“Who the hell is that?” I yelped, turning back to see Cleo backing away as the spider-eyed man disappeared down the tunnel.

 

“Holy Knight Birsk of the Musado’s Holy Crusaders,” Cleo explained. “Run!”

 

Turning to follow Cleo as she took off I used [Channel Undead] to fire a bolt of green flame towards our pursuers. Birsk raised his sword to block the bolt which fizzled out upon collision with the holy light. And then his sword flickered out causing Birsk to falter.

 

“What foul creature are you!” He roared. After a few moments, the glow returned to his unharmed sword.

 

“What… the hell… was that?” Cleo panted as we turned a sharp corner.

 

“Unholy magic,” I offered.

 

“Clever,” she laughed.

 

I had expected my magic to be weak to holy magic but that didn’t seem like the case. Instead, my best guess was that they balanced each other, opposite but interconnected forces. Our magics seemed to have cancelled each other’s magic out. As our pursuers turned the corner I fired another bolt, this time however at the men behind which didn’t seem to have a way to match me.

 

Birsk moved to block again only to realize too late what I was doing. My unholy magic slammed into the guard’s hip causing him to topple to the ground with a scream. It was music to my ears and my only regret was that I couldn’t examine its effects.

 

The remaining two didn’t slow down. “Abandoning your comrade doesn’t seem very holy!” I yelled and fired another bolt of unholy green magic. Brisk blocked, causing his sword to briefly flicker out again. 

 

I realized that this was a major potential weakness for my undead. Assuming undead were powered by unholy magic then holy magic would absolutely cause problems in a way the undead themselves wouldn’t for holy magic.

 

“Exit is just ahead,” Cleo called to me as I flung another bolt. I nodded, as much as I needed to become more powerful I had a feeling that a “holy knight” could easily outmatch me right now. Plus we weren’t losing anything by running away.

 

“We need to split up,” I suggested as we approached a familiar pair of decorative bars.

 

“Meet me at the Whale’s Rest tavern at sunset”, she panted. “Don’t make me regret this.”

 

“I won’t, I promise,” I replied and slipped to the side of the exit instead of continuing to run. I drew my sword and pressed myself against the wall, willing to go unnoticed. A crashing sound echoed before the bars were bashed away and Birsk came rushing out down the road where Cleo had gone.

 

As soon as the guard stepped out a few moments after Brisk I made my move. Chainmail was an excellent protection, however only against slashing attacks. The coif barely put up a protest as I jammed my sword into his throat. Stabbing someone in broad crowded daylight was risky however there was so much going on and with my cloak, you couldn’t even be sure what was happening. 

 

He struggled for a moment, his body desperate to live but quickly fading and I gave the sword a good jerk to be sure, drawing a pained gurgle from him. I let myself descend to the ground with him as I withdrew my blade, wiped it on his cloak and sheathed it. The warmth in my hands from his soul embers hadn’t even faded as I funnelled my magic into him.

 

My new zombie rose looking almost entirely lifelike except for all the blood that stained his front. “Pull your cloak around yourself and follow me,” I ordered. The zombie blinked its glassy eyes before nodding in understanding and doing so.

 

I hurried down the street taking a different path than Birsk had disappeared down and was quickly absorbed into the crowd. When I was certain we were safe I slipped into a small alleyway to collect myself. After using so much magic I felt strangely tired.

 

“Do you know where the Whale’s Rest is?” I asked. The zombie nodded again. God that was weird, but he would make for better conversation than the skeleton though not as cute as Franklyn, even if he was probably more useful.

 

“Give me whatever money you have,” I told him and he handed me a small pouch. It had a couple of silver coins and a dozen or so copper coins. I didn’t know how much these coins were worth but it was something. I knew I didn’t need to eat but I suddenly really wanted a good pastry. That kill had mentally taken a lot out of me though being able to look at my dead victim whenever I wanted was a thrill I hadn’t considered before. He was a walking trophy.

Several hours later after much confusion over the prices of things and a few pastries I entered the Whale’s Rest tavern. It consisted of one large wooden room full of tables and benches. Opposite from the doorway was a bar with a grizzled old man manning it. About a dozen people were scattered throughout, it seemed to be dying down for the evening. Towards the back was a staircase going up which presumably led to lodging.

 

“Sit at that table by the entrance and keep your head down,” I told my zombie as I headed to one of the empty tables at the back. I was uneasy about this clandestine meeting but it was my best chance. If things went wrong I at least had the zombie for support.

 

I couldn’t blend in the way my zombie could, with my green robes and large pointed hat. The fact that I didn't have a proper shirt didn't help either. While wrapping one's chest for support couldn't be uncommon I was definitely showing more skin than anyone else here and the patrons were mostly old men. I ignored the lingering eyes and watched the door hoping Cleo showed up sooner rather than later.

 

The bartender appeared, placing a mug of something on the table. “Your room for this evening, Miss Morgan,” he said, placing a key on the table and sliding it towards me. I opened my mouth but he was already walking away.  I picked up the mug and gave it a sniff, it smelled like sweet alcohol, maybe ale. I picked up the key noting the number three carved into it and left the mug heading upstairs. This was more elaborate than I had expected. Either Cleo had seen something in me or someone was going to put a dagger in my back.

 

The stairs led to a hallway with several numbered rooms. I approached the one with a three on in and put the key in the lock. With a click the door unlocked and pushed it open but didn't enter. With my colourless vision in the dark, I didn't see anyone.

 

“Come in and close the door,” Cleo said, stepping out from behind the door.

 

“Are you going to stab me?”

 

“I haven't decided yet,” she replied.

 

“Fair enough,” I smiled and entered.

 

She lit a lantern, illuminating the cramped room, and leaned against the table. 

 

“So Morgan, you are a puzzle. Jackal said you looked like a corpse and now that I can get a good look at you I’m inclined to agree.”

 

“Thanks,” I replied sarcastically. I had spent a long time looking at myself in a window earlier and beyond the cloudy eyes and pale greyish skin I looked fine thank you very much.

 

“Then you casually wield unholy magic against the Holy Crusaders and yet you have no idea who the Order of Musado is,” she continued. “It’s all too weird for you to be a spy.”

 

“I’m not from around here,” I offered.

 

“Clearly.”

 

“Who are these Holy Crusaders?” I asked, sitting on the corner of the bed.

 

“They’re a branch of the Order. They’re tasked with hunting down and exterminating the unholy and spreading the Order’s influence. They’re witch hunters trained to kill monsters,” she explained distastefully and I was inclined to agree.

 

“And they wield holy magic?”

 

“Yup, kinda fucked up isn’t it,” she laughed weakly.

 

“My magic seemed to interfere with his glowing sword, do you know why?” I dared.

 

She gave me a strange look. “You wield magic, why don’t you know?”

 

“Just because I can use it doesn’t mean I know how it works,” I replied.

 

 “Well I’m no sage but from what I know… from what I’ve heard holy magic and unholy magic are opposites. Living things have positive energy and undead, like yourself, have negative. Too much of the opposing energy and you're dead.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Now my turn. I’m pretty sure zombies can’t talk and wield magic so what the hell are you?”

 

“I…” I paused, unsure of how to explain or if I should. But I was trying to make friends so I went with the truth. “I’m not entirely sure.”

 

“That’s not an answer, what does your character sheet say?”

 

I wasn’t sure how to reply. “What does yours say?”

 

“I’m an elven thief,” she shrugged. “Tit for tat.”

 

The blacksmith apprentice had been a hare-folk blacksmith and she was an elf thief. My gut told me not to reveal my hybrid race and class so I offered something close. “Returned Necromancer,” I finally said thinking ahead. “What level are you?”

 

“We’re not that good of friends. I’ve never heard of a returned before,” she replied. I couldn’t tell if she believed me or not. 

 

I offered a shrug, “All I know is I woke up yesterday knowing my name and not much else.” The lie slipped off my tongue effortlessly, the best lies were always partially true.

 

“Shit seriously?” She asked, her standoffishness weening.

 

“Yeah,” I nodded, something inside me loosening now that she believed me. “Look I know this is basic but can you explain to me how classes, skills and levels work? I only have bits and pieces. Explain it to me like I’m a child.”

 

“Ok, uh sure. So everyone has a race and a class. Your race offers skills unique to your kin, when you reach adulthood you gain a class that is based on your life up to that point. I spent my childhood stealing and was damn good at it so I became a thief,” she begins.

 

“Ok, makes sense.”

 

“As you do things related to your class you gain experience and eventually level up. Since I’m a thief I gain experience through stealing but also anything adjacent to that. Everything from acrobatics to diplomacy. If it makes me a better thief then it gives me experience,” she continued, giving me a moment to process.

 

“Again, makes sense.”

 

“Every time you level up you gain a skill point which lets you unlock a new skill or sometimes evolve or merge them.”

 

“Wait, that's all it does?” I asked, feeling somewhat thrown by that.

 

“Yup, levelling up doesn’t directly make you stronger, it just gives you more tools to work with. You’ll still bleed just as much as everyone else no matter your level.”

 

That was revolutionary, and I wished I had stood my ground against that Holy Knight. I had assumed it was unwinnable, I had been wrong.

 

“Levels are further divided into tiers. Your average bloke is Tier 0 which consists of level 10 and below. Tier 1 consists of levels 11-40, these are your adventurers and skilled workers. Levels 41-70 are Tier 2 are seasoned adventurers and expert craftsmen. 71-100 are Tier 3 and truly legendary, you almost certainly will never meet someone in Tier 3.”

 

Glancing at my character sheet which said Level 2 I had a very long way to go. I needed to figure out something better than hunting rats.

 

“On top of all that when you reach the end of a Tier you gain a Mastery skill which are powerful signature skills related to who you are. There are also titles that you get seemingly randomly from accomplishing something but that’s not as important… right I think that about sums everything up. Any questions?”

 

“Um… no?” I replied.

 

As the silence stretched on Cleo began to look uncomfortable. “Look, Morgan, I should get going, I hope you get your memories back.”

 

“Oh, you don’t want my help with your rebellion?” I asked, feeling somewhat disappointed. I guess not bringing anything to the table wasn’t much of a sell.

 

“I’m gonna be blunt, I appreciate your willingness to help and you seem like a decent person but you would just be a liability. If you want my advice, head East and keep heading East until you get to the Kingdom of Lomanza, they’re far more accepting and wouldn’t hunt you down.”

 

“What about West?” I asked, remembering the map I had seen.

 

Cleo shook her head, “You don’t want to go to the Wildlands. It’s uncharted and deadly, no one lives there. The Holy Crusaders have been trying to tame it since I can't remember. Lomanza is where you’ll be safe.”

 

I nodded, that made sense except there was one problem, I didn’t want safety, I wanted to burn Sloffanil to the ground. I wanted all the slavers to suffer all the pain they caused others. I wanted every member of the Order to be hunted down and killed. As cold fury gripped my unbeating heart I remembered the slave market from this morning. I remembered that young green kobold and her hollow eyes. Just like Anne before her death.

 

“I understand, Cleo. Thank you for your help. Oh, one more thing, tell me about Lord Humphrey.”