Chapter 1 - The Grim That Hides in the Old Crypt

The air was cold and crisp in the pale light of dusk. The small town of Dallek was at rest this hour. Nestled between mountains, the valley Dallek called home hosted great dangers. The people of the town knew better than to wander into the territory of the common and deadly creatures native to the area, however. It was an almost unspoken law for the people that they do not leave the safety of their precious homes when night descends upon the mountainous area.

A woman's soft, carefully measured steps made little noise, even on the thick layer of dead leaves. This was how she liked it, quiet. Glancing quickly over her shoulder and pulling down the hood of her dark cloak, she sets off towards the woods.

A wagon pulled by a sturdy horse trundles down the cobbled street on its way to the great Stone Palace courtyard. She pays no attention to the clacking of hooves steadily drawing farther away, but stops and turns as a tall, dark figure walks along the road. Her hand reaches for the hilt of the silver sword hanging from her waist in a worn leather sheath.

The figure's head turns, revealing a clearly masculine face in the pale moonlight. The almost pitch black eyes rest on her for a moment, then turn away and focus on the silvery half moon. It seemed like he was trying to tell her something...

Not wanting to risk being found out, she turns and pulls her cloak around herself and dashes down the road. Her boots made a dull clicking sound on the stone. A low groan, usually associated with the common undead, gives her pause. Turning back toward the road from the cover of the thick trees, she surveys the road with the scrutiny of an old historian.

A single pale, bony figure carrying an ancient and rusted sword slowly lurched to a stop mere feet away from where she stood, motionless, beneath a large tree. The skeletal head turns and cold, dead, and sunken yellow eyes rest on her. She knew she had only moments before it would alert any friends it had hidden nearby.

As it lunged for her, she drew her sword with a practiced hand. Disarming the thing with ease and quietly disposing of it, she let out a relieved breath. With another glance around, she sheathes her sword once more.

A ragged gasp leaves her lips as the light of a torch draws closer. Evening her breaths, she sinks into the shadows of the trees. Waiting to let the torchbearer pass by, she looked up at the pale moon. By now, the moon was high and the only people left outside were the guards and the members of The Brotherhood of the Grim, an ominous group of assassins and mercenaries.

The young woman was one of them. One of the few female members of the Brotherhood. Outsiders knew little about the group unless a member directly contacted them. The things the public knew were from those unfortunate few that learned the name and falsely assumed what they did. Several false books were written and widely distributed throughout the Empire of Cyrillica.

With the way clear, she heads back through the thick trees toward the stone corridors of the Brotherhood's Sanctuary, hidden underground. The Sanctuary was large and well cared for, even after centuries of use.

As she comes upon the old Crypt entrance, she makes sure no one is following her. Carefully pushing the door open, she slips into the dark stone room. Her steps echo softly around the stone hall as she walks down the cracked stairs. The large stone double doors at the bottom creak open and she lowers her hood to pull her braided hair out.

The Sanctuary was a large circular room with a fountain in the middle, carved of a dark red stone in the shape of a grim, a dog-like creature believed to oversee the passage of the dead into the next life. There were many adjoining chambers in the main room, including a tavern where the most activity was. This time of night was when most of the members were out on contracts. There was only one other around that she could see.

“Morgan,” Xavier, the tall, dark-skinned, and handsome mercenary trainer, dips his head in a courteous greeting. Morgan does the same without a word and walks to her stone chamber near the back of the main hall. The room was small and had a small desk with a wooden chair, a bed of straw with a bear pelt blanket, and a wooden cupboard that held what little clothes she kept around stored inside it.

She let out an inaudible sigh and shrugged off her cloak. Pulling out the chair, she sat down, throwing her legs up on the desk, leaning back and letting herself drift off into a restless sleep.

“Lady Morgan, how nice to see you,” A deep male voice rouses her from her sleep. He lays a calloused hand on her shoulder, leaning into her ear. Shaking her head, she blinked the sleep from her eyes and scoffed, looking up at him. A self-assured grin spread across his face and she threw his hand off her shoulder, letting her legs drop to the floor as she sat up.

“Give it up already, Kylon,” She snapped as she faced him more fully, annoyed he had woken her. He had black hair that fell about shoulder length, his left eye was a gray white color, a scar stricken through it halfway down his face. Most of the brotherhood would describe him as a muscle head with the mouth of a sailor. He'd been trying for months now to get her to accept his proposal. Not much her type, though. She'd declined every time. By this point she knew he only continued to annoy her.

“And, anyway, I have to go back to the palace before my absence is noticed. Good day to you,” With that, she threw her cloak back on and left in a huff.