Elysian Fields IC

[Amodeus]

Elysian Fields IC

Aeus the Great leaned back against his stone throne. The Ashemian Armed Forces commander droned on and on about production, soldiers, timelines, battle plans. His voice echoed throughout the great hall. "...and with that concludes my report, Your Majesty." The man knelt down, bowing before his king. "Thank you, Dahkir." Honestly, he had hardly listened to the man's speech at all. His goal would not be realized until the Medallion of Prayers lay in his hands, and Hyparamei the Divine lay at his feet. He sighed, stroking his auburn beard, asking, "Have you found anyone, yet?" "Yes, Sire, we have. A small team, eight individuals, has been found. We are currently attempting to contact them. However, some are difficult to get in touch with. Several of the targets do not dwell in cities, and others have to report in from along The Great Divide. We should have most, if not all, of them present in Xynae by week's end." Aeus grumbled noticeably. A week is too damn long. "See what you can do to expediate that week, commander. Dismissed." "Yes, my Lord." Dakhir stood and turned on his heel, heading outside the castle walls and into the capital city of Xynae.


Xynae, as the capital city of Ashem, was the largest city in the nation. It was nestled into the mountains of northern Tyre, and had been standing for millenia. The buildings were of stone, carved out of and into the granite and marble of the mountains. The keep was built into the mountain face itself, and had never seen defeat at the hands of an army. Its vast terracing area, and the river that flowed through the city, made defeat by prolonged siege nigh impossible. The impenetrable defenses of Ashem's capital paralleled the resilience and strength of its people. Having recently surrendered to Iadel in the last Great War, the Ashemian nation, as a whole, wanted revenge.


They had lost friends, family, loved ones. The pain of loss was only strengthened by the shame of defeat. Many Ashemians viewed the Iadellians as a nation of weaklings, hiding behind their religion like cowards. However, when Ashem had declared war, Iadel's response was fast and deliberate. What they lacked in strength, equipment, and numbers, they made up for in training, tactics, and timing.


Before he surrendered, King Aeus the Great had promised he would continue the war against Iadel, once his forces were prepared. So far, he was making good on it, building great armies and siege weaponry in secret. Aeus went to great lengths to prevent any Iadellian spies from discovering his growing force. He would shortly have the Medallion of Prayers, and his ambition would become reality.


Iadel will burn.

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Morello woke suddenly, calling out from his vivid dream. He pulled himself from bed, rubbing his eyes. His dream had been recurring for weeks, but this was the first time it included names. There were four of them, a small band of men who would save Iadel from certain destruction. The Medallion of Prayers. He had known of its legend since he was a little boy, and he was not so young anymore. Wrinkles etched deep into his face, he was significantly older than the average Iadellian. He quickly found some parchment, writing down the few names in his dream with a quill pen. They were distant, whispers in his mind, and he could hardly make them out. He had no idea how he would find these people, much less how he would meet with them. He was too old for travel these days, and he hadn't left his home town of Eianite in decades. Yet, he could not shake the forboding in his mind. He readied a few provisions, and left for Cyclon.


Hyparamei the Divine stood atop a balcony before a crowd of twelve thousand Iadellians, gathered in the central yard of Cyclon, the capital city. They were there for the bi-weekly congregation Hyparamei held, where he would bless his countrymen with his divine grace, allowing them to sing cheers and prayers toward him. Hyparamei would spend hours standing on his balcony, embracing the praising of his people during his typical congregations, and his subordinates knew well enough to leave him be during these hours. Those that had interrupted him would often times find themselves out of his favor and without any power in the blink of an eye. If they were disliked, however, they soon found themselves branded as a heretic and sent into The Great Divide.


"Hyparamei," an aged voice called out, able to draw the god king from his ritual without igniting his infamous fury. "Ah, Morello! My teacher, how are you my friend?" Hyparamei returned, leaving his balcony without hesitation. The two men embraced, Hyparamei kissing his former teacher on the cheek, a blessing he rarely gave. "What brings you to me?" Hyparamei warmly smiled, his hands holding onto Morello's shoulders. The ancient man explained in detail his reoccurring dreams, capturing the interest of the superstitious ruler of Iadel. "That is most troublesome news. I'm unsure of what I can do for you though." Morello placed a hand on Hyparamei's arm, "I need to find those whose names I've been given."

[Rtron]

Dear Gregor,


His Majesty, Aeus the Great, requests your presence in Xynae at week's end. You have been chosen by Dakhir the Bold, hero of the Fourth War himself, to participate in the retrieval of the Medallion of Prayers. Our Great King has found a way to defeat Iadel once and for all, and he wishes you to have a great hand in it. Your expertise in Weapons and armor maintaining will be a valuable asset to your team. Please gather all belongings you feel will be necessary for your journey. Our King will provide extra funds for any supplies you need. However, spend light! Ashem needs its funds to take back the land Iadel as stolen.


Long live Ashem!
Kahmiru Rohga
Grand Secretary of Ashem

Gregor stared at the letter disbelievingly. This has to be a joke. The Medallion of Prayers? A legend. Is Ashem that desperate? He thought, before, with a resigned sigh, he folded up the letter and placed it in one of his many pockets in his armor. He looked down at the courier, whose corpse he had found being looted by some bandits. A few crossbow bolts later, the bandits were dead, and Gregor was fully ready to go on his merry way...if he hadn't overheard one of the bandits start to read the letter before a bolt hit his back.

The, now dead, man had said Gregor's name, but couldn't finish reading the letter aloud. For obvious reasons. He glanced about the woods around him. He had been on his way from a village that had requested help with a Warf problem, as the village had fairly large herds of sheep and horses it made it a perfect target for the twisted bunny looking animal. Gregor had gone into the part of the surrounding forest where the beast was seen running into the most, and found the burrow. He quickly threw in a few bombs, then ran. Wharfs were rather efficient with their clubs.

Especially when irritated. In fact, most notably when irritated. Unfortunately, the Warf had survived and was suitably wrathful. It had been chasing him when he reached the agreed upon sight for the ambush with the best bow shots in the village. He dropped to his knee amongst the group, and they fired. Gregor's bolt hit the Warf in the shoulder, and most of the rest hit the upper chest though two did pierce the throat, and one lucky shot hit the eye. The bowmen were going to retrieve their arrows, when Gregor stopped them. Carrying Warf blood on anything quickly brought more Warfs down upon you. They left the corpse.

And now Gregor was here, reading a note that basically ordered him in the name of a king responsible for at least two deaths in his family and his own sins. Ignoring the all corpses,except to retrieve his bolts, Gregor mounted his horse and rode of along the path to the capital. No use in trying to ignore it. The king would most likely just send someone more likely to survive the trip to get him. The rest of the trip passed largely uneventfully, with Gregor scribbling in his little notebook nightly. The only event worth note was when he nearly blew himself up making another bomb.

He had stopped for the night and was putting the materials together, when an ember from the fire hit the mixture. A few choice profanity later, Gregor had thrown the smoking thing behind a log and dove away. The explosion was loud, and he was nearly hit by the shrapnel he had put in. Luckily very few had been put in, just a few sharp bits of metal, one of which had landed between his fingers. Gregor quickly scribbled a reminder not to create bombs by fire light.

A day or so later, he was within sight of the city, and would certainly reach their by midday or a bit later, provided nothing unexpected happened. Such as his supply of bombs exploding on his chest. Or him meeting someone who needed help or some other way derailed him from his mission.

[All]

Dear Unter Reil,

His Majesty, Aeus the Great, requests your presence in Xynae at week's end. You have been chosen Blabla, blabla to participate in the retrieval of the Medallion of Prayers. Blabla, blabla. Your expertise in... smelling... will be a valuable asset to your team. Blabla, lots of money, blabla and more bla.

Kahmiru Rohga
Grand Secretary of Ashem


Officer Kanu ripped the letter from the courier and pushed the little man aside as he recited it aloud for the merriment of the entire company. Famous for his flat repetitions of "blabla" when shortening pompous orders from higher ranking officers, so that they may become clearer to his soldiers, Kanu held the parchment high in front of him, twisting his mouth in an amused smile.

A loud laugh cracked at the mentioning of the word smelling, followed by scattered clapping and thumping of amused feet on the dirt.
"What the hell! Does it really say that?" asked Unter, who never learned how to read.
Kanu held an amused smile, pointed at the text "Sure, it is written here."
"Maybe they need a new appraiser of royal farts!" shouted Micos, contouring his words with a loud noise in the guise of release of stomach gases.
"Nah, I bet it is for checking whether the Queen cleans herself." rumored Elan, Kanu's second in the daily patrols. Laughs followed, surrounding a baffled Unter, who could not possibly understand the meaning of such call.
"Morning Breath-tester Unter Reil at your service, his majesty the royal stench" joked Micos again, surpassing in volume every other voice.

Finally the proud warrior stood, grabbed the parchment from Kanu's hands and pushed it on the face of the trembling courier.
"You read now." said the noseless man "And read well."
The thin courier held the missive with his long cured fingers and, fearing for his life, read every word aloud as the Grand Secretary had written them. The missive spoke of a mysterious medallion, of fighting Iadel again and praised Unter Reil for his fighting skills, which nobody had ever doubted, for he was the ruthless, the violent, the meat cleaver.

Silence fell upon the merry group.
"Meh, I preferred the smelling version." complained Micos, and, lowering his chin, he stood without adding further words.
Unter Reil too stood speechless. The implications of such a call were unclear. To leave one's unit and join an unnamed team on a journey toward unspecified destinations had never been a good sign. Typically, these were calls of no return. Fighting with an army is a task that has a cycle of roughly a day, in a week at most the outcome is decided, and looting begins, before everybody marches toward the next clash. In a secret call, it was not even clear whether there would be enemies to face, lest a loot to take.

"I am sorry" spoke Kanu and gifted his comrade with a friendly pat on the large shoulders. He plunged his hand in the pocket and produced one golden coin, which he pushed in Unter's hand "Here, when you reach the capital find a good wench and have the time of your life, my friend."
It was the first time Kanu called Unter a friend, and it was the same with Micos, and Elan, and the others. Each one of them gave him a gold coin, a month's pay for patrolling along the Great Divide, and each one of them greeted him as their friend.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in their typical activities. They marched, cleaned the weapons, sat around a table and had supper, and eventually two horses were arranged. One for the courier and one for Unter.
"Remember us when you are filthy rich and famous in the capital, will ya?" Joked Kanu as Unter mounted on the horse.
"Don't bring me flowers to my grave, don't you dare." Replied Unter and with a punch straight in the powerful chest of the officer, he nailed the horse's guts and threw the beast in a fast gallop.

At the station post, they changed horses and continued for several hours. Eventually the courier stopped and a new fresh courier joined Unter, and a third one, and a fourth and last one. The sun always shone upon them and no pass or river was too difficult to cross and no bandit dared face the commended hero of the Fourth War. At such speed, three and a half days later they finally grasped a far sight of Xynae's outer walls.

"There it is, milord." pointed the courier.

[tirgesfu]

Iadel

Dart

Dart felt the snap of a thistle against his leg as he hurled over a log and through the undergrowth. It snagged his pant leg and in some part of his mind he knew a trickle of blood ran down his leg. But he didn’t really notice. He didn’t care. He was running in the woods and like most times the thrill of the air in his face, the press of his entire body, the pumping of his heart, and the challenge of getting caught or catching was what made him feel alive.

This run was even more fun because it was part of an assignment the elder rangers mixed up for those saps in training. Dart prided himself in twisting anything they threw in front of him into exactly what he wanted. Forever he would argue that the ending point was more important to those high nosed educators that went on and on about the process. Screw the process.

No surprise, Dart was not this season’s star in the Ranger Training class. The question was could he play at the edge and still pass. Not that he thought about that as he went off the directed course past the clues and right on to the hidden target. Sure, he guessed. True he might have missed something in the simple hints the inexperienced rangers were too collect. But whether they liked it or not, Dart had pegged this set of instructors and he knew where the damn thing was. Screw the process.

He showed up at the end point way ahead of all those young budded wanttobees. He ran to the twisted live oak with the ribbon tucked neatly under the resurrection fern. He untried it as he caught his breath. Then holding it out in his hands he yipped in celebration and did his own imperative jig dance.

“You cheated.” One instructor stepped from the hidden path. But his disapproving lecture was interrupted by the swift beat of a falcon’s wing. The raptor flew to the same live oak and then down to the two unhappy instructors. While Dart tried to diminish his celebration, somewhat at least, the Ranger removed a scroll from the falcon’s leg and unrolled it.

The old man looked up to Dart and handed him the paper. “It is for you.”

“Me?” Dart laughed. “They are singing my praise for this job well done all ready?” He took the paper.

Dear Child of Hyparamei,

As declared by Hyparamei the Divine, it is with the utmost urgency that you take to Cyclon immediately, dear Darmethius Vagu Dueran. The fates have foreseen you as the future saviors of Iadel and it is by request of Morello, Hyparamei's closest adviser that you aid your country in obtaining the Medallion of Prayers. Morello has shared with Hyparamei that the very fate of Iadel hangs in the balance and that this relic of ages past is the only possible salvation against Ashem. Please do not take time in your journey to Cyclon for time is a resource Iadel has little. You will be given whatever is needed for this journey. Make haste, future saints of Iadel. Your nation looks to you.

May the Hyparamei's reign be forever.
Cael Farenthrou
Friar of the God King.


Dart’s celebration stopped. “Is this a joke?”

Both of the Rangers scowled back. They didn’t have to point out they were not laughing. One did manage to spit out a reply “I suggest you use your unorthodox skills to get there as quickly as possible and make that judgment for yourself.”

[Amodeus]

The man's blade swung down from above, gleaming in the midday sun. The clash of the blades echoed through the hillside, as Alastor deflected the sword with his azure dagger. The blade of his dagger was almost transparent, casting a faint blue light over his body as it danced through the air. He had yet to pull Praxadike, which remained secured on his back, his right-hand weapon. The man before him grew in anger as Alastor continuously parried his strikes, with little ease.

He had been training himself in swordplay since the Great War had ended 10 years ago. He was one of the prominent swordsmen in Ashem's army during the war, even in his young age. His skills had been seen throughout the front lines, having never been bested in one-on-one combat, even in sparring matches. However, there was always someone stronger, someone faster....

The blades connected again, sparks flying from the man's short-sword. It had been poorly made. The impurities made it brittle, and hairline fractures were forming through the metal framework. The man had likely purchased it cheap, from a local blacksmith, without even testing it. The sword came diagonally upwards toward Alastor, from his right side. He stepped back, deflecting the steel sword up above his head, and threw a right hook into the man's face. He lurched back, nose and lip trickling a slow flow of blood. He wiped his face, and his stained red fingers made the man fly into a range, attacking Alastor with fury. The man thrust his blade toward Alastor's face, who had bent his knees, gripped the hilt of Praxadike with his hand. With precise circular movement, Alastor repelled the blade to his left, brought Praxadike out of its scabbard, and sliced through the inside of the man's elbow. The forearm dropping to the ground, small muscle spasms shaking it, caused by the severed nervous system. Before the man could scream, Alastor twisted back, slicing just above the man's knees with his longsword. His legs gave out, as his tendons were cut, and Alastor plunged Soteria into the man's heart. He collapsed to the ground, no sound passed his lips. Death was hardly as clean or beautiful as portrayed. There were no final words, no moment of epiphany. Just the noise of a body collapsing in the dirt. He took his blades, wiping them down with a cloth he carried. There was no use in rusting his blade for the sake of a worthless individual. He slid Praxadike onto his back, placing Soteria back into her scabbard on his right hip.

He let out a sigh of remorse. He was little known through Tyre, but every once in a while, someone recognized his trademark blade, the white runic writing set into the obsidian. It wasn't his most prized possession, though. That honor fell to the dagger at his hip. Ever since it had been given to him, he felt invincible. It was always where it needed to be, blocking almost every blow attempted on him. He had received cuts, scrapes, a few lacerations here and there, the edge of swords carving slightly into his flesh. Nothing serious, no wounds that couldn't be healed by heating Soteria by flame, and placing her on the wound. The brilliant blade hardly ever needed repairs, either. No steel or iron could nick it, and it only required sharpening, from time to time. The dagger was Soteria's final blessing on him.

"What have you done?! You son of a whore!" A woman broke the silence of the hills, running towards the recently deceased body. "I'm sorry, but this man challenged me to a duel. He wanted to prove himself a better swordsman than I. In his arrogance and pride, he refused to surrender, and so I slew him. It's easier to blame someone else for problems in your life, so go ahead and blame me. Here, it should assist you for funeral costs and services." He tossed her a bag with a few gold coins, a larger sum of money than most made in a year. He turned to head to the road. He had a long journey ahead. The money was of no real use to him. He carried almost everything he needed on his person, and food and drink could always be found at the next small village up the road. It was only ever a few copper pieces for a meal, a bed, and enough water to get him to the next town. Besides, most of the money he made was either directly or indirectly tied to bloodshed. It wasn't something he felt like hanging on to. He had been hired to several dangerous jobs since the war had ended. Often, he would challenge bandit leaders to duels. Most often, they would accept, afraid of the repercussions they faced if they refused his offer to fight one-on-one. It seemed even these men held some form of honor, or they feared the response from those beneath them if they walked away from a fight. He would defeat the leader, sell his belongings, disband the mercenary groups, and be paid by the government to do so. There was merit in it, though he always had to kill at least one man. At least, the men had always deserved their deaths. It was never murder, but simply homicide.

Dear Amodeus Elysius,

His Majesty, Aeus the Great, requests your presence in Xynae at week's end. You have been chosen by Dakhir the Bold, hero of the Fourth War himself, to participate in the retrieval of the Medallion of Prayers. Our Great King has found a way to defeat Iadel once and for all, and he wishes you to have a great hand in it. Your expertise in swordsmanship and combat tactics will be a valuable asset to your team. Please gather all belongings you feel will be necessary for your journey. Our King will provide extra funds for any supplies you need. However, spend light! Ashem needs its funds to take back the land Iadel has stolen.

Long Live Ashem!
Kahmiru Rohga
Grand Secretary of Ashem

Dakhir the Bold. Now, that was a name he had thought forgotten. The man had held Iadellian forces back longer than any general, lasting an astounding five months against the relentless onslaught. He was surrounded, cut off from the outside, in a small fortress just outside The Great Divide. He managed to keep up morale, and keep most of the soldiers under him alive, for the majority of the siege. His strength had only lapsed when the walls had fallen, and the Iadellian forces rushed the fortress. Seeing no alternative to absolute loss, Dakhir surrendered; the first, and last, Ashemian general to do so in The Fourth Great War. Surrendering generals in the Ashemian Armed Forces were executed for insubordination, as Aeus had decreed it to be a crime of the largest order. However, Dakhir had lied to Aeus, explaining that Iadellians had taken the fortress, and he performed a strategic retreat to take the fortress back another day. The 500 soldiers whose lives were spared death at the hands of Iadellian blades corroborated his story, and swore to never tell the truth to anyone they knew. Alastor only knew of the events because he was there, a young 15 year old boy, spared death by Dakhir's actions. The man was a hero, in his mind. He effectively risked his own life to save a few individuals, trading their lack of importance for his. It was not something regularly seen by Ashemian officers, nor did he take it lightly. Dakhir's honor embodied the man Alastor wished to be.

The road wound away from him, stretching until the horizon. He likely had another day's travel before he arrived in Xynae. It had been several days since he had received a letter at an inn, requesting his presence before King Aeus. He was reluctant to go, but the Ashemian government pad his bills, so he had little choice. He lifted a canteen to his lips, taking small sips of his water, and pressed onward toward the capital city.

[Marx]

Myles Aeon Darcer, The Wanderer of Nahinus

A crowd had gathered at the port of Cyclon today, an event rarely seen having just happened. A young man manning a ship that required multiple men to control had arrived earlier that morning, the ship in sail-able condition with unknown origin. Its design did not match the elegance of Iadel construction nor did it touch upon the simple , yet powerful, style of the Ashem sea vessels. The ship was long and crescent in shape, the prow of the ship being a carving of a dragon. Tied to the prow was an Olea, the deadly feminine creatures that live within the ocean waters and feast upon unwary sailors. The Olea had a deep wound in its thigh and its throat had been slit, dried crimson blood staining the front of the half woman, half fish creature. Across the starboard side of the ship there were deep gouges as if something had dragged massive claws across the ship. An odd feature noticed by mostly sailors were the large rings of iron that were attached to the yard and mast of the ship which had slight groves in them. The ship would be shrouded in mystery of most of those in the main port of Cyclon, for the only man who could answer their questions appeared to be speaking in tongue.

The young man who captained the ship was an oddity himself and despite the best attempts at patient sailors, guards, and volunteering citizens, the blonde man would not say anything the Iadelians could understand. It wasn't until someone asked what he was that he uttered a word few would understand. "Nahi." The crowd looked at one another, some having looks of faint understanding, most being thoroughly confused. "That would explain his clothing.." A woman said aloud, staring at the foreigner whose armour seemed to have been assembled from whatever was lying around. Those that were educated enough to know of the other continents, Donnrack and Nahinus, had been taught that the descendants of the Ragoran nation were backwards people incapable of keeping up with the modern world. Though if that were the case, then how did this Nahi man manage to cross the Ocean, a feat few of Iadel's best sailors have done in teams, and more importantly. How did he do so alone? Questions began to rise about the Nahi man, people wanting to know how he arrived alone, how he captured an Olea, what the chain wrapped around his arm with a sickle at the end was for, why his clothing was made so strangely. It wasn't until someone asked him of his name that he answered once more, his voice managing to silence the crowd. "I am Myles Darcer." He declared, looking across at the mass of Iadel people. A stunned silence washed over them, a word not being said for what felt like minutes. A lone voice broke the silence and began a new slew of questions all together; "How do you speak our language!"

Shortly after that, Myles was arrested by the Cyclon guard. First for causing a public disturbance, then for having weaponry, then for refusing to comply with the guards, though it was not that he had actually broken any laws that the guard had taken him in. It was merely that they weren't sure what to do with him, being that something like this had never happened before. Weak minded peace keepers of the capital wanted to keep the situation from escalating into anything detrimental, plus they'd rather have him close when they finally hear back from someone with actual authority so they don't have to hunt him down. He spent several days in prison, initially within a cell. Once guards began to ask questions and he began to share his stories, he quickly ended up moving from the status of a prisoner to that of a guess, providing entertainment for the guards of Cyclon. On his sixth day in the prison, now living in the guards quarters with many men who had already began to refer to him as a friend, the Captain of the City Guard arrived. He arrived late in the night, joining the crowd of guards who were gathered to hear Myles's story of the Olea tied to the prow of his ship. Not a single person noticed the arrival of the guard and as soon as Myles stood up to speak, the crowd went completely silent.

"It had been twenty days since I first set sail into Eo, the endless sea that separates Tyre from Nahinus, when I first caught glimpse of a young woman floating along side my boat, her clothes long gone, skin pale glowing in the moonlight, long hair black as a summer's night covering her breasts. I called to her, yelling over the roaring waves and howling wind that threw my ship back and forth. I believed she was dead, my eyes only able to catch her chest to her head. I had assumed some beast may have already torn her in halves. I called out once more in a hollow attempt to rouse her and when no voice called back, I had given up hope. Until her eyes opened, blue as the gems my people will spend a life time searching for. The soul of the surf called to me from those beautiful eyes. I yelled with more vigor, screaming to her now, praying to the gods that she was unharmed. It was not until the moment that I leaned over the edge of my ship that I realized what I fool I was. She had not spoken to me not because she was unable... No my friends. This lovely long lady's mouth was lined with daggers that would cut any man's flesh to ribbons in a heart beat. She jumped from the water as I wretched back, her teeth catching my elbow guard, wearing into the metal. I couldn't reach for my sword and had to use my other hand to hold on for dear life as she tried her damnedest to pull me overboard. She grabbed onto my face and belt and began slapping me, letting out ghastly groans while her eyes searched me over. In a fit of desperation I leaned in and bit down on the bitch's hand, tearing one of her fingers clean off! She stopped biting, letting out a cry of agony and I took my chance to grab her by the hair, yelling "C'mere!" I hoisted the Olea onto my ship and threw her onto the deck. He flailed around, her fish tail smacking the boards while her hands found the ground. It was my best chance to take care of her and I seized the moment, letting out my war cry as I dove onto her, taking Oria and stabbing it into her thigh! I wrapped her up with the chains, trapping her arms next to her body. Now all she could do was slap that tail of hers and bite at me. I unhooked the chain from my bracer and held it tight while I used Cyol to slit her throat and bleed her out. I then showed up a few days later at your port, the damn thing tied to my prow!"

The story elicited some laughs and cheers from the group and after the guards had scattered, Captain Uli of the city guard took the moment to talk to Myles alone. "Read this," he said, shoving a letter into Myles's hands, "Your name traveled around pretty fast it seems."

ליב קינד פון היפּאַראַמעי,

ווי דערקלערט דורך היפּאַראַמעי די געטלעך, עס איז מיט די מאַקסימאַל ערדזשאַנסי אַז איר נעמען צו סיקלאָן מיד, ליב דאַרמעטהיוס וואַגו דועראַן. די פאַטעס האָבן פאָרסין איר ווי די צוקונפֿט סייוויערז פון יאַדעל און עס איז דורך בעטן פון מאָרעללאָ, היפּאַראַמעי ס קלאָוסאַסט אַדווייזער אַז איר הילף דיין לאַנד אין באקומען די מעדאַלליאָן פון תפילות. מאָרעללאָ האט שערד מיט היפּאַראַמעי אַז די זייער גורל פון יאַדעל כאַנגז אין די וואָג און אַז דעם רעליק פון צייטן פאַרגאַנגענהייַט איז די נאָר מעגלעך ישועה קעגן אַשעם. ביטע טאָן ניט נעמען צייַט אין דיין נסיעה צו סיקלאָן פֿאַר מאָל איז אַ מיטל יאַדעל האט קליין. איר וועט זייַן געגעבן וועלכער איז דארף פֿאַר דעם נסיעה. מאַכן יאָגעניש, צוקונפֿט הייליקע פון יאַדעל. דיין פאָלק קוקט צו איר.

מייַ היפּאַראַמעי ס מעמשאָלע זייַן אויף אייביק.
קאַעל פאַרענטהראָו
פרייער פון דער גאָט מלך.

"I... I don't believe I understand." Myles said, slowly handing the letter back to Uli. "Well it doesn't matter because you have to report to the king regardless. I hope you learn to understand once you're in his presence." Uli said, his tone disapproving of Myles's lack of appreciation for being called on by the king. "No, I mean I do not understand." Repeated Myles, adding more emphasis to the later half of his sentence. Uli looked on in confusion for several moments until realization washed over him, "Oh. You cannot read our language, can you?" Myles simply shook his head. "I'll escort you and explain on the way."

[Fulsom]

He opened his eyes to darkness, his breath reflecting back at him as his muscles began to regain their vigor. He tussled and poked, touching his fingers around the edges of the confined space. In front of him was solid oak, a few inches away from his face. He didn’t have enough room to inch his way from side to side, and could only lift his feet an inch or so off the ground, and enough space for his arms to feel around in the immediate vicinity. The man felt a swirling sickness and realised that he had been concussed, rubbing at the damp patch on the back of his head, his hair matted and sticky with the pungent smell of blood. His breathing was ragged, and his side was pained, restricting him more within the small confines he currently found himself. He took a moment to focus himself, and try to remember.

His last memory was of that night in the tavern. People were drinking, eating and in general being merry. The atmosphere was intoxicating, and the smells of plump pig being roasted filled the room with mouth-watering anticipation. The crackling of the fire and the crisped belly pork made him feel at home. He was drinking, several metres past the limit of intoxication, his eyes glazed with contentment, his cheeks rosy with inebriety as the room filled with a hearty cacophony. He was led back to his room after the servings of pig, but for the love of fuck he couldn't recall the face of the person aiding him. He was escorted to his room, collapsed on his bed...and now he was...here? Wherever ‘here’ was...

He wrapped his hands into the shape of a fist and proceeded to bang out in front of him, in hopes that the lid of whatever confined him would break open. There was something on top of the lid, weighing it down, making his escape all the more difficult. It looked like someone really didn't want him leaving. Time passed at a standstill as he exhausted himself from pushing against the oak. It was to no avail. Was he put here to die a slow death? Or is there something more to it than that? He fumbled around in his pockets, hoping to find something that would aid in his escape. He found a crumpled note, but no method of reading it seeing as he was shrouded in darkness. He continued to pat himself down, there had got to be something that could aid him. He found a toothpick in his chest pocket, blunt and splintered. He heard a jingling coming from down a set of stairs, he froze his movements. “Akiel” a shrill voice called. “Akieeeeeeel...” the male voice repeated his name, over and over until it lost all meaning. “What the fuck do you want?” Akiel interjected; the captor replied with a creepy snigger, he seemed pretty goddamn happy with himself.

“Y’know, I just couldn’t believe it when you stumbled into that tavern, it felt like I had seen a ghost from the past. Do you not remember my vooooiiiceeee?” Akiel grunted in reply. The man moved again, closer to where Akiel was, and stopped right next to him. The solid blocks that weighted down the lid were being taken off, one by one at an agonising sluggish speed. “If you make any sudden movements this sword will go straight through your face!” the man hissed as the last of the blocks were removed. He then opened the lid of the box which confined Akiel. The man was heavily disfigured: A few strands of long blonde hair dropping past his face, bloodshot eyes, a sharp elongated nose, a toothy snigger, a pointed jaw and he was missing an ear. Akiel didn’t know the man, or at least, he thought he didn’t.

The man laughed out loud, “You have no idea who I am, do you? That perplexed scowl on your face says as much. How...disappointing.” It was clear that this man had held a grudge against Akiel for quite a number of years, and in his careless youth, Akiel did manage to cross swords and make a few enemies along the road. “Get out, and don’t try anything funny, I won’t hesitate to gut you like a pig!” Akiel grunted as he freed himself from the confines of what was a coffin. He gazed across the room; it was dimly lit, in disrepair and goddamn depressing. The entire room was lined with row after row of sealed coffins lined with soot and webbing. Akiel didn’t talk much, he only observed as the man led him up the stairwell out of the crypt and into the main lobby of what could only be the ruins of a church. “So what did I do to make you piss the bed?” Akiel grinned, his eyes lined with conviction. The man responded with a sneer and pushed him forward in front of a single chair. “Sit down and shut the fuck up.” Akiel indulged the man, for now. “My name is Kien— ”, “I don’t care much for your goddamn name.” Akiel was smug, the man spat and coiled his face in anger. “Another word and you’re dead!” The man brandished the sword, the cold steel kissing Akiel’s cheek, he didn’t flinch. “You killed my family! You torched our home!”

Akiel still didn’t know who the hell the man was, and from what he recalled, he had never been involved with a fire in his life. “I think you got the wrong gu—“, “Just shut the hell up, what did I tell you?! I’ve been searching for you my whole life, you’re the reason my life has turned to shit!” Akiel paused, recalling a memory of his own past. He too had been searching for a certain somebody since he was a kid. “I don’t like you very much.” Akiel returned with a spit, and gracefully leapt from the chair, his face grazing along the entire blade of the sword as he reached the man, head butting him into a daze, and with a quick snap, breaking the man’s wrist so he dropped the sword. Blood trickled from Akiel’s cheek, acting all cool as a fresh wound opened. He took the sword, and the man held up his hand in defence, trembling and terrified. Akiel smirked as he sliced downwards, cutting off half of the man’s hand and across his shoulder and nestling the blade inside his victim’s neck.

He stood up, dusting off his tunic and spaulder. Finally he took out the note from earlier, unfolding the creases for inspection. There was a royal seal embedded into it, and the handwriting was curled and meticulous. He read a few words aloud, “Dear Akiel Thandelus...His Majesty, Aeus the Great, requests your presence in Xynae... You have been chosen by Dakhir the Bold...retrieving the Medallion of Prayers...Your expertise in swordsmanship and strategic confidence will be a valuable asset to your team. Our King will provide extra funds for any supplies you need.” Akiel cleared his throat, and scanned the letter for a while longer, noting the perfections of the writing and the formal introductions of the king. “When the hell did I get this?” then he remembered that a courier passed it to him when he was drunk the other night. “Fuck the Great King.” He crumpled the letter up and cast it away, landing in a pool of coagulating blood beside the cleanly cut corpse of Kien.

He noticed that his equipment was laid across the Alter on the far side of the church, and so he went to retrieve them. After Fastening his bandolier of pouches across his chest, sheathing the sword across his back and securing his crossbow to his wrist and tying his hooded cloak around him with his brooch, he left the church, not once looking back. He took out a map and plotted some points as he tried to discover his location. Looking northwards he saw smokestacks a few miles away, probably from the village which he had been staying at, and decided to make his way there. The sun was bearing down on Akiel, making him carry a sweltering weight as he made his way through a wooded area and across a few sloped inclines. The concussion was still affecting him and it was getting worse. He lumbered into the village after a short while and went straight for the tavern. The cacophony of joy was still ever present and inviting. He opened the door in a hefty manner and slouched into a seat, and the place went silent all except for Akiel’s heavy movements. All eyes were on him. Signalling the bartender he ordered, “Vodka, that’s all I want.” The man obliged, with sweat lining his forehead and Akiel handed him a few silver coins in return. He took a drink, splashed some across his wounds, and tucked his face into his arms on the bar counter and sighed.

[Jec]

Dear R. Irons,


His Majesty, Aeus the Great, requests your presence in Xynae at week's end. You have been chosen by Dakhir the Bold, hero of the Fourth War himself, to participate in the retrieval of the Medallion of Prayers. Our Great King has found a way to defeat Iadel once and for all, and he wishes you to have a great hand in it. Your expertise in leading a troops will be a valuable asset to your team. Please gather all belongings you feel will be necessary for your journey. Our King will provide extra funds for any supplies you need. However, spend light! Ashem needs its funds to take back the land Iadel as stolen.


Long live Ashem!
Kahmiru Rohga
Grand Secretary of Ashem


The letter sat in his pocket, giving off an uncomfortable weight even though it was simply a piece of paper. Part of this was apprehension, unsure of how exactly he was going to go about leading a random assortment of people on a crazy quest to find something that he wasn't even sure existed. The other part was wondering exactly what had singled him out from the vast amount of others in the Army of Ashem. True, he was a good hand with a sword, and he had managed to stay alive and do a good job of keeping others alive during the war, but surely there was someone better suited. Oh well, he had his orders and he would obey. The fact that Dakhir had selected him personally made him even more nervous, wondering where the great general had even heard of him.

He sat on the unremarkable horse like a sack of potatoes, and only rode a little better. He had managed to requisition the beast from the barracks as he left, showing the letter to his Captain and getting a letter giving him access to whatever he needed in the base. So he had gotten the horse and enough supplies to get to the capital and set off. He wore his armour, not trusting the roads, bandits had blossomed after the war and even now, ten years later there were a number of bands roamed the countryside. He was used to the weight and hardly noticed the breast and back plate or the mail shirt. His helmet was pushed back behind his head, hanging by the strap around his neck. He could slide it up quick enough but he preferred to let his head get some fresh air. The leather skirt made the odd clanking noise as the scabbard of the backsword tapped against the brass strips sewn into the leather. His shield was slung across his back, something else he could slide into position easily and quickly.

"Come on, giddy up." He said to the ill tempered beast, kicking his heels back as it turned to snap at his legs. He didn't know the name of the horse and didn't especially care, and he would be more than happy to get rid of it as soon as he reached the capital. Unfortunately that wouldn't be for another four days. He sighed and glared at the horse before looking back up the road.

***

Two days later the only real noteworthy event happened on his trip. A lone figure stood in the road, a slim sword drawn, like the duelists of Vara used for sport and entertainment along with their ridiculous feuds. The man wore a gaudy hat with an impressive feather stuck in it and his clothes were all black. As he got closer he saw that the cloth was getting a bit threadbare and the feather a little wilted. He was young, that was obvious, but he puffed out his chest and tried to look impressive as Richard got closer.
"There is a toll on the road, stranger!" The lone man called out. "Dismount and pay the price or face my blade!" He ended with a flourish of his weapon that looked fairly skillful.

"The hell there is." Richard snapped back. "And even if there was, I wouldn't pay a penny to your silly looking arse."

"So you will challenge me then? I warn you, my list of opponents is long, and none have come close to killing me."

"All I see is a stupid bandit who stole some fancy clothes. I'll tell you once more, get out of my way or I'll paddle you with that silly looking sword and send you crying back to mother." Richard retorted. The man put up his sword and laughed. "Goddamn all fools and their stupid ideas." He muttered as he slid off the beast and drew his straight bladed sword.

"Prepare to meet your doom, villain! This is the Kiss of Mor, Goddess of Death!" He waved the weapon around, and clearly expected some sort of response from Richard, who rolled his eyes. He always felt a bit silly announcing his weapon to the world. It was a tool for killing, but he supposed there was something special about having a named weapon. His was called The Meridian, though he never introduced it.

"This is a sword." He said to the boy, sliding his shield into position. "And I'll be using it to spank your stupid ass and send you crying back home to where you belong."

The would be highway man charged with a yell. Richard stepped in when the boy got close and simply punched him in the gut with the edge of his shield, sending the boy down on the ground, wheezing and retching. Must have hit him in the stomach. With the flat of his blade he hit the boy on his butt, like he promised, three good strikes leaving the idiot on the ground, crying with shame and pain.

"Go home before you get hurt." Richard said before stowing his gear and gettibng back on the detested horse. He had a job to do.

***

For the first time since getting on the horse Richard was in a good mood. The blasted beast had been left with the garrison and he was finally on his own two feet again. His pack was much lighter but he would be able to resupply when he needed to, and at the crowns expense at that. Of course, as a member of the Royal army everything he bought was technically at the crowns expense since they were the ones who paid him, but that was a minor detail and he brushed it aside.

"Right," He said to himself before entering the city proper "let's get this over with." The letter hadn't mentioned where to go, but he figured that the residence of Dakhir would be a good place to start. A quick question to a city resident pointed him in the right direction and he hitched his pack and set off.

[Sev]

"Dear Reya Jovok,


His Majesty, Aeus the Great, requests your presence in Xynae at week's end. You have been chosen by Dakhir the Bold, hero of the Fourth War himself, to participate in the retrieval of the Medallion of Prayers. Our Great King has found a way to defeat Iadel once and for all, and he wishes you to have a great hand in it. Your expertise in survival and archery will be a valuable asset to your team. Please gather all belongings you feel will be necessary for your journey. Our King will provide extra funds for any supplies you need. However, spend light! Ashem needs its funds to take back the land Iadel as stolen.


Long live Ashem!
Kahmiru Rohga
Grand Secretary of Ashem"

The words echoed in her mind as Rey gazed at the passing countryside. Somehow one of the king's messengers had managed to find her and handed her the note less than a day ago. How exactly this was possible was lost to her, but she imagined it took quite a bit of effort on their part. She wasn't one to stay in one place for too long, and certainly wasn't one to make connections strong enough to lend any aid to those searching for her. But, against all odds, the letter had reached her. She had the courier read it to her and then quickly sent him off. After packing her modest things, the courier found her once more and asked if she needed an escort to the capital. She waved him away dismissively and was fortunate enough to never see him again.

Uncertainty filled her head. This was the first time she had ever received a letter and it came from the capital itself. At first she questioned the authenticity of the letter, but decided it looked official enough. Then she wondered why, and how, she was chosen. This question would only be answered by the people who had chosen her. And thus, she decided to journey on to the largest city in all of Ashem. Driven both by curiosity and her innate desire for adventure, Rey set out.

She had been in the mountains when the messenger caught her, so she was about five days from the city of Xynae. Her breath hung white in the cold air as the wagon she had hitched a ride on creaked down the mountainside road. This was her most common method of transportation. She couldn't afford a horse of her own and walking took too long. Luckily people were almost always making trips and she could usually catch a ride for the majority of her trek. Currently she was traveling with a merchant who made his living journeying between towns and selling a little bit of everything. Salt, string, books, musical instruments, you name it. He was a talkative, mousy looking man with a voice to match. His company was more than grating for Rey. She didn't have much of a choice though. Very few people made trips this high up the mountain and she had been lucky to find him. Dealing with his incessant talking was a small price to pay.

"And do you know why that is?" the man squeaked, looking over at Rey. The two were riding in the front of the wagon, the merchant holding the reins. Rey glanced over at him, her face blank. She hadn't been listening and the man's gaze had broken her from her thoughts. Not wanting to insult him, Rey shook her head. The man mistook the confusion on her face for confusion about the subject at hand, and seemed satisfied. "Because I'm all they've got!" he continued, smirking. "I'm the only one who comes up this far so they either buy from me or they go without it!" he was laughing a smug, high pitched laugh. With this, Rey recalled a bit of what she had unknowingly heard earlier. He was talking about why his prices were so high. Despicable really, but it didn't affect her so she ignored it.

The next few days were very much the same. He would ramble on and on about anything and everything under the sun while Rey nodded absent-mindedly and tossed in a new topic of conversation every once in awhile. Both parties benefited from this arrangement. Rey got a free ride very close to the capital and the merchant got some much needed company. With him doing all the talking, Rey was free to think about whatever and wasn't forced to talk about herself, which was an activity she abstained from whenever possible.

When she was finally rid of the man, she was a little over a day away from the capital. The merchant, who got more out of their journey than Rey did, gave her a few coins as they parted ways and thanked her for her company. Rey was a proud person, but was not blinded by it. She accepted the money, thanked him, and said good bye. With the money she would be able to pay for something good to eat for lunch.

The town the two had split in was a medium sized farming town. Rey knew it wouldn't be too difficult to find someone heading in the direction of the capital. After about an hour's search, she found a farmer and his son who were heading right to Xynae. Luck was on her side. Without having to stop, she would be able to make it a bit earlier than she had anticipated. She'd still be cutting the deadline fairly closely though. Rey climbed into the back of their wagon and sat among the various food stuffs they were taking to the markets. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was beginning to disappear beyond the horizon. Rey wondered why they would travel all the way to the capital to sell their goods, but never asked. The larger profits must be worth it.

The farmer asked Rey a few questions and then decided to leave her alone. Her answers left a lot to be desired and she never made any effort to continue the conversation, so he eventually gave up. The boy never spoke up.

An hour before the sun would rise, the city came into view. Rey was at a lose for words. The city was the largest in all of Ashem, but she didn't expect it to be as big as it was. While the cities she grew up relatively close to were big, they paled in comparison to Xynae.

[Genkai]

A wild breeze blew by which nearly knocked Amadella flat on her face. The piece of paper she had been rereading while stopping on the road was snatched from her hands which made her throw down her satchel and ran after the paper which appeared to quickly blow away. "Halt, cease this frivolity at once!" She snapped, trying to order the wind or at least her letter; neither seemed intent on following her sharp tongued orders. "Come back to me now!" Amadella found herself weaving around in half circles trying to get her hand secured around the parchment. At this point, it was just teasing her, fluttering down near the ground as if pausing to catch its breath and when Ama lunged, it would pick up the wind and fly out of reach. "This is the devil's work...I swear this omen means nothing to me now if you would just stop moving..." She seemed to be trying to calm herself as she stopped chasing the letter and the wind finally settled. "Thank you." She snapped and marched over to where it had settled, underneath a tree's safe secluded shade. Amadella bent down and picked up the letter and ran a hand through her dark chocolate hair which was complimentary to her own dark coated skin. The woman was currently closing in on our destination, she was a traveler and had walked the lands for quite some time yet there had been a time when she almost refused to leave her seaside home. It had been a perfect home for herself and now she could call anywhere home. Her eyes looked down at the letter to reference its contents to ensure she was on the right path yet it was a letter she had been looking at daily since it reached her.

Dear Amadella,


His Majesty, Aeus the Great, requests your presence in Xynae at week's end. You have been chosen by Dakhir the Bold, hero of the Fourth War himself, to participate in the retrieval of the Medallion of Prayers. Our Great King has found a way to defeat Iadel once and for all, and he wishes you to have a great hand in it. Your expertise in herbal alchemy will be a valuable asset to your team. Please gather all belongings you feel will be necessary for your journey. Our King will provide extra funds for any supplies you need. However, spend light! Ashem needs its funds to take back the land Iadel as stolen.


Long live Ashem!
Kahmiru Rohga
Grand Secretary of Ashem

It was hard to seek those skilled in herbal alchemy. That much was obvious. In all of her travel, Ama had only come across two or three others like her mother who could wield plants and herbs to their own advantage. It wasn't a practice you could just tackle on a mere whim, no, it took years of study and dedication. Amadella looked to where her white leather pack was waiting for her. She was currently walking down a long dirt path which would lead her into her capital city. It was a great honor to be summoned though how the men found her was quite a tale to regale her new team in due time. Amadella hadn't had time nor fancied the thought that she ought to contact her family back home and tell them of the great privilege bestowed upon their only child. Feeling she could rest for a few moments after dealing with a rouge wind, she sat back against the trunk of the tree and folded the letter back up. She had on a simple white long dress which flowed away from her slender hips. She had layers of thin smooth fabric, most of it paid for by making potions or balms for the few wealthy she visited while wandering the earth. With a small delicate sigh, she rolled her neck around, trying to ease the muscles which were too tense to be defined as comfortable. The strain seemed to be taking a toll on her body as she was trying to be quick about arriving in Xynae with a day or two to spare. As soon as she was there, she would find the time to tend to her own aches and pains.

First and foremost, she wished to tend to the aches and pains of her beloved kingdom. Amadella looked around the land which was pale green. The grass under her was fading to a muted color but she had seen many beautiful places which were lush with greens and rubies and turquoises and golds. Reaching a hand, she grabbed the trunk and got back to her feet, finding that she had wasted more than enough time fumbling with the wind's practical jokes. "Time to get going." She said aloud, mostly to provide remembrance and motivation. Walking back to where her bag was next to the road, she picked it up and slung it over her bare shoulder, as her white dress had a strongly tied ribbon around her neck for support. Del continued to walk along, she wore sturdy leather sandals which wrapped tightly around her ankles. As when she needed to get to an herb or berry she needed for her collection, she needed support from her feet. While some women her age worried about appearances, Amadella kept things simple with taste and style. Now that the war had passed, she was sure people's mind were fogging, especially those of Iadel, with frivolity. Walking along, she passed a cluster of bushes which could provide some help in making oils and lotions so she stopped to collect some leaves. Other than that, the woman kept on walking, only to stop when her feet really really refused to walk. Only she knew her limits and she enjoyed pushing them every day.

So far, Amadella had been en route to Xynae for about three days. She stopped in small towns, trying to avoid the taxing cost of the city fare. But she was a simple woman, she didn't eat a lot, didn't eat much meat if she could help it and drank water and milk, trying to steer clear of those fermented sorts of troubling beverages. At the moment, Ama was sitting outside of an inn in a small town called Nyforia. One of the townsfolk noticed the band around her head which signified her status as a healer in herbal alchemy and approached her. The twilight behind him made him almost appear like an angel. He began stuttering about his sick wife who was bedridden and while Amadella would have accepted the offer to help and get paid for her trouble, she was seriously considering not helping as she felt she was taking too long with her travel. Looking away, trying to avoid the man's pitiful eyes, she inhaled and found a light hay scent nearby. She then looked around and decided the man must have been the origin of the new scent. "Sir, I can help your wife if you'll find me transport to the city of Xynae. Do we have a deal?" She asked him. Her reasoning for asking him was because she had seen large horse drawn carts carrying hay and wood had passed in and out of the town. By that reasoning, she decided the town must do a lot of importing and exporting despite its relatively tiny size. The man seemed to take his time to answer which the woman didn't have a problem with. She could be understanding, even in a hurry.

"I will." He finally concluded.

"Wonderful, take me to your home so I may conclude the woman's ailment and concoct a treatment." Now that she had an answer to her problem, her mind could be free to focus on the woman who needed her help. Of course had she been less early than intended, she wouldn't have been too troubled as long as someone had been made healthier, then it would have been worth it. The gray haired man took them to a small cottage and let her inside. Amadella made her way into the bedroom and saw a frail woman in bed. "Please wait outside, sir." She said smoothly and strode over to the side of the bed and placed a graceful hand on the woman's forehead. She didn't like distractions when she was working, there could be swords clashing for all she cared, but she would always to her best to tune out anything of real annoyance, which included worried eyes watching her like a hawk. "Ma'am, your husband has called for my services, allow me to help you." She said tenderly and the woman opened her cloudy eyes. Amadella needed to speak with her for five minutes before she headed back out into the other room which seemed to serve as kitchen and sitting room. "Sir, I know what ails your wife, I will have the remedy ready before tomorrow's sunrise, I expect transport will be ready then as well?" She asked, making sure he held up his end of the deal if she did hers. The man nodded and said she was free to use their kitchen but she shook her head and said she preferred sitting in nature and working there. Then she said she would be back at dawn and the man offered her a half of a loaf a bread which she took and departed.

Her dress tickled her skin as she quickly waded into the grass behind their house. The small village known as Nyforia was sparse and settled in a large field, using the main dirt road as its only use of transport. Once she found a spot she liked, she sat down and pulled out her stone mixing vassal named Urkwia. It was a round deep well made of smooth stone. Urkwia's handle was shaped like a bone and was used to crush and meld herbs and other ingredients together. She then pulled out some of the necessary things for the potion she would be making. The rest of the time spent until night finally fell was used preparing and measuring the right ratios for the potion. When night fell, she found herself coming to a forceful stop. She laid back on her back and began to nibble on the bread. Her thin hands would rip off pieces and press them against her smooth lips. While many travelers may have poor skin thanks to weather's unholy sense of humor, her skin and hair was nice, as she consider appearance and grace and generosity to be traits of necessity. When dawn finally came, she was able to finish her potion and mix it together. She quickly found the man's home and wandered inside. He was there, tending to his wife but it would mean nothing unless the woman drank the potion as Amadella instructed. "Please have her drink a spoonful every hour for the rest of the day, she will be fine by tomorrow's sunrise." Del smiled. The man began profusely thanking her and then guided her outside to a younger looking man, but not by much. The other man would take her into the city as requested so the husband could stay with his wife. "Thank you." Amadella bowed her head and climbed into the back of the cart carrying hay and a few finicky chickens.

The ride took about a day and a half and when the man let her off and turned around, Amadella looked in awe at the dark capital. She had arrived late in the evening and found herself digging the letter out from her satchel. "Stay put." She said bitterly at the letter as she carefully unfolded it and looked it over. Well she was in Xynae...now what? She supposed she should find the castle and inquire there but she wasn't sure if she should do it now or wait till the morning. She had gotten to the city within the week and had about two days, at best, to wander the streets with wide eyes. Ama walked along, eyeing the locals. Despite her travels around Ashem, she had yet to set foot in Xynae and now here she was. It was an overwhelming experience to say the least. She continued to walk around, trying to find a place to buy some new supplies since it sounded like she would be traveling a lot and she needed to have the basics for her alchemy set. It was little surprise to her, that she located a large herbal store which specialized in her specialty. She looked around and only bought one or two herbs as she didn't have many funds and the note did say the king himself would fund some of her needs. While she didn't wish to drain their money, she would take the offer. After exiting the shoppe, she went down and found a simple inn she could stay in. She and the man behind the desk talked about how intimating yet majestic the city was and how proud she was to be from Ashem. She took her bag up to her room and sat down. She decided that first thing in the morning, she would find the castle and let them know she had arrived and was ready at any time.