The Ballad of Sandar Kanto

[A note of some importance: In this world, the dead do not stay that way. Three days after death they rise again as Extinguished, intelligent undead retaining all of their memories and higher functioning. The common practice is to burn the bodies of the dead so that their souls can finally move on and find peace.]



         Heavily perfumed smoke hangs in the air, a necessary evil in this part of town. The powerful incense covers the smell of the docks that threatens to creep in each time the door bangs open, admitting another soon-to-be-drunken sailor to the revelry. The man seated before you barks a carefree laugh and orders another pitcher of wine from one of the serving girls. Yet his eyes still dart briefly to the door each time it swings open.

         A cursory inspection of the man reveals nothing particularly extraordinary. Average height, unassuming build, dark hair and darkened skin, both indicative of one native to the Southern Continent, none of these things make him stand out. And yet, he seems to attract attention, drawing it to him like a cloak. Hiding under it in plain sight.

         “So,” he begins, breaking you out of your study as the young woman returns and sets the pitcher on the table. “you want to know my story then?” Green eyes twinkle slightly as they hold your gaze, forcefully enough that you almost miss the extra coins and the parchment he slips into the girls waist-pouch as she walks away.

         “I suppose my tongue has been loosened enough to spare a few words. Domaigne knows it won't be doing anything more interesting tonight.” He exaggerates a wink and a lingering look in your direction before continuing: “Though maybe someone talented enough could convince me otherwise, no?”

         The invocation of the Burning One surprises you slightly, this one doesn't particularly seem to be the devout type. However the Church is highly influential these days, and getting more popular all the time.

         “Oh, do wipe that look off your face. You aren't really my type anyways. Where was I? Oh yes, the beginning. I was born in Weikosta, if you couldn't already tell, into the house of a minor noble. Father made a small fortune in the porcelain trade and had just managed to improve his station shortly before my birth. Gave him quite the attitude while I was growing up, I can tell you. 'Do you know how hard I worked for this, Sandar?' 'You should be more appreciative, Sandar!' 'You got lucky, to be born with a title like this, Sandar!' ” He rolls his eyes and makes a strange, flapping motion with the fingers of one hand as he talks.

         “Eh, forgive me, I shouldn't speak unkindly of the dead, I know. Don't mistake my frippery for ungraciousness. I am quite proud of the Kanto name. To a point. But I digress. Father was a traditional Weikostan man by all accounts. Devoted to family. Worked hard. Paid more than just lip service in his venerations of Ehrenz. Yes, he was traditional. Except for one thing: Mother.”

         “She was Dashi. High society down there frowns a bit on intermixing of that sort, you know. Of course, Father wasn't exactly strolling in those circles when he married her. From what I understand, he was something of a romantic as a younger man. Got the notion in his head that the monastic life was idyllic. Off he went to the mountains. I guess it didn't live up to his expectations, because he came back two years later, this time with a wife in tow. Best thing that ever happened to him, to listen to the family tell it. Sure they had their problems, but they loved each other in their own way.”

         “Regardless, upon his return he got lucky with some investing and soon found himself sitting on top of a rapidly growing business. Those in Shota took notice and, after some truly inspired political maneuvering, elevated our house to Nobility. And that's where I come in.”

         “Now don't think that the life of a young noble is all butterflies and sunshine. I mean, it is, but you shouldn't think that. Gets the peasants all uppity if they dwell on that too much. And I surely had it better than most I know. The Black War broke out when I was a babe. No no, don't ask me about it. I don't have any horror stories or profound experience to share about it. I barely remember it as is. No great trauma befell our clan or whatnot. No, my family persevered with little to no interruption. Father's business continued to grow and I had a typical childhood. Loved my mother, fought with my brothers, punished by my father, etc, etc. Anticlimactic? Sure.”

         He takes a long pull from his goblet, and refills yours as well, glancing again at the door as it bangs against the wall yet again.

         “In fact, everything about the rest of my family is dreadfully normal. Father lived a full life and died an old man, Mother still dodders around looking after grandchildren and poking her nose into finances from time to time, one brother became head of the house and business, another joined up to serve his land and became a decorated officer bringing honor and glory to the house, and the youngest got extraordinarily lucky and landed a beautiful wife from house Weikosta itself thereby solidifying the family name and strengthening our position.” He makes the flapping hand motion again, voice beginning to lilt in an exaggerated boredom. Yet the humor never quite reaches his eyes. Pride, of a sort, still shines there.

         “Now, you may find yourself wondering 'But Sandar! How is it that you, the oldest son and clearly most attractive, did not become head of the house? What travesty conspires to keep you from your birthright?' ” Mocking aside, he does a reasonable facsimile of your voice, though you are sure it isn't quite that high pitched. “And to that I say, thank you for your honest appraisal of my pleasing features.” Another loud bark of laughter and a drink from his cup. “And secondly, the simple answer there is that I didn't want it. I have far more important things to do than see that the porcelain trade in the southern continent continues unabated. You see, Mother felt that, as the oldest, I should have an upbringing closer to the Dashi tradition. Something about an old agreement and blah blah blah. Regardless, when I hit my thirteenth summer, off I went to live with the Dashi. Fortunately, the lifestyle agreed with me far more than it did with my father.”

         “Have you ever made it that far south? No? Well, it is well worth the trip. You should make it one day. Might do you some good. The journey itself is inspiring. If there is a greater example of Uskara's beauty in all of Eras than the Mind Forest, I'll eat my hat. Of course it gets a bit strange at night, I'm sure you know. But a beautifully serene place none-the-less. Honestly? I loved it out there. It was a great place to grow into a man. Plenty of places to explore, with lots of opportunity for climbing, running, jumping, swimming, all of those physical activities that work towards sculpting the fine physical specimen you see before you.”

         “And lots of work. The Dashi really value a hard day's labor. Makes sense of course. A small, self sufficient community like that needs discipline to stay alive. The goods that the few Extinguished carried up on their way through the pass were never enough to keep us afloat, if they brought anything they were willing to trade at all. Yes. Extinguished. Bit of a dirty word around here I understand, but I've known quite a few of them. Hey! That reminds me!” His eyes light up as he sits forward, leaning in conspiratorially. “You want to know whats beyond the pass?”

         The breath leaves your chest. You would kill for information like that. Everyone wonders, but something like this could make you. Could he really be about to hand you information that could make your career? His smile broadens, seeing that he has captured your attention.

         “Beyond the Mountains of Memory, through the ancient pass guarded by the Dashi, lies a great and terrible secret.” He lowers his voice even further, barely whispering. “Out there, what truly lies in the Land of the Dead is...old Lich-bane's personal brewery! Staffed with nothing but the finest wenches and decorated with gold and gems enough to make a dragon jealous!” He roars with laughter at the last, all but ignoring both the sudden curiosity directed at the table and your crushing disappointment. “Oh boy, that one never gets old. You academics are all the same, that one never fails. Hey now, don't look so glum. Here, let me fill your cup again friend.” He signals the serving girl for another refill. How much can this man drink?

         “Joking aside though, the work up there was good for me. I picked up quite a few useful little skills and tricks working with the Dashi. Not to mention knowledge of quite a few of their more...unconventional pieces of weaponry.” He fingers the chains draped around his shoulders lightly, and runs his fingers down to the assorted whips and rope he carries at his waist. You could almost swear that his touch lingers a bit on the ornate belt buckle he wears. Styled like a circle of thorns with a rose running through the middle, it is a gaudy, bronze affair. Surely a strange affectation for a man, but there's no accounting for taste sometimes. In fact, now that you look closer, you see quite a lot of roses carried about him. Plenty are engraved across his armor, the thorns of the roses jutting out from the steel menacingly. You resolve to remember not to try and hug this man anytime soon. It surely wouldn't be a pleasant experience.

         “Now, you may be wondering 'But Sandar! Why leave such a perfect place and come out again into the filth and dirt of the world at large? Why not remain in seclusion, continuing to grow your great intellect and impressive skills?'. And to that, I say that I had no choice. It was destiny my bookish friend. You see, there was a girl. No, not like that, fool. A little girl. Domaigne take you, not like that either! Let me start at the beginning. I found myself wandering in the rocks outside of the village one day when I heard a call for help. I was in my seventeenth year I believe. Coming around a boulder I found one of the girls from the village, Dawa, being menaced by one of the great snow-cats that hunt the highlands. Normally they never came that close to the village, but it was a hard year and game was scarce. Driven half-mad by hunger, it clearly thought it had found an easy meal in the child. Well, naturally, I leapt in to a heroic rescue!” He rises from his seat in a ready pose, fighting off the imaginary beast with great aplomb. “I slayed the creature and saved the poor girl! Well, alright, maybe I just made a lot of noise and chucked a rock or two at it to scare it away, but let a man have his stories. Still, the effect was the same, I saved her life that day. In repayment, she gave me one of the Mountain Roses she had been collecting that day. I've still got that flower too, you know.”

         He sits back again, lounging with a distant look in his eye. “From that point, we were inseparable. Not to say that I enjoyed being followed by this slight thing so much at first, but she grew on me. I'd never had a sister, and she, no siblings of any kind. No father either. Very sad. But she needed someone who could look out for her, and who better than this dashing hero? And maybe it endeared me to the hearts of many of the older village girls as well, hmm?”

         He pauses his tale as the serving girl returns. He cracks a lewd comment and smiles mischievously at the ensuing blush. You get the feeling that you are probably hearing things that no one else knows. You idly wonder why he would tell you all of this as he tops off your cup and continues, this time with a startling seriousness:

         “Yet. All things come to an end. I lived a happy life there for a time. I had no real intention of leaving. I had many friends, including a number of the monks. One in particular, Dorje. On Feast-days we would meet up in the courtyard, Dawa, Dorje, and I. He was close to my age and somewhat of an outlier compared to the rest of the monks. Mostly because he had a sense of humor. Refreshing up there, to be sure. Plus he could actually hold his own sparring against me. It was my twenty first name-day and we were headed to Dawa's mother's house for a meal. The three of us were meeting, as always, in the courtyard when it happened. Dorje burst with light. It tore it's way out of him in a great bolt and slammed into Dawa. It killed her instantly. No warning. She was there, then she wasn't. You see, Dorje was a sorcerer. He had no idea of course, but his power finally manifested itself that day. If only she had waited at her mother's...” He trails off, staring into the distance. Not even glancing at the door as it bangs open this time. “I killed him for that. Wrapped my bare hands around his throat, looked him in the eye, and squeezed the life out of him.” He takes a small sip of wine.

         “Not that he did it intentionally. I know that. But I saw it clearly in that moment. He was dangerous. More so for not having any idea what he had done. If he had been allowed to live, he would have hurt more. I did what I needed to to save my people. I don't know if he heard me apologize as he died.”

         “A month later I was gone from the Dashi. I couldn't stay any longer. No one blamed me for what I did, they all knew why I did it. No punishment was forthcoming, because I was protecting the village. But I couldn't walk around there day after day seeing such memories. I had to leave. And so I returned home to Weikosta. Yes, I know. 'Always Remember'. And I do. But living it daily is different, you see? Still. I made my way home. Got to see my family again, repair my relationship with Father, get to know my siblings again. I took a job with Father, and spent a number of years helping out with the family business. He gave me more and more responsibility, clearly grooming me to take over his position one day. But, again, the gods don't always see fit to send us the way we feel we should go.”

         “I ran into my second mage in Shota. This one aware of what they were. A noblewoman, she was in full control of herself. We became...close friends. I didn't know what she was right away, but once I found out I thought myself in love. Though I did the right thing years ago, that doesn't make it any easier to sleep at night after having choked your best friend to death. I felt that maybe this was atonement of a sort, this one was alright. She wasn't dangerous. She could be saved. Plus, she communed with nature. This was the source of her power. A druid. A great and elegant beauty with deep respect for nature? A true sign from both Uskara and Ehrenz. But alas, I was wrong. I was there the night that the Church came for her.”

         “They knocked on her door in the small hours, rousing us from her bed. But when she opened the door, and saw the armor of the Paladins, she didn't even hesitate. She began hurling fire and thunder without pause. She killed three almost immediately. I was frozen. I still remember her silhouette in the doorway, illuminated from beyond by the flames. I saw her for what she really was in that moment, all of her terrible power on full display. And I knew what I had to do.” He reaches up to one of his chains. “This chain was the one that took her life. The Church couldn't get to her, she was too wild. And the flames threatened the city, not just the devout. I wrapped it around her neck and held her while the street burned and she died. I don't think I even wept that time.”

         “Naturally, I was commended. Honored even. Savior of Shota, true believer of the Church. And I made my choice. Clearly the Church was where I needed to be. Where my skill were most useful. They believe as I do, magic is a curse. It is a crime that must be wiped out. Mages are dangerous and threaten us all. And so, that's what I do. I kill them. Hunt them down and eradicate them. No one else will be killed by the carelessness of these creatures. You see, all that time stalking the woods and mountains? And laboring in the fields and cliffs? Climbing, hunting, swimming? Training in the traditional weapons of my people? And the social training from noble tutors? Years of experience as a merchant, catching lies and truth in negotiation? All of this led me to one truth. The gods bred me and molded me as an assassin. Made me to be Domaigne's tool. His hand of cleansing fury on the face of Eras. And let me tell you, I am damn good at what I do.” All the foppishness is gone from his demeanor. Sitting before you now is a dangerous man, a calm, cold, killer. “I am the Assassin of Thorns.”

         Your voice again, from his mouth, “ 'But Sandar! Why would you tell me this terrible truth? Why share this secret with one unworthy such as me?' Good questions my friend! You see, I tell you this because I like you. And because you are already dead.”

         You try to speak, but find the words hard to form. You head has been unusually cloudy for a few minutes but surely that's just the drink. You must have misheard, you thought he said you were dead.

         “Ah, my dear. Perfect timing.” The serving girl has returned, with a small pouch which she presents to the man. “Excellent work, young one. Keep the change. And get rid of his wine. Careful though, don't want to get any of that on your delicate skin.”

         She leaves with the cup and you find a rising panic. Something is wrong here. You try to stand, but stumble. Your limbs don't seem to be working right suddenly.

         “My apologies dear boy. I know you aren't magically skilled yourself, but I know who you work for. And you are in my way.” He opens the pouch and pulls out a single rose. “For you. A small parting gift.” He places it in one of your pockets.

         “But look at me! You've got me in quite the sharing mood.” He quips and sits back down. “We have a little more time before the poison finishes its work. Don't worry, it will be painless. Like drifting off to sleep, or so I'm told. So where am I going from here? What does Stormspear hold for me? Nothing but a job I'm afraid. Your employer has been poking his nose in all kinds of arcane research. You historians get like that sometimes of course, and typically there isn't any harm in it. But, it seems that he has been taking a much more...practical approach to his research. And that can not be tolerated. I'll kill him tomorrow, once he comes looking for you, wondering why you didn't keep your appointment today. He's very caring that way, I know. Always looks out for his tools.” He spits that last word.

         “After that, you ask? Well, I suppose it's off to Fændragon for me! To the Church I go, to collect on my fee. I have a cart of goods I'll be transporting, that's where the merchant training helps the job you see, and I have a companion with me anyways. He's a good man, bit older. This job coming along now is actually pretty funny! You see, he's a famous researcher in his own right, if you can believe that! Interested in the Extinguished. Maybe you don't see the irony like I do. No matter though, he helps me seem a more convincing merchant.” He pauses and stretches in his chair, chains rattling faintly.

         “Well, I suppose we should be off. You aren't long for this world I think and I'd love to get a real drink tonight. None of this faking business I've been doing with you. Nothing personal of course, dear boy. I did enjoy your company. But drinking on the job looks bad. Very unprofessional. And it won't do to go back to my rooms sober either, not after this long out. That might look a little odd.”

         Sandar stands and his voice is loud in your ear as he comes and helps you to your feet, projecting suddenly to the whole room. “Come now friend! You've had too much it seems!” A chorus of laughter meets you. “Let us find you a bed to sleep it off! And maybe a cow to wake up to! Ha ha!”

         Quietly, as he gets your arm around him “I'd say that about three days will get your head right again, my boy. Yes, three days and you'll be on your feet again.”

         Sharp pricks pierce your side as he lifts, the last thing you feel for a long time.