that the sun was growing dim and the sky was slowly turning purple, less and less people were seen on the streets, allowing the carriage to gain speed. It was abruptly very quiet, compared to the loud noise that had filled these same, filthy streets not too long ago. Kalstra’s hands shook as he lifted the papers, tapping them back into a neat stack and finally taking a look at them - his heart filled with glee. Names and numbers filled the page, names and numbers of those involved in the Eastern Army General Duke d’Varha’s corruption and nepotism. Kalstra trembled in excitement as he greedily read over the accounts and dates, his shaky fingers quickly rifling through the pages. It appeared the Kar’yaja Shadow Guild was truly great - they could find such a thing. If something like this was to be submitted to Court, Duke d’Varha would lose his military seal and possibly be demoted despite his three decades of service, no longer worthy of being Duke d’Grei’s competitor. As the bringer of such a gift, Kalstra would be rewarded by the Duke d’Grei. His future was boundless.

Tucking the papers carefully into his pockets, Kalstra belatedly felt that something was wrong. Knocking against the wall with his stick, he demanded in annoyance, “Why aren’t we moving? Do I have to remind you that we are in a rush?”

But only silence answered his shouts, and Kalstra slowly felt his irritation turn into fear. He drew the curtains with a growing sense of uncertainty. When he looked out the window, those creeping fingers of fear finally clenched around the pit of his stomach.

When did it get so dark? 

The setting sun had disappeared like a lie, and fog circled the carriage gloomily. Kalstra felt that he could see eyes in the fog, staring at him hungrily, but it couldn’t be - such legends of the fog being alive were myths that only uneducated slaves of the Outer Ring believed. Scared, Kalstra fumbled with his stick, rapping it loudly and repeatedly against the carriage wall. “Driver!” Under his repeated hits against the sturdy carriage wall, his stick snapped, breaking into halves in his hand. Dropping the broken stick, Kalstra shivered and drew the curtains closed again, pulling his feet up and hunching in on himself under the fur throw. What could he do? He refused to leave the sanctuary of the carriage, but he couldn’t stand there in the middle of an Outer Ring road until morning, could he?

Just as he was weighing out the odds, something slammed violently into his window. Kalstra felt the entire carriage rock on its two wheels at the impact, and screamed, truly frightened - when he looked at the window, he nearly fainted. Through the gauze curtains, he could see someone’s face pressed against the window, staring in with a hungry, predatory smile. The door handle rattled, growing more and more violent - then as Kalstra watched on in shock and terror, he heard the hair-raising sound of the handle being impatiently wrenched off from the door by sheer force. Having forced the door open, the interloper easily climbed in, closing the door once again behind himself and locking Kalstra in with himself. The carriage lurched back into motion, slowly rolling along in the thick fog.

Kalstra stared wide-eyed at the unwelcome man, then felt a chill bead sweats on his back. Wasn’t this pretty, smiling man the same man who had attended to himself and the Kar’yaja Shadow Guild representative a mere hour ago?

Kalstra hugged himself, shuffling into the corner of his seat with his back pressed against the wall as he worked up the courage to demand: “W-w-what is the meaning of this? How dare you harm this great official?”

The beautiful man snickered, and although his words were polite, Kalstra felt his tone was anything but. “Greetings to my lord. My master decided after you left that he wasn’t satisfied with the reward offered by His Lordship the Marquis. He has sent me to reclaim the goods and send them to someone who will better appreciate the Guild’s efforts.”

Kalstra shivered, hugging himself tighter. “Y-You dare offend the Marquis?”

The man smiled indulgently. “You dared offend my master.”

How could the Marquis compare to a petty representative of the Kar’yaja Shadow Guild? But he didn’t voice his contempt out loud, because he was alone in a carriage with this madman who dared brave the fog and had wrenched a door open with a bare hand.

Unwillingly, Kalstra reached into his pockets and pulled out a pouch. He had intended to keep it for himself, but it would seem that he now had to yield the Marquis’ reward. “I’ll apologise. The Marquis did indeed prepare a reward for your work, I simply forgot about it.” Throwing the pouch at the man’s feet, Kalstra huddled in on himself once again. “Twenty gold coins. It’s enough to buy several decent houses in the Outer Ring, isn’t it?”

The man smirked, ignoring the pouch. “My lord is misinformed. Our Kar’yaja Shadow Guild isn’t lacking for money.”

Surprise and unease filled Kalstra’s heart. Just as he was about to ask what it was that they wanted from him, the man reached out towards him. It was at that moment that Kalstra got a good look at the man’s hand.

He screamed.

It wasn’t a human hand, but the hand of an unknown beast - it was covered in thick, black hair and was at least double the size of a human hand, decorated by seven fingers and long, knife-like talons.

“Y-You….” But words no longer managed to leave Kalstra’s throat. He was panicked, truly afraid now. After all, such beast-like features were only supposed to belong to the Magicians of the Old Kingdom, the Beasts of the Tyrant King’s kind from over three centuries ago. But they’re meant to be extinct, monsters of legends. The might of House d’Lusivere is granted by the merit of wiping out the cursed beings.

Kalstra wanted to say something, anything - perhaps to ask this man, or monster, questions about what he was, or perhaps to beg for mercy, but his throat felt clogged. Not a single sound escaped his mouth. He could only watch on as his clothes were ripped to shreds and his body was searched. Soon enough, the man retrieved the stack of papers, and very easily so. Nodding in apparent satisfaction, the man bowed his head slightly. “Thanks to my lord for your cooperation. I’ve been rude to intrude in this manner, so I’ll get going now. My lord may keep the gold. My master does not need it.” The man clicked open the half-broken door, but turned his head to say before leaving: “I’ll have my assistant drop off the carriage outside the d’Marco manor, seeing how your driver was eaten by the fog. I trust my lord understands to keep the matters of tonight to yourself, since my master was generous enough to let you keep your life.” He snickered. “Not that anyone would believe you, anyway.” With this parting greeting, the man flew out into the night, fearlessly stepping into the fog. The door slammed shut violently behind him, and Kalstra was left on the floor of the carriage, blankly staring after him.

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