The Witch and The Thief

1

Spring, the Highlands of the Kingdom of Alba, late 14th Century

Darkness enveloped Lachlan Shadowblade like an impenetrable cloak as he crept on soundless feet through a narrow stone corridor in the Deepwood Vault.

For over four centuries, the humble two-story building had been the bank for striga—witches and warlocks in the township of Kenneroch. It was spoken of only in cautious whispers and located deep in the magical highlands of the Kingdom of Alba.

Guarded at night by a lone keeper of the Deepwood coven and many protective warding spells, it had long been considered impregnable to thieves such as himself, or so the legends claimed. Magical artifacts collected from all over the world deemed too valuable to be left unguarded in hovels and cottages were housed within its walls.

From the outside, the vault led any persons denied entrance to believe it was like any other dwelling on Crooked Row. However, even those cursed to have been born a bardus possessing no magical abilities could discern the pulse of magic humming through every nook and cranny of the building. The combined magic from the objects themselves allowed the rooms to accommodate even the largest of items in the smallest of spaces.

But unlike the many thieves who'd dared attempt to pilfer its wares and failed, Lachlan was not an average thief easily dissuaded by its labyrinth of dead-end corridors and magical booby-traps. He was perhaps the only thief qualified for such an undertaking as successfully stealing the powerful Dragon Tooth Stone.

Either that, or he was the only thief stupid enough to believe he'd triumph where countless others had failed. It didn't hurt that word had reached him about the building being unattended tonight, all but gifting him the perfect opportunity.

Abandoned at the young age of four and a half years at Millstone Orphanage by a nameless gilded hag, she swore the wardens to secrecy regarding Lachlan's parentage before disappearing into a dense fog—or so the legend went.

At the age of thirteen, tired of the endless torment delivered by several older orphans after his only friend Rhys Dragonmane ran away, Lachlan confronted the head warden, Holdrake Blackthane, searching for answers to the mounting questions surrounding his identity.

The short pudgy-faced man with a soul as repugnant as his outward countenance revealed Lachlan's surname quickly enough after a brief display of Lachlan's deadly skill with a paring knife he'd stolen from the kitchens. However, it soon became apparent that the man knew little else, most importantly, which of the long list of Shadowblade's he belonged to.

After Callum Shadowblade led striga to victory in the Battle of Wylf over two centuries ago and won the right for all to practice magic in public without fear of persecution, the Shadowblade's became legendary for their unparalleled power in the magical arts of wielding shadow and light. Since then, the family held a solid reputation among other striga as decent and honorable folk, refusing to resort to trickery to gain the advantage, and champions of the downtrodden be they striga or bardus—rare traits among others of their ilk and more often condemned than lauded.

However, the powerful Shadowblade line was purged from the earth the night Lachlan arrived at Millstone. With the revelation of his parentage, he ran away in search of answers, vowing to never return to Kenneroch and had been on his own ever since.

He'd always felt out of place when surrounded by others his age, standing out like an ogre amongst goblins—due in part to his towering stature, even at a young age. With each town he wandered through in search of answers, nervous whispers of the return of the lost Shadowblade heir filled the air, but the moment he approached, people would pale with fear and refuse to speak.