“Incorruptible. That is what you must become,” the voice of the commander of the Long Whisper Division rang loud and true, “When we don our cloaks, we not only represent ourselves, but our order as well. We must remain steadfast in protecting those that have placed their trust in us – undaunting in our duties, undaunting in living our code.”

A line of graduating White Cloak recruits stood before Marcus Newsun. He was dressed in cream-colored finery; a saber with a gold and silver guard hung by his side, sheathed in an ebonwood case. Behind him towered the Long Whisper headquarters, a guild hall constructed by the White Cloaks merely a decade prior – a testament to the youth of Long Whisper’s government and the recency of the Cloaks as a peacekeeping force in the region. Banners embroidered with the triple crossed swords were draped over the gray stone walls – one sword representing each of the three founders. Brothers bound by blood, bound by duty – a duty that was passed down to the new recruits who were here today.

Wiccer stepped forth, older and wiser than the boy that he once was. His silver tunic with its white trim looked almost regal on him. Slowly, he bent to one knee and bowed his head to his superior. The man standing before him was not only his lifelong instructor and Guild Master, but his father as well. Beneath his white dress gloves, Wiccer’s hands were still bruised and blistered from constant punishment. Even the smallest mistakes in his training and lessons had earned him a swift strike on the knuckles with a wooden measuring stick or a whipping rod – whichever his father had handy. He had no chance to play with children his age, or even the opportunity to enjoy an autumn's day. Honestly the thought had never really crossed his mind until now.

For a fleeting moment, he caught himself wishing for a normal life, though he did not fully understand what that might entail. He wondered what would have become of him had he been born a farmer’s son of more meager means. The idea of such a life seemed so foreign to him. Where was the glory or valor to be found in toiling in the hot sun to feed your family when a fat lordling would take a vast share of it for himself? No, this was not the life for him. Wearing the white cloak was a privilege that civilians could never understand. He banished such foolish longings from his mind. The only life worth living was one that strove for honor, duty, and the right to bear ‘The Cloak of the Incorruptible’.

“Arise, Wiccer,” Marcus continued. He held out a white cloak with a silver trim. The golden trim on his own cloak, a mark of leadership, glinted in the sunlight.

Wiccer's eyes were focused on the ivory cloak before him. He had desired nothing more in all of his life. He lived vicariously through the tales of his parents. He bled for the chance to earn a cloak of his very own. His very being desperately longed for this cloak, and now here it was in his father’s outstretched hands. Marcus floated it around his son's shoulders.

“The boy is now a man,” Marcus nodded as Wiccer raised his hand over his right eyebrow in a strong, but emotional salute.

“Thank you, Father,” whispered Wiccer.

A formal dinner was being held for the new guild members at the guild hall. Although this particular hall was not nearly as massive as the one in Varis, it was still nothing to frown at. Pipers and lute strummers played a slow tune as the guests danced a traditional Varisian dance. They raised their hands together as they moved in a large circle and their bodies swayed back and forth to the melody that filled the air. On the banquet table, a feast of roasted vegetables, pheasant, and large goblets of fine ale were placed before each of the new members.

Wiccer walked in wearing a pressed white dress tunic with matching polished golden buttons that adorned him. His new pearl-white cloak was draped over his right shoulder, its silver trim glistening in the candlelight. The palm of his hand rested on the ceremonial saber that he had received along with his cloak and his boots were glossed to a shine. Many young women smiled and giggled as he made his way through the ball.

Marcus spotted him, calling him away from a night of pleasure and to a night of business. In his hand he had a long object wrapped in wolf hide.

“My son, I’m so proud of you. You’ve come along way and I’m overjoyed that you can now serve by my side,” Marcus said as he greeted his son. He wrapped a hand around the back of Wiccer’s head, pulling it to meet with his own.

“Thank you, Father.”

Handing Wiccer the gift, he patiently waited for his son to unwrap it, revealing a fine arming sword enclosed in a white leather scabbard, “It was your brother's first sword, lightweight, faster than most blades. Avren wanted to give it to you himself when you earned your cloak.”

Wiccer took hold of the blade and carefully pulled it from its scabbard. He inspected its edge and weighed its balance. He could tell that it was a finely crafted blade. Satisfied, he smiled, “When you write to Avren, tell him that I'll use it well.”

Marcus sipped from his chalice, “Tell him yourself.”

Marcus pulled a writ from a leather-bound pouch on his belt. He tossed it to his confused son,

“Read it.”

With a confused look on his face, Wiccer hurriedly unravelled the scroll and scanned the finely written words it held. The words on the small scroll seemed to be too good to be true. In disbelief, he quickly looked it over a second time before looking up into his father’s eyes.

“Father, Avren has sent for me!” He shook his head in shock. His brother had requested aid of him in the newly established Lost Dawns. Not only was he already receiving his first assignment, but it was with his brother in the the capital city of Long Whisper!

“You leave in the morning…Try not to celebrate too hard,” Marcus replied, grinning.

***

Wiccer sat in a carriage looking out the window watching the many trees flash by. Flanking from either side of the carriage was a White Cloak on horseback. Marcus had taken every precaution to get his son to Lost Dawns safely. Reports from pathfinder patrols had told of ambushes from both bandits and Black Rabbits alike. No chances could be taken.

The carriage inched to a stop at a roadside village. Wiccer’s escort had been traveling all morning and all afternoon without a break and now seemed to be as safe a time as any for the horses to rest.

The carriage door opened, “Wiccer, come out and find some lunch. We’ll be resting for an hour or so.” Elleneis was a tall, stern woman whose words were often as hardened as she was. Wiccer fostered a healthy mixture of fear and respect for his new superior and saluted her as she spoke.

“Keep your hand down, Private,” she scolded, “Last thing I need is some greenhorn letting any lurking Rabbits know that I’m in command.”

Wiccer’s hand quickly fell to his side in embarrassment. Elleneis murmured curses and insults as she walked away.

Looking about the village, Wiccer scanned the various shops that dotted the sparse town: a blacksmith, a trading post, a tannery, and a tailor. Wiccer spotted a small butcher shop where several of his fellow White Cloaks had congregated. He took a moment to take in the aroma of the different meats that were cooking over several small fires behind the butcher. Mutton, steak, chicken, and even some other unidentifiable meats sizzled just feet away, and Wiccer felt his stomach rumble beneath his skin.

“What can I get you, sir?” the butcher’s wife asked. Her face was worn and leathery, hinting that she had seen the many seasons at least fifty times over.

“A woman of your age and beauty shouldn’t have to work,” Wiccer said, smiling politely, “Surely you have a son running about?” Wiccer looked around and began to notice that the village was surprisingly quiet. Aside from the occasional hammering of hot iron by the blacksmith, there was something truly missing.

“Our son and his wife left our village when their second child was recruited.” The elderly woman grimaced as she spoke and Wiccer’s smile dropped. He could sense that she had never recovered from the absence they left behind.

“Recruited?” Wiccer scanned the village again, “Second child? Both were recruited? For what?”

The other White Cloaks were silent, but gave solemn looks to the young rookie.

“To become Black Rabbits. Both of them were recruited within three years of each other.” She looked truly and deeply sad, “But at least they’ll be together. My son and his wife just couldn’t suffer the losses though.” She began to trail off as Wiccer looked at the village around him with fresh eyes. He knew what caused the silence now. There were no children in this village. No children playing in the fields, no children chasing the ducks, and no children getting candy at the general store. Just none.

“The Black Rabbits take your children and you all just let this happen!?” Wiccer shouted, slamming his fist on the counter.

“And what do you propose we do, young sir? Fight them? Ha! We barely have enough strength to run this shop, much less fight off an entire clan of assassins, thieves, and murderers.” The truth in her words was hard for Wiccer to accept.

Wiccer stood up, knocking his seat backwards, “We should!” He snapped his head at his strangely quiet peers, “Why aren’t the Cloaks doing something about this?”

“Wiccer, you’re causing a scene, take a seat and be quiet,” said an elven corporal named Rahje.

Wiccer was flabbergasted by Rahje’s response, “How can you be so calm when such an injustice lays right before you?”

Rahje rolled his eyes, “Wiccer, we do what we can. We protect the larger cities, but we are too small of a unit to protect every town and village. What you ask is impossible.”

“We are called ‘incorruptible’, but we sit idly by when people need us the most?”

“The wolf does not try to eat every animal he sees. He leaves the squirrel alone to chase after the deer,” Rahje said.

“The wolf makes sure to get the Rabbit, though,” sneered Wiccer

“And the wolf would get exhausted chasing a rabbit instead of going for the bigger game. Wiccer, we’ve known for some time that we can’t protect everyone. It stinks, but it’s the way the world works. You can’t save everyone. Concentrate on what matters. Do what you are told and hope you can make it through another day. Now sit down and just eat your food.”

“I’m no longer hungry,” Wiccer said as he stormed away.

***

The ancient Elder Tree that pierced the sky above Lost Dawns towered in the distance as Wiccer's carriage passed through the city gates. Though still under a great deal of construction, the cobblestone streets were heavily crowded with elves, humans, kanis, and other races Wiccer couldn't readily recognize. The crowd parted as the carriage passed. Plenty of faces attempted to peer through the carriage's windows. Wiccer kept his composure, despite his urge to gawk at the splendor of the city. Although he had been raised in Varis and had seen many wondrous places, Lost Dawns was still a sight to behold.

Buildings and small tenements dotted the sides of the roads creating a labyrinth of back alleys and side streets. Massive roots twisted over and around them. From the more low hanging branches spanned great bridges that connected the higher part of the city. The nobility of Lost Dawns resided here in their vast, extravagant homes while those of lesser stations found what meager shelter they could in ‘The Roots.’

The carriage stopped in front of a decrepit abbey. Though it was clear that it had seen better days, its beauty still shined from its elegant stained glass windows and through the large moss covered carving of the angel god, Ruens. Wiccer’s deity was the goddess of justice, Jedeo. He bowed and made a silent prayer before pulling his duffel bag off the roof of the carriage, not forgetting to tip the driver a silver piece. He inhaled a deep breath to calm his nerves. This was his first assignment and his first true day as an official White Cloak. More importantly though, he'd not seen his brother in nearly a year.

Before he could enter the church, the doors flung open and Avren ran to Wiccer and embraced him in a bear hug. Avren chuckled, welcoming his brother, “Wiccer, it's been seasons since I've seen my baby brother! How have you been?”

Wiccer gasped for air, trapped in Avren’s well meaning clutches, “I'd be better able to breathe if I wasn't being smothered to death by you!”

Avren blinked and released Wiccer, dropping him to a clutter on the ground.

“Sorry, little brother. Life is rough in this city. It’s good to see a piece of home.” Avren took Wiccer’s duffle bag and motioned his brother to follow him inside, “We are most likely being watched by Rabbits. I didn’t send for you because you needed a vacation.”

Still sitting on the ground, Wiccer looked around bewildered by the thought of Black Rabbits being in blade's reach.

With a more serious tone, Avren lowered his voice, “You're right to have that look on your face. The Rabbits have been sabotaging the construction of this city. Workers have been falling ill or going missing. Either way, they are usually found dead soonafter. I’ve even seen one myself, she was–” Avren stopped to think about his close encounter. His last encounter with a Rabbit left him with conflicting dreams and desires with Elisa. She haunted his thoughts with her seductive body, “She was deadly.”

“It can't be as obvious as their disapproval of the leadership. Assassins don't involve themselves in politics that way,” Wiccer blurted out.

“Right you are, little brother. No, the Rabbits have been hired by someone that doesn't want the city built.”

Now standing, Wiccer rubbed his chin, pondering the history of the eight elven noble tribes, “Leafsong?” he asked inquisitively.

“Leafsong would be the most obvious choice, which is precisely why the Leafsong are the least likely to be behind it.”

Wiccer raised an eyebrow.

Avren chuckled, “I've had a year to deal with this. The Leafsong were the tribe that betrayed their king, but they were absolved of when they banished Ryjin. You remember that from your lessons, don’t you?”

Wiccer rubbed his knuckles, “Father wouldn't let me forget.”

Avren clenched and released his own fists, “Aye, little brother.”

“So, if the Leafsong want to keep the hides on their backs, they need to stay deep in the good graces of the king. So who's pulling the strings then?”

“Before sending for you, I sent for a platoon of cloaks. We've been able to keep incidents to a minimum, but I want to capture a Rabbit and make it talk.”