So, this is Sanctuary? The stories I've heard! Word of this sanctuary spreads quickly through the slave pens and gladiator kennels. Ironically, word comes from the slaves that have been recaptured from this city.

I can't say I'm too impressed.

But, well, I suppose it's an improvement. I am free here. Well, at least in comparison to being a slave to a drow. But I strangely can't stop myself from thinking that I miss some things.

Free.

To choose my own battles. To choose my own pain. To choose my own pleasures.

Ah, yes. Those are what I missed: being a piece of meaty entertainment for the drow.

That was quick.

How soon the cravings came back to me. The pleasures of battle. Of adrenaline running through my veins, my blade cutting down foe after foe, blood warming my body--my own and otherwise.

It's almost better than----

Cursed slippery ink pot.

It's not just battle I've developed a taste for while fighting for the drow's amusement. Winning. Winning is one of the greatest sensations I've ever felt.

Sitting around this city simply won't give me that, of course. Cities. Societies. They're little different than the slave pens where people form their own little groups. Individual people never win alone. No, if I hadn't attracted the attention of one of the most powerful Houses in Traensyr, I'd likely still just be another rock crusher.

No. People don't win alone, but with others behind them.

And, considering the animatrons walking about, considering the fear that people seem to have towards the Spellguard, they seem to be the winning, most powerful party thus far.

I've no magical talent. But the Spellguard has an Associates program. And I intend to let them know just how valuable I can be.

How easy it is and I wasn't even trying to manipulate anyone before they offered things to me!

A large sack of gold and an enchanted ring. Gifts, I suppose, for my efforts. I suppose I should remember these and keep note of the generous two. They could always come in useful in the future.

I've finally acquired a rather nice set of full plate. Thankfully, my patience was well rewarded and I was given a set at a steep discount for joining the Associates instead of purchasing one at full price.

The smooth, cold metal sends such wonderfully electrifying shivers down my back.

Blood racing in my veins. Heart beating faster than ever before. Mind racing, thinking, going through, deciding on, rejecting plans created within the very same instant that they pass from me.

What a rush.

There are dangers in this city worse than the jaws of hungry animals and vermin. Dangers worse than the the face of a hammer, sharp edge of a blade.

There are people. Lying, sneaking, deceitful, venomous people. Power hungry and selfish. Conniving and scheming. This city is full of them. I'm in the middle of it all. Watching, facilitating, partaking.

And it feels so good.

One pity, however. It's likely never a good idea for me to walk around the city with anything less than my full plate now lest I be stabbed in the back. Well, that doesn't mean I can't keep my leathers for special occasions.

Deep Malar Beasts

These are a challenge, but I love facing them. Such ferocity. I can see it in their eyes: the yearning to kill, to maul me, to feast on me. The will to fight. I see that they enjoy fighting just as much as me. I see it in their jaws, their blood stained teeth. I see it in red claws still moist in blood from their most recent kill.

I looking into their gaping maws, I look at their slashing claws. I feel fear run down my spine, the skin of my back tightening. My muscles seizing. My heart beating harder, louder than I've ever heard or felt before.

And it feels so good. So sensual. Tight, pulling, squeezing. The chill running over my skin when I see one of these beasts is followed with warmth. Hot searing heat. Of claws cutting across my skin, blood seeping from my wounds. The warmth of the beast's blood spilling over my hand and arms.

Animatrons

These machines don't have any emotions in them. They don't fear. Don't hate. They fight without ferocity, to them, fighting is swinging their arms the same way over and over again. Their blows precise, their movements repetitious.

They lack ferocity, creativity. They don't want me dead, they must simply kill me. But all that they lack they make up in raw, unadulterated power. Strength. Pure force.

I have been struck by animatrons, the large ones. Ones twice as tall as me, four times as wide. I have taken their strikes glancing off my shoulder, turning and spinning me faster than a top. I have taken their strikes square in the chest, throwing me to the ground, my lungs not working for a few moments and my mind screaming in fear at the lack of breath and air. I have taken--blocked--their strikes in the centre of my shield with my body braced, ready and receiving no real harm.

But when I do, I still feel their raw power. I feel my feet slip, sliding across the ground as I take the brunt of the force. I feel the soles of my boots burning, heating as I am pushed from that single blow of their metallic fist. Their strength transferring through my shield, vibrating through my arms, fading into my body.

It makes me shiver.

Pushing myself.

Always pushing myself. The city was quiet todark and I was getting tired of patrolling the mines and gate road as many times as I have. So, I decided to explore the machine.

I didn't get far--just a little beyond a small, single room.

I first encountered a pair of chosen. Their tough hides made things difficult, only my strongest and deepest of strikes would slash through their cursed fur and skin. Against these chosen, however, I had time. Their teeth were dull, their claws slow. They barely touched me--my blade was free to take its time, cutting and slashing until finally slicing through their throats.

But then, however, I encountered a chosen that was able to cast spells. Quickly, I knocked it down and slashed away. But it quickly jumped back to its feet and ran like a coward, I quickly gave chase, running down the corridors of the machine when suddenly the chosen arcanist stopped.

Not only stopped, but died beneath the crushing blows of a group of animatrons it had irritated. Once the chosen was a bloody pulp, the animatrons turned their gazing eyes towards me.

First, came a wave of three short, gnome-sized animatrons. These proved to be little trouble. With quick slashes of my blade and solid shoves of my shield these fell to the ground, causing sparks to fly and metal pieces to scatter.

Behind the pitiful short animatrons approached a hulking monster of metal. It stood nearly three feet above my head and armed with a massive axe which it held in one hand. This animatron, I must admit, caused a slight shiver of fear to crawl down my spine as it turned its horned head towards me.

Against such a metallic beast, I had to be careful. I held my shield tight, I braced my sword arm. I blocked and parried, striking when I could but this metal minotaur was just too much. Each strike of its axe against my shield bruised my arm. Each time I parried with my blade, I feared it would shatter in my arms.

I dodged and moved as best as I could, the metal minotaur gave chase, charging at me, crashing and bouncing off the walls. At one point, my luck seemed to ran out--it landed a solid strike against my shield, causing me to stumble, dropping my guard just long enough for it to strike at me with its other heavy arm. I caught the blow square in the chest and was thrown back against the wall.

I fell to my knees, unable to breath.

Ribs were broken. A lung likely punctured.

I barely stopped myself from vomiting so that I could drink the strongest healing potion I had. But even before the magic of the potion finished its work, the metal minotaur attacked yet again. Swinging its axe downward, I just barely rolled away from a fatal strike that would have impaled me to the ground. It quickly, however, struck me again with its free hand.

Though the blow only struck my shoulder this time, I still flew against the wall. After shaking my head clear, I realized that it was not just a wall at my back, but a door. The door leading back out to the Machine Zone.

I'll be damned if I gave up against the first thing that proved to be a challenge to me.

I quickly drank another potion. The pain in my shoulder quickly subsided and I ducked just in time to avoid an axe strike that would have separated my head from my body. Forward and upward I lunged, beneath the metal minotaur's swinging arms, the point of my blade struck and deeply did it travel. But it would take more than one strike.

For a minute, this dance continued. Every step I took was a dodge that saved my life. Every shield block turned a fatal strike into a minor wound. And every opportunity I had, I struck, my blade cutting metal.

The animatron never tired, but I never gave up. Always I moved, evading left, dodging right, hoping to find an opening. Finally, I was given one. I swung my blade downward, into the base of the animatron's metallic skull. I made sure that my sword cut deep. The horned, axe wielding, standing three feet above my own head, animatron crumbled before me. It fell to the ground and grew quiet, still.

Quickly, I grabbed its large arm. The same arm that struck my chest and my shoulder, breaking bones, bruising flesh. I grabbed that arm and yanked it off, tearing wires and metals. I quickly packed that animatron piece away in my pack and turned.

Turned to face the even larger, taller builder animatron and ranged defender bearing down upon me in the tight corridors of the Machine.

The fight against these two was even more fierce, more painful, but more enthralling, more exciting.

This fight ended the same way. With me left standing.

Maybe I push myself a little too hard.

But I won't stop; it feels so good.

This book is partly burned and charred along with Priss' body. It befalls whatever fate falls upon her.