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It began with another knock on the door.

A few weeks had passed since the other three slaves - Makaz, Zakam, and Kyarn - had arrived, and quite a bit had been accomplished in that time.

The newest embodiment of the slave quarters had been completed, a few people had come and gone, working relationships had been established between the new servants and the old - Makaz and Zakam had melded with the others rather easily, but Kyarn was rarely seen socializing with the others, though he seemed slightly more approachable than when they had all just arrived - still, he had not yet been coerced into removing his robes at all.

And now, Chiaria hurried to open the door as the knock was repeated, noticeably louder. She pulled the heavy oaken door open and stood back, bowing and offering her rehearsed greeting to this unknown person.

"Greetings, my lord, and welcome to the estate of Genvi. Please, make yourself at home in the sitting room while Master Genvi is brought to greet you himself. I would not, however, recommend thievery due to the wards set in place to prevent such." She kept her gaze on the ground throughout the entirety of the short speech.

"Well, well, well, my dear," offered a polite, smooth voice that was shot through with a hint of mirth. "I did not know that the famous Genvi family made use of such attractive servants!"

Beneath the layer of fur on her snouted head, her flesh turned a bright, cardinal red with a blush as she heard the man's closing remark. "Now listen here," she snapped, looking up - and then stopping, partially due to the realization of her trespassing against house - and Imperial - rulings, but mostly because of her own amazement at the sight of the three in front of her.

The first one, almost undoubtedly the one who had addressed her, was a man in bright red clothing trimmed in gold, wearing tall, shiny black boots. He was tall and heavyset, most likely muscle slowly turning to fat. He was much older than her, as evidenced by the handful of wrinkles on his sun kissed face, but there were no signs of age showing in his bright blue eyes, nor any grey sprinkling his raven black hair. A wide-brimmed black velvet hat, set with a large purple hat, was perched at a jaunty angle atop his head. The symbol of a certified Noble Imperial merchant hung from his vest. He had a sly grin on his features.

The second was a giant of a man, towering over a foot above her. He was heavily armoured, wearing decorative plating over almost every portion of his huge body. Whatever wasn't covered in such steel armour was obscured by a dark metallic chainmail. A visored metal helmet obscured his features from view. Despite the fact that the giant's armoured gauntlets were already set in with blades, he carried a pair of hand-and-a-half swords in ornately tooled and bejeweled leather scabbards. Although she could only see his eyes, she knew instantly that he disliked her, for some reason or another.

The third was a tired-looking man, old and grey, displaying signs of a long and brutal life. He was dressed in the long white-and-red robes of a priest, a black hood that mostly covered his face designating some manner of rank - she didn't know what rank, as she had never been taught the ways of the priesthood, and she only knew that he was a member of the official Imperial Sect because those of similar garb had come here and introduced themselves as such - of course, the Imperial crest of a clenched grey fist often helped identify them. He carried a long white-wood staff, and his face, mostly covered by a long beard and the hood, was flat and neutral.

She noticed a few other figures, lurking around a large number of wagons and carts that had pulled to a stop in the courtyard, and figured that they were probably slaves, servants, or bodyguards of some kind.

"Ah," said the merchant with a smirk. "So you do have some fight in you, hm? Tell me, how long have you been a servant of the Genvi family?"

"For about eight years now, my lord." She dropped her gaze again.

"Now, now, dear," the merchant chided softly. "No need to act subservient if you really aren't. Oh, and don't let Coldheart there scare you. He doesn't like your kind a great deal, I'm afraid."

"M...my kind?"

"Ah. Your kind. Non-humans. Creatures. Beasts."

"Oh... of course, my lord." She glanced aside, seeing Des'kava approaching. "Uh, my lord, perhaps you should talk to the attendant here... my master wouldn't be particularly appreciative if I abandoned my post for any period of time, even at the command of a guest."

"Well, now!" The merchant grinned as the shapely slave approached. "It would seem that your master has interesting tastes in slaves, does he not?" His tone left no doubt that it was a rhetorical question.

"Would you be interested in my services, lord? I am trained in a number of ways to relax the body." Des'kava purred to the rather uncomfortable man.

"Mm, I most certainly would, my beautiful young friend, but - it would appear as though your master has finally deigned to make an appearance." He bowed shallowly to the hybrid and then turned, bowing deeper and doffing his hat to the young Traynor as he approached. "Greetings and salutations, my fine young gentleman," he began formally.

"Greetings, merchant. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, sir?" Chiaria noticed that her master's strange golden eyes narrowed with suspicion at the man, in fierce opposition to his rather pleasant tone.

"I'm afraid I come bearing grim news, lord Genvi." The merchant sighed, re-donning his hat and looking around dramatically before continuing.

"As I'm sure you know, my lord, tensions have been growing as of late. All across the world, the land shakes to the march of countless booted feet. Vast armies gather in every great city of the nations. Why, our ownprovinceofMaulikrises against us in rebellion. In the mountains, Orcs and Goblins gather in their crude forts, bandits and brigands muster among the hills and forests, and the tribal monsters of the world stir from their dark dens to cause havoc. The sky grows dark with the shadow of a gathering storm, lord, and I am afraid the Empire needs gold, to pay for the warriors they are forced to use in these dark times."

"And what does this all have to do with me?" Traynor demanded.

"Ah, so we cut to the meat of the matter." The merchant smiled, but it was a cold, reptilian grin, an expression devoid of any mirth or humour whatsoever. "You owe the Empire quite a bit, lord Genvi."

"I have been authorized to take your possessions, lands, and titles." He cast a glance towards Chiaria and Des'kava, who stood dumbfounded nearby. "And that includes your slaves, I am sorry to say. Of course, I am only keeping the slaves. The rest will be given to the Empire, and then sold to the highest bidder so that it may provide funding for the military." He tipped his hat gently. "Good day, Traynor. Enjoy your life as a peasant, my lord!" He chuckled and turned, heading for the door. "Oh, and you two, please fetch the other slaves, mm?"

Traynor stared at the departing merchant for a moment, and then snatched the decorated steel broad sword from its place of honour on the mantle, lunging at the man.

There was a sound of metal hitting metal, and Traynor was thrown onto his back, sliding across the hard floor, the sword flying from his grasp.

The massive warrior, Coldheart, stood where Traynor had been charging towards, one of his swords clutched in both hands. He resembled some heroic statue of a famous knight, seemingly frozen in a guard position, sword diagonal across his chest. He had smashed the blade from Traynor's grip, and then had slammed the hilt into the young man's chest, sending him skidding.

"Approach my commander with a blade again and I will kill you, whelp." The warrior snarled, his voice rendered metallic as it issued forth from his helmet. "Do you understand me?"

"I... I..." Traynor looked at the merchant and blurted out. "Wait! No! Please, take me with you! Don't leave me here!"

"You are offering yourself as a servant, are you, then?" The merchant smirked, obviously appreciating the irony inherent in the words.

"No! No. As an equal. You are a merchant, are you not? I offer numerous skills valuable to any fine businessman!"

"Oh? Such as?" Interest displayed itself clearly in the merchant's tone.

"Well, for one, I command the complete and total loyalty and respect of my servants, of whom I learned to take care of during my life. I am also well-versed in the ability to conduct monetary transactions--"

"Obviously not," the one known as Coldheart muttered with a dark chuckle.

"--And am well-known in the area as a fine appraiser of goods," he finished, ignoring the giant's comment.

"I see. Hm. You would earn a decent salary. And be provided with reasonable accommodations."

"That... that would be acceptable." Traynor swallowed, his eyes wide, trying to put on as brave of a face as he could. In Chiaria's opinion, he was doing as well as he possibly could - he was being stripped of all that made him a noble, and yet he had not quite backed down yet.

"Very well!" The man smiled cheerily. "Let us be on our way then, hm?"

"Yes, let us go. Chiaria. Des'kava. Fetch the others. We leave in ten minutes."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

The neighboring province to the Genvi estate was Chitarik province, although it was technically upon thelandofNisadeenProvince. Across the entirety of the Moonwood was a small town known as Jakala, and outside of it was the abandoned estate of a family known as Truuk. By this point in time, the grand manor had been overgrown by plants and such, but it had been taken over as a place of meeting by a coven of magi, and tonight was a night of magic - and terror.

The leader of the group of five was a powerful wizard of darkness, and he had recently acquired a book that informed him how to summon a daemon of great power, and had shared it with his followers.

The invocation was almost complete, and the portal that they had constructed for this specific reason was beginning to open - the dull purple liquid that seemed to fill it began to ripple - a hand, not with fingers but with talons, emerged, grasping onto the stone edge of the portal, claws digging deep. A low, deep chuckle slipped from the portal, filling the air - it came from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Now a head pulled forth from the portal's surface. It resembled a massive human skull, with four slanted eyes, eight twisted horns, and a mouthful of viciously sharp fangs. It turned its evil gaze upon the wizard, and the mouth twisted in a gruesome parody of a grin.

"You. You are the ones who have dared to summon me. You are the fools who have sealed your demise." The voice was loathsome, a terrible, inhuman rasp that send shards of pain into the mages' souls.

The youngest of the five, a foolish lad of no more than twenty years of age, stepped forth, yelling out the words to the invocation and then screaming his next words.

"I command you, daemon! We have brought you forth upon this plane and thereby you obey us!"

The creature chuckled darkly. Without warning, flames sprouted from everywhere in the small room - from the floors, from the walls, and from the ceiling, tongues of fire licked at the mages from all around.

Two of them collapsed instantly, screaming as their flesh boiled and peeled away, organs liquefying under the intense heat, but the other three stood their ground.

The youngest man, still standing foolishly before the portal, glared arrogantly at the great daemon for a moment longer.

Moving at a blinding speed, the creature's hand flashed out, talons separating the mage's head from his shoulders. Arterial blood spurted out from the stump of his neck, and he collapsed, crimson vitae collecting around him in a growing pool.

Another hand emerged from the portal, this one carrying a massive, glowing-red runic blade, which shimmered in the light of the daemonfire. It slid out, ripping through the torso of the nearest of the two mages, showering the wizard, the leader, in gore and organs as his comrade fell apart next to him.

The daemon had now fully emerged from the portal, and stood in all of its horrific glory before him.

It was fully twelve feet tall, and almost as wide. It had four arms, each carrying a different form of weapon - one carried the terrible sword, another had talons, the third carried a bloody axe, and the fourth bore a wicked whip. Great, fiery wings sprouted from its back, but the fire was black and painful to look at. Its legs ended in massive spiked hooves, which looked as dangerous as any of the weapons the thing carried. Shards of armour covered its red, muscled body, but it appeared to be there to add simply more of an image to the creature than to offer any protection - why would it need protection anyway?

"W-who are you?" The mage managed to stammer.

Another guttural chuckle. It spoke, then. "I am a daemon, foolish mortal. I am the monster in your dreams. The creature under your bed. The beast in your closet. The horror outside your window. The indescribable horror that waits for you in the darkness."

"I am what is going to kill you and devour your soul, mortal."

"But for now, silly creature, I am free and so I must take care." The daemon turned to the now ever-glowing portal, and grinned, raising its four arms to the ceiling and speaking a horrific, guttural intonation. More shapes began forcing their way through the surface, and the monster turned back to the wizard, grin wider than ever.

"I am going to end your existence now, mortal. For myself and my kin, this will be but a momentary distraction, a thing of playtime."

"For you, however, it will be an eternity of pain. Your end is long in coming."

The wizard screamed, but there was nothing to give heed to his cries of terror.

He was alone.