Mark of the demon - IC.

[Halvtand]

1100 B.C. (Before Cataclysm)

The world is prosperous, people are living in peace. The world hadn’t seen a war for the past hundred years after their new seemingly-immortal king took the throne. Cities grew bigger, families doubled in numbers, farms produced triple their monthly production. The seas were filled with boats bringing in fish that had grown in size apparently over night. The world finally seemed perfect, a heaven on earth; An Eden brought upon them by the mighty Odin himself. Little did they know that their king had chosen quite the dark path to make this all happen. Now keep in mind, their king wasn’t a bad man. He was in his late fifties, and quite the humble servant of his people. He listened to their needs, and he loved each and every one of them with all his heart. He had even taken it upon himself to learn most of the names of the people living in his home city; Veiron. But when his dark past came to haunt him on the tenth hour of the hundreth year, everything was plunged into a darkness that would never seem to rise. The Demons broke free from their seal in his soul, and used it as passage into the crumbling Capital. The Demons, being greedy fiends, had taken the King’s soul an extra fifty years before they had planned. Maybe it was because he sold his soul that they were able to see his work, his plans to get rid of the Demons once and for all. Nevertheless, they had immediately stopped him. Horrors were loose in the street, rampaging through stores and homes, tearing citizens apart from the inside with an insanity and hunger nobody had ever seen in their lifetime. The King laid burnt to a crisp in his chambers, his mouth open in a silent screech of pure agony, as if he knew everything was about to be lost.

The whole city and it’s surroundings were scorched with unholy fire and even to this day nothing can grow there. Amongst the lucky few who made it out of the city alive some found that the event had marked them for life. A birthmark they’d never seen before, a scar, their eyes changed color, their skin turned black. Some of these people tried to hide their markings and did whatever they could to live on as if nothing had happened. Some embraced them, claiming that the mark would forever remind them of Veiron, and what the demons did there.
The warriors, a band of highly trained and skilled fighters, roam free. They care little for the lives of the innocent, their only goal is to exterminate the demons that terrorize the land.

20 A.V. (After Veiron)

It’s been twenty years since the great Capital Veiron fell to the combined forces of Orcs and Demons. Humans, Elves and Beastmen live in fear, never knowing when or where the monsters will strike next. The Warriors, elite defenders - or so they say - of the once prosperous land have now taken matters into their own hands. They have erected a great fortress in Farest, from there they command their legions to battle the hellspawn and their mortal puppets.
The citizens of the kingdom has had enough. Bands of mercenaries and vigilantes have sprung forth. They try to fight the demons, win the support of the commoners and bring back the once great kingdom. Some even spread rumors of a previously unknown heir to the throne. Their forces clash with The Warriors’, both believe that they alone are capable of pushing back the evil that is running amok.
This story will follow a select few brave men and women who somehow survived the fall of Veiron. Since then they have scattered all over the old kingdom, taken different paths in life. But they are all connected by the marks that the great siege put on their bodies and the traumatic experience they all share. The threads of fate are still being woven as you read this. But the motif is unclear, the tellers of the future and fortune cannot tell us anything. We have to write our own story.

This is the IC for Mark of the Demon. If you’re here, you’ve already been chosen to help this story progress, and there is no further information needed. It’s purely up to the player what happens next. We just ask that you’re polite, post regularly, and keep your mind open and flexible for what is to come!

Enjoy! - Vladhimir, Halvtand

[Clay]

"Ahhhhh its raining again..."

Illenial sat under a tree not too far form the road to town. It was just another outcropping of civilization on this wretched land, nothing of note to Illenial. He preferred to stay away from town because trouble always found him there. Alas he managed to come across some wares on his journey, and everyone needed to eat. He would save the gauntlet of town until tomorrow, judging by the sounds of the storm he should have kept walking.

CRACK!

"DAMN IT!" The sudden burst of lightning caught the young mage unawares, making him jump. It served to remind him of how weak he really was, a normal 20 year old with no skills and no money would be scared in his situation, and rightfully so. But Illenial was no ordinary 20 year old, yes he was weak and incapable, but he wouldn't allow himself to be scared. There was a bitterness burning in his soul that kept the shivering ragged warlock alive, a bitterness that would not cease, but instead, consume him if he was not careful.

A pile of wet sticks lay in front of the young wizard. He stood over them, shivering, his hands held out palms facing them. "Fire." , nothing. "Light!" , still nothing, "Burn!". A pathetic pile of timber still laid before him, as if mocking his feeble attempts to set it ablaze. The wizard lowered his useless hand and kicked the pile out of spite, scattering wood across the sodden earth. Illenial sulked back to the tree, his only source of cover, and plopped down on the same sodden earth he shared with the twigs. He pulled the hood to his cape over his head and laid his head on his knees...

[Frettzo]

[Suver, Aara Rad Nejad]

THUD.

'Shit' Aara cursed under her breath, having just made the most stupid mistake ever- She tripped over a badly placed rug, and fell onto the floor. Such a noise would surely attract the guards, and if they found her, the result wouldn't be too nice for the poor rug, to be stained with blood so much that washing it wouldn't even be an option. She was right, immediately after her mistake, rustling and shouting came from the hallway leading to the living room she was in now, and she had to act quick. With a quiet groan, she pulled herself to her feet and jumped behind a large plant in a corner of the living room, waiting patiently as two huge men entered the room, noticeably alert and sure they had caught an intruder.

They looked around for a few seconds before the first one fell to the floor, hitting it with a loud thud, and alerting his companion, who went to check on the body. Blood was pouring out of the black-haired man's neck, a small knife having stabbed the artery in it. The wounded man attempted to speak, but it proved to be an impossible task, the knife having also severely damaged his cords.

As the only standing guard looked around, noticeably unnerved, he realized something... That he had to run the hell out of the room if he wanted to live. His companion let out his last breath and he quickly stood up, using his instincts to do a pitiful attempt at running away, which were cut short just before he exited the room, as a similar knife pierced his neck and another one found its way into his left eye. The man died instantly, the lifeless husk he left behind falling to the floor to never move again, its life liquid pouring out onto the floor without any stop.

It was then that Aara stepped out of her hiding spot, taking a few leaves out of her head hair. The fact she was a canine didn't mean she hadn't found a way to let her head fur grow long like a human's hair. There might not have been many things she liked about humans, mainly because they were the ones that hated her family the most, but she did appreciate their hair- She wished to one day have such colorful and unique hair.

With a short glance over to the two bodies, she shrugged, quickly throwing away all premises of stealth as she recovered the three knives and ran out of the room, heading over to the Mansion's study, where her target was most likely at. She ran through quite a few corridors, having quick encounters with a few more guards on her way to the study before she kicked open the huge doors. She took a split second to take in the study's decoration- Hundreds of books, in several meter tall bookcases, quite a few desks that were surely filled with paperwork were also there. She went back to her objective at hand as she focused on her target- A man in his 40's, hair slightly graying, was there, just now reacting to the loud noise of the doors being kicked open. He yelped and fell over his chair, dozens of paper sheets flying up into the air before Aara jumped onto the desk and pulled out her dagger, watching the pathetic man crawl away from her. "D-Don't hurt me! I d-didn't do a-anything!" He shouted, apparently on the verge of crying in fear for his life.

Her only response was quietly jumping onto the floor, in front of him, and begin walking towards him as she tensed up her arm, letting him know she was going to use it. "Please! I-I'll pay you, I'll, uh... YES! I'll let you mate with my do-" He didn't even get to finish his sentence as she snarled and jumped onto his chest with all the force she could muster, a few sickening crunches heard before she slit the human's throat. "Ignorant human, I'm not attracted to dogs in any way... Ugh, humans and their judgmental natures. Just because I freaking look like one of your pets, does not mean I am willing to sleep with them!" She growled at the whimpering man whose fate had just been sealed. He'd bleed out in less than half a minute now, and even though she still felt angry at him, and knew she had screwed up her orders, she turned around and ran out of the room ,and then out of the building. What guards were still there were avoided without incident, and she quickly exited the mansion, another job complete.

[ghostEmperor]

THUD!

That's the sound that was made when Elindir yanked his dagger out of the old man's back, splattering warm blood on his face. This man had proven a challenge to track-down, first in the dreadful town, Vi'Zur, then the reeking farms to the east, finally in the lightness forest even further east. The old man made his mistake then. Elindir had lived in the forests for the first eighty years of his life, and still lives in them now.

“You were difficult,” crouching, he whispered to the dead man, laying him on the dry, leaf-covered ground, “but in the end... I win.” He flipped the heavy man on his back, walked to his side, and unsheathed his sword. Bring me his head, the contract had said. With one quick slice, Elindir parted the old man's neck. The blood did not splatter, but it seeped into the earth. The courier had also provided a sack, he of-course probably did not know what for. The sealed letter was not broken. Elindir lifted the head, wrapped it with special leaves to soak up the blood, and stuffed it into the sack.

He covered the man with leafs, so no wanderer would stumble across the decapitated body of the old man. Picking up the Head-Sack he slung it over his shoulder. Elindir began making his way out of the old and dark forest. It was the middle of the day, the contract said that he had until the morning of the next day. He continued on his journey to Suvor, where he was to deliver the head.

[WoodKerne]

Cormac paused as he exited the boundary of the small forest of Ellith. He was halfway through an urgent, "first-class" delivary to Nassau. First-class was just Tanner's way of getting rich folk to cough up more gold. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced to the far west, the high mountains of Loils covered the horizon. He counted 4 smoke rings hovering above the peak. "Ahhh, the Windfall rituals have began." It was the only part of living in Loils that Cormac enjoyed. The colourful flags that streamed from building to building and the upbeat music constantly roaring from the wind instruments. The only time of year when he faced no prejudice, no beatings, everyone was too busy singing to their hearts content to appease the WindGod - Buia.

Even though he was rejected and disowned by his people, he held no grudge. The Avians fear the untraditional after all and Cormac looked anything but traditional. He snapped out of his momentary daze and began to once again "ruffle". Ruffle was Cormac's way of running, due to his lack of feathers he could not simply fly the whole distance, so he saves energy by running then jumping and flapping his wings for around 5 seconds before landing again and repeating. This makes him ungracefully fly just above ground level for a short period of time. This was Cormac's way of moving quickly, and can actually reach speeds well beyond the best human sprinter, and thats for long distances.

Tanner was a devout believer in Avian deities and began to sing as he ruffled. He prayed Buia would enjoy his song and agree to give the merchants safe travel from the mountains to the small outposts for the year in return. A flock of small birds began to follow him. They were attracted by his hymn and started flying overhead and singing their own tune. He leaped into the air and began to soar along with them. He closed his eyes and sang as loud as he could, his followers learned the rhythm and began to harmonize with him in perfect time. This would be a moment Cormac would remember for a long time, he felt at home. But it was short lasting, after 10 minutes his arms were starting to burn, he spun uncontrollably and crashed into the winding dirt path. Filling the sky with dust, he slid across the ground for a few feet before finally stopping. He was covered in sand and was bleeding from a few small, minor cuts on his face. He quickly stood up. His followers had all dispersed, shocked by the abrupt ending. He sighed and spoke outloud. "That what I get for acting stupid." He began to slowly walk along the road once again.

[Halvtand]

Seth of Valeria, outside Astoria.

The boat rocked gently to and fro as the waves hit its hull over and over again. The mercenary leaned into each wave without even thinking, fully concentrated on his one task. He was rowing. Not the calm, peaceful type where the journey is the goal, but the frantic, frustrated kind used by men who knew what monsters lurked in the shadows at night. The oars splashed into the water and he used every muscle in his body to draw them to his chest and propel the small boat forward, closer to the village and the relative safety it would provide. The small hairs on his neck stood straight up and a chill ran down his spine as a freak wave hit the boats side with surprising power. Far from enough to tip the vessel, but truly enough to unnerve the swordsman he paused, closed his eyes and listened.
It was late evening, the sun was just a thin line in the horizon and the moon had been clearly visible for at least a few hours. Yet he couldn’t trust his eyes. If the wave he’d felt was the first sign of a great beast in the lake it could rise out of the water with the sun in its back, ready to devour the lonely rower. With the sun in his eyes he might not be able to defend himself.
Time crept forward at a snail’s pace, every wave and creek of the boat louder than normal, almost deafening him, it seemed. But nothing happened, there was no beast in the lake, at least not right there, right at that time. The mercenary gripped the oars firmly and thrust them down into the dark water once again. He’d had maybe a minute’s rest, but his arms were just as tired as before. “So close, so close, not far now...” He whispered between heavy breaths. He could see the lights coming from the village, they were just a few minutes furious rowing away, and yet they could’ve been in the other end of the kingdom. With demons running loose the gates of Hell itself could open up right between himself and the village. A thousand arms could stretch out, grab his little boat and pull him into Oblivion without a struggle. A grim thought indeed, but a true though also.

He’d been at sea for the better part of the day. When the sun’s first light had hit the village of Oland the day before he’d plunged the oars into the water for the first time. Stopping only to eat had taken him almost all the way in only two days. He was not, by any means, a sailor. The great lake was trafficked by large ships, with several masts on them. Each capable of taking big numbers of passengers and still have room over for cargo. They wanted pay of course, but that would not be a problem for a mercenary such as he. He’d faced demons on his travels, even managed to hold his own against some of the lesser ones. Orcs barely startled him anymore. His coin-purse was rarely, if ever, empty. The problem, the reason he’d chosen to travel alone in a small boat barely capable of taking more than three people on at once, was his destination.
The great vessels generally travelled between the area around Farest, the Warriors’ stronghold, and the villages close to old Veiron. Smaller settlements like Astoria and Classon in the south and Exilia in the north were also on the chart, but was not considered to be as important and therefore not targeted by the larger ships as often. Indeed he had waited in Oland over a fortnight before he finally made up his mind and bought a boat.

A rasping sound reached Seth’s ears just before the boat lurched violently to the side. With the long sword too big to wield in a boat he quickly drew his knife and held it up before himself, ready to attack whatever was pushing his boat. He soon realized his mistake and bade the gods of the earth for forgiveness, the rasping sound had been the bottom of the boat scraping against sand as the boat neared land, and as the water became too shallow for the boat it stopped and tipped to one side.
“Well, well, how fortunate for me” he said and jumped of the boat into ankle-deep, almost freezing water. It did not faze him much, for even without a seer he knew there were a warm meal and a good stiff drink in his future. He took the sword and the rest of his equipment out of the boat before he pushed it back out into the darkness with a mighty shove of his boot.
“Fare well, I hope we never meet again” he said and waved the boat good bye.

While walking up to the village he soon realized that he was suffering from what the sailors usually referred to as ‘sea-legs’. Even though he was on solid ground and had taken a good dozen steps at least it still felt as if he was on a boat, gently rocking from side to side as he walked. What a shame, to arrive at his destination and not be able to stand straight as if he had spent the whole day at the bar instead of working hard. But he had no choice. He’d come for a contract, and he would be damned if he didn’t get it after slaving by the oars all the way from Oland.
A small village like Astoria would probably not have its own inn, but with a bit of charm and persuasion you could get a room in someone’s home and perhaps even company if there was a willing slave girl. The mercenary strode up to the nearest house and knocked on the door three times, taking care not to bang it too hard and then stood back.
A dirty man, literally reeking of sweat opened the door and gave the man dressed in fancy blue and silver a critical look.
“Yeah?”
“Good evening to you, kind sir. My name is Seth. I’m humble traveler in search of a meal and a roof over my head for the night.” The former nobleman said and gave the man a friendly smile. Over the last twenty years he’d spent too many nights to count in the company of these ‘lesser men’ (as his father had called them) and found their company rather charming, simple, but charming.
“Ain’t got no rooms ‘ere” the farmer said and stepped back to shut the door. Seth took a quick step forward and extended his arm to stop him. The pure swiftness of the step made his coin-purse rattle like and angry snake.
“Food, drink, and shelter, my good man, company if you would spare it. I assure you that I am willing to pay for it all, handsomely.”
The promise of money changed the peasant’s mind, it often did, and he let the mercenary into his home. Seth was treated to half of the man’s dinner, some sort of stew of unrecognizable origin. But he knew better than to question his host and ate the fairly tasteless meal with a good appetite. A dark brown beer was offered and not by any means refused several times. A bit tipsy he was shown a bed and knew exactly what to do with it, two whole days of extreme physical activity made sure that he was sound asleep before he even hit the pillow. The slave he’d paid for could for once get a good night’s sleep too, so it worked out well for everyone.

He woke up late the next day, almost at noon. He’d overslept. With speed not normally available to the mortals of this world he got out of bed, adjusted his clothes and stormed out of the room only to turn around on his heel, enter the room again and exit once more, this time with the sword of Valeria on his hip. The contractor was a richer-than-average farmer in the village, and had taken great care to spread the world that he was on the market for an experienced mercenary and that he’d meet the fighter at dawn because he had a bloody job to do.
Tracking down the man was not a problem. Even talking him into giving Seth a chance wasn’t too hard. The nobleman did make a certain impression on the common man.
The job involved body guarding the farmer’s eldest daughter. She had come of age and was now the target of every man within a mile’s radius from the farm. It was of course the money they were after, but as Seth laid eyes on the girl... woman... Silva... He realized that money wasn’t all that important after all. He was also surprised to see that he’d be doing the job alone. Many others had come, but once they were told that they would essentially be babysitting they’d all denied and left. He also suspected that most of them had left around the time they’d met the girl and was told that she was not to be ‘played with’, or else...
Seth, on the other hand, had no qualms about resting his feet for a while. Even the fact that the daughter was off-limits didn’t scare him that much. After all, there were plenty of slave girls on the farm too and. He also suspected that he’d been the only one so far who’d stayed around long enough to learn that the slave girls were allowed to provide certain services that the daughter could not. He wasn’t sure if the farmer really meant what Seth thought he meant, but it was good enough for him!

[Vladhimir Grimm]

Vladhimir awoke with a start as the man that arrived last night shot up and out of his room, muttering loudly about slave women and what happened last night. Something about the man had bothered the Elf for quite a while, ever since his odd arrival the previous night. He had come out of apparently nowhere, with loads of gold, and had bought out two of the rooms in the small house, one of them being right next to Vladh's room. He had sat at the dinner table and glared over at the unusual man with his black eyes for a better part of the night. Of course, he knew nothing of the man, so he couldn’t really judge him all that much. But how greedily he wolfed down his meals, or how he looked at everyone around them with an air of authority that was seemingly embedded in his bones. Already, he was letting off a scent that belonged to murderers, con men, and thieves. The only reason Vladhimir knew this scent, was because it also lingered in his steps.

All night, he had sat up all night thinking about what he should do about the human, how he should shut the man up once and for all. It kept him awake and gave him time to sit and wallow in his supressed anger towards the newcomer. A week he had been on this farm, and a week he had earned his stay through hard work and much bribery with the Farmer’s Daughter. Nobody else knew about his wrong-doings, but the newly blossoming women had immediately caught his eye, and he took the first opportunity he was given to use his Elven charms upon the young lass. It didn’t take much to woo her as she was already fully aware of all the human men that lusted after her figure, and she fully admitted that giving herself to an Elf wouldn’t count as making love to a human. Once the girl was wrapped snugly around his finger, he used her to make sure her Father would let the Elf stay as long as he wanted, that was if he continued doing simple tasks throughout the day to keep the farm in business.

Now this newcomer had shown up, flashing his swords, good looks, and handfuls of coins around, and Vladhimir was once more on his own. Everyone seemed to overlook him as he sat in his room, sharpening his many tools of the trade; His weapons that were similar to that of a baby to him. He treated each one with such a delicate caress that it seemed like the Elf was in love with his blades. Each night he would sit up late and polish them, clean them, make their edges even more sharp than the previous day. Now he couldn’t even complete his daily touch up with the greedy man horsing down all the food and women. There was a reason he would sit up and wait for everyone else to go silent, and it was because he needed pure quiet to do his deed. His anger grew as he was finally being snuffed out for the limey bastard that now occupied his room.

The next day was no more fun for Vladhimir, as he was shot awake by the man’s random outburst of energy, and the Elf was irate because of his loney hour of sleep he finally mustered together towards the end of the night. Just who did this man think he was, running about in the middle of the morning, flashing his human blades around like they had some sort of power or grace. “Bah. This has to end. I can no longer stand this insufferable thorn in my side...” he mumbled as he once more went about cleaning his weapons, preparing them for what was to come. “There will definitely be blood, newcomer. And I cannot wait to stain your pompous clothes with it.”

When his weapons were nice and clean, and strapped onto his body, Vladhimir set out to follow the man. It was a boring process, following him from person to person as he spoke and put on a false personality to win people over. The Elf thought the man would never be alone, until he stopped dead in his tracks to lean up against a large stone house, staring off into the distance as if he were imagining some false Eden of murderings and slave women inside his thick skull.

Vladhimir took this chance to spring out and charge the man, his war axe in hand. When he was about 5 feet away he lept high into the air and barreled feet-first into the man, knocking him to the ground and shattering his dream world. The Elf positioned his toned body on top of the man’s back, and pressed his axe against the man’s skull as a sign of victory.

“Sir, I believe it’s time for you to move on from this town, before I split the back of your skull against my axe. You have no right to use up all of the happiness I wove around my being here, as it is well deserved for what I’ve done.”

[ghostEmperor]

The sun beat down on Elindir's head. The old man's head, reeked of decaying flesh. Neither of these slowed him down, as he strode from the woods. Caravan Hall was a long fifteen mile walk from where he was now. He knew this, so he turned 'round and gathered some lavender that he had spotted underneath a tree on the forest's edge. He stuffed some in the head-sack, and fashioned a necklace wth the rest. The lavender reminded him of Ilaradil, the great patches that grew in every forest, it hung from every tree, no matter where he went when he lived there, he would smell it. It produced a pleasant smell of home.

He didn't know what affect it had on others. But it took him back two hundred years. It brought back long-lost memories that he hadn't thought of for two human life-times. . .

“Elindir,” Alathriel said with her soft and gentle voice, “we are needed, father has summoned us.” she smiled at Elindir's annoyed look as he climbed down from the tree in which he was.

“Father summons! The gods forsake!” Elindir began, throwing his arms in the air playfully, “sister, when shall we be free? We have lived more than the life-time of any human.” She smiled at the thought of freedom.

“Brother, we are free.” she said calmly, “father wishes only to inform us. You are the heir to the family.” he was in-fact, elves of Ilaradil were immortal. However when an elf reached one and a half thousand years he or she was given the option of dwelling with the elders of the grove. Almost none refused, except for Athyria. She was the Queen of Ilaradil, she had lived for four-thousand years. She did not desire to leave her home. Their father was nearly one and a half thousand years old.

“Alright,” Elindir sighed, “let us make hast! We wish not to keep father waiting.” “But wait!”

“What? More of your games Elindir?” he had knelt down next to a tree. When he rose held a bundle of lavender in his hand.

“A gift sister, I had forgotten your birth moment.” Elindir said smiling. She took them, they were her favourite.

“They are beautiful,” she sniffed them, then she looked up, “the sun sinks! We must be off!” she grabbed Elindir's hand and dragged him along for a long while. They eventually arrived at the family dwelling, essentially a tree that grown with a hollow interior for elves to live in. They crossed the threshold of the gaping hole in the front that acts as a doorway.

“Late, is the hour upon which you arrive. . .” said Galadir, Elindir's father, “why is that?”

“We went astray, father,” quickly replied Alathriel, “Elindir was being foolish.” she smiled.

“Enough of that, we have urgent matters to discuss.” they took their seats on either side of him, forming a triangle. “I have received very queer news from the lands surrounding Ilaradil. The forests are dying, there are none that know why. The trees, have simply been falling, dead, dry, worn. The plants and beasts, have done the same.”

“What are we to do?” Elindir had spoken first. “Surly that will happen here too?”

Galadir's head stooped. “I wish not, but yes.” Alathriel gasped, “What has happened to the rest of the elven realm will too happen here.” With that the tree they were in changed, all of the sudden it was black and dry and began to fall, they all lunged at the hole. When they landed, Elindir counted himself and Alathriel, but. . .

“FATHER!” he picked himself up and ran back towards their home-

His memory was interrupted by the small gates of Suvor looming over him. Along the way he had bought a horse from a traveling merchant who was only too happy to be rid of it. It had cut his journey short, rather than taking a few days to get to Suvor, it had lost him only a few hours. He dismounted and left his horse in the stables out-side of the city gate. He entered Suvor. A small town, with many farms and one Mansion in the middle of the mess. That was were he was headed.

The doors to the mansion were decorated with gold and silver, the air smelt of blood. That was probably the head in the sack on his back. He knocked on the door. It opened, a huge guard, sword at his side, loomed over him. “Can I help you?” Elindir held the contract up to him. “Oh, just this way,” he apparently recognized the seal, “my master is in his quarters, and has been there all day. He told us not to bother him. However, I imagine that he would not mind his hired blade bringing him news.” he said the last part as though Elindir disgusted him, or just in fear. Elindir wasn't sure which.

Finally they arrived at the door. Eindir's nose was suddenly filled with the smell of decaying flesh. It did not bother him, but the guard was gasping on the floor. Elindir stepped forward, and opened the door. The room was intricate, expensive, and bloody. The body on the floor explained that, it was mangled, the head was almost separated from the body. This was not a problem to Elindir, he wanted to get paid. On the man's desk, he spotted a coin-purse, apparently full of coins. He stepped forward tossed the head on the floor, and snatched the purse. He left, the guard crying as though this was incredibly terrible.

[vslayer]

Determined and angry foot steps clanked loudly against the wooden floors. The blonde wasn't recognizable without the extra 110 pounds of armor which is usually conceals her body. Tamsin never wears her armor unless it's needed. And, tonight, it wasn't. She had a sky-blue waistcoat, tied in the front with leather laces. Her cotton undershirt's sleeves had been rolled all the way up to her inner elbows. The slight v-neck exposed part of her neck collar bone. Her pants were black, and had been lightly tucked into her boots. Her hair was held up in a loose bun behind her head. She always kept her dagger sheathed on her left thigh. You can never be careful when you're around a drunken crowd, especially this particular one. A barely there smirk appeared on her face, as she recognized her target: he was sitting at a round table with rowdy and drunk men who weren't afraid to express their miss-content about the town's economy.

She approached them confidently. "Excuse me," She said in a tone which contradicted her statement. The soldier grabbed the back of the man's chair, spun him around so he was facing her. The man, startled, could only stare at Tamsin with wide eyes. She slammed her foot down on the small space between the gentleman's legs, and pushed forward, causing the chair to rock back on its hind legs, the back of it leaning against the table. She leaned over, her usual sarcastic smirk plastered on her face as she peered down at him with piercing green eyes. She un-sheathed her dagger, and casually held it up to the man's throat.

"Whoa, lass, what is your grudge with me?" The gruff looking man asked, holding both of his arms up, one of them holding a half pint of freshly brewed mead.

"Beth Denis, what do you know about her?" Tamsin asked as she grabbed his collar roughly, pressing the sharp blade against his throat.

"She was a mighty lucky woman."

"What is that suppose to mean?" She asked, growing rather impatient.

"She didn't have to witness her daughter turn into a murdering scum." The man spat.

She grinned. "Wrong answer." Tamsin crushed her foot against his groin.

The man howled in pain, leaning forward with his eyes closed and his brow furrowed. His beer mug fell on the floor with a metallic clank, its contents coating the wooden floors.

The blonde grabbed the back of his head, pulling it up roughly. "If you don't speak, I will snip off your boys and turn you into a lady."

"Y-your father."

"'My father' what?" She growled, putting more pressure on the man's groin.

"Ask him." He shouted back.

"You speak an infinite deal of nothing, friend." Tamsin plunged the dagger in the man's thigh, pulling it out quickly. A perfectly arced spray of blood followed the dagger's blade out of the wound. Droplets of blood fell on the woman's boots and coated the previously clean blade. She put her foot down, letting the chair back on its four legs.

Did her father really know, or was this shit stick being a....shit stick? Nonsense, father would have told me if he knew anything about it. Puzzled, and feeling even more frustrated than when she came in, Tamsin deducted this was a mighty fine time for a drink. "Clean up on aisle 3." The blonde readjusted her waist coat, with a smug look on her face, as she approached the counter.

"And what does the lovely lady would like as a beverage?" The inn owner asked the familiar face.

"Why do you still bother asking me such questions?"

"Politeness?" The man offered with a smile.

"Right. Just give me my Ale, yeah?" She smiled back.

[WoodKerne]

Cormac awoke in a branch of a great sugar spruce. His hollow bones and overall lightness gave him an incredibly low weight, enabling him to have even the narrowest branch support him. He re-wrapped his bandages around his stomach, a stab wound he received two months ago on the “gold” road. The route connecting Caravan Hall and Elois, known for its popular merchant trails and lack of protection from Claymores or even guards, so its easy to see why it was such a hot spot for bandit raids and heists. The outlaws stabbed him in the stomach and left him to die after they found he was only carrying books. But Cormac tried not to dwell on that and instead snapped off a twig from the sugar spruce. He poped it into his mouth and sucked, it sap was sweet and had a syrupy texture, which made it a favourite for all Avians. He moved it from side to side in his mouth as he planned out his route for the day in his head. Cormac had to deliver his parcel to some blacksmith in Nassau by tonight. He was well over half way there and had plenty of time to kill. “I could spend a few more hours asleep, or I co....” His thought was cut off by the sound of two gruff voices, slowly approaching. Cormac had an idea of who they might belong to, but he wasn’t positive. He waited in silence as the shouts drew closer. Then he finally saw them, his guess was right, two Ox-men were lumbering up the overgrown dirt path. Known for being big, powerful and moronic. Tanner instantly knew he had found his entertainment. The both carried large menacing pikes, and could most likely break Cormac in half with their bare hands, but that wasn’t going to put him off, he needed a bit of fun.

He listened to their rough voices.

“Why we doing this Lug?”

“Stupid Muk, stupid Muk, how many times must I tell? Muk and Lug hide in bush. Muk and Lug wait for man to walk past, then Muk and Lug grab and eat”

“Bwa-ha-ha” The ox-man, supposedly called Muk, threw his hands from side to side laughing then clapped. “Goooooood! Muk like this”

The other grinned “And maybe we find tiny elf! Not much to eat but taste two times as good.

“Yes! Muk like elf! Muk like Man too!”

Cormac smiled and spoke under his breth. “Muk seems to like alot of things.”

The duo stomped past, oblivious of him. He silently swooped down behind them and crept up behind Lug and yanked his tail, which was swishing behind him, instinctively swatting away small dragonflies. He darted up into the branches again and watched.....nothing, no reaction what so ever. “Hrmm, these guys are even thicker than I thought.” Again he flew down, pulled his tail and flew back up, this time even harder. And again, no reaction. Cormac shook his head and smiled in disbelief. He whipped out his slingshot from his courier bag and pulled a acorn from the tree. He aimed for Lug’s head and let loose. The nut sailed through the air at quite some speed before bashing him just above the tip of the spine. Lug immediatly bent forward and held his neck.

“Ahhh! Muk! Why Muk do that!” He turned around to shoved Muk, causing him to fall into a ditch at the side of the path. Cormac stifled his laugh at the sight. Muk was now drenched in muddy water and was clearly unhappy to say the least.

“What Muk do to Lug?What Muk do to Lug?” he shouted repeatedly as he clambered out of the trench. “Muk fed up with Lug!”

Lug shook his head “ Noo! Lug fed up with Muk!” they went back and forth with this for an impressive amount of time before they charged at each other, head first and locked horns. They both dragged their hooves across the ground, trying to get more grip to push the other one over. Cormac had stopped laughing, he was genuinely upset to see that he made these two friends hate one another, even if they were dumb, and actually quite sinister.. Before he had time to talk himself out of it he swooped down and landed in front of the brawling duo. Dust from the path that had been kicked up by the two had filled the air and slowly settled to reveal Comac with his hands in the air, exposing what was left of his feathers. The two ox-men had stopped, caught off guard by the sudden outburst. They un-grappled each other and both put their hands on their hips. They towered over Cormac, 2 foot taller at the least.

“Well Muk. Look like bird for meal!”

Muk rubbed his hands together “Muk like chicken! Muk like chicken!”

“Good, they’ve stopped fighting, now to have some more fun.” Comrac thought.

He threw his head back and let out a loud fake laugh. “Hahaha! I am no chicken! I am the Great Dizario! And your fighting has woken me from my ancient slumber” He spoke slowly, hoping it would help the two understand what he was saying, but looking back, he realised they probably didn’t know what slumber ment. “I will now grant you as single wish!”

The duo looked at each other confused, before grinning ear to ear. They jumped up and down and clapped their hands, breaking their “macho” appearance for a split second.

“Lug know! Lug want Half a deer!” His eyes widened “No! Lug want a whole deer” He licked his lips.

Cormac raised his eyebrows at this request. “Ah, ah, ahhh, not yet” He shook his finger in front of them. “ First you need to.. uh first you need to..” He was struggling to think of an entertaining order. “Aha! First you need to dance!” The oxes looked at each other but did not question the command. Muk raised his fists, began stomping on the ground and shook his upper body from side to side, while Lug ran circles around him. Tanner struggled to keep a straight face and eventually, after watching too much of the “dancing” fell on the ground, holding his stomach snickering loudly. Muk noticed this and became outraged.

“Muk new it! Birdie trick Muk and Lug!” He immediately charged at Cormac without warning. Caught off guard he let out a shocked yelp. He lept into the air and began to fly away but Muk was already in a full run, his horn clipped Tanners left talon making him sway off balance, he tilted from left to right. He began to panic and flapped his wings harder and began to quickly rise above Muk’s height. Realising he was safe, Cormac let out a triumphant shout

“Haha! This won’t be the last time you see the amazing Cor..I mean Dizario! Haha!

He turned his head and saw Lug and Muk stomping their feet in rage. As they began to fade away in the distance he heard one final roar.

“Lug! Want! That! Birdie!”