I am startled awake by the painfully loud sounds of lightening tearing through the skies. My ears twitch ever so slightly as I try to gauge when the next bolt of electricity will come crashing through. The pounding of my heart as it tries to leap from my chest drowns out any hope of discerning anything. So focused on trying to not hear my own beating heart, that the sudden booming roll of thunder catches me off guard, causing me to flinch harder than I have in a long time. I scold myself for reacting the way that I did as I throw off the scratchy wool blanket to get ready in the inky black night. I dress by the light of the moon peeking through gaps between the rotting wood wall across from me.  I try not to think about it too often, but the last time I flinched that hard was roughly around the time the nightmares started.

I don’t quite recall when the nightmares started exactly or what sleep was like before they started. In fact, I can’t seem to remember anything from before them. Every attempt to do so only results in brain fog and headaches so intense they occasionally result in tears or even vomiting. I call them nightmares, but they feel more like… vividly remembering. Should I ever try to explain these with another soul, they would likely brush it off as nothing more than the unhinged ravings of one to never be trusted. I am, after all, cauldron-born. Which seems to be the theme of the nightmares. Almost everyone is the same: a small group of shadowy figures gathered around a shuddering mound of rags, cackling, murmuring, the scratching of a quill on parchment, and pain. Always pain. Sometimes the pain is so intense that I feel as though I have already died and the endless pain and writhing to be free from my restraints is simply my punishment for existing as I am. At other times during the nightmares, it isn’t me that is suffering. Instead, it is as though I am looking down to see the torturous poking, prodding, and who knows what else. It’s in these times that I am almost able to make out what sort of creature was unfortunate enough to fall victim to the whim of the shadowy figures. I never can though it’s as if my mind is trying to shield me from the unsightly horrors that could be there. A part of me knows though, that the victim is like me. Cauldron-Born.

Usually waking from these nightmares includes being drenched in sweat and uncontrollable shaking that can last for ages. When the sweat dries and the shaking ceases, I am left with a single thought: the agony that my body seems to recall so well is reality. Typically, I would try to brush it off as a cruel joke of the mind or some deity having it’s fun with a thing as lowly as me. It was only recently after another restless night wrecked by another nightmare that I finally decided to do something about it. I convinced myself that I would seek out the aid of the gods. I had made it my goal to gain the power that I needed to track down the shadowy figures that haunted my sleep and put an end to it all. It was this decision that led me to where I am now.

I pulled aside the hunk of wood that served as a door to my laughably small home to make my way into the depths of the Viridis Marshes. The cobbled together collection of rusted metal, rotting wood, and cracked stone that served as my place of dwelling was itself somewhere deep in the Marshes, but the place where I was heading was far beyond any place I had been before. The furthest I had ever dared to venture in the Marshes was the hole in the ground impossibly far from my home that I was sick in from eating spoiled potatoes. It wasn’t until late the next day that I hole in which I had lost my lunch was actually what served as my well, just past my small field for growing potatoes. I had to go three days and nights while I dug myself a new one on the opposite end of what I considered to be my land, which wasn’t very much anyway. As I had not once seen a passerby or heard of a neighbor, I could have claimed the whole of the Viridis Marshes as my own. But I never did. Making such a claim seemed ridiculous, and it occurred to me that should I ever do such a thing, it would certainly be a requirement to see just how big the Marshes actually are. That would also require me to leave the small space that I knew actually was mine and run the risk of encountering folk that would spit at me or call me names and the like, merely for existing and being so different.

I am brought back to reality by bumping into the boulder that I had found just the other day and nearly toppling over it. I catch myself on it’s side and look around to ensure that there were none to witness what I had done or what I was about to do. I reach into the pocket of my tattered cloak and pull from it the small supplies I had brought from my home. Before me atop the boulder I place the mostly melted candle from beside my bed, the thin sheet of metal it stood on, the last of my matches, and my dagger that looked as fragile as I felt in that moment. Not wanting to doubt my actions any more than I already was, I light the candle with shaky hands and drag the tip of the dagger’s blade across my open palm. Gasping ever so slightly at the stinging sensation, I allow the blood to pool from the wound and begin to drip onto the cold stone below. I close my hand into a fist and hold it over the flame, letting it warm the back of my hand. I ignore the creeping sounds of wax and blood colliding and look to the sky to make my plea.

“Hear me, O mighty gods of the Lands! I call upon The Darkened, God of Bloodshed and Vengeance! Grant me the power I need to seek out and destroy those who have harmed me and my kind! Who would bring harm to me and my kind! Give me the strength I need to crush my enemy, to bring low those who would cast us out for who we are, what we are.” My voice is beginning to go hoarse from shouting at this point. I have not received an answer of any variety, so I must continue. I must find the right words. The right way to plead. I must find some way to make him respond to me. I raise my wounded from the open flame and prepare to begin again.

“He won’t answer,” comes a reply from behind me. I wheel around to see who could have snuck up, nearly knocking over the candle in the process. Standing before me is a woman I do not recognize. I stare at her, watching as she turns and begins to pace back and forth in front of me. She continues, “At least, not like that. You see, the God you are praying to is rather fond of bloodsports. He tends to prefer being honored in the arena, with gladiators fighting to win his blessing. Who knows though, maybe if you try hard enough, he might actually answer? I wonder, how much of your own blood are you willing to offer? Too much and you won’t live long enough to seek out much of anything. Not enough and it’s possible that you could be totally ignored. What then?”

Her pacing ceases for a moment, and she stares at me. I can neither answer nor turn away from this woman that appeared from nowhere. I get the feeling that she wasn’t really asking anyway. Eventually, she turns away to resume pacing back and forth, although this time she moves much slower and with more determination. She’s quiet for a moment, as if deliberating some grand dilemma. I watch her in silence, trying to learn how and why this person would wander into the Marshes and interrupt the first person she sees speaking aloud with no one in sight. I am unable to ask, as she speaks again before I can muster up the courage to address her.

“What if,” she pauses before me again and I notice the sun beginning to rise behind her. “What if I told you that I could give you the power that you seek? You prayed to The Darkened for power, seeking his blessing so that you could seek out vengeance. While I understand the logic there and could hear your desire when you called out demanding to be listened to, I could also feel your wrath. That is what drew me to you. I could feel your wrath lashing out from The Abyss. Consider this: make a pact with me, and I will grant you the power here and now for you to be able to seek out and destroy those that wronged you. Well, you will have the power, you only need to learn to wield it. In return, you swear your loyalty to me for all eternity. Or, at the very least, until I call on you for a greater purpose than your own. Should these terms not be agreeable, you are welcome to stay here and continue to live whatever pitiful life one leads out here in the Viridis Marshes. What say you?”

She’s quiet at last and stands incredibly close to me with a single hand stretched out. I look from her hand, to the rising sun behind her, and back, before staring her in the eye and really contemplating what it is she offers. I don’t know who she is or what exactly it is she thinks she can offer, but as the morning light grows longer and the night fades away, I can’t help but feel as though her presence is growing stronger. Who she is, or might be, dawns on me as I grasp her hand to accept her offer. I must confirm it for myself though.

“I accept,” I say, with my voice barely above a whisper. “I must know though, who are you?”

The woman smiles and pulls her hand away. The sky grows impossibly bright for this early in the morning, and the light seems to almost gather around her.

“Foolish mortal. I thought you knew better than to accept offerings from a stranger without knowing who they are. I am the Demon Queen who maintains balance between night and day, light and dark. But you, you can call me The Quiet. for you shall never hear me although I am always present. Now go. Go forth, mortal, to Spokstadt and begin your quest of vengeance. Unleash your wrath with my power.”

I try to call out to her, to ask her so many questions, but the searing light is too much to bear, and I shield myself from it. After a few moments, the air feels different. I lower my arm and in my surroundings. I find myself standing just outside The Blacklight Inn.