I thought I'd make this for anyone else who wants to write little fan stories about what we know about Deadhaus Sonata so far.
Here's the first story that'll go on here.

The thief moved amongst the shadows of the village. She had lurked just outside the village for a few hours, waiting for the shipment of goods to arrive. And there it was, the driver had just taken the horses away to feed and water them. Now would be a perfect time to collect some good merchandise for her ‘friends’. She moved swiftly, each step taken deliberately, making her appear like nothing more than a shadow to a lone crow that sat on the taverns roof. She had reached the edge of village center, the cart was there, no one in sight.
The thief thought for a moment, then muttered something incomprehensible. Her slender form became transparent, the tight wrapping around her head looked like nothing more than leaves blowing in the breeze. She walked slowly towards the cart, and peaked inside. Underneath the dark of the wrappings, her scarlet eyes glittered magickly. Though no one could see it, a smile cracked across her face. Magick items and pieces. Weapons, armor, artifacts, to the human who brought them, they were nothing more than tools. To most other humans, they’d behave just like tools. But to her ‘friends’ they were strength incarnate. She watched happily as small near invisible sparks of magick arced from weapon to weapon.
She put her hand out towards the items and softly muttered “Come and see”, the weapons, armor, and artifacts slowly faded away, leaving doubts to as if they were ever there. She chuckled to herself and turned back to where she came from. There was something there, it wasn’t visible to the normal eye, but she was an expert. There was a small net of magick, almost a cobweb of magick. She wandered over to it, and put her hand out. The magick tightened and started to weave itself into a form. She stared, unblinking as the magick web shook and twisted itself into a corpse, a living corpse. Then as she stared, a glint of steel came from it’s hand straight to her throat.
Blood, gurgling, and a sick sense of satisfaction should have happened. The blade, crashed against the thief’s neck, a flash of sparks appeared, and large piece of the well preserved and cared for blade fell to the ground. The thief stared at the surprised undead, who stared at it’s blade.
The girl held out her hand and muttered some words so fast the undead couldn’t hear her. A sword much like the undead’s sword appeared in her hand and she shoved it into the undead’s hand faster than it could react. “We’ll talk about payment back at the city.” The thief said, and her words were colder than the void. Then, she was gone.
The Undead, realized how grave a mistake he made. The coldness of her words made him stare in horror the new pristine blade. How lucky he’d must have been to find her after a catch. Most who try to harm the Blade Queen merchant rarely survived, regardless of place in life... or death.
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In a distant memory is a homeless old man, ignored and left to freeze in a back alley, being approached as death is imminent and offered an "end" by a stranger. He accepts the offer and is presented with a vial. He consumes it thinking its poison and begins writhing in agony, questioning the stranger between his screams as he thought it was meant to offer a peaceful release; but the pain soon subsided and he finds himself feeling more alive then he has in years with an intolerable hunger. Before he can question the stranger about it they are interrupted by a constable investigating the screams. The stranger quickly dispatches the constable, biting out a chunk of their throat to keep them from screaming and draining them dry. The constable's body is tossed to the feet of the old man, stunning him with a combination of the horror from what transpired and the overwhelming desire to feast upon the corpse. Without even thinking the old man finds himself consuming the body one quick bite at a time as the stranger revels at the sight and applauds him once there is nothing left of the constable but torn scrapes of his attire and chewed up bits of bone.

The old man demands answers and the stranger reveals themself to be a vampire and the vial he drank contained their blood. The old man asks if that is what he has been turned into, causing the vampire to laugh as they explain they aren't looking for a pupil but a servant. The vampire then reveals to the old man that he is now a ghoul, their ghoul; and, from now til the day they no longer need him, he will serve while subsisting off the bodies of their victims.

The memory soon comes to an end as everything goes black and the ghoul opens his eyes in the present day, more than a century since that memory came to pass. The ghoul stands over the chewed remains of his maker as the taste from the final morsel of their body fades away. In the corner of the room cowers a young ghoul who was meant to devour him as their first meal before taking his place at their maker's side. The young ghoul begs for mercy but he does not hear it, as the ever present hunger is now joined by his rage in telling him that there is room for more.
He didn't feel quite right. Whether it was adjusting to the new body or knowing it wasn't his was hard to grasp. Yet he pressed on. He recalled the echo of the creature who called itself Tozsi. "Power to overcome.." it said within that now former hall of Magi, now a Hall of the Dead. The musty smell of earth filled his nostrils -not his nostrils mind you - as he took in his surroundings. An underground treasure hall filled with sparkling rubies that shone a vibrant crimson. No, not rubies but Phylacteries. The only question that was in Pardue's mind was which was his? Before he could ponder further the bolt from the crossbow across the room struck square in the chest. Funny he thought, it didn't hurt. He continued forward. Raising a hand, he looked the crossbowman in the eyes and they erupted, entrails spewing everywhere. Bones clinked as they hit the walls and the organs made a sloshy wet noise sticking to the walls before dripping to the now bloodstained floor. I didn't even have to use the words Pardue thought. Glorious.
He gazed around the room now. That strange feeling still possessing him. At first he hated it. Regardless him wanting more power than the others felt meaningless if it meant having to be this...this thing. But overtime he started accepting it. Accepting he could no longer taste food, feel flesh or smell the spices and scents he used for his potions. But he was above all of that now wasn't he? He didn't really care, just a few lingering emotions no longer needed if he truly had them in the first place. Besides, they only got in the way of his practices.
He slowly mantled up the stairs. Nobody could stop him so why rush? Guess I don't need this anymore he thought and he began to untangle. A shiver ran down his spine and a sharp pain hit his back, his bones rattled and the pain oddly felt like puberty. Those pangs of growth from when he was younger, how his legs felt like trees planted in the earth with the roots growing and digging deeper down. He was sure this would get easier with time. He hoped at least. Grabbing his face, he began to peel the skin. Like a mole burrowing a tunnel, he had to get out of this body. His chest began to hurt now. That was his hand trying to breakthrough. He decided the mouth would be an easier exit. All of this trouble for a small vial he thought, as his jaw cracked, broke...and hit the floor.
He knelt on the cold stone, blood dripping from legs and wrists the skin rubbed raw by the shackles. Before him was a statue, and a pit. The statue stood tall, the shape of a headless man standing tall, holding his own severed head in his hand, held over the pit. From the head, two streams of blood crawled down it's horrified screaming face from it's eyes, gathering at the stump of the neck and falling into the pit. Despite how hard he tried, he could not hear any splash or sound of the blood landing. He'd seen the statue and pit before, when he was first brought into the wretched city. Now he was before it, his own blood caked onto his face, his left eye cut out and poorly bandaged up.
"Go." A deep gravely voice said behind him. He didn't, he couldn't, fear had paralyzed him. It would have been okay, in some twisted way if he could hear the bottom. A strong but thin hand grabbed his neck from behind and lifted him up easily, the ends of the fingers more like claws and digging into the soft flesh of his neck, as he was forcefully held over the yawning maw of the pit.
Fear took control again, his arms went over his head, he started beating the thing's arm that held him. He hit it hard with his fists, fear in control more than his mind. He beat at it, over, and over, and over again. The skin and flesh on his hands tearing with every hit. Adrenalin coursed through him and he hit faster, only succeeding in tearing away the skin and flesh on his hands more and more. And not once did arm holding him flinch or move. "Stop squirming." The gravely voice said again. He stopped terror taking control again this time working out what would happen before his head did. They could do worse things than kill your. Horrible things that made death, no matter how horrible or painful, seem like the greatest mercy you could ask for. He cast his trembling eye down to the pit.
The hand let go of him.
The spear trembles in my hand as I point it towards the barricaded door. The armor is heavier than I had ever anticipated. The chainmail rustles as my body futilely moves to find a sturdy stance. Other than the flickering of torches and the occasional sudden breaths of my fellow militiamen the room is as silent as the grave. Ironically enough, it will become ours as soon as the door opens. The footsteps of the women, children and elderly can no longer be heard from the tunnels behind us. They might escape with their lives if we manage to hold the dead off. That is IF we manage to hold them off. We have to succeed, I have to succeed. For Lena, and the kids. My thoughts are interrupted by a thunderous noise, closely followed by the creaking of wood and whining of metal. The door is buckling. Being forced open by hideous abominations. The man besides me whimpers. I try to comfort him, and give him some words of encouragement. But I cannot speak. My mouth feels like desert. I'm parched and my body aches from the exhaustion brought on by terror and anticipation. I tighten my grip around the spear and prepare for my last stand.
Thank each of you for coming.

I have called this meeting because there have been stirrings in the masses. They have become complacent and are growing restless... Complacency and restlessness put at risk our ultimate goal. I suggest that we give them a diversion something that will cull the weak, keep them active, and hone their skills all while preventing them from causing harm to the cause. At this time i think we should stroke their arrogance and guide them to some minor infighting.

Any objections?

Good we are all in agreement then, thank you for your time, let it begin.
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Eh, had this idea for a short story. So here it is.

The magic surged through the man, his screams almost drowning out the machinations bizarre construct behind him. The shriveled creature, which caught the poor man and dragged him there, floated a short ways away. It's boney fingers drumming absent mindedly as the man stopped screaming and started convulsing, as if something was trying to erupt from his very essence. The shriveled figure sighed in disappointment through a mouth that could not move as it looked with eyes that could not see on the man. His body started to bloat, turning red like some sickly candy until he looked little more than a giant berry.
"Disappointing..." The Liche hissed, "A large setback from the last subjects..." It turned away as it gestured absentmindedly. Some shambling corpses emerged from the darkness of the room and started release the bloated body. "Perhaps it was a difference between the subjects?" The liche's wispy voice seemed to come out of the air. The shambling creatures, dragged the bloated body towards their emancipated master. "Bring that to the Ghouls. I'm sure they won't mind such a plump, juicy treat." It's voice hissed, "With any luck, they might only eat one of you." The mindless creatures, turned and dragged the plump carcass away. The corpse seemed like even a small cut would cause it to erupt in blood and gore like some grotesque balloon.
"It's always a good idea to remain on the good side of your neighbors after all." The liche said, as it glided away into a almost hidden doorway in the darkness, to review the experiment and examine what could have caused the change.