Golgotha Avante

God of Light and Dark
Golgotha stared over the tattered cobblestone and ancient oaks of the human capital, a grimace slowly replacing his stoic, tight lipped sternness. Bodies lined the streets, wounded propped against the cobble and wood houses, being tended to by civilians and militants alike, dead stowed to the side to await burial. Golgotha clutched his iron plating, peeling it away gently to the sound of a sucking wound. He placed his hand below the armor.

"Blood. Fuck." He spoke aloud to nobody in particular, only wishing to break the silence of it all. He began slowly stripping off his battered armor, more pieces coming off in plate chunk then in whole plate, clanging and crumbling off his tattered frame. He threw the armor off the wall into the surrounding waters. They're of no use to anyone now, he thought silently.

Sword in hand, he sat on top of the wall, and began self medicative procedures as advised by Anna. The Dark Elves had once again raided the Capital, descending upon the sleeping hamlet. This time was different. Somebody let them in. I just know it. Some bastard let them in.... From outside the gate, he heard a commotion, and seeing both Placet and Maria pacing steadily towards the Gate, he decended the nearby ladder with haste.

"-and then she ran up to me, screaming in agony and clutching her chest!" Golgotha only caught the last part of Placet's description, having just arrived, but he could see by Maria's slow movements and tepid skin that she was not well. "A creature, it came upon us as we fought off the Druchii...it exploded, knocking me back," Placet continued, "but her...something's wrong!"

Golgotha looked to the bakery, sensing Anna's presence behind him. She was staring over the ledge, injured herself but tending to the dead and gravely wounded on the top floor. "Golgotha, she's not going to make it unless we do something now." Anna and Golgotha were experienced enough to realize that Maria did not just have a wound, she had a sickness - one that had aflicted many small villages before, if Golgotha remembered correctly. "The Darkness is spreading. Do something!" Placet grabbed Golgotha by the shirt's neck, pulling him closer. "She's going to die, man! Do something!"

The few medics available began to compile their ingredients, but Golgotha knew that it would be a waste of time. The medicine will only slow it down...it won't stop it. His mind raced as he sought an answer, over and over coming to the obvious solution. Anna's going to kill me, he thought, laughing silently at the absurdity of it all. He briskly broke away from the group, pacing towards the chapel. He moved his hand, uncovering the wound. He was losing too much blood, and he knew it.

As he stumbled into the chapel, his bleeding became more profuse, spilling about his hands. It's the only way...it's the only way... He walked towards the altar, and began piling the necessary altar components and herbs in front of the cross. "Tonight, I die".

=
=================

The plan had gone off largely without a hitch. Golgotha had called the humans to the chapel, warning them to come armed. They had come, and Anna and Cafka, realizing what was about to occur, had begun to beat the glass behind which Golgotha was sealed. Maria's sickness had been absorbed into his body through the Tetra magic he had learned so long ago, and he had allowed himself to be fully taken over. The last thing he remembered was the water that he had filled the chamber with, and the immense pressure of drowning. He had seen the rest from above, detached and yet involved, watching his friends kill the husk that was once his body, now turned to undead.

So this is death, he thought.

Golgotha smirked, somewhat amused by the description. He knew that this wasn't exactly death. He began to daydream, remembering that lesson all too well.

=
=================

His skin crawled forward, ripping and tearing at his bones. Golgotha felt searing pain, almost blinding pain, but did not make a sound, trying to match the stoic look of his masters, Lliwe and Francisco. "And that is skincrafting," began Lliwe. "It can be used to heal, to destroy, to create, anything one would want should they be trained well enough." Golgotha let go of his concentration, allowing his skin to peel back into it's place, a single long scar the only sign that weaving had occured. "What aboout soulcrafting?" At this question, Golgotha silenced the entire room. Francisco de Lato, walking towards the front of the Avante Lectern, slowly turned around.

"Soulcrafting is a restricted art. It is to never be practiced." Golgotha stared at his professor with a look of frustration and confusion. "But, sir...why? If one can create a body with skincrafting, and one could create a soul, then -" Golgotha was cut off by Lliwe grabbing his mouth, silencing him with a firm grip. "You venture into dangerous territory, Golgotha," he said, clenching his jaw. "Soulcrafting is forbidden. That is all that must be known." Lliwe let go of his jaw, stepping away. With his back still turned, he simply declared to nobody in particular that class was dismissed.

=
=================

Lliwe'd probably kill me if he knew that I actually learned the goddamn thing, thought Golgotha. But then again, I'm already dead, so I guess that's a good tradeoff. Golgotha peered down the edge of the eternal whiteness, seeing his creation, Geist, searching in confusion. Golgotha felt a pang of regret for the beast - he had created Geist to simply be a spiritual place holder, but in crafting the man's soul, he had made a man with the knowledge and experience of another, without any memory. It was far too confusing, he was sure.

Golgotha absently walked to the grand columns of this world. Having seen this place in his dreams, he was already familiar with it's outline, though that was not to say we wasn't fascinated. Thousands of tons of white obsidian created massive columns, supporting an even larger limestone roof. A cathedral of some kind, he figured, pacing towards the interior. He looked down at his hand, still faded in some areas, broken in others, and solid black still in others. At least I have all of this to myself, he thought.

Golgotha took a deep breath as he began his soulcrafting procedure, the great forbidden art. My soul may be too damaged to exist in Aeonis right now, he thought, but I can fix it. I WILL fix it.. He focused on the darkness in his hands, shaking as he stared with piercing intensity. The air was electrified, and a faint sizzling, almost akin to burning flesh, could be heard. His eyes, or at least the cavities in which his eyes would exist in the mortal world, turned solid pitch black, ementating only a single pinprick of white light in the very center of his pupils. The darkness in his hands begin to tear away, revealing amber pools of light. The pain was intense, and though the process was effective, he could only do it in patches at a time. How can a spirit feel pain? he wondered, moments before fading out of conciousness.

Golgotha was sprawled on the ancient white obsidian of this world, writhing in pain at the tendrils emanating from his body. Oh god, I screwed it up. The tendrils, darker than even the darkest black, began tearing from his chest, encasing first his shoulders, then his neck, then his middle. From each tendril, a series of incredibly sharp, black spikes protruded, striking his flesh and pulling to help it's tendril brethren in their travel around his body. He could feel his legs encased now, the slithery, painful, sharp sensation of these foreign bodies wrapping around his calf. He attempted to scream, but the tendrils wrapping themselves around his mouth muffled any attempt at sound. His vision blurred, and he left like he was losing his grip on this world.

A man walked into his vision, wearing a dark blue suit and a white dress shirt, with a blue suede fedora haphazardly positioned on his head. The man took out a cigarette, lighting it with efficiency as he stared down at Golgotha. "Quite a legendarypickle you've gotten yourself into, kid." Golgotha realized that the words had echoed in his head as much as the man's mouth. "The name's Void. I'm here to kill you."

Golgotha's eyes widened, partially obscured by the tendrils ripping at his face. "You see," the man continued, "I have a vested interest in you. You, your friends...you all serve a very important part in the grand plan. You know how people always talk about the 'bigger picture'? Well, you just met it." As the last tendril began to cover Golgotha's eye, the man brought his hand down upon the spikes, and as he touched them, the tendrils stopped moving, frozen in time. "The only problem is, I need the part of you that makes things complicated to die." The tendrils began to loosen their grip, turning slowly to a harder substance. Golgotha felt the rough texture of mined stone on his skin before the tendrils turned completely to dust, falling around him. He looked down his body, which was now clothed in muscle and skin.

"Your kind seems to deal better with the familiar, so I've given you a perception of yourself. Well, your old self." Golgotha laid on the floor, still gasping, trying to shake off the last pangs of pain that had corrupted his thoughts. "Its been a long time since someone crafted an entirely new soul like you did. Geist...is a part of you. Soulcrafting changes a person...takes a part of the soul with them. You've been corrupted. Your soul is no longer clean. That blackness? That was you." Golgotha stood warily. "And why the hell do you care? I need to go down there now, I need to fix this! Anna is in danger, and Placet is wounded!" The man held a hand up, as if to silence him. "If you return now, in your condition, you will only sign their execution warrant." Golgotha starred at this man, fuming with a quiet rage and confusion.

"Look, kid, I saved you. Without me, you'd have been taken over completely. You can't - no, you won't - return with your soul still darkened by hatred and fear. With Geist occupying your body...we have time." Golgotha turned away distrustfully, looking over the edge of the ruins, standing on shaking legs. "And why," he started, "should I trust you? What's in this for you?" The man stood suddenly next to him. "I am Void. I am what was before." Golgotha turned to him quizzically. "Before what?" The man smiled. "Before the before. Before the thing you call Creator, before Aeonis, before the Kingdoms, before this palace.I am what is, what has been, what isn't, what will be, and what can't be. I am Void."

Golgotha sighed, though his lungs did not fill with air. He still carried his same mannerisms, despite having no physical body, and the illusion and disparity caused some bit of unease for him. "Then what does the Void want with someone like me? Am I that special?" Void laughed. "Yes. All of you are. But your land is filled with darkness. The few who can defeat him depend solely on you. If you fall, then the one you protect will, and so forth, until there is no defense. It may not end with you, but it begins with you." Golgotha stared into the mist below the obsidian.

"Then what the hell are we waiting for?" Golgotha's arm struck out at Void, who dodged it with expert efficiency. In his side step, Void grabbed Golgotha's arm, twisting it in a fluid motion as he transferred the energy of Golgotha's strike to forward momentum, causing him to fly to the obsidian with a loud thud. Golgotha felt his jaw shatter, and blood filled his vision. He spun to the side as Void stabbed at the ground, his hand morphed into a blade, narrowly missing Golgotha's chest. Golgotha reached into the aether, drawing a sword from the mist, and brought it horizontally across Void. The sword skimmed just past Void's shirt, catching on the metal clasp holding the garment closed. Void smirked, and Golgotha thrust the sword directly at him. Void jumped straight in the air, landing upon the sword with pointed toe, and as he brought his other foot down, he twisted his body, disarming Golgotha and slamming the hilt into his chin at the same time.

Golgotha fell to the ground, and pushed himself onto his elbow. He was about to push up when Void dropped in a straddle, dagger pulled back in the air. Golgotha stared at the blade, frozen in fear. "This," Void began, "is unacceptable. You are dead, and yet you fear death. Death happens. If the entire capital was wiped out, if Anna died, if Placet was murdered, what then? Would you stop in fear, dropping to your knees,sobbing like a child?" Golgotha's eyes grew large as Void forced images of his friends being torn to pieces into his mind. "If they die, life continues - when you die, life will continue as if you never lived. It's only when you live as if you're dying that you truly live!" Golgotha sighed as Void dropped his dagger, pulling Golgotha up by his lapels as he stood. "I know you love them. But you need to match that love with dedication. If things happen the way I see them happening, you must do what is right for them, not what you want." Golgotha sighed. "Then tell me what will happen, Void!"

Void walked to an obsidian column, leaning against it. "That defeats the purpose. Uncertainty is expectation. Certainty is fear. Fear must be destroyed." Golgotha looked at Void, who returned the weary look ten fold. "You must learn to let go, to love but allow yourself to do what is right. Only then can you save them, and only then can they save Aeonis."

Golgotha stood on shaky legs, his wounds slowly closing with an amber shimmer, his black blood drying on the floor. "Then let's do it again. Only this time, you get the first strike." Void smirked, and readied his blade.Golgotha's blade dripped crimson drops as he leaned against the chapel walls, armor scraped and worn. His body hurt, and as he looked down at it, he spotted several scars and wounds that he knew were fresh. Hmmm...Geist got into some trouble, I see. As he thought of Geist, he felt a pang of remorse - though Geist was not a soul per se, he still lamented the fact that he had forced the golem to go through what he did. To exist without memory, without reference - Golgotha knew that pain, and he would wish that for no one were it not for the necessity and requirement that had arisen.

The bells on the the guard towers rang with deafening register, snapping Golgotha out of his thoughts. Another wave? How many delfs are there? Golgotha pushed from the wall, readying his sword and ignoring the pain rushing through his body, allowing the cascading adrenaline to fuel his fury. He began his pacing run, turning the corner to the main walkways. His shuffling run halted, however, as he saw several Hospitallers rushing towards him. He dropped his guard slightly, relaxing his defense and leaning slightly back on his calves. "Hail, Hospitaller." They continued to run at him, brandishing the short swords for which their unit was well known. Golgotha instinctively tightened his grip, shifting his hands further towards the hilt. "Hospitaller...HAIL!"

The three hospitallers refused to hail, and as they drew close, the front raised his short sword as if to strike. Golgotha responded swiftly, realizing the gravity of the situation. So...it's not just Archaeus...shit... The front hospitaller brought his sword down in a sharp arc as Golgotha brought his quickly across his brow, blocking the blow just before the second hospitaller struck from his right. As the second hospitaller brought his sword in a sharp sweep, Golgotha dropped to his knees, twisting as he did so to the third hospitaller. The strike from behind him flew just over his head, and Golgotha felt the dragging air behind the blade across his face as he brought his own blade onto the third Hospitaller, severing the man's Achilles Tendon in a single strike. The man screamed, dropping to the ground, blood gushing from the new wound, and Golgotha struck with a quick piercing strike, separating two plates of the armor, running the man through with his blade.

As he drew the blade from between the plates, he sensed the first Hospitaller, now behind him, attempting a second overhead strike, and as the blade drew out, he lifted it quickly behind his head, catching the blade. He turned in his crouching position, and heard the scraping of the two blades against each other as he brought his in a diagonal sweep, slicing the man's hand off near the hilt. The man dropped against the wall, grabbing the bleeding wound. Golgotha brought his blade to the side, preparing for a strike to the throat, when he felt a deep burning sensation to his right. He had forgotten about the third man. Shit...Void was right, I need to pay more attention. He wheeled around, barely blocking the next strike with his plate armor as he felt his arm break under the sheet of steel. The sickening crunch rang through his ears almost as quickly as the pain shot to his head. The Hospitaller brought his sword above his head, and Golgotha, recovering from the blow, thrust his sword instinctively up, running through the man's jaw. The Hospitaller dropped his sword, his expression fading from anger to surprise, then to despair as the blood dripped from his open, screaming maw. His eyes rolled back as his body dropped, and Golgotha drew out his sword, sheathing it with quick efficiency.

Golgotha stood up, and, gripping his shoulder, moved quickly to the remaining Hospitaller. The man cowered in fear, blood flowing from his wound, and as Golgotha stood over him, he ducked down, cowering, fearing a new blow. Golgotha leaned down, removing the man's helmet. "A fucking kid...how old are you?" The Hospitaller looked up to him, his young face covered in speckled blood. "Fi...fifteen, sir..." Golgotha brought the boy to his feet. "And why did you attack me?" The kid was shaking, and growing colder by the second. "Ar...archaeus...told me to...he...he took me in..." Golgotha's face twitched with recognition. "Thomas?" The kid nodded. "I knew your parents. Died in the Crown Wars. Archaeus took you in. Do you know why you're fighting?" The kid shook his head. "Only...only that the crown...wants us dead...he ordered...us executed..." Golgotha shook his head. "Archaeus is helping the Dark Elves. You didn't know that, did you?" The kid's eyes grew large, and his expression changed from fear to surprise, from surprise to understanding, and finally to hatred.

Golgotha gripped the wound, and the boy screamed in pain. Golgotha's eyes turned solid black, and as he held the wound, tendrils began to creep from beneath his armor. The boy looked terrified, but as the tendrils began to wrap around the wound, amber light began to shine, illuminating both Golgotha and Thomas. As Golgotha took his hand away, Thomas looked in surprise as the hand that was severed reformed itself, first forming bone and blood, then muscle and, finally, skin. Golgotha grabbed the man's sword, slipping it into his spare sheath. "Walk away. Archaeus lied to you. Go to the Inn -tell them Golgotha sent you."

Golgotha turned away as Thomas began to scurry towards the Inn. Alright, Archaeus. Now where the hell are you hiding?Golgotha raced to the gates, arm bleeding wildly, leaving a thin trail of crimson sheen behind him. As he approached the gate, he spotted his target - Archaeus was standing amongst a group of officers. Golgotha ran to the cobble edge, planting a foot firmly against the walls edge, catapulting himself above the group. As he soared in the air, time slowed to a crawl. He reached down to his belt line, pulling two small, silver daggers, and whipped them through the air with his good arm - the first sailed directly into the first officer's open faceplate, sticking into his eyes with a sickening squishing sound, instantly killing the man. The second flew lower than the first, landing with a silent pierce in the second officer's neck, spurting streams of blood as the man reached to grab his throat. Archaeus looked up in surprise, his expression quickly turning to rage as he drew his infamous blade.

Golgotha landed awkwardly, the effort of his twisting throw sending shooting pains up his arm as he fell to the ground in a half roll. Archaeus charged him, bringing his sword in a strong swing, connecting with the ground as Golgotha rolled quickly to the side. Golgotha grasped his blade as he pushed into a door way, trying to pull the blade out, but quickly found that the holster had been bent down in his awkward landing. Archaeus stabbed forward as Golgotha twisted to the side, narrowly missing the first strike, barely having enough time to miss a second stabbing blow. Archaeus pulled his blade, but it was firmly embedded in the thick wooden door jam - Golgotha drew back his leg, bracing against the door, and landed a firm kick to the man's chest, sending him reeling to the ground, sword in hand. Golgotha rushed to Archaeus as he heard the crash of steel and armor behind him. Golgotha reeled around, finding two more officers fighting a Lapis solider. Golgotha planted a foot on the sill of the guard house, jumping expertly to the fight, grabbing the side blade of the officer and slicing the man's throat from behind. As the officer fell, he saw the Lapis fall to the ground as well, grasped by the Hospitaller. Golgotha struggled towards the man, but he was too late - the officer stabbed the man in the throat, and the Lapis cried out in a fluid muffled scream. Golgotha threw the stolen blade at the man, piercing the back of his neck as Archaeus joined the fight, landing a blow to Golgotha's back.

Golgotha lay on the ground, and as he rolled over, he felt his body finally give way to the bleeding in his arm. The strength left him as he clawed away from Archaeus, but the Hospitaller only laughed, tapping his blade against his armor. "I have to say, Avante, if you weren't a useless bastard, I might have found use for you yet." Archaeus laughed at Golgotha, who began to tear up, rage replacing his pain. "Emotions doing well for you then? You see, that's the difference between me and you-" Golgotha interrupted, saying, "Hopefully not the only one asshole." Archaeus continued, ignoring the interruption. "You live by emotion. I live by facts. You seek love. I seek power. You will die. I will live." Golgotha pushed against a wall. Archaeus smiled wickedly, bring his blade to a strike position. "Goodbye, Avante." Golgotha closed his eyes and heard a loud crash. For what felt like eternity, Golgotha held his eyes closed, waiting for the cold grip of death - when it did not come, he slowly opened his eyes. Before him was Anna, soaked in blood from her patients, flanked by several Lapis guards.

Shovel in hand, she looked down at Archaeus, who now laid on the cobble floor. "Not on my fucking watch." She saw Golgotha against the wall, covered in blood, and she dropped her shovel, running to his side. She grabbed his head, pulling him close to her. "Golgotha...I...I..." Tears dripping from her eyes, she turned to the Lapis. "Secure the rest of the city, and get back to the Inn." They bowed to her, and ran off. "I thought you died..." She grabbed him close, hugging him. "We have to get you fixed up...you can't die...if you die...I'll...I'll kill you!" Golgotha coughed, and began a small laugh. The laugh built gradually, both expressing a massive joy of reunion and a discomfort with the surrealism of the situation. Anna helped Golgotha stand, and as they made their way back to the Inn, Golgotha turned his head slightly. "Anna..." he began, "I...I'll never leave you. Even when I died...I was still with you..." She turned hear head. "We're both too stubborn to lose each other, friend. I'm...glad you're ok." He smiled as they walked to the inn, the sound of the Lapis cleaning the city echoing in the distance as the sun slowly crested over the far mountains. I'm...finally home. The courtroom was dimly lit, the torches playing shadows off the walls. Golgotha was sitting against the cobble bench, nursing a fresh wound to his arm, staring intently at the scene unfolding in front of him. In most cases, he would be conducting the trial - The Magistrates were meant, of course, to act as the ruling body - but he had opted instead to stand as a prosecutor due to conflicts of interest. A single bell run, dark and low, and a door opened from the side chambers - three men dressed in black clothes descended from what was once Golgotha's upstairs room, now converted to senatorial chambers, walking with silent grace and dignity. Placet Revel, the likable Senator of Peace; Storm Virilius, the grave and solemn Senator of the Shield and Sword; Cafka, the illustrious Senator of Prosperity; they all sat before the congregation, awaiting the procession.

Like clockwork, as soon as the court was officially called into session, the chambers opened from the opposite side of the senatorial hall - from the door came an unshaven and ill-clothed Archaeus, chained at the hands and feet, with dark bags hanging from his eyelids. His hair seemed unwashed and unkempt, though it was not due to lack of care - a guard had stubbornly tried to clean the man during in-processing, and had been greeted with a single strike to the face and two hands around his neck. Since that time, the doors to his cell had been opened only during delivery of food and the daily correspondence delivered by Golgotha himself. Archaeus seemed to be feral, angry, a wild fire burning in his eyes, directing hatred to all those seated in the chambers, and Golgotha couldn't help but notice that his teeth seemed dull and listless, as if he had been grinding them for weeks at a time. Golgotha turned around and saw Anna whispering to a guard, before leaning against the wall, shooting a knowing glance. She had spotted the King himself consorting with Archaeus - though Golgotha knew not his intentions, The King had opted to forgo any parliamentary procedures until the investigation was complete.

The gavel landed loudly, beckoning attention to Placet, who had been elected to lead the court. "On charges of conspiracy to commit genocide, attempted grand larceny of the throne, murder in the first degree, 1 count, and murder in the second degree, 37 accounts, the state has called Archaeus, Commander of the Hospitallers, to the royal courts. Let deliberations begin."

=
============================

Golgotha had heard the defense, but he found it weak - Archaeus had hinged his entire defense on the perceived illegitimacy of the court, and had instead refused to testify as to his actions. There was no cross-witness interviews or lamentations, only prideful and boastful comments as to his intentions. The court had attempted to silence him, only to find him loud and belligerent. He had been forcibly silenced with a handkerchief, balled up and stuffed inside his mouth, secured with a belt from a guard. Golgotha did not like to see such violent actions, but the man obviously had no wish to defend himself. Golgotha stood from his position, slowly walking in front of the Senators. "My job," he began, "is to convince you that this man deserves to die - he murdered a guard, ordered the deaths of 37 people, of which children made a large percentage, and conspired for the genocide of hundreds across Aeonis." Golgotha paced the wood floors, noticing the creaks as he stepped forward. "But I'm not going to do that. I don't think this man should die." The crowd began to mumble under their breaths, and Placet responded with the gavel in full force. "ENOUGH!" Placet screamed. "Let us hear him. I think Golgotha deserves more respect than that." Golgotha nodded to him in thanks, and continued. "First, the guard. As with all of our rules of engagement, this was done in self defense. He may have started the war, but we are not Dark Elves - we have a system for prisoners of war and enemy combatants, and we cannot hold him responsible for that." Placet leaned forward, staring intently. "Golgotha," he started, "this man is a citizen of the empire, not an enemy combatant. You desire a traitor to live?" "No," replied Golgotha, "but an evil cannot be corrected with an evil. If you believe Archaeus to be the last of his kind, than you are mistaken. Murdering him will only bolster the revolutionaries - the last thing we need is to give them one more reason to fight." The crowd murmured in agreement. "Now, for the deaths ordered - the man who carried them out have already been executed, absolved, or imprisoned. Archaeus did what he thought was proper, but again, by war commands, he cannot be held accountable." The crowd continued to talk under their breaths, and a visibly disturbed Storm shot Anna a look of confusion, which she replied to with a shrug.

"On the other counts, I would like to bring my witness to the stage. Former Queen and Hospitaller, Jurai." The crowd began to talk loudly, shocked at the presence before them. Jurai had entered the hall, cloaked in the red Hospitaller outfit for which she was known, and as she approached the Senate, the guards positioned themselves in a half kneel, half defensive stance. They were once her subjects - now, she was to be questioned regarding the usurpation of the throne - irony at it's best. Jurai took the floor.

"Jurai," Golgotha began, "please, explain what exactly Archaeus was attempting." Archaeus looked at Jurai, his eyes red and bloodshot. She looked at him sympathetically. "He was trying to return to the old ways. The first ways. He wanted to protect the kingdom, and he saw it...as corrupted beyond reason." Golgotha brought a hand to his chin. "Then why attack with the Dark Elves? Why not attack himself?" Jurai laughed, and retorted, "he only attacks those that he honors with his presence. Arrogant, yes, but effective. That is why he attacked you - that is why he was planning to attack Anna," Anna stood from the wall at hearing this, "and that is why he was planning to kill Aeolus. He wanted to burn the house down to make a palace, so to speak."

Golgotha paced back to his prosecution lectern. "Genocide...he did not seek to kill the city, per se. That was his simple payment to the Dark Elves. Larceny? He wished to return to what he saw as the rightful status." Archaeus looked darkly at Golgotha. "Trust me, my people. This man, Archaeus, though he commits crimes of unspeakable order, he has allegiance to only one. Jurai herself." The crowd murmured, the implications sending waves through the conversation. Placet banged the gavel. "What are you suggesting, Avante?" Golgotha smiled. "Simple - we absolve him of all charges while making an official statement that he has dishonored himself and the Hospitallers. We officially strip himself of his Command, his title, and his unit." Archaeus' eyes grew wide, and he began to yell into the gag. "Then, we disband the Hospitallers permanently. Jurai has already resigned." Jurai nodded at Archaeus, who stopped screaming, and looked down at the ground, shocked and confused. "I will take his charge," she began, "and he will follow my orders. To him, I am Queen. He will no longer be a threat." Storm leaned forward, worry on his brow. "And how do you suggest, Avante, that we make sure of this?"

Golgotha smirked. "We send him to the Kingdom of Altari." The group whispered confusion. "The Altari are an exterior kingdom made of warring tribes," Golgotha continued. "If anybody can benefit from Jurai's medical knowledge and Archaeus' lust for order, it would be them." Archaeus bowed his head. "And as Magistrate of Ravenholm," he continued, "I absolve the Hospitallers from any legal recourse regarding their actions against my citizens."

The senators looked at each other, nodding their heads. "Then, by unanimous vote, the Senators hereby approve recommended procedures under Senate Bill 00193. Any citizens in agreement, say aye." The crowd erupted in Aye's. "All in opposition, respond Nay." A few Nay's peppered the crowd, though it was in stark contrast to the overwhelming support. "Archaeus, you are hereby exiled to the Kingdom of Altari, Southern Province. If you are seen in the Human Empire again, you are to be summarily executed on the spot. The Hospitallers are hereby disbanded, and all physical, intellectual and monetary assets will be spit evenly between the families of those affected and the Imperial stockpile. Senate is adjourned."

=
============================

Void watched from above at the scene below him. The Senate had made the right choice, and Golgotha, his charge, had indeed turned in the evidence he had hoped. Void paced the white obsidian, waiting for the word from his Oracle in Aeonis. A white light appeared suddenly within the great complex, and Void walked to it, slipping his hand into it as he neared. A voice emenated, booming loud and strong. "Archaeus has died. Self inflicted, as you had hoped. The plan has begun. Aeolus has been revealed, and Amphios is on the run. Anna will be Queen before long." Void smiled, his pitch black eyes lighting for just a moment. "You can't hide forever, daughter of mine. Life will arise from the ashes." Void laughed, the light shining brighter and brighter, until with a single shocking explosion, it disappeared into the Aether. Void paced to the edge, smiling as he did so, a smirk playing across his wicked, thin lips. He projected a voice deep into the mind of an angel in Aeonis, piercing the creature's thoughts with a simple message. Death...she is here...your sister is here...find her. Anna massaged her temples, the stress lines beginning to creep across her youthful face. She sighed, slumped against the wall, and looked out the window. "But...he killed so many people...I don't want to kill, but certain people...well, they can't live." Golgotha laughed, and sat on the edge of his bed. He began stripping off his boots, unlacing them, groaning as he pulled them off his weary feet. "Anna," she turned to him, "you know as well as I do that the last thing we need is another revolution. If we killed Archaeus-" Anna cut him off, interjecting with a long, drawn out exhale. "I know, they would have hated us. But...goddammit, Golgotha, you can at least tell me when you're about to do something. I never know what's happening with you." He smirked, shrugging his shoulders. "Hey, the less you know, the less danger you're in, typically." His smirk dropped when she did not return the look, and he continued to take off his socks. "I am sorry. It's just...I don't ever want you to be in danger...you mean too much to me." Anna raised an eyebrow. "You know," she began, "you keep saying things like that, people are going to assume we're...you know...", she trailed off. Golgotha stood up, popping his back with his hands on his hips, and walked over to the door. "Well, you are in my room while I'm getting undressed," he began, Anna blushing with realization, "and they are already listening." She looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?" At this, Golgotha kicked the locked door, and several bodies could be heard toppling over behind it. A string of swear words and vague threats proceeded as the eavesdropping citizens walked down the hall, no doubt to take care of their now bleeding ears.

Anna covered her mouth, snickering. Golgotha sat back down on the edge of the bed, weary and listless. He looked at her with solemn, tired eyes. "Whenever you're ready, we can get back to the bakery. It's dark and cold, so i figured we could take the-" Anna cut him off, snapping a retort. "Why does everyone think I need protecting?!" She cried, exasperatingly. "You don't tell me your plans because you want to protect me, but who says I need to be protected?!" Golgotha looked away, tracing the grooves in the wood flooring. She sighed, and walked to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow. We're not done talking about this, you know." With this, she walked out of the dimly lit room, a bewildered and gloomy Golgotha following her with his eyes. As she passed from his vision, he grabbed the candle, blowing it out, and closing the door. He laid on the bed, head to the side. She doesn't want me around, I guess...just like everybody else...

=
===========================

Anna walked down the cobble path, cloak pulled tightly around her, bracing against the frigid air. The tide was high, and she could hear the crashing of waves outside the castle gates. I'm not some delicate waif, goddammit. If they knew half of the shit I went through before coming here, they wouldn't protect me like a little girl. She was visibly fuming, her knuckles turning white. She sighed. I know he only means good. They all do. But...listening in on conversations, following me like a bunch of creeps...I have half a mind to- At that moment, Anna was interrupted by James Hawkeye's presence, dropping directly in front of her, lunging forward. The two fell to the ground in a clash of iron armor and cobble, a single dart flying just past James' face. "Anna, down, an Assassin!"

She barely had enough time to respond before another dart shot towards them, barely deflected by the thin steel blade Jame's held at stride. A dark elf dropped from the trees, it's pale, grey skin painted with green and brown dyes. It began a stride towards James, drawing two axes at once. "I did not want to do it this way," the elf uttered, "but I suppose a little mess could be fun!" The dark one lunged forward, plunging downwards in a powerful strike. James barely managed to transfer the dark elf's energy, throwing the man against the shop wall, embedding the axe raised overhead into the wet wood. The dark elf turned violently, oblivious to James, who had taken the moment of clarity and the pause in his attack to contemplate a new strategy. James' limberly planted a food on the cobble runner for the path, launching into the air, with his other foot gently lighting upon the wall. In a single graceful kick, James twisted his body away from the wall, planting a firm strike to the dark elf's neck, which emitted a sickening crack. As he dropped down to the ground again, James reached for the embedded axe, grabbing it and embedding it into the back of the dark elf's head. A single spat of blood splashed on James' face, and the dark elf paused in surprise. The would-be assassin slumped to his knees, dropping his other axe, and fell firmly to the dirt, a single trickle of blood emanating from his mouth.

Anna reached for James' hand, pulling her way to her wobbly feet, surprise and fear playing across her face as she processed the event that had just unfolded. "Sorry, m'am", he began, "I had heard the dark elves weren't pleased with the verdict on Archaeus. Figured they were sending someone." Anna shook at her knees. He...he was right...if it wasn't for James.... "Things went according to plan, though." Anna looked at James with a look of confusion. "I have a plan I wish to discuss with you."

=
===========================

Golgotha shot up straight in his bed, sweat trickling down his face. His sheets were wet with perspiration, and his tongue had began to bleed from biting at the nightmares invading his rest. He had of course seen these things before - the nightmare was a regular occurrence, and as nightmares go, this was one of his most routine. He had not slept a stable sleep for many years, and he was as known for his commitment to valor and honor as he was the dark black bags around his eyes. He swung his feet over the bed, rubbing his eyelids in exhaustion. He was about to stand when a soldier burst through his door, sword in hand. The soldier stopped, staring at the near naked Golgotha before him, sitting in only boxers. Golgotha stood up, saluting the solider, who awkwardly returned the salute. "Sir, it's..." he began, but was interrupted by Golgotha. "Nighttime. Let me get dressed." He walked to his shelves, grabbing a white tunic and an old pair of cotton shorts. He threw them on, looking over his shoulder at the soldier as he walked to make his nighttime coffee. "I'd offer you some, but it's spiked. I like it a bit strong...if you know what I mean." The soldier peered at the surreal setting in front of him. "Sir...it's...it's..." Golgotha turned around, drinking water from a glass as the stove boiled the water. "Spit it out, kid." "It's Anna..." Golgotha stopped mid-drink. "She's dead."

The glass fell to the floor, shattering into thousands of pieces.

=
===========================

Rain fell on the group assembled below. Placet, Golgotha, James, Aeolus, a crowd increasing by the second. They stood around the now bloody apron lying on the ground, soaked in rain. "An assassin came for her...I stopped them, but...I let my guard down...another attacked and...they killed her...they dragged her body away...". Golgotha's fists balled tightly, and a single tear, imperceptible due to the deluge surrounding them, ran down his face. He wheeled around, punching James square in the face, sending the man reeling to the ground, blood tricking from his nose. "You bastard! She told me to stay...she...she needed me...why didn't you stop them?!" Golgotha got on the ground, straddling James, and lifted his hand to deliver another blow. His hand shaking in the air, Golgotha fell instead on James, sobbing as Placet walked over to lift him up, James holding Golgotha with one arm and his nose with the other. The single tear soon multiplied, and Golgotha was led away to his chambers to sleep the night away. In the dimly lit chambers, Golgotha sat cross legged on his bed, his elbows resting on his knees. Holding his face in his hands, he was silently sobbing, shaking in both anger and despair at the situation unfolding in front of him. His best friend, his everything, was gone - the bloody apron sitting in his lap, reflecting the light in red streaks, steadily built the near unquenchable rage inside of his heart. Though fresh, the blood had begun to coagulate, forming long, black strings of dried stains, the rest kept moist only by his tears. He tossed the apron to his side, flinging back onto his bed.

"I can't believe I hit him..." Golgotha said aloud, to no one in particular. Though he was known for his rather violent temper when his loved ones were threatened, nobody had expected that rage to ever be directed at one of the humans. Golgotha unfolded his legs, leaning off the edge of the bed, and slipped to the wooden floor below. He crept towards the door, knocking once. He was in confinement, his friends knowing the lengths he would go to for revenge. Placet slid open the view panel. "Hey...how are you, friend?" Placet inquired. Golgotha simply shook his head, and Placet sighed. "I know...I...I know...James sent a letter to you, by the way. I wasn't sure if you were...awake..." Golgotha caught him off. "You heard me crying, and didn't want to embarass me. That's fine. Crying is no embarassment when it's warranted. I was just wondering if you could get me a beer?"

Placet simply smiled a wary, terse smile. He handed the letter through the slot, and did a small nod of the head towards Golgotha in affirmation, sliding the view port shut with a click. Golgotha heard the patter of steps down the hall, and the changing of guards.

Golgotha returned to his desk, sliding open the letter as he looked out the barred windows of the confinement cell. He had built this cell with his own two hands, meaning for it to house the unknown traveller or prisoner of war. It was outfitted in his favorite colors, red and white, and the triple sized bed was made elegant with a white linen sheet set. He had never imagined it would be him as the prisoner, but here he was - it was for his own good, he knew, but it didn't sting any less. His heart sung with a thousand-voiced choir as he saw the contents of his letter - a single iron pick, the pick he had given James on his last birthday. It was a small but effective tool, once his brother's, and after all that James had done for the empire, he had felt it only appropriate to give some token of family. Golgotha read the letter in lower whisper.

"Golgotha,

You struck me harder than I have ever been struck in my life. This leads to me one conclusion - your love for Anna, for this empire, is the only thing that can bring her back. My informants in the elven lands have sent reports of a figure, identicial to Anna, roaming the countryside in heavy cloak. She seems to be looking for something. Enclosed is Zacchaes' pick - the window jam is easily pickable, should one know how to do it. I'm sure you do.

Bring her back.

- James"

Golgotha smiled at the letter, looking at the window, then at the pick in his hand. Standing, with sudden pounding heart, he rushed to the door, sure that any noise in his footsteps would betray his plan. As he slid the pick in the door, he could hear the knocking of Placet's boots on the ground outside his door. With a click, he unhined the first clasp lock. A loud knock came from the door face. "Hey, Gol, I got the beer." Sweat forming on his brow, Golgotha jiggled the pick deeper, and with a sigh, felt the second clasp swing free. A second knock uttered. "Gol? Guards!" With a soft click, the third clasp unhinged, and he could hear the guards outside his door searching for the correct key. The fourth clasp finally gave way, and when the guards entered the room, Golgotha was simply leaning against the window. Placet, holding a baton, walked slowly to Golgotha, beer in hand.

"Gol...what's going on?" Golgotha smiled, reaching for the beer. Placet handed it to him. Golgotha took a heavy swig, nodding in approval at the bitter brew. He began to laugh, and Placet, confused, simply stared back. Slowly, a smile formed at the edges of Placet's mouth, and he joined in the laughter. The second guard joined as well, standing just behind Placet, in defensive footing. Golgotha brought his mug down, laughing as he did so, and brought the heavy stone goblet upwards in a strong arc, flinging beer and broken stone about the floor. Placet fell down to the floor in a stupor, and the second guard, in shock, could only stare at his knocked out superior. Golgotha threw the rest of the mug down, spinning his leg in a wide swing, cathing the guard across the eyes. The second guard fell like a brick. Golgotha felt awful. "Three friends in one day. Goddamn, I'm losing my congeniality."

He slammed open the iron bars, unhinging the window as he heard increasing footsteps up the common staircase. He grabbed Anna's apron, tearing off the blood streaked portion, tying it in a haphazard ribbon around his arm. He jumped off the balcony of the town hall window, landing with spread feet. He began a frantic run to the gate, the pain in his legs searing with every step.

As he approached the gate, a guard came from the guard house, sword drawn, and went to deliver a blow. Golgotha dodged the blow, barely avoiding the obviously dull blade, slamming the guard into the wall with an akward tackle. He could see additional guards mounting below, and as he climed to the gate controls, he knew that there was simply no way he could use the gates. He paused at the top of the ladder, his eyes searching the immediate surroundings for some kind of inspired escape plan. He chuckled to himself. Anna did always say I never thought things through…

He saw no other way – opening the defensive platforms, he crawled through the view port, a tight space no larger than two feet across and a foot high. He tore at his skin as he forced his way through, streaks of blood catching on the cobble. He grabbed the hinge for the viewport on the outside of the wall as the guards rushed towards him, the squadron pausing in confusion at his predicament. Placet, nose bleeding and face bruised, came to the front of the group. “Gol…you can’t escape. She wouldn’t want this…” Golgotha smirked. “No. She would be the one doing this.” He smiled, letting go of the hinge, bending backwards as he drifted to the earth from overlook. He arched his back hard, directing his body into an arrow-like form, and crashed into the water below. The bubbles surrounded him as the coldness rushed into his lungs, paralyzing his breathing. He righted himself, swimming hard in front of him, avoiding the natural instinct to surface. I’m coming, friend. Two days, seven hours, fifteen minutes. Golgotha nursed his drink, gingerly shifting his weight. Sprained Ankle. Cracked Tibia. Constrained arterial vessels. Note to self - falling off of high platforms is a terrible idea. He took a swig of the whiskey, letting it sit in his mouth for a minute before spitting in into the glass of water next to the bottle. On any normal night, he would have no problem drinking - this was not a normal night. The taste was calming, but he could not afford to be drunk. He looked at his watch, an old timepiece crafted by an elven friend in payment for a service rendered, so many, many years ago. The second hand ticked over, grasping the minute hand as it did, the copper blades ticking forward. Two days, seven hours, sixteen minutes. Time had seemed to crawl by in the last few days, the weight of the situation at hand seeming to weigh down its passage with each movement, each scuffle, and each breath. He surveyed the bar, the seedy dive that she was supposedly a patron of. His informants had told him she was spotted here. Now, the waiting game. Two days, seven hours, seventeen minutes. He raised the glass to his chapped, cracked lips, tilting the glass back. He stopped suddenly at the sound of the heavy bar door, creaking on it's heavy iron hinges. The squeaking of the old hinge pierced the bar, and many a patron paused in conversation to survey the newcomer. The music continued loudly, however, a jazz number of some kind. Golgotha recognized it as Dwarven, but couldn't place its exact origin. The woman paced in, closing the door gingerly behind her. She wore a tightly wrapped cloak, hiding her face from the crowd, and as she lifted the basket she was carrying to the bar's edge, a lock of red hair fell out of place. She quickly pushed it back under the hood, revealing tender, plump lips, strikingly red against her pale skin. That has to be her...it just has to be.

Golgotha had followed leads for the past few days, moving from tip to tip. It had been almost a week since Anna had supposedly died, and a mere two days since his breakout from the guards in the human capital. He had received information that she was here, but a description of "red hair, white" pretty much encompassed whole stock populations of the Northern Wastes. He watched silently as the woman opened her basket, revealing fresh baked breads, which she then pushed across the bar. The man behind the establishment, an old human trader by the name of Darej, pushed a hand of bills her way, smiling as he did so, shaking her hand. An unusual action for the wastes - she had to be Anna. She just had to be. A redheaded baker, treated with such respect in a culture of rape, war and pillaging - it had to be her. The woman waved at the musicians, and a flautist waved back, scurrying quickly back to his instrument, several notes behind. The saxophonist eyed him angrily, speeding up the song to another quarter tempo shuffle. Golgotha couldn't help but crack a smile. The woman opened the door, and departed.

He waited for a moment, not wishing to draw attention, standing only when he was sure there would be no presumptions. He dropped a few bills on the bar, and the bartender nodded tersely at him, as if to express his joy that Golgotha was leaving. He moved out the door, lighting a cigarette in the frigid winter air, knowing full well that if this was to be Anna, she would smell the tobacco on his breath - this may be his last day in Aeonis. He drew heavily, the smoke filling his lungs, allowing the nicotine to rush his system. He felt invigorated. He spotted her several rows past, walking down a main street towards the subdivisions of the small hamlet. Grasping a streetlight overhang, he swung himself into a hanging position, wrapping his legs on the top bar, and pushing until he was standing hear a roof's edge. He lightly jumped to the railing, taking care not to frighten the occupants as he rushed across the wood beams, platform to platform.

He followed her for a few minutes, noticing her strange behavior - every few steps, she would stop, look back, surveying the road, then continue, as if aware that something was amiss. The nature of her tracking knowledge only served to bolster the identification - Golgotha was sure he had finally found her. She entered an unassuming house, dressed in only a dark black banner and a clothesline, signaling that she was indeed a businesswoman of high regard. He understood the banner, a tribal custom, a signifier of respect. Waiting outside the house, he could hear her first undress, shower, then robe herself, slipping into the long bed seen through the window. He waited for her to fall asleep.

Leaping from ballast to ballast, he alighted on her window edge, gingerly popping the latch with expert silence. As he crawled in, he couldn't help but smile, his heart soaring at the surprise he would give Anna - the trickster would be completely caught off guard, a win in the imaginary game of surprises they had seemingly taken up over the years. He drew off his cloak, its sash-like fabric making too much noise for a quiet approach. Smiling, he approached Anna, leaning over until his breath was visibly moving the tiny hairs upon her neck. He kissed her neck, and said the two most dangerous words he would ever utter - "Hello beautiful."

The woman shot up, slamming her open palm into Golgotha's nose, flooding his vision with blood. A vase fell over. A painting was ripped. The light turned on, and as his vision cleared, his mistake was clear - the woman standing before him was not Anna. Her face, aged by scars and nicotine marks, belied the frailty of the woman, a trader who had obviously seen her better years. "Ae' wha er ye wantin, ye pervart?" She was holding a dagger, sharpened on all edges, glimmering in the light of the candle suggestively. Golgotha brought his hands up, motioning for her to put the knife down. The woman brandished the blade with experience, and he could feel the tenseness about her - he likened her to a snake, poised and ready to strike. Goddamn James, you promised me... The woman moved to strike, but Golgotha twisted out of the way, barely dodging the strike as the blade sliced through his shirt, a thin red line trickling down his sliced arm. The woman smiled, going in for another strike, but Golgotha was prepared. With a deft motion, he ducked underneath and to her side, catching the hand with the blade in a firm grasp. With a twirling motion, he brought the blade into his own hand and twisted the woman into a firm grip, blade to her throat. "Stop, listen." The woman grimaced, a toothy, hateful look. "I thought you were someone else!" The woman brought her head down, slamming into Golgotha's face, sending him reeling back. He felt the soft squish of broken bone on torn muscle as his nose retreated somewhat deeper, the woman stepping back. "Goddammit, that was the same fucking spot..." The woman went to open the door, but Golgotha, vision filled with blood, flung the knife at her, embedding the blade deep in the door. "Ye bastard!" She muttered, spitting angrily. "Ye nevar strike at eh wommin!"

The redhead went for another strike, lunging at him in a quick burst. She was about to plant a blow when her door opened, a single scream echoing through the house. "Step et ye bloody boxah!" The redhead stopped midstrike, retreating quickly to the doorjam. In the door way was a younger woman, a brunette, standing akwardly, taking in the situation. She saw the blood dripping from Golgotha's arm, and the knife stuck in the jam. "Blood e'erywheh, lottsa noise, an' a piss't off 'uman? Ye must be Golgotha, aye?" Golgotha lowered his defensive stance somewhat, surprised at hearing his name from this unknown element. The woman walked from the door frame, caught for a second by a tug on her arm from the other woman. The younger simply smiled, nodding. The woman released her, and she walked to Golgotha, unravelling a cotton strand as she came closer. "The name is Malya, but you can jus' call me Lya. James said ye'd be commin at sem point."

Golgotha's eyebrow arched, and he opened his mouth to speak. The woman silenced him, and began tending to his injuries. "Don't be seying nothin. Jus' lissen." Golgotha nodded, and she smiled as she stripped off his shirt. "James contacted me a few weeks ago. Sed he had some kinda plan. Sed that you ed be nothin more than a block." Golgotha winced as she wrapped his arm, and looked at the door jam, spotting the older woman, still glaring angrily. Lya noticed his stare, and turned to the girl. "Now dun be hatin' him, kiddo. He went into de wrong room, is all. If'n ye had waited to delivar till the morn, this'd not be a problem, aye?" The girl looked away, and started down the hall in anger. "Dun be mindin her. She dun like James much either." Golgotha smiled, and turned his head. "And what exactly was I blocking, miss Lya? And why should I trust you?" Lya smiled, and brought her hand up quickly, exposing that she was holding a scalpel. "Cause if ah wanted ta, I coulda killed ye already." She used the scalpel to cut the end off the cotton swatch, tying it tightly around his arm. Smiling, she walked to a desk in the corner.

Opening the drawer, she pulled a letter out, and Golgotha saw the old wax seal embossed on it. "From meh brotha, James, to Golgotha." She handed the note to a bewildered Golgotha, smiling at his face. "Not a real brotha, mind'ye, but blood brotha nonetheless." She walked to the door. "I'll go talk to the kiddo. She cen stay in mah room, ye can stay 'ere. Nex' time, ye might want to wake a lass in ano'er way den a kiss. Some frien'ly advice." She walked from the doorway. Golgotha gingerly touched his nose, and began to feel the bone reform. Goddamn Void...what...is this shit? What'd you do to me? He wasn't sure what talent it was that Void had left him, but in this instance at least, he was grateful.The letter was written on stained parchment, the yellow corriander-like stain darkening at the fibers, stretching along it's crease. The seal itself was embossed in wax, and bore a simple insignia, unbecoming if not for it's master - the seal, an arrow crossed with a staff, was the personal seal of one James Hawkeye. Golgotha eyed it quizically, both filled with fear and joyousness - on the one hand, it could be a letter of Anna's return. On the other, it could be news of her corpse and a planned funeral. The weight of the world felt balanced on the edge ot the parchment, and his hands and feet grew cold, his mind lost in thoughts of blood and love. He opened the seal gingerly, avoiding the many small tears that befall the parchment. It had obviously travelled a long and arduous distance. The thought struck him strangely - a letter sent so long ago, opened now? He slid his fingers into the fold, pushing the paper open in a slow motion.

Golgotha,

I am sorry my friend. I have committed many grave acts in my lifetime, but few have been as contrived and hurtful as this. I have slain brothers, cut assunder youth, and forged battle on holy ground, yet I will forever find myself indebted for this particular occasion.

Anna is dead. I know for a fact that she is. Before her death, she made me promise something to her - a plan more than a promise, really, a mechanism with which to flush out the enemies of the empire. As part of it, she wanted you removed for some time. Your love for her, your need to protect her, was so overwhelming that she saw you as a threat to the completion of our plan.

Golgotha's hand shook, tears welling in disappointment. He hated James. Not for the games he had played, and not for the lies he had given, but for the truth that Golgotha had feared all along. Hate ran through his every fiber, his tears stinging his hot cheeks. The worst part, to him at least, was the way in which James had noted her death - it was so matter of fact, without love, without ease. It was a statement that could be given for a casualty of the enemy, not for one of their own, and Anna at that.

I knew that the promise was not a fair one, but I made it to her anyways. The pick that I gave you, the lockpick? Keep it. I do not deserve such an honorable item. Zacchaeus would be ashamed.

Golgotha slipped his hand in his pocket, spinning the pick gently between his fingers.

You can stay with Lya for as long as you need - she is like a sister to me. We...we were once betrothed. I trust her with my life.

Signed, James Hawkeye

Golgotha dropped the parchment, sitting on the edge of the girls bed in shock. He heard a shuffle at the door, and Lya was standing with a hot cider, hair pulled back in a delicate bun. "I know how ye mus' feel, kiddo. I'm so'ry." Golgotha only shook his head. She put the cider on the edge of the jam, and lowered her head. "Jus' remembeh, if ye was tha one ye love, what'd ye do?" Golgotha stared at the wood of the paneled floors. "A caravan leaves on the morrow'. If ye be leavin', ye nee' some sleep. 'Night, new frien'." Golgotha simply waved her away, and she retreated behind the door jam.