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There was exactly one city at the foot of the mountain—named Victor the fifth for the king that was buried there. The cities name was Salem, and it was primarily bothered with mining the silver and bronze used in the kingdom’s coin minting. While there were rich forests abundant with wildlife, game, and lumber surrounding the mountain and the city itself, outside the flames used to smelt the metals very little of it was bothered—it was a wealthy town, the financial capital of the nation, and as such it was far more concerned with importing rich, luxury food from more esteemed, culturally significant locals. Bankers, tax collectors, jewelers, and guild headquarters were all stationed in Salem, meaning a large upper class reigned… but where there’s a large upper class, there’s always a bigger lower class: maids, hunters, cooks, soldiers, and of course, miners—all the lifeblood of the city, the heartbeat that gave the city it’s pulse.

It was peaceful. Well-fortified, well connected, and prosperous.

But it was exactly one month ago that it all changed—it was a cloudy morning, and the people were preparing for rain—sewage was preemptively tossed into the cobblestone roads, clean animals were brought indoors while the filthy ones were sent outside to enjoy the wash, and every open-air establishment dragged their wooden furniture indoors and shut their windows.

However, no rain came. Instead, at the peak of noon, the sky began to glow an ominous red, and a terrifying, unearthly roar burnt through the silence at the foot of the mountain. People saw the shadow of a fantastic, magnificent, terrifying demon, unlike the kind the world had ever seen before—a dragon, a king of hell, here on earth: the demon crusade had found them. As the beast flapped it’s wings, brimstone fell from the sky, baseball-sized hail that smashed into tin roofs and rolled across the stone ground—people panicked, ran to whatever safety they could find, assuming the dragon would fall upon them like a comet and destroy them all—and while it’s true, the dragon did briefly land in the streets, when the attack ended and the dragon seemed to vanish, the most damage that could be attributed to him was a broken cart, a few missing cows, and a gash in the side of the academy’s walls.

People thanked god, saying it was divine intervention that had spared them the dragon… until one noticed the cave atop the mountain, where the king had been buried, had smoke coming out of it—the dragon had made a roost atop the snowy peaks of Victor the fifth’s tombstone.

The city was unsure what to do—would they risk inciting the beasts wrath with a preemptive attack? Would they hope whatever malevolent scheme the dragon was plotting, it would leave them out of it? Or would they seek to insult the church and pacify the beast with gifts and offerings, hoping to earn its favor? They considered, but thankfully, their choice was made for them by the holy church not three days after the Dragon appeared, so too did the church’s anti-demon brigade, the Hand of Salvation—the city invited them in with open arms, and they began their occupation of the city—turning it into an anti-demon fortress under the tight, strict control of the church.

Ballistica were stationed on the cities walls—soldiers with specialty weapons patrolled the wall, unburdened by a need to intervene with civil or legal issues, only concerned with the slaying of the dragon (one had even simply watched a rape, as he was under no obligation to stop the crime or protect the civilians)—the church even posted one of the four holy Savents, “The Forward”, into the city, brandishing one of the devil’s jewels… a ruby atop his silver cane. Furthermore, martial law fell upon the population: two hours of prayer every day, before work. Heavy taxation to support the soldiers who were there protecting them from the dragon on the mountain. A curfew at nine o’clock sharp, with any violators considered possible thralls of the demon lord above The ability for any soldier to demand any bed of the population, and take quarter wherever they so desire. And any crime, committed for any reason, was punishable with death—for fear that the crime was spurred by the Dragon’s influence, and that it would spread if not cut off immediately.

All the while, the cave continued to spew smoke…

When she stepped into the elegant dining hall, she’d see their guest quite clearly—it wasn’t a man of refute, based off his clothing: in fact, he appeared to be nothing more than a boy, a common soldier of the Hand of Salvation, still in full battle regalia, young soft face graced with a slight blush as he watched the servant girl step into the kitchen, holding their meal.

The judge nodded at the soldier, who stood, approaching the girl as she put the food down.

“…she’s pretty… petite… tame as a mouse… you weren’t exaggerating, sir, she’d be perfect.”

He nodded at her, taking her hand and kissing it briefly, nodding again as if a broken record—he was certainly pleased with this discovery.

“Well, sit down! You’ll need a little more meat on your bones! I assume she knows what you-“

The judge shook his head, and the soldier immediately clamped up, a look of understanding washing over his face before he tilted his head at her, as if he hadn’t just screwed up—improvising a new sentence on the spot like some robot being told he needed to lie.

“Eat up. I do hate to see a girl like you go hungry, and as guest I assume I have the privilege to ask that generosity from my hosts.”

“You do.” The Judge wisely nodded, raising a small glass of wine in their direction.

The soldier sat back down and started eating what was indeed a very rich meal, refusing to make eye contact with the servant girl—there was an open seat for her, a plate of food… she really was going to eat at the table with everyone else today.

Of COURSE something was up.

With their plates full of the bounty of the marketplace, the soldier smiled warmly at the servant girl, then to his host, and then ate a little—his first bite, he jumped back a little from his plate, a look of sincere shock on his face.

“Wow, this is rich.” He blinked, a slow grin creeping on his face. “The stuff they feed us is so… bland… did you cook this, miss?”

“Of course she did.” The judge answered for her, a slight smile on his face. “I cherish my wife in all respects but she’s not as blessed in the kitchen. Really, our servant girl is quite the diamond in the rough—a noble at heart if I’d ever seen one. I’d never question the lord’s plan, but she feels destined for better things than a simple servant’s life, no?”

“It’s quite lucky for us, too.” The soldier smiled again, eyeing her over mechanically. “I’m so very happy for you for having found such an… extraordinary specimen. But you understand my commander”

“…She’s so much like a daughter to me, it’s hard to bear.” The judge interrupted, baggy eyes sagging ever slighter as his smile grew dimmer. “You understand it would mean the world to me if your commander understood her to be the daughter I always treated her as. For both his sake and my own.”

“Yes… I see.” The soldier blushed between forkfuls of food. “Don’t worry sir, I’ll be sure to introduce her to him… properly. But he wants to do this tomorrow morning, at the peak of dawn… he likely won’t bother to double check.”

“I’d still appreciate it. I want her to be remembered properly. God forbid.”

Well that raised some red flags.

The two men, blinking as if caught in a spotlight, stared at each other for a moment, before the Judge nodded—a not-so-subtle way of instructing the soldier it was his job to fill in the gaps in as diplomatic way as possible.

“Well, miss… you are going to help us slay that foul, demonic dragon that nests atop the good King Vincent the fifth’s tombstone, defiling that holy site and threatening the people of this town in the process. You’ll help save the town and rid the world of this awful blight which has visited us—you do want to help us, don’t you?”

The boy’s voice was hopeful, but not without authority—she highly doubted that she’d have much actual say in if she would be helping or not.

“It’s very important you go with them tomorrow morning.” The judge closed his eyes and nodded, his voice much less… gentle… than the soldiers. “You could very well help save us all.”

Of course, this, combined with what they said earlier, had the chilling implication that this was something of a last meal for her—or at least, that’s how they intended it.

It was certainly better than the stuff she usually got.

“Can you guarantee your general will accept her?” the judge asked, dismissing any form of coyness as unnecessary wordplay.

“As long as he doesn’t suspect she’s of common blood, he won’t double-check. Your wife should be fine.”

“I see.” The judge smiled, then turned to the girl with a quiet, dangerous glare. “Listen, girl, I’m going to say this only once—you betray even once that you’re not my child of flesh and blood, if you make the general come back and take my wife from me, I will use every ounce of power afforded by my position to get you back and make the rest of your worthless life as miserable as humanly possible. Smile. Shut up. Talk only when spoken too and for the love of the great god above you will say I am your father and it is your honor to serve the church. Do everything right, come back alive, and I’ll be in your debt, but screw up ONCE—your vacant, commoners imagination couldn’t comprehend the kind of HELL I’ll give you. Right? Right.”

He turned back to his meal, and the soldier, stunned at the judge’s frankness, coughed, then turned back to the girl. “I… Uh… guess you can stay at the barracks, then. I-if you promise not to betray the Judge’s trust. I think. Is that okay?”

“I don’t care.” The judge scowled.

“…well, then… um… get what you need and we can go immediately, miss.”

The soldier stammered and blushed when the girl returned, grabbing his hat and holding it to his chest between whited fingers as he looked her over—clearly at least someone here was impressed. He looked to the Judge, who merely waved them off, before offering his arm to the young woman—once she took his hand, he’d nod once again, then he’d begin his slow escort out of the Judge’s manor into the ghostly streets.

It was past curfew, so there wasn’t a soul in sight on the stone patchwork roads. The judge was unlike most nobles, due to his position in the state, so he couldn’t move his manor into the seclusion and privacy of the surrounding woodlands—instead, he had to build his manor close to the courthouse. So to compensate for the inconvenience of living among the rabble, he had a sizeable (but not large) plot of land surrounding his house, full of trees, his private garden, and even a small pond. It would be a beautiful chance of pace for the peasants, if they weren’t kept off his property by an eight-foot-tall iron gate. He started to lead her down the twisting path back to the main road—the bright moon above them and the fireflies the only source of light to navigate by.

“T-that hardly seems like an appropriate thing to say…” he started, before remembering she was condemned, and thereby she could be a little more flexible with her courtesy. “…b-but yeah. A little money changed hands, sure, but it’s more my sister. She lives here, and she was recently arrested for… well… her occupation wasn’t reputable. He agreed to pardon her…”

He sighed, holding her hand a little bit tighter.

“I… I kind of wish I could pick someone else, though… y-you look just like her…”

He blinked.

“N-not that you look like that kind of person! I’m sure you’re a virtuous young woman! In fact, that’s kind of what we’re planning, you know? A virtuous noblewoman is perfect bait for-“

He blinked again, then bit on his lips.

“I’ll just shut up now.”

They reached the end of the path, and he swung open the gates, taking them into the proper streets of Salem—the roads were wide (wide enough to accomidate at least six wagons rolling side-by-side) and long—this one section of road stretched all the way from the courthouse to the east church, with all the businesses and markets in-between. There were a few oil lamps hanging from street posts giving a little illumination, and the area was quiet, outside the night-songs of birds and the heavy labored breathing of the rapist in the stockade outside the courthouse.

“This way…”

They reached the end of the street, and turned onto a smaller, thinner road--compact, sandwiched by more shops, homes, and the miners guildhouse. This road was much worse than the one the Judge's house rested on--sewage pooled in potholes in the road, an occasional rat would skirt around their feet, and at least one malnourished horse was tied to a post outside a veterinarian's house, swatting mayflies away from it's arse with it's own tail. About half the lights above them were out of gas, but there were still a few lights (and even more peering eyes) peaking out from the homes and businesses.

It wasn't uncommon for children to track the patrols of soldiers--they were too young to understand the occupation, and found endless pleasure in seeing the swords and armor of the Hand of Salvation.

The two walked closer to the mountain, as the soldier's barracks was on the tombstone.

"Well... kind of." He answered reluctantly, afraid of overstepping his bounds with his honesty. "You're to march up the mountain, adorned with fine gold and silver, singing prayers to god--being a duke of hell, we know... well... we THINK he won't miss an opportunity to corrupt a virtuous maiden... and when he presents himself to you... we strike."

He paused a lot while talking, but to the best of her knowledge he didn't do it to help him phrase his worlds diplomatically... just because he had to think about what he was going to say, and the level of honesty he'd offer her.

Either way he didn't seem too happy.