In Blackest Night

[Shang Tsung]

There was a week of relative ‘silence’ in Darkshire following the news that an organized group of undead had been operating within a few hours of the town’s walls. In that time, news of the ‘heroics’ of the twosome of militia soldiers had spread throughout circles.

The Grecian and the Chinaman.’

‘The Spartan and the Sorcerer.’

Shang had been sitting in a more upscale tavern one night when he overheard a bard singing tales about two ‘medieval’ primes slaying a horde of demons outside the gates of Darkshire. Disguised as just another random patrician, the sorcerer had asked another patron what the bard was singing about, and the response he had received was simple—‘those two new militia soldiers.’

In a way, he appreciated the respect he now commanded… not only among the members of the garrison but also among the everyday riffraff. Prior to enlisting, he had worked hard to make himself appear as the lovable, gallant ‘every man,’ and now that he was a local hero, he had the upper half of society pining for him as well.

On one such day before the return of Atelos, Shang was sitting in his quarters mulling over the future. He was reminded of the very first day he came to Darkshire, when a returning champion had been greeted as if he were a god in human flesh. Since then, the sorcerer had seen very little of that armored warrior, but he couldn’t help but feel as if he was following a sort of parallel course in regards to his own celebrity. The last thing that Shang wanted was someone leapfrogging him in the social strata.

Plus, he loved little more than to take the souls of the strong and virtuous… they always made for such amusing company on his lonely nights.

The sun was slowly rising, and within a few hours, the middle- and upper-classes of the town would wake up and go on with their usual live, wholly ignorant of the missing criminals and vagrants in the less affluent district. A fleeting smile crossed the sorcerer’s visage as he flexed his hands. His nights in the garrison without a ‘warm meal’ had been a stretch, even by his standards. He’d only found solace in the fact that the Spartan held just as many deep, dark secrets as he did.

The bards don’t mention the Spartan’s unyielding rage or how the sorcerer sustains himself, do they?

A fresh smirk graced his features as he left the small room and made his way out into the streets. Aside from a few smiles and handshakes, his walk to the garrison was uneventful. His shift was just as boring as they had been, with the commander having him do rounds of the battlements with the greenest of the recruits. While he had nothing against forced chat with awkward, uncomfortable men in their late teens, Shang had no love for the reanimated corpses that patrolled the top of the city walls. A man who valued his charisma just as much as his hands or a sword, he hated how they lacked features or even the ability to speak. The way they watched him made him uneasy, because he could never be certain what they were thinking—if they were thinking anything at all.

The skeletons also made the recruits uneasy, but that was certainly for other reasons. It was quite possible they might have a loved one or a neighbor among the walking corpses that guarded their city.

As he returned from the last patrol before lunch, Shang was taken aback to see the Spartan walk through the far door of the common room. Looking a little battered, the Spartan strode right over to him and shook his hand.

“Hello, Shang, it has been a while.” The Spartan said as the sorcerer noticed that there seemed to be a skull jutting up from the Spartan’s shoulder.

“I’ll be sure to tell you later,” Atelos remarked when he saw the other man’s gaze fall to the deformity.

“Alright, well the commander needs to see you. Nice having you back Spartan." Atelos gave a firm nod and headed off to their superior’s office. Shang made his wait out from the garrison and into the town’s streets, where he waited for Atelos to return. The Spartan did so a few minutes later, wearing the same medal awarded to Shang last week.

“Looks like we’re officially a part of this place,” Shang remarked, eliciting a firm nod from his companion. “People talk. A lot. I don’t know how your walk was on your way into this place, but once word of your return spreads, you can expect a lot of attention.”

“Is it the same for you?”

“Yes, but I haven’t been off fighting demons for a week.”

Atelos frowned. “I didn’t say that’s what I had to do.”

“I did,” Shang said with a smirk. “It’s good for your image.” The remark caused the Spartan to grunt and roll his eyes. “Now then, why don’t we go have a drink, and you can tell me what you really did in your time away from this place.”