Of all of the vibrant buildings of the walled city of Eisrode, none are as colorful and boisterous as the guild hall, the long beer hall that serves as a hub for all things adventure. I smile as I lay my eyes on the building, walking through the bustling street market that lies in the courtyard located in the front of the town’s guild. As I make my way through market, I get impressed nods, gasps, and the admiration of a handful of gobsmacked kids. They’re looking at the massive, ugly head of an ogre cradled in my arms, its long, disgusting tongue hanging from its relaxed jaw. I am loving every ounce of the attention, though my partner-in-crime and close friend, Maxim, is not. His dark brown cloak’s hood is pulled over his head, masking his face and with it any emotion other than his clear discomfort.

“Frederick, can you walk any faster?” he asks, “I’m really not proud of how we got that monster…” His voice is a soft mumble bordering on a whisper. Maxim’s hands are on his hood, pulling on it even though its as far as it’ll go, my friend clearly trying to hide from the world under his cloak. 

I listen to his grievance, furrowing my dark brow. “Look, I did what I had to do…”

“But that's not what you said adventuring would be like! We’ve never had to do something like that!” he complains, stopping in the middle of the market and turning to look at me.

“And you said you wouldn’t choke up, no matter what you saw in his cave! I improvised. Plain and simple.”

“But using his ki-”
“Its kids, that was an ogre, not a person.” I remind him, frowning. “Guildmaster Berch gave us this quest, nobody else. If he knew that you can’t stomach that we’ll be back to dungeons and wyverns.”

Maxim nods a little, his hood masking whatever he’s feeling. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t feel bad about arguing with him, but… I’m right, aren’t I? I shake my head and I resume our stroll to the hall. 

Doing my best to lift the mood and that hollow feeling in my gut I playfully elbow him with a smirk on my face, “Maybe after we get paid you can afford the night in one of those succubi parlors!” I tease. 

“Shut up, Fred!” he grumbles, punching me in the arm. His quick movement causes his hood to fall, exposing a slight grin.

We arrive at the tall double doors of Eisrode’s hall and with a powerful kick from me they fly open, causing the bar’s music and noise of raucous, half-drunk adventurers to momentarily mix with the sounds of commerce outside. A general cheer of greeting erupts from the men and women gathered inside. There’s a great, toothy grin on my face, and Maxim’s cheeks are now a bright red, though at least he’s smiling, even if it's just a little bit. 

Closest to the well-stocked bar was the owner and leader of the guild, a hulking man whose beer belly tells all who see him that his adventuring days are over. Legends abound about how he fought off an army of traitorous mercenaries with a broken sword and a simple buckler, or how two princesses of kingdoms fiercely opposed almost killed each other over him, only to realize that he prefers men. His outfit is casual, but made of such fine looking silks and with such intricate patterns one would be excused thinking that he is a member of some far away royalty.

“Frederik! Maxim!” He jovially shouts, gesturing with his tankard to us to come to him. I approach him, my shy friend hiding behind me. His bright smile fades into something less noticeable as he looks at the head in my arms. “The Butcher of Aermagh… glad to see your quest was successful, kid.” His voice is quiet, deep, and comforting, almost like that of a proud father.

“Guildmaster, please. Save me the praise. It's Maxim who deserves the praise, if not for hi-” I try to say, quickly being cut off.

“N-no! It was Frederik who landed the last blow!” Maxim interjects, trying to deflect the attention that, in my opinion, he’d earned.

The bear of a man laughs a hearty, happy laugh, one that never ceases to make one feel somewhat warm and fuzzy. “Ladies, please, both of you deserve praise,” the man jokes, pulling a small, but heavy looking sack of gold from a chest beside him, “and two hundred gold pieces.” He drops it in the middle of the table, the bag hitting the wood with a jingly thump. “I have another job for the two of you. A far more elite quest, if you’re down.”

I look to Maxim, a glint in my gray-green eyes and a grin on my face. I don’t say anything, but the silent question I’m asking Maxim is as clear as day. My mind starts to run, the thought of the big leagues taking my imagination and running with it. Maxim and I may be well known, but we’re still pretty small in terms of the adventuring racket. For the past two years it’s largely been “kill a monster” or “clear a dungeon” or something. All quite basic stuff. 

Thinking on my silent question, my hooded friend takes a moment, a pondering and serious look in his eyes. The Guildmaster and I are silent, watching him carefully. “Lets do it.” he says, his voice almost a whisper.

“This isn’t something I wouldn’t give ordinarily, but our best men aren’t here. Not that they’d stay in Eisrode, anyway. I got a tip from the Royal Guard that someone hasn’t been paying tithe to the king, even while we pay the very taxes that are supposed to go into it. Only one man could let that happen...”

“Do you mean?” I ask, my eyes widening with not only shock that one of our own leaders could be so treacherous. I look to the Guildmaster, “But counties that don’t pay tithe get razed! How long do we have?”

“No idea. But I’d wager at least a month.” he responds, “My quest for you is easy; all I need is for you two to locate where the tithe has been stashed, then report back to me. I’ll get someone to take care of the count and try to make off with the tithe to pay the King… For now I recommend the two of you eat well now and head out at night. That is all.” The massive man stands up, a massive weight being lifted from the bench, walking away and leaving myself and Maxim to sit there and just deal with the gravity of this quest. We clearly can’t say no to it. The majority of people in the guild joined so they could have a place to socialize and a way to make quick money by killing a goblin or two. I can’t say this isn’t the sort of quest I haven’t fantasized about, but this is something so much more serious than I could ever imagine. There’s an indescribably tightness in my chest, butterflies in my stomach, and a feeling of what can only be described as quicksilver in my skull. If that's what I’m feeling, I could only imagine what’s going through Maxim’s mind. 

As the two of us sort of wallow in a sense of dread, I see the Guildmaster bent down a little and talking to one of the barmaids. He smiles at her, glances at us, then walks off to his office. The woman he’d finished talking to, a buxom 30-something woman who had worked at the guild since she was a child, approaches us, a friendly and welcoming smile on her pretty face. To her this Guild Hall is her home, and every adventurer is family, 

“Guildmaster said you two have something big coming up, told me to let you two know that meals on the house for the two of you,” she informs, her voice transitioning from friendly to something more stern, “I didn’t hear all of it, but it sounded big. If any of you don’t come home I… I’ll be very cross. Now, boys, what can I get you two?”

An unforgettably expensive meal we got for free and four hours later, Maxim and myself leave the now quiet hall. It's the middle of the week, so there are no parties tonight, only the alcoholics and the old, grizzled adventurers trading stories of their glory days. Finding our way to the target, the castle of the Count of Eisrode, is the easiest part. The squat, sprawling complex made of red brick and stained is one of the city’s landmarks, and lucky for us, is centrally located. Moving as inconspicuously as two clearly armed men in the dark can, Maxim and I move through the city, travelling mostly by way of alleys and through seedy inns and beer halls that are still open. 

In almost no time we emerge from the dark alleyways and into the small park around the castle. It’s full of dense bushes and trees, making for perfect, albeit noisy cover, something that Maxim and I do our best to get through. Every inch closer we get the more intense a feeling of dread starts to wash over me. I pause to awkwardly reach for the back of my belt to grab my waterskin, as I do, I think a moment of Maxim. If this is rough for me… 

“Psst, Maxim!” I whisper, “You doing alright?”

There’s no noise a moment and I stay where I am, fearing turning to look for him will reveal our position. The more I think the more I kick myself- we didn’t even think to see who, or what is guarding the place!

“I… I’m fine…” my friend responds, crawling up to me. 

I smile a little and reach over to pat his shoulder, “Almost there, buddy… we got this.” After a quick sip of water I gingerly set down my waterskin, knowing that it’ll be more noise if I try to get it back on my belt. I resume my crawl, moving all the way up to the wall in relative peace, but not in comfort. My heart is racing and my chest feels tight, almost as if there are invisible binds slowly squeezing me. ‘No time to feel like this, Frederick.’ I think, taking a deep breath.

Now for the hard part: getting in. The brick-red walls of Castle Eisrode are sixteen feet tall, chiselled, and spiked to prevent any intrusion by catfall or stunts. The only way in is through the front gate, in and of itself a massive complex under constant guard. Onwards. Moving with our backs to the wall, we move as close as we can to the entry without being seen. There are six guards stationed around on duty, paid out of pocket by the count and all bearing the Count’s personal crest on their uniforms. 

“These guys should be easy pickings, Maxim. I’ll take the closest ones, then you the rest.” I say, slowly drawing my blade.

“What?” He asks, his voice panicked, “Fred, these are people!” 

I let go of the hilt of my sword and hastily cover his mouth, “Quiet!!” I whisper harshly, “This is the only way, Maxim… Just follow me, it’ll be over in a moment.” I move my hand from Maxim’s mouth and I draw. Without another word, I move in. 

Sneaking up on the first one was easy: a sword through his back and a gag by the way of my fist kept him quiet, but not his armor. The slight jingle of thick lamellar as I lay him down alert the five guards left, and having taken my first human life, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little shaken. Still right where I left him stands Maxim, watching in horror as I enter a one on five fight for my life. “Maxim, where are you?!” I shout, terrified. One lunges for me and I swiftly sidestep right into another. Too many to keep concentrated on. I slip up and he quickly grabs me. I fight against him, kicking his shins and shoving him right onto one of his comrade, sending them both to the ground with a concussive thud. One dead, two on top of eachother. Three left. “MAXIM!, COME ON!!!” I yell, more than ready to get out of the way of the guards now trying to surround me. Still nothing. I look over to where we were and see him just standing there. That single moment I took to see where my friend was ended, and all I remember was a sharp pain in my neck, like a deep pinprick, followed by the anxious embrace of nothingness.

When I opened my eyes I was dismayed to find myself in something of a staring contest with cold eyes sunken into a stern looking face. It's clear that the man is someone of high class just based on his tasteless, nose-up expression, embellished in stereotype by the fine white outfit he is wearing. My arms are suspended in the air, shackled to the dank, cracked stone wall of... wherever I am. I look around my new settings, my heart sinking as I see Maxim, bruised and bloody and in the same damned situation as me.

“Do you know what hurts more than having one of my men slaughtered?” he asks, a frown spreading across his face.

“Before you go any further, I’d’ve thought that our count would be a little less… old.” I say with a grin. ‘Might as well have a little fun if he’s gonna monologue...’ I think. 

Without any warning he cuts off my well-planned snark with a blackhanded blow to my cheek and an angry scoff. “Fool boy. If you’d made the decision to be less insolent, I might’ve let you off with having my guards take care of you…” He takes a step back and walks around in a small circle, wagging one of his long, bony fingers as he thinks, “No… Adventurers like yourself need to be reigned in. You and your cowardly friend over there will make fine examples!” The man turns and waves over a guard, “Make sure these two are bagged for tomorrow.”

With a curt nod the man withdraws two black sacks that were stuffed into his belt, putting one over the still unconscious Maxim and one over myself. Once again, night, but this time I got to stare into it.

Chained up like that and with no way to see what time even was, the passing of it felt as if it had slowed. I did my best to get some sleep in order to think up an escape plan, some imaginary fantasies, and mulling over my advantages, but the way I was restrained caused such discomfort as to keep me awake the whole night. After what felt like an eternity passed, the sound of two pairs of heavy footsteps and iron creaking caught my attention. Before I could say anything, something hard and blunt connected with my skull and I was out once more. 

By the time I came to for the second time within twenty-four hours I was in the back of a crude wooden cart, my hands and legs bound. 

“You’re finally awake…” Maxim said somberly, a pitiful look on his face, “Did you know they were gonna execute us?”

“Did you know you were gonna choke up again?!” I retort, “We don’t have time for this, you could have gotten out of there. We need a plan...something Berch would do.”

The cart turns a corner, and my thoughts only last as long as my ignorance: the fading wall reveals to us a small stage with a basket, a chopping block, and a roughly seven foot tall man standing atop it dressed in a frilly bright pink and white outfit. On his shoulder is an ornate two handed longsword. The first thing that comes to mind is obvious; ‘If this man kills me my name will become a joke!’ and my fears grow. It doesn’t get easier for me as I realize just where this is taking place. The market! Around the platform is a small gaggle of noblemen and merchants protected by two large men covered head to toe in heavy plate armor, here for a spectacle. As the cart rolls to a halt one of the Count’s men roughly unloads us and drags the two of us onto the stage.

 I look around, starting to panic, there has to be a rebel in the crowd, a friend, maybe a kind Grand Duke or something! That's what always happens. Good guys go on a quest, get caught, and get saved at the last minute!

And those minutes tick down. It slowly becomes more and more apparent that this adventure won’t have a happy ending. The Count reads off our offenses - murder, attempted murder, espionage, and unauthorized adventuring. It’s callous, rude, and somehow still flamboyant.

“The punishment for these heinous crimes is death!” The count shouts to the audience. There is a wave of jeers from the crowd, only getting louder as Maxim is forced onto the block. He looks up at the gaudily dressed man, then to me, and his body relaxes. It’s like he’s happy to finally be unhanded. He rests himself, his muscles draw back, and upon his face grows a sad sort of smile.

...he’s given up.

How could he just give up like that, damnit!? Where’s the fight? I felt ready to scream it, as if the thought was to burst from my head. In my grief, the capitulation of my best friend to death. So quickly. So cowardly. It was an indescribable pain.. After all we had been through, our grand adventures… just a look at the executioner’s blade and he’s done?! I struggle against my bonds, berating him for his cowardice between my desperate sobs. This is not the way our story ends! This is pathetic! No glory, no chance at Valhalla… just a pitiful death in front of a small crowd of waster nobles and scummy merchants.

“It was fun while it lasted, Fred. I just wish we could ha-” Maxim calls through the din, but the axe falls, and his voice cuts off with his head. Eight pounds of blade hit the wood, and Maxim’s head drops into the basket.

I scream out with all of my fury and grief, as I cry out one of the knights turns his armored head away. My soul feels as though it had a chunk of it had been cut away carelessly, scarred with a rusted breadknife. The executioner nonchalantly kicks away Maxim’s body as one of the guards grabs me by the neck, trying to force me down onto the chopping block. I resist him all the way and I kick him back, looking for an escape route, desperate not to go the way of Maxim.

While massive, the executioner’s powdered face, colorful and striped outfit, and frills don’t show his profession or his power. His actions do. A brutal hand grabs my throat, and even though my hands are tied behind me, I do my utmost to resist him. I smile, managing to stay up, winning this fight for now. ‘I’m do-’  a slam to my spine by the bottom of a guard’s spear puts an end to my resistance, the audience laughing as I fall onto the chopping block. I’m a fighter. I’m a show. It doesn’t matter. Not like Maxim. I look around as best I can, though my head is forced to look to the left.

The streets … they were so busy and full of life just yesterday, but it’s unlike that now. The abandonment they’re all in... the smells of spices and of the market are replaced by the gaudy perfume of the macaroni executioner and of the blood of my friend. It’s hauntingly unreal. It was as if the town I loved died with him. Up to this point ‘seeing red’ was always a strange saying to me, but as the sword with my name on it rises, I feel like my veins are burning with rage. I once more struggle against my bonds, trying to raise my head, the guards present holding me down. I look to the red tiled roofs of the town, trying to look for some assassin or a friend… anyone at this point! My books, my stories, all I could be! I turn my gaze upward, glaring into the shiny blade as it rises…

This is how I die.

I don’t close my eyes, I will not hide from this. I hear a thud and I blink, expecting to open my eyes with my head in the basket, but it was still on my shoulders. In that moment, the men who were holding me down let go, shoving me free and running, no, fleeing from the platform. I get up, looking around in utter disbelief. On the ground is the executioner, a throwing knife buried in his temple, and where the audience was assembled I see one of the knights with his shortened polearm buried in the helmet of who I thought was his comrade. Seemingly aiming for the Count, who is near the back of the stampeding members of the upper class, the knight removes his helmet and throws it with all his might. The sound of steel on flesh, then that of an old man falling onto pavement rings out over the terrified shouts. The knight quickly moves to start unstrapping his armor and turning towards me, a smile on his familiar face. 

Only one man I know has a build like that, and the same man has the same smile, “Guildmaster?” I ask, bewildered.