Monsters Die Alone

'I should have handled that better,' Troy thought as he walked through the cobblestone streets of Nexus. He holds back a sigh. It is not like him to dwell on matters, but tonight is different and so was the night before. Walking the streets alone without her did not feel complete.
"Are you lost?" asks a halfling that is easily seen from Troy's downcast eyes. "You look lost." He has the look of one of the local Lathander flock. Irritatingly helpful to drunks and the lost souls in an effort to convert them to a faith of rebirth. Troy never did like wearing such a righteous intent with such manipulative means.
"No," Troy shoots back as he looks up to see the tavern sign in the distance. It is where the occult organization is meeting today. That is where he needs to be. He is not lost. For a moment he doesn't believe it. Tonight doesn't feel right. Is he lost? He tells himself that he is not lost to restore his mental fortitude. That this is where he should be right now. This is his path.
"Are you sure you are not lost?" the halfling repeats with an innocent smile, "because if you are lost, there is no shame in that. You can slow down and find another way. There is always time to find your way, you know."
The choice of words fall hard on Troy's ears. 'Always time' is the sort of crap his father used to tell him. What did that get him? An early grave, thats what. No, there is not time. He needs to stick to the plan. He pushes past the halfling and makes his way to the tavern as the light outside fades to those inside.
The Wretched End is a well known place for the cult of Gigareth to meet up. Beggars, Thieves, and all manner of the city's forgotten end up in the crowded tavern. Several squat in the rooms upstairs and several more in the cellar beneath. Those beneath the tavern make their way up as the cult faithful start heading down to make preparations for the ceremony.
"You are just in time," says a tall human woman with soft white hair, "we are about to set up. Can you give us a hand?" Beautiful, for sure, but Troy couldn't help but think of Cassandre. Was she right about this group of people? Is he being seduced into a cult with words he wants to hear and a pretty face? "You don't have to," the woman says, jabbing him in the ribs, "but we all need to help out in our own way, whatever way that is. And you've clearly got some muscles on you." A wink before she heads downstairs to set things up.
It doesn't dawn on Troy until he making his way downstairs. "Hey, how do you know I am here for the ceremony?" His attire isn't that of the cult, which favors simple black robes made from canvas. She replies with, "That is my gift," the woman says as she taps one of her eyes. It shifts from brown to a muddy reddish hue. Both of her hands, which have seen many days labor, are used to pull her hair back as she hits the final step into the cellar. "I am a Builder. And this man here," she motions her head to a half-orc who is moving beer kegs from one side of the room to the next, "is a Breaker. All people have a place here and we have been blessed by Gigareth to extend his will across his domain."
There are so many people down here already. Dozens. They help set up bags of various surplus to sit on or, lacking that, clean spots to park your butt on. This church has no benches. It barely has an altar to conduct service. It uses an old coffin filled with loose earth. Few fit the white haired lady's description of Builder or Breaker. "Is everyone blessed?"
"In a way," she replies, grabbing a broom and sweeping. Troy does the same when it becomes obvious that standing around asking questions doesn't count as 'helping'. "We are all 'of the earth'. And the earth is Gigareth. We are thusly we are his children. The simplest, most humble, of us all have as much of a place. Just as the great and wonderful Gig built Freeport twice over, we await the arrival of the Great Breaker to slay the Dragon oppressing us and free us from our bindings. It is prophecy that he shall come we shall inherit this, our rightful land." A smile to Troy, "Maybe that could be you. Are you requesting a blessing today?"
Troy shakes his head, "No." A pause, "Yes."
The woman claps her hands, "Have you prepared." Her eyes look over Troy's choice of clothing. It is obvious that the answer is 'No'. "That's okay. Next time, right? We already have one blessing we need to pray for so give it your all today. Our great Earth Father shall hear you today and will remember your devotion when it is your turn to be judged."
Troy spends the remaining minutes getting a read of the people in the poor tavern. If Cassandre saw this, then she would not fix her mind on the stubborn points. Life is not so black and white and these people offer power to finally reclaim what he has lost. He almost misses the start of the ceremony as a young human boy walks alongside the white haired woman earlier. The person that was talking to Troy earlier was some sort of spiritual leader of this flock.
"Thank you all for coming!" she says, standing beside the brown-haired scamp. Troy feels like the boy is like every other forgotten, miserable child in Nexus. Another street urchin is in good company. "I know that the Targarius army concerns everyone, but I ask that we put our fears, our hopes, our anger, and our sadness into prayer for our young potential."
"Its not just the dragon now. Its the elves too!" "Xan'theril never leaves their city, now they post outside our walls." "Outside our walls? Targarius Knights and Duodecim Mercenaries alike march the streets. We are being occupied." "Aren't they just looking to get on dat dere floating rock?"
With a loud shout over the chorus of concern, the white haired woman says, "Silence!" And so there is silence. Her eyes turn red as all other eyes lock onto hers. "Keep those thoughs inside. Let them flow, here," she says as she pats the young boy's head, "And pray our Earth Father Gigareth blesses us with Strength of arm and armament against our woes."
Moving a hand over the loose earth, the coffin's contents becomes a liquid tar. The other hand helps the boy, who wears no fear on his face, into the coffin. A shiver betrays the youth as a foot sinks into the substance. "Its okay," the woman says, "take a deep breath. Lay down. Let our prayers be your breath. Your heartbeat. Accept him into your soul and know him." A quick nod and the boy lays down, quickly disappearing into the murk.
'What is this?' Troy asks himself. He is unable to pull away as the tar becomes dirt once more. A small black crystal is placed on the dirt itself and the group quickly turns to prayer. The swordsman has never been one to 'pray about it', but Troy at least feigns prayer.
Silence.
'By now that boy has suffocated to death', Troy thinks.
There is a loud banging upstairs, interrupting the silence of prayer. The white-haired woman turns to the black-haired half-orc. With a nod, the man heads upstairs. Moments later, the dirt becomes tar once more. "Ahhhh!" gasps the boy for air, emerging from his slumber with beautifully white hair as soft as a newborn bird.
"A Builder!" gasps the congregation. The woman quickly gives the boy a hug. "Praise Gigareth! You will build great thing, young Builder. Maybe even shepard a community like me," she winks, "or whole cities!" In joy she holds him into the air like he was her own son, the group erupting into cheer.
Cheer.
Cheer so loud they don't hear the commotion upstairs that ends with a body being tossed down the cellar. As everyone is rejoicing, Troy's survival instinct kicks in. He sees it. What he doesn't see is an escape. They are in a basement. There are no cellar doors to the outside. No windows. The only way in or out is those stairs. Stairs that have people coming down it.
Ty Targarius is a name people know in all of the city states. A silver dragonborn of noble blood in command of the largest mobilize army east of the mountains. His business in Nexus is a mystery, though most assume it has to do with the floating continent heading to towards the city-state they live in. They are wrong.
The behemoth of a man ducks his head to come down the steps.
"The... the dragon is here!" screams one man. Panic sets in. "Where is the Breaker?" Crunch. Ty presses his boot on the barely breathing dark haired half-orc. The rag tag commoners arm themselves with knives and sticks.
"The cult of Gigareth," Ty asks with a guttural voice that commands attention.
"We are," the white haired woman says proudly, putting the new Builder down and behind her. The youth hides behind her and peaks out in a mixture of fear and the bravado to want to do something about this intruder.
As the armored dragonborn enters the crowded room, as does four of his finest men. A man with a spear, a man with a sword, a man with an axe, and a man with a staff.
The cult rallies under the courage of their leader. Yet it breaks just as easily as the man with an axe beheads the black-haired man. Panic sets in immediately.
Unarmored, barely armed commoners rush for the door. Trained military soldiers cut them down without a single person reaching the door. Chaos of bloodshed and carnage fill the cellar as Ty cleaves a frantic cultist in half to approach the white haired lady.
"Back off," Troy jumps in between them. The desire to fight and defend fills him. A kind hearted woman and her child. In some way he feels like the father he has always wanted to be. "Cass, get out of here," he says as he steely eyes up the dragon.
"Cass?" the white-haired woman says. That is not her name.
The dialog does not distract Ty in the same way the mistaken identity distracts Troy. The swordsman barely parries the blow of a greatsword that the beast of a dragonborn wields, sending Troy tumbling to the side. Breathing heavy he is powerless to watch as the silver haired woman doesn't get far.
"N..No!" he shouts. She is gone. No graceful end for her as her mangled body crumples beneath the weight of a strike. It hits the ground as the child steps back in terror. "He... is just a child," coughs out Troy as he gets to his feet.
"He is a monster," Ty says without giving Troy any heed, "that spells destruction for this world."
The violet eyes of the dragonborn burn with a glacial rage. "I will make it quick," he tells the youth, raising his sword. Then it is all over and sleep eternal greets him.
Troy is paralyzed. He has witnessed much pain in his life. Suffering. Loss. He is no stranger to tragedy. Watching a young woman and child die before him as he was powerless to do anything about it. No. "You monster!" he finds his voice again. This gets Ty's attention as the last cultist drops. He raises a hand to his squad. "It is over," the dragonborn says as he faces off against the dual sword wielding soldier.
'This can't end like this,' Troy thought as his eyes burn with determination against the odds placed against him. This is the time where the little guy beats the big guy. Where David conquers Goliath. He has so much more to do with his life.
Passion reaching an apex, the young man exclaims, "This is my story! It does not end here!" as he charges against Ty with both swords drawn back. A swift step forward launches both blades of steel with the ferocity of a beast in a downward arch in a bold gamble to reclaim his destiny.
A failed gamble.
They say in the last moments of life that everything flashes before your eyes. Yet in this cinema of life, only one central theme focused for Troy.
"Cass... andre," Troy coughs out wetly in little more than a whisper. His body goes lax against the violet eyed dragonborn.
The dragonborn looks at Troy's lifeless body with the eyes of a man who has long since abandoned any hope of redemption. He share a moment with a dead man before sliding him off of his silvered great sword and cleaning the amethyst jewels off so they glitter with magic once more. "Sir," says the man with the spear, standing at attention.
"Yes, Alexander?" Ty replies gruffly, his soldiers ensuring every last person is dead.
"The bodies? Orders, sir?" Alexander asks crisply.
"Burn them," Ty replies, stepping on corpses on his way out, "Burn them and the tavern."