Legacy of Jarmoth: Adria IC

[Rope]

Sun arrived atop a high cliff that walled off a rather large path. The mountainous area was the southern border between the Majdal Empire and High Ifferia. South of his position lied a quiet lake, resting at the bottom of the rocky terrain. On this day, the sky was an irradiant blue, the sun high in the sky, protecting Sun from the cold weather in the high altitudes. The cliffs themselves looked more like small mountains, or fingers of rocky giants, jutting out of the earth, curving in mid-air, forming a stony shelter for the road and the outposts bellow. Sun saw them, men of Majdala, manning a first line of defense, battlements, and ready for any eventual attack. On the Ifferian side stood another set of men and fortifications, slightly different, yet for the same purpose. A long path of no man’s land stretched between the two nation’s emplacements, dark and dusty. It had not been used in a while, but Sun knew the road would be used soon enough, he knew better now. Yoshiro had told him as much; war would erupt anew between both nations. That is why the village had feared him so much; they believed that their son’s would be taken away for the war once more. Sun looked west, to the expenses of Majdala and was lost within his thoughts. What had happened to Yoshiro’s village was…horrible. He had struggled with the thought for the trek; his very core was being shaken by the outside world. It was hard to view war as glorious when you heard such stories. During the last war with the Majdalan Empire, a small band of warriors broke through the border of Ifferia and ravaged the lands, searing plantations and murdering people, whether they ran or fought. Yoshiro’s village had been unfortunate enough to stand in the way of those…savages. They had burned and pillaged and raped there way there, there was no reason for them to change their ways for they had never been stopped. And who would? The bulk of the army was fighting on the border itself, too preoccupied with the rest of the Majdalans to chase a single band of them. Yoshiro had been informed that the barbarians were descending upon them too late. Before he could prepare a retreat and get the villagers to safety, they were already upon them. Hundreds died right there, killed as they ran from the attackers. Others had known fates…worse than death. Yoshiro held some of them off but could never manage on his own to push them back. He ran with the rest. There were many he could not save that day, many he could not spare from their atrocious fate. When it was finally over, what he came back too was a desolate wasteland. The crops had been burned; all that remained of it was a desert of ash. Their homes were mere husks, a few piles of wood, leftovers from the raid. It was not enough to give them shelter during cold nights. And worst of all, corpses laid everywhere…some although well and truly dead were still moaning or in tears; it was not long before they died or gave themselves death. Nothing remained but a few cowards, those that had run. Nothing was to ever repay the loss the village and Yoshiro had felt that day. But they struggled in their memory. They struggled to bring back to life the place those who now rested in peace had called home. And they would not give up this land until the work was done. But the news of another war had…broken them once more. How should they even cope with such an announcement? They did not want to abandon what they had worked so hard to bring back to life, especially to the service of a state that could not protect them. So what now? Yoshiro did not know. And neither did Sun. For Sun had always believed war was glorious and practiced within the limits of the Code. But it was not so and these stories of war…were a harsh reality he now had to cope with. What was he to believe now? The pillars that held him together, the tenets of the Kenraiton, were being torn asunder. His very being was under threat. He had left Yoshiro and the village a night after Yoshiro had told him his tale. A night after he had learned of this war. Would they look for him? Would they want to drag him within the army to serve the Emperor? And what would he find in Majdala now? Hostility? Hatred? Would he be considered a spy of High Ifferia? So many questions, so little answers. He shook his head. Now…now was not the time to think of such things. Now was the time to travel…

He began walking along the edges of the earthen tooth. He still needed to actually reach the other side of the border which could be some work, he needed to focus on the now. The mountains were a harsh way to get to Majdala and yet, they were the easiest in a fashion. Here, there were no border patrols like those of the lake at the western edge of the continent and there was no manned outpost like the road, right under his feet. But, the ground was wet and slippery because of the snow and could not seem to flatten. Every step was a perilous enterprise, danger looming every time Sun laid down his feet. It was a frustrating experience at best, dangerously so at worst. And yet, he could not think of the exact reasons that were pushing him to travel into enemy territory. Sure, he was tracking down Xia’xia, but that only felt like an excuse, a reason to jump into Hell. The idea itself of Xia’xia wasn’t of any confort to him, and it gave him no more strength than he already possessed. So what was the reason? Suddenly he lost his footing, a small parcel of ice awaiting someone foolish enough to trip over its glassy self. Sun was fast enough to avoid getting pounded on the floor and got back on his feet before falling flat to the ground. Still, it awoke him to the omnipresent danger of such a place. He needed to focus on the journey to Majdala for now, nothing more! The winds were strong and the sounds it made were loud, almost as if demanding attention. Snow smashed against his face, laughing at his efforts to reach the war torn country. Sun wondered how things were over there. He’d known about the war between Maradithia and Majdala for about a month. Was Xia’xia even still alive? The rivalry between both kingdoms was bitter at most from what he knew of both countries. The constant raiding of one another had not helped sooth those wounds either. The war would be bloody, and he was afraid the land would look like the waste Yoshiro called home. Still, a whole country separated High Ifferia from the war, he would not have to see any of it for a long time still. And Xia’xia had only been gone for a month; he still had time to catch up, no? Although his progress had been slow due to inexperience…that he knew. BAH! Xia’xia had most likely taken his time as well…Sun slipped and fell to the ground. Ice was everywhere, damn it all. This damn passage was the worst it seemed to him. The wind calmed down, although there was still noise. Loud noises. Like nothing he had ever heard before. He looked at the horizon before him. Nothing was in sight. Maybe it was from…

That’s when he saw it. He froze, not from the chilling winds, not from the snow, not from the ice or the height. No. It was something much more terrifying, much more stunning. It was like nothing he had ever seen before; it hid the very lands it stood on, flattened by a hundred thousand footsteps. It was like the shadow of a cloud, immense and unstoppable. Nothing would stop it. Every small step echoed through the air, heard from miles away. It was an army. Enormous in size, men marched one by another by the thousands, a dust storm raging up from the earth as the horde’s march raised it. It was an army of High Ifferia. Horsemen scoured the lands around the gigantic mass while spearmen advanced on the flanks and parts of the frontline as well. Archers were placed at intervals behind rows of infantry. And at the very front, he could see them; Kenraitons, the finest of High Ifferia. Nothing would stand in the way of such a force. It would destroy mountains and face typhoons in the name of the Emperor; that, Sun knew. As much as he dreaded the sight, it filled him with immense pride. His fellow brethren were most likely in that frontline, at the very front of the war that would soon begin. They would know glory without end. The stories they would tell when he would see them again…And what would he tell them? What sort of adventures could Sun boast about? He had been the very best student at his school. He had been Ruy’s favorite. He had mastered the way of the sword, learned every technique, every riposte, every move in the Dance. He had never lost to his fellow companions, never. He had defeated all those who claimed mastery, those who defied his master and those who challenged Sun himself. Every single one of them had been defeated, brought back down from their tiny pedestal so that he, Sun Dai’chi, could bath in glory. He had been admired and loved. Others had looked up to him. He had been the very best, the sharpest, the strongest, and the fastest. And now what was he? What could he boast about? That he had seen a bit of the country, however beautiful it was, was nothing compared to what they were about to accomplish. Their names would go down in the canals of history, remembered as heroes. He would be remembered as a hermit, a vagabond, a nothing. He should never have left. Better, he should go down there immediately and join them. Go to Majdala as a conqueror, not a beggar. Defeat the enemy, not find an old nemesis. Xia’xia was most likely dead anyway, rotting somewhere, his laughable skills swept under the rug. He began walking towards his salvation. He knew he needed to reach them, he knew what he needed to do. But the ice was there again, to laugh at him, in his pitiful attempts at self-satisfaction. He fell again and this time hit his face against the ground with a loud grunt. Blood trickled down his newly open wound. He had lost himself to reverie. Tears rolled down his reluctant eyes as he hit the mountain in his frustration. Why was the world so cruel? Why tease him with such a sight? His mind has lost itself in it and he had forgotten where he was. But as he got back up, he knew he was not meant to go down the path of war. He remembered Yoshiro. He remembered the devastation, the death. There was no glory to war…only loss and depravity. Majdala would burn, and fools would celebrate. He wiped the salty water from his face. He had chosen this path; he would follow it until he had what he sought. He would know who he was and the regrets and questions would fade away. Everything would be better, everything would be solved. But he needed to find Xia’xcia first…yes, find Xia’xia. And so he turned back from the army, turned his back on the desire for glory and gazed upon the expenses of Majdala. He would not doubt again…

[SlenderWoman]

It was late.
Al'Ahsor walked the hallways and twisting corridors of the inner castle, sometimes stopping people to ask for directions and avoiding the guards. The Priest had thought it best to wait until late before he crept inside the castle - Al'Ahsor did not want any more incidents with the guards at the gate, he would simply slip past when they weren't looking - so he had helped the people of the city for the rest of the afternoon, generally doing good deeds in the grace of Mul'Tee. He had stumbled into the baker's boy Harvey once more before his dangerous trip, and the boy did really seem quite intent on seeing the Priest as a godly figure, as nobody had really done before. He cherished advice and being in the presence of Al'Ahsor, so Al'Ahsor decided he would try and speak with Harvey every day to try and give him self confidence and enhance his innocence through the power, as he saw the boy as a wise and pure source of Mul'Tee that would be a benefit to the people of Majdal around him.

It turned out slipping into the castle was not so easily said than done. Even with Al'Ahsor's sleek robes and soft footed sandals the guard had panicked and spotted the Priest, on high alert. It was almost as if he was expecting something or someone and was listening out for the slightest sound, eyes scouring the area intently.
Al'Ahsor very quickly straightened up and pretended to be walking just past the gate, but couldn't help making eye contact with the guard and attempting to nod an evening 'hello' before walking away. A second past, two seconds. Al'Ahsor recognized the guard's face. A red splatter still lay untouched on the ground.
Tears of blood. The guard's eyes widened and Al'Ahsor knew he was about to give away his position, in fear or maybe in anger.
Without thinking the Priest drew up close and felt the power flow through the air.
"Silence. I am sorry for what happened to you, and Mul'Tee knows I did not mean for it to happen. You shall let me past and speak nothing of it." Whispered Al'Ahsor calmly and quietly, forever keeping eye contact with the guard, for breaking it would interrupt the gift. Electric blue reflected from the dark brown iris of the guard and he quickly looked away, gulping down what had just happened and returning to guard duty. While he passed Al'Ahsor could see the guard desperately trying to fight or scream out, but he just couldn't work his voice to call.
My power is growing. I need to be more careful in future, Al'Ahsor thought as he briskly strode through the gate and beyond into unknown territory.

Al'Ahsor had not wore his white cloak that blended with his robes that night, the one with the hidden pouch that contained a dagger made of mountain steel and a small purse of gold for troubled times. Nor did he bring the white elm walking staff that was not uncommon to be in the hand of a Priest of the Middle - Al'Ahsor was far from old yet, but it was a tradition of their order that had rarely left the hand of Malaghar and from watching the older Priest Al'Ahsor had rather grown used to relying on it in some cases. Al'Ahsor carried no weapons, as he always did, for he was not a man looking for trouble, just looking for the whereabouts of a young page who went by the name of Nathaniel.
But even so, before a half hour had passed the guards were after him. The spell on the gate guard would have broken off shortly after it was initiated, as Al'Ahsor knew, and he suspected he would alert others of his doings. Al'Ahsor had expected to be out by then, alas, but finding the boy in a maze of hallways overlooking lush gardens with small lakes or bustling markets home to stray dogs and merchants was tougher than it seemed.
Al'Ahsor was in one such market, blending in between an old woman and a noble aristocrat waiting for his friend, when a trio of the City Watch came marching through, glancing around at the people, they would have found Al'Ahsor if he had not stepped away from the bench with an quite impressive reaction time and into a dark alcove the Priest had looked for as soon as he had entered.
From then on the going was slow and it was unnerving when Al'Ahsor had nowhere to slip into or behind quietly and quickly to avoid being seen. The good thing was that the people of the castle were not troubled to look for the Priest (the City Watch and royal guards took it upon themselves to find him discreetly without causing a panic) so he had plenty of chances to ask for the whereabouts of the page Nathaniel, most of which he took. Sometimes he posed as a scholar from Andaluja, or Nathaniel's foreign father, of even Excidius Arel himself which required tapping into the gift of Mul'Tee for added 'persuasion'.
However, Al'Ahsor had had no such luck with the people; even though most knew the boy and his doings but none could tell him of his whereabouts presently.
It was not until a middle-aged, exquisite lady came into the presence of Al'Ahsor that a clue was revealed.

"Sorry to trouble you, my lady. Could I borrow a moment of your time?" Asked Al'Ahsor through his long but neat beard.
"No, not at all. Are you here on business?" Replied the woman, a little unwarmly but not rude.
"I am the father of a page in the castle, one who goes by Nathaniel, commonly seen with the elf Excidius Arel. Do you perhaps know of his whereabouts at this time?" Said Al'Ahsor as he had done several times that night, in a polite tone.
The woman raised her eyebrows and her face suddenly turned dark and unkindly. She took a deep breath and shot daggers into his eyes with her glare.
"Listen, you. I don't know who you are or what sick game you are playing, or why you require Nathaniel. But I do know where he is, in fact."
Al'Ahsor had no idea how she had seen through his ruse, which meant it obviously wasn't a good one. He simply nodded neutrally and replied, "Oh?"
She continued, "I am, or at least the last time I checked, Nathaniel's aunt - and unless the foolish old woman has remarried in the last few days - you are not Nathaniel's father," at this Al'Ahsor exhaled deeply and realised he should have expected this, "I can give you the boy's location, but only if you mean him no harm and you do something for me first."
Relief and doubt filled Al'Ahsor's mind. Simply because she agreed slyly to cooperate with him meant she was a trickster and one that liked to play some sort of game. She had something that needed doing, and it was probably something that was not going to be pleasant. The desperation of the request made Al'Ahsor all the more wary of this woman, and the request itself the Priest was not kindly looking forward to hearing about.
She looked like she was expecting a confirmation so Al'Ahsor coughed quietly and gestured, "By all means, continue."
"It just so happens, Nathaniel's mother owes me and if the news of me giving locations to a boy on his own to a queerly dressed stranger is considered a crime, she can keep it to herself. Now, if you really want to know, here is what I want first."
Al'Ahsor nodded and listened intently. He was not leaving the castle without something being gained for he had waited a while for this night, but now he had found something the Priest briefly reconsidered. He just hoped he wasn't getting into anything terrible, and hopefully it wouldn't get him locked up by the guards.

[Rope]

Sun slipped down the end of the rocky mountain. His journey across had been long and arduous but he could not stop now. He could hear it even now, as far as he was. The battle was raging; cries shook the very walls the passage, now behind him, the horrible screeching of blades resonated as they smashed against steel, flesh and bone. There few Majdalans who were on duty would be dead any second now. The narrow passageway was easily defendable but the Ifferian army had not been foolish. Ballistae’s and trebuchets had made short work of the initial defenses and arrows had rained down the few survivors. Only a small band had survived, their hope a dim light, squashed by the trampling of a mass of soldiers. As much as he would want to run, he felt a searing pain through his legs. He could barely feel them; they burned and would lose any power left within them any moment now. Words of encouragement from his mid did not help as such promises had long ago lost their impact. He felt no arousal, no energy as he kept thinking he would eventually reach the rolling hills and forests that lay there, before him. And he did get to them. He fell to the ground, the air in his lungs having all but left already. Long puffs of oxygen filled his body as he sat back on a tree. It was hardly a relieving site. He could see men pour out of the mountain path. They were salvaging the now ruined outpost. Before long, he wagered, they would also look to the endless trees of the area to supply them in wood for further defenses. By then he would have to leave. But now, the ground was too attractive, his body too heavy and his energy, all but vaporized during the climb and descent. Now he needed to rest, recoup, and then go. He laughed a dark, cynical laughter, laughing at himself and this journey of his. What was he even doing? Had he even learned anything at all? Of the Code? Of himself? He sighed, yet again. He was miserable. He hated himself for it. And yet, it was like a constant battle of the mind, his adversary: himself. The other Sun was taking more and more territory, his mind slowly losing to that other one, that other self. And so, his thoughts drifted to the school, to his teacher, to Xia’xia, to Yoshiro, to High Ifferia, to Majdala, to the army right before him and to himself. And yet, even with all those dark feelings, the fond memories, the nostalgia and the danger lurking right before him, he fell asleep. Sleep had not found him easily in the past month. There was always something bothering him, it being anything ranging from a strange sound to an uncomfortable bed or uneven ground. And yet, right there, by the tree, sleep caught him unawares. The world faded away, and everything else that came with it.

[Roran Hawkins]

Roran rode through the night, trying to reach the largest town near the Western borders of Mardithia and Majdal. The same night, about an hour before dawn, they could see the city. However, they did not expect to see the city that early yet. The only reason they could see it from this far, was because it was on fire. There was only 1 explanation for that. What he had feared had really come true. The Majdals had sent a flanking force as he expected, and even worse, Verlin was in danger. When closing in on the city to scout the first thing they could notice apart from the hellish light was the screaming. Carried to them over the flat landscape by the strong Southern wind, they heard the heartbreaking screams of the wounded and raped. Soon after that they could see the many men sprawling in and around the city, and a small army camp nearby. When he counted the amount of tents he estimated that the pillaging army counted about 100 to 500 soldiers. Too few to form a real danger for the enormous Mardithian army, but certainly large enough to wreak havoc without bounds in the unprotected countryside, and even worse, besiege the larger cities of the land. Roran knew that the cities barely possesed enough guards to stop such a force, and that an uexpected attack such as this one would even be able to bring the capitalon its knees. He ordered his company to stop. From the 41 survivors, 39 of them were knights. Most of the supporting troops had been utterly vanquished by the rain of javelins, which were less effective versus the armour the knights wore. His 41 men were enough of a threat to the small army to delay or even destroy them, if Roran would plan this right. The first thing to do was to warn the countryside, for which he sent away the 2 surviving turners. They were to travel to each castle, village and city of importance in the area and warn them of this danger. Roran himself however would lead the charge in the largely unprotected rear of the pillaging army, hoping to strike at the command cycle, and to cause as many casualties as possible. After the charge they would retreat, and charge from another direction, using the cover of the night to get away. Once they would have slain the few enemies inside their camp, they'd ride through the city and run down the distracted Majdalans, before retreating for good. He expected this army to be a part of a larger group, maybe even counting up to 2000 flanking Majdalans. If he could strike now that they were vulnerable and separated, he could effortlessly wipe a large part of their men.

A few minutes later he spurred his horse into gallop. He lowered his lance as they approached the tent camp, guarded by only a few men. Their alarming cries were lost in the sudden thundering of hooves as the 39 knights closed in. He saw the white of the eyes of the guard armed with a spear infront of him when his lance pierced through his chest. He let go of the lance and drew his sword while the charge crashed into the army camp as a tsunami would hit the shores. The few enemies he encountered were too confused, drunk or tired to put up anything worthy of being called resistance as they were put to the sword. Only 3 of his men had suffered minor injuries when he assessed the damage. He estimated that they had caused some 80 to 90 casualties in the enemy camp, including all their leaders who were discussing tactics in their tent. Roran now turned his men towards the burning city, where the rest of the Majdalans was pillaging and ransacking the remains of the once glorious city. While they charged through the main street he remembered walking here as a boy, baffled by the size of the huge buildings and defensive works. Now he grimaced when he saw the relatively small town burn. He unleashed all his bloodlust on the enemies they would encounter, who were completely surprised. They had been too busy looting the populance and raping the women to decently defend theirselves, and a few hours after the initial battle, all fighting was done. In the short and furious fighting oin the streets, Roran had lost 6 knights. Way too many Roran thought as he inspected the remains.

When the grateful survivors reappeared, Roran spoke to them when gathered in the marketplace. "The situation is dire. After questioning their leaders we found out these 250 soldiers were a part of a Majdalan flanking army counting 2525 men, razing every settlement they encounter until they would crush our army's rear. However, as you have seen, they can be stopped. Even with low numbers. Of the 250 attackers we have counted over 143 corpses in Majdalan uniform. I am Roran Hawkins, and I will stop them, with whatever resources I have at my disposal." He said, glad his reputation as a determined commander had reached even this city. The King had been grateful when Roran had proved to be able to fight against great odds and emerge victorious. It had reminded him of himself, which explained their shared nicknames. "I will, as I have done before the last war, make sure that none of these intruders will reach our mainlands alive, without having walked straight through me first. To do that, I need warriors. Anyone who feels up for the job, join my small army as I leave, tomorrow morning. Everyone who will join us will be given decent weapons and armour, as well as a horse to ride into battle. You are encouraged to bring along any ranged weapons too, as we will need them. The ones who will not join us will have to rebuild the city." He said. He hoped this battle, his limited fame and the search for revenge would at least muster about 50 men to fill his ranks. Even though they would be inexperienced, morale would be high. And if he could choose his fights, he wouldn't require them to be extremely skilled. The turn of events seemed to be a copy of the last war. While everyone was fighting he would have to stop the flankers, who were ofcourse, way higher in numbers. "The rest of the day me and my men shall either rest or help rebuilding, whichever they prefer. You can find me at the White maiden's inn." He said, before climbing off the cart he has used asmakeshift pulpit, and marched with his men towards the inn. He had been in that inn every time he went here as a child, and had been glad when he had seen it had escaped the fires burnig in the city.

THe following morning they left. About 78 civilians had joined his men, all of them thristy for vengeance. Many relatives had died the day before, enough to make sure that the city's survivors heart's burned with hatred. He sent out scouts towards all directions, hoping to find the other 4 army groups spread out over the land, while he himself departed towards Verlin. He had made a promise, and he would keep it. He knew that his village would be the favorite target for a crushing raid, as it was the site of a rather famous battle. The same battle where he had saved General Beren. The same village where he had once lived, the same village where Adele lived. He would have to make sure he could at least save her before 505 enemies would unleash a murderous fury upon the little village.

[TheFusecog]

It all felt like a nightmare. Adryan lay in what he felt was a bed. His eyes refused to open; or maybe they were open, but the room pitch black? Adryan tried to sit, but a stinging pain shot through his abdominal region and the lower chest and instantly ruined his attempt to do anything. He fell back down on his back. He was shirtless. Adryan ran a hand over his lower chest, felt something wet and lifted his hand to his face to smell it. Wine. Strong wine, too. Why would he have wine on his chest? Was he still dreaming? Had he died, gone to the halls of the victorious dead, drunk and eaten, gotten in a fight and then passed out? Adryan tried to sit up again and the pain came back. That's when a thought smashed into his head like a rock. The wine.. The alcohol in it purges any infections from a wound.. And his lower chest was-
Adryan's memory of the battle returned to him, it all its glory - and all its horror. He had gone from a source of moral to a radiant god among mortals to a lone wolf waiting to die. Adryan was awed and frightened by the long chain of memories. When it finally came to an end, Adryan remembered seeing a character clad in gold towards the end. He had heard some muffled words, but that had been it.

A light appeared ahead. Adryan looked up. He must be inside a tent, he thought, because the light was dimmed by what looked like cloth hanging in the air. Suddenly Adryan heard moaning and groaning from around the room. He reached for his warhammer, but not only was the warhammer gone, but Adryan no longer wore any leg armor either. He wore pants of cloth. Mardithians never took off a soldier's armor if he was injured! In case someone attack the field hospital, the wounded always had to have one type of armor on to keep them "safe". The opening of the tent was illuminated by a torch and in came a smaller, more curved figure than Adryan had expected. Adryan pretended to be sleeping, but the intruder was walking over towards him. The figure said something to itself under its breath, and Adryan could not help but believe that the voice was female. Ridiculous. Mardithians would never bring women to the field! They could get killed! Adryan created a theory in his head, but immediately dismissed it. It could not be. They wouldn't! The figure was almost next to Adryan now. Adryan decided to wait for the figure to be visible before asking questions.

She put her torch down and the flames illuminated her face. She was young. Much younger than Adryan. Her face was soft and round like that of a child. The shadow of her body made Adryan think of the late-teenager girls from his own town. She lifted the torch over to Adryan's wound. She didn't notice that he was awake, it seemed. When the torch lit up the source of pain, Adryan understood why he couldn't move. A hole ran deep into his lower chest. It was incredible that Adryan was still alive. The girl had started to bandage his wound when Adryan decided to ask her a question: ".. Where.. Where am I..?" The girl jumped. Adryan instinctively reached out to her, but his chest eradicated that wish. The girl looked at him for a second, took the torch and ran out. Adryan felt stupid and slammed a fist into the ground under the bed. What was this? Adryan started touching the ground. Stone. Not natural either. This was flat stone. More lights appeared ahead. The moaning and groaning around him continued. Adryan tried as hard as he could to focus his eyes and spotted something that turned his skin pale as snow. A towershield.. Linked to another towershield with animal sinews. Improvised - like the Majdalan shields on the field. Mardithians would never take such a thing for a trophy. Yes, they took their weapons and smaller shields, but never a goliath like this. The theory came back to Adryan. Could the Majdalans have.. -

No! Adryan refused to believe that the Majdals had even a drop of honor in them. The lights came closer. The 'tent' was illuminated with the dim light of distant torches. This was no tent at all. This was a room with stone walls, stone ceiling and stone floor. The opening was only a translucent curtain and not a door. Where in the world was he?!

The lights entered the room and everything became clear. Adryan's face drained. Their skin: darker, mid-Adrian. The groaning and moaning around him came from injured soldiers. Their heads were covered in black hair cut short. They all looked the same. Not like the unorganized forces of Mardithia. They were all about the same length, same bodytype and they were all - in the same room as Adryan. The disciplined forces of Majdala in the same room as Adryan. He felt rage flow in his veins. He knew exactly were he was. He was in a fortress on the Majdalan border, ready to be executed in front of a Majdalan force. Adryan had heard rumors of Majdals doing this. Executing champions of Mardithia to boost the moral of Majdalan troops. The group holding the torches stood in a circle around Adryan's bed and only now did Adryan realize how big the room was. It must've hosted at least sixty injured. Looking around, Adryan saw multiple entrances and nurses running in and out them with medical equipment.

"Adryan Horseflight," a man with a trimmed goatee and shining armor said. Adryan looked at him with the gleam of hatred in his eyes. It was evident that the Majdal had problems holding his tone diplomatical. "We trust you had a good sleep. You've slept for four days, sir. I must congratulate you on your endurance. We were sure you were dead when we reached the fortress," he said, faking a smile. Adryan frowned. "Why am I alive?" he asked. The Majdals looked at each other, not quite expecting this question just yet. The man with the goatee looked for his words when an elderly man in the same kind of armor answered for him: "The Emperor thought you worthy of a second chance, Ser Horseflight. He saw you unite a force of men without moral and nearly destroy our chance of defending our homes," the man said, his voice too struggling to remain friendly. Adryan smirked. "A second chance for what?" Adryan gave a soft chuckle. The two officers looked at each other and to the four others holding torches.

"A chance to boost the moral - of Majdals," the elder said. Adryan froze and so did time and space.

[Torack]

Arranar had finally gotten out of his tent. The battle was long done and he had no part in it, not that he wanted to take part in it anyway. He would feel as if The Angel of Death would just go berserk on the battlefield again, which wasn't really needed at a time like this. The battle was over and the two armies went back to lick their wounds. He had heard rumours of a flanking team, however the cleverness of that during this time made him wonder who exactly gave the order, if the order was even given in the first place. Must be something some drunk soldiers were talking about, no such thing most likely.

He sat down in a camp fire, it's people looking at him wide eyed. "Well look who finally decided to show his face!" One of them laughed.

"Mayhap, if you lot were men I wouldn't be ashamed of fighting along side you," Arranar said giving a deadly stare to the who had jested. "Honestly? Barely winning? Has our training been nothing more than piss and shit?" He was clearly pissed and for what reason he didn't know, but indeed he was. The camp was resting and tending to it's wounded until it's reinforcements came. "I have heard of reinforcements, how long until they come?" He demanded to no one in particular.

"We hear in about a day or two they shall be upon us," one of them said with their head down. He stood, his hand on his sword, and walked back into his tent.

~{ }~

Hawk found himself in a large, black plastered walls and wooden floors of the same colour. Why anyone would choose to paint their house in such a colour was beyond him, but it was clearly strange and somehow appealing and menacing. Square, that was the room's shape, and it seemed to distort every time he walked. His brain didn't like that very much, in fact he started feeling dizzy after a few steps. There were two chairs and a table conveniently placed in the centre, the man who brought him into the house casually strolled across the room and sat down ever so elegantly.

Hawk followed suit and sat across from this stranger who had saved his life. They sat there, looking upon each other as two lovers entangled in the wonderful embrace of their new love. "What am I doing here?" Hawk asked eventually, breaking the silence.

"You are not to speak unless spoken to," the man in front of him said and continued looking at him. Confusion, fear, anger, all sorts of random strong emotions started filling Hawks mind. What was he doing here? Was he here to be killed for his crimes? Was he actually captured by the authorities and this man was to be made his ward until Hawk starved to death? The man could clearly talk, was he testing him? He swallowed and kept his eyes fixed on the man for near seven minutes before his eyes started to wonder.

He noticed the walls had a shine to them, a nice wonderful shine. Nothing bleak or dull, the light reflected off of it like a smudged metal in a way. He looked on and noticed other tiny things, such as the corner on the bottom left to his nine o'clock didn't have the black colour as the rest of the wall. It was subtle, but he noticed it. He also noticed there was a corridor behind the man, a corridor he had never even known existed. The man seemed to have sensed his realization because he finally spoke. "Good, you're using your eyes. Examine every new place you enter, and know everything that's in it, even the tiniest ant." He stood up and motioned for Hawk to follow.

"You are a determined and skilled archer, Ele'siraethi," he said. How did he know his name? "But, you lack finesse, you lack subtlety. You're as open and clear as a sore thumb and the government only let you go because you were nothing more than a petty little thing that they can afford to ignore. But, you got too arrogant and they had to take you down eventually. Things like this happen on a daily basis.

"I'm here to teach you how to go about your business, whatever it may be, without getting caught. However, in order for me to teach you, you must first do something."

"And what is that?" Hawk asked, wishing it wasn't something impossible

"You must swear that you will do exactly as I say for the duration of your tutelage."

"Tutelage? Who needs tutelage? I don't need that, I can do perfectly fine by myself."

"Really? Tell me then, why was it you were being chased?"

"They got wind of me, it happens all the time and I always escape. I'm too good for them."

The man openly scoffed at Hawk's retort. "You really believe that? You actually believe you are too good for them ?"

Hawk opened his mouth then closed it. Was there something the man wasn't telling him? It's true that he was nearly caught earlier in the day and were it not for this guy he would have been captured by the authorities. "Why'd you bring me here? Why me? Why not some bloak in the middle of the street?"

"Were you not some bloak in the middle of the street?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Because you show promise that you will put to use, good or bad, the information I give you, and if you don't I'll rip your head off for wasting my time."

"Me? You're the one that brought me in here, you'd be wasting your own time."

"Would you like me to demonstrate?" He asked as he moved in closer, Hawk raised his and took a step back. He didn't need to get killed or maimed just after being saved. The man nodded and again motioned for Hawk to follow him down to a cellar full of weapons of all kinds. Spears, halberds, sabres, swords, scimitars, spikes, mauls, and a crap load more. The man grabbed a dagger and placed it on the palm of his new student. "You are skilled with the bow, yet the bow is only of any use in range. What chance will your bow have against a man up close and personal? You are to train with that dagger until I see fit that you can defend yourself, then we move on."

Hawk looked at him then at the various wooden dummies in the centre of the large square room. The man told Hawk to show him all that he knew and they would carry on from there. Nodding, Hawk thrust himself at the dummy which began a sequence of flourished attacks.

[SlenderWoman]

Alara Sharrows was the name of the stern woman who was now using Al'Ahsor like a puppet to it's master. The Priest required a place, and she required something or other that needed to be done discreetly. It was now obvious Alara had been searching for a way to pursue her needs through someone else and just by chance the opportunity had arose. Now, Al'Ahsor thought the woman had made her first mistake by giving away she was into sly business to a stranger who had not even had a full conversation with her as of yet, but there he would have been wrong. As the Lady Sharrows had briskly strode down hallways and corridors to her noble apartments, with a nervous and completely out of his depth Al'Ahsor straggling on behind. Finally they arrived at her door, and the two stood in a dark hall under the light of a candle mounted on the wall. They had not had any confrontations with the palace guards but even so the Priest had hurried on panicked whenever he saw another person close by them - be it a guard or not. Alara muttered curses as she fumbled for her key through the pockets of her dress, and it was just then that three silhouetted figures turned the corner quite a way down the hall (but still in sight of the Lady and her companion) and Al'Ahsor became very stiff and willed the woman to find her key with all the thoughts he had. Al'Ahsor glanced back down the hallway at the figures quickly approaching them, and as they passed under a torch the Priest's eyes dropped to the emblem of Majdal on their armour and the guard's helmets upon their heads.
Guards, the Priest saw, and still looking for me, it seems. Al'Ahsor did not deny he had caused the incident with the guard at the gate, nor how gruesome it was. It could be considered as assault or sorcery - depending on how the guard told the story to his peers. Sorcery was definitely involved, but not of the Priest's hand; only that of Excidius Arel's doing. The elf certainly had plenty of time to work on all the people around him, Al'Ahsor was completely outmatched here. He soon realised he was standing in the illumination of the light above him, and it would not do for the guards down the hall to see his white enamelled robes which they were looking for, and it was pure luck that the guards had not looked straight away.
Al'Ahsor slid into the shadows by the door and the guards knocked on one about four doors away.
This was not good. If they were searching in the rooms Alara may not have enough time to hide the Priest well enough. Just then the noble Lady produced a silver key from out of her pocket with an annoyed and quiet, "A-ha!" following.
She inserted the key into the lock and twisted, pushing into the room with Al'Ahsor just behind. She silently closed the door and locked it again.
Lord and Lady Sharrows had the most decorated and neat apartments the Priest had ever seen, even in his time he had remembered of the High Priest's chambers in the order in the mountains, when he was being introduced into the order. Everywhere he looked extravagant tapestries hung on the cream walls that would have never seen a stain. The main room which they had entered in boasted a lush double armchair with markings Al'Ahsor had never seen. There was a huge window with crystal framing that had a look over the Great Courtyard of the castle, and also had an amazing feature where you could look plain as day through the inside but it was hard to look inside from out. The carpet was large and it's fabric queer, from a place Al'Ahsor had surely never heard about. There was a grand bookcase covering the west side of the main room, with books of every kind about everything. And sporting it's own particular shelf was an interesting sight, the Book of Mul'Tee - not the actual edition itself, for that lay in the High Priest's chambers in the mountain order - this one was a copy of the original. Captivated, Al'Ahsor walked over to it and picked it up off the shelf, flicking through the pages slowly. Lady Alara had proceeded into an adjoining room, possibly setting up a place for Al'Ahsor to hide quickly.
In his years in the mountains for the Priest training, Al'Ahsor had memorized the full Book of Mul'Tee from his own copy, on most nights reading through it and repeating the words to himself afterwards. But this, there were words in this copy that Al'Ahsor was unfamiliar with. Of course, how clever of you. Thought the Priest. Excidius Arel had thought his whole plan through very well. It appeared the elf had rewritten the Book of Mul'Tee to preach his own version of the religion. Sly indeed, and the people of Majdal were so used to this corruption the true teachings would seem alien to them now.
"Oh, do you worship Mul'Tee in His blinding Grace as my husband does? Pity." Said Alara Sharrows, now standing in the arched doorway to the bedroom. She said it sarcastically so Al'Ahsor now realised why Excidius had no influence over her. Even so, he could not give away his position as of yet, and he did not trust this woman one bit. Moreover, he would still take offence if this woman would speak blasphemy in this version of Mul'Tee, as a small part of it were true.
"I am...familiar with the God of the Middle. His influence is great in many places, particularly where I am from." Replied the Master of Tongue carefully, choosing his words with caution.
The woman nodded and gestured for him to go into the room, "I have been watching you this night. I saw you when you were in the courtyard, hiding from the guards. That and your strange robes intrigued me. I tracked you for a while and followed you while you were looking for my nephew. So yes, I already knew about your lies before you approached me. You may think me stupid, but I knew you were not from around here and you are perfect for carrying out my task." She gave a hint of a smile as they went into the bedroom.
Al'Ahsor had suspected there was more to her than desperation.
There was a space to crawl in under the bed, but everywhere else solid wood planks were covering it so it looked like the huge bed was attached to the floor directly.
Alara Sharrows turned to him, "Now, after these guards are gone I shall give you my task. I am sure you will explain your doings and dress sense afterwards, although mayhaps not if it is important, and I shall aid you into getting to Nathaniel. I am trusting you here, stranger. And I am not helping you until you help me. And if you even think about telling anyone about the things I tell you, I will simply deny it and send you to the guards for execution."
Al'Ahsor raised his eyebrows and just now realised how much he needed Alara's help.
He lay flat on his belly and shuffled under the bed and the planks were pulled down behind him.
Then came the knock on the door.

[Kho]

And thus did the first great encounter between the Majdal Empire and Mardithia come to a close, a great battle with a great many casualties. Yet even as the two great armies licked their wounds, reinforcements were on the move. Mardithian forces from distant reaches of the nation had finally heard the call to war and were rallying to the front in response to the call of the High Thian, whose injuries were so serious as to render him bedridden and unable to walk, his doctors insisted that he rest for at least a week. The ever thoughtful and uncanny Captain Hawkins continued on his vendetta against all Majdalans, having gathered up a respectable force from his most recent encounter with the worst Majdalans imaginable.

Meanwhile, General Horatius Maxima marches his men ever closer to the main Mardithian force, yet unbeknown to him, one of his soldiers had indeed spotted him during the escape of the Mardithians, and not any soldier, but Commander Aegus, one of his more senior commanders wielding much influence within the army. Already a messenger was riding at great speed with a letter speaking of Horatius' unspeakable treason, heading right for the main force, right for the High Emperor Regulus himself. Within two days, Horatius will arrive at the main camp, within hours the messenger would be bowing before the Emperor with his grim message, a message which is more likely to bring about the end of Horatius' military career - if not his life.
The Angel of Deaths fame is already great within the Majdalan army, and with the last battle having brought about the end of many capable commanders, there is need for more capable men to fill the gap in the ranks, and it is people like Arranar Koval who will fill these ranks, even now the Emperor sends for the Angel to come to him, just as surely as he calls upon the Mardithian who had shone with a radiance during the battle, for he would indeed prove to be a most worthy addition to Majdalan ranks, if he would accept the honour. The messengers of the Emperor march to these men, wielding their messages in their hearts, knowing that the Emperors wish to see such men could not be denied or rejected.

In the capital of Majdal, forces greater and mightier than mere mortals are at work, the elf Excidius Arel lies unconscious after a fateful encounter in the Astral Plane with the Senzero Garmidion, which saw the ambitious elf delve into the darkest recesses of himself and receive severe injuries to his soul - though the extent of the damage is yet to be seen once he awakens...should he ever awaken after this experience of great trauma and strain on the body, soul and mind. Even as he lies unconscious, those who would see the long enduring and endearing elf undone grow ever closer to achieving their aims. The pious Priest and chosen of the Mul'Tee, Al'Ahsor is slowly putting his long awaited plan into action, yet whether he would survive the search of the guards who search for him to implement his plan and put an end to the taint of the deviant Excidius is yet to be seen - if Excidius has not already brought about his own end that is. Closer to Excidius, and currently the greater threat, is the Captain of the Guard, Lerix, who even now wanders nearer with his patrol towards where Excidius lies unconscious and where the guards who protect him stand. What would come of this is yet to be seen...

However, far from the Mardithian front and from the working of greater beings in Majdals capital, the hugely insufficient Majdalan border forces have fallen before the advances of the High Ifferian Kenraiton, and though these advances are only a shadow of the great Ifferian armies to come, they are no less devastating. And while the great Ifferian army secures the Majdalan borders and prepares for the onslaught both on the Majdal Empire and Andaluja, a certain Sun Dai'chi lies far from site, deep in the land of dreams and nightmares, his body as weary as his mind from the long, twisting road he has chosen to take, one which shall most certainly carry him from battle to battle, and from war to war.

Andaluja, however, continues to prosper, its armies big and more than ready for war, its wise-men matching those in Eladnos, its technology and advancement the subject of rumour, and its status as the centre of the Religion of the Middle in Adria firm and strong. No attack on it will go unpunished, the very terrain, the harsh sands and harsher sun, as well as the terrible swords of the Andalujan soldiers, will not spare those foolish enough to transgress, be they who they may. Thirrmod however, finds itself embroiled in the Majdalo-Mardithian conflict, its men having already suffered great casualties at the hands of the Mardithians. But worries the Senzero Garmidion even more is the existence of such a powerful rogue mage as Excidius Arel out of the jurisdiction of Eladnos, even now he writes to the elders of Eladnos, telling them of this possible threats and how it is to be dealt with.

Adria lies at a cross-roads in its history, tensions are high and rising, men are reaching for their swords and bows rather than their tongues and minds, and total war does not seem a distant fantasy...