Chapter Sixty-Seven: Shadows Stir Beyond the Hollow
The light of Ebon Hollow's bonfires had reached farther than Kael could imagine. Beyond the forests, swamps, and snow-covered roads, whispers grew into schemes. Not everyone was impressed. Not everyone was afraid. Some saw opportunity. Others saw a threat to be cut down before it bloomed.
The Adventurers' Guild of Rivenmar
In the smoke-choked backroom of Rivenmar's largest guildhall, the heads of the adventurers' guild sat around a long oak table. Maps littered the surface, stained with ale and grease. Guildmaster Harvold, a heavyset man with sharp eyes and a permanent sneer, jabbed his meaty finger at the northern forest.
"There," he growled. "The Hollow. The bloody thing calls itself a kingdom now. Monsters with banners and laws. What does that sound like to you lot?"
"Coin," a wiry woman with scarred cheeks smirked, tossing a dagger into the table. "Farmers too scared to go near it will pay us double to escort their wagons. Nobles will pay triple for information."
A hooded man leaned forward, voice slick like oil. "And hunters, desperate ones, will pour into our halls wanting to prove themselves. Adventurers don't care what they're fighting, so long as it bleeds and pays."
Harvold snorted. "Exactly. This Hollow — this Kael — is the best thing to happen to us in years. We won't fight 'em. Not directly. But we'll use 'em. Monsters can't be kings. The kingdoms will crush them sooner or later. Until then, we milk this for all it's worth."
The room chuckled darkly. No talk of justice, no talk of peace — only profit and blood.
The Bandit Lords of the South Marsh
In a ruined fortress swallowed by reeds and rot, a bandit council gathered around a fire. Their leader, a gaunt man with jagged tattoos curling across his bald head, licked his teeth as his lieutenants argued.
"They killed Gorran," one spat, slamming a fist. "That damned Hollow wiped out his entire force. We should make them bleed for it."
"Bleed?" The tattooed leader leaned forward, his grin sharp. "You think brute force works on shadows and fire? Gorran thought that too, and now his bones are ash."
Silence followed. The leader's grin widened.
"No, no. We wait. Let them grow fat. Let them build their little kingdom. And then? We take what they've built. A paradise full of fools who think they're safe — that's worth more than coin."
His men muttered, some nodding, some scowling. But the firelight caught in their eyes told the truth: greed was stronger than doubt.
The Necromancer's Circle
Far beneath the ruins of an old temple, candles guttered in the still air. Hooded figures chanted, the stench of death heavy. At the altar stood Lady Varissa, pale and regal, her black hair falling like ink down her shoulders.
"Ebon Hollow…" she whispered, tasting the name as though it were wine. "A kingdom of monsters, rising from shadow."
One of her followers, a skeletal thing wrapped in tattered robes, hissed. "Should we strike them down, Mistress?"
Varissa smiled faintly, her crimson lips curling. "Strike them? No. We watch. We wait. Power such as theirs draws chaos. In time, they will stumble, and when they do…" She trailed a finger along the edge of the altar, where bones were laid in neat rows. "We will claim what remains."
A second follower spoke, voice trembling. "And if they do not stumble?"
Varissa's eyes glowed like dying embers. "Then we make them."
The circle fell silent, the air thick with dread.
The Royal Court of Velros (Again)
Word of the guild's scheming and the bandits' hunger eventually found its way to the court of King Aldric. His spies whispered, his generals argued, and the king listened.
"They gather like vultures," General Corwin growled, slamming his gauntleted fist against the map. "Bandits, cutthroats, even the damned guild. If we allow this Hollow to stand, we'll have chaos on our borders."
One of the younger lords, pale-faced but sharp-tongued, leaned in. "Or we use them. If these vultures feast on the Hollow, it weakens them for us. And if the Hollow survives…" He shrugged. "Then perhaps they're worth an alliance."
King Aldric steepled his hands, expression unreadable. "Monsters wearing crowns. Adventurers licking their lips. Bandits hungering for blood. Necromancers whispering in the dark." He exhaled slowly. "The game has begun."
The Closing Whisper
And so, in smoky taverns, ruined keeps, and darkened temples, whispers twisted into plans. Some dreamed of profit. Some dreamed of conquest. Others dreamed only of ruin.
But every dark eye, every greedy hand, and every hungry blade turned slowly toward the same place:
Ebon Hollow.
The kingdom born of shadows had stepped into the light. And the world was already sharpening its knives.