Thrall of Kings

[Lady Rawr]

Fiske stood where he had been listening to Sully and froze as someone jumped him and pressed a thin glistening blade to his throat. Fiske reached behind himself as Sully spoke to his attacker and gripping his wooden bow he attempted to slip it off before sighing inwardly as the bottle of spirit in his hand prevented him from doing it with ease. Taking another quick swig and resisting the urge to offer it to one of the others he slipped the stopper back in and placed it in his bag, before once more reaching behind him and pulling his bow from his back. At that moment there was a bright green flash that lingered in his vision for a few moments longer before his sight returned and he saw that in the place of Sully there was now a black cat which was running in circles somewhat frantically, and stood behind it was a particularly odd looking man with his dagger left hovering in the thin air.

After a few moments the stunned silence was broken when the man who had seemingly summoned them all here approached calling for his now feline companion. This stranger with the shining eyes started by apologising for his servant and moving on to introducing himself, a name that Fiske wouldn’t be able to pronounce even when in the most sober situations. “Ahemves Oaerm Kervav” he repeated under his breath attempting to mimic it somewhat unsuccessfully as the man went on to ask for their help as he told them about the legion of watchers who were now awaiting them. Fiske couldn’t help but feel like he had been dragged into something beyond his depths, some of the others around him clearly being more adept in one way or another (most likely many many ways) than he was for any task, although at this point it seemed like there was no return, their curiosity committing them to their current course and seeming to fix their destiny to that of this man.

Fiske’s attention was brought back to the man as he mention that someone named ‘Tyrr’ would be arriving to burn them and feed them to piranha-birds, something which Fiske decided would be best to avoid if possible. As he made to follow the man who then stated to call him ‘Sevv’ he watched him reaching over and making the wall beside him explode outwards, revealing the wall-watchers that he had mentioned previously, followed by the intimidating and apparently electric shooting man named Tyrr. From there things became slightly more hectic as the cat-man Sully was launched across the room, Fiske ducking slightly as the cat whizzed by him and landed in the arms of one of the larger warriors of the group caught it, before speaking quickly to the group followed by the even larger and more aggressive looking man rushing through the new opening and tackling the wall –watchers practically single handedly.

Reaching behind to his quiver Fiske withdrew an arrow and attempting to string it in the bow he promptly fumbled slightly dropping the arrow on the floor, its shaft rolling across the room and settling at the foot of the stairway where this Tyrr was stood. With an irritated flick of his tail Fiske pulled out a second arrow, successfully pulling it back with the bow-string and then launching it towards Tyrr, before realising that it probably wasn’t best to launch projectiles at the man who was wielding a force of nature, and turning as the others started to escape he rapidly followed the man known as Charon out into the street.

Before him lay the dead and dying, some of the watchers being fately wounded, the others pursuing the berserker of a man who seemed to be nicely drawing them away. Standing briefly Fiske dodged out of the way as the woman he had invited to join them sprinted past him screaming, and then he stood in what he called his ‘triumphant pose’, chest thrust forwards and his arms resting on his hips and he said “Come comradess!” the alcohol removing his fears and instilling him with a sense of confidence “I sshall leads the way to thiss south gate!” and with that Fiske charged northwards, taking a few steps before stopping and turning around, realising his error as he saw the others heading in the opposite direction.

As he watched, the ranks of the watchers closing back in between himself and them Fiske noticed the most bizarre sight. Suddenly, as if they were previously unseen there was a pair of elegant dancers amongst the watchers, somehow twirling and dancing as if completely unaware of the situation. As he continued to watch Fiske felt the need to take another strong drink as he saw that the woman had what appeared to be numerous sharp knives attached to her long twirling hair, which served to cut and gouge at many of the watchers as they panicked and rushed around, confusion further serving to fragment their ranks. As suddenly as the pair had appeared there was a tremendous crack of lightning which seemed to directly strike them, causing them to both disappear as an eerie female laughter washed over the surroundings, seeming with the thin veil of rain which continued to fall. Fiske scratched at his head, unsure quite how much he had seen had actually happened, but with the new dead that had joined the ranks of the old he knew that it had definitely been real, the dancing and singing obviously being something he would not forget in a hurry.

From where he was stood he saw that another group of watchers was rushing down towards him and the group from the north, obviously not following Charon like the others and so he drunkenly swayed slightly before launching an arrow towards the group, hitting the lead man squarely in the neck causing him to stumble backwards into the others as he let out a bizarre gargling scream. With that Fiske decided that it wasn’t best to linger longer as more watchers pushed past the first man and rushed towards him and so he ducked down a small side street which went in another direction and disappeared into the city, taking another few rapid turns to make sure that they wouldn’t be able to follow him directly. From there it was a simple case of navigating the streets down towards the south-gate, a task to which took him slightly longer than intended in his current state taking the occasional wrong turn, but soon he emerged and not seeing any of the others he headed directly towards the wagon which was sat waiting, an elderly man at the reigns.

Stepping up onto the passenger seat just beside him Fiske sighed, glad to be sat and no longer rushing around the city in a state of confusion about what was happening, he rummaged around his bag and pulled out once again the newly purchased (and half empty) bottle of spirit and took a long series of gulps before turning his head to the man and offering him the nearly empty bottle.

"Itss quite good" commented Fiske as he shook the bottle from side to side slightly before then returning to rummaging around his bag, intent on once more finding his smoking herbs and relaxing slightly before the others arrived, including the shining eyed stranger who had somehow started all of this.

[Lydyn]

She was like a still lake among the confusion, watching with calculated ease and a strong will. Part of it was that she was allowing her sense to be heightened as she pulled focus into them, completely aware that the man that had attacked Sully (who was now a cat) wouldn't be able to hide his presence for much longer, which turned out to be truth as he was revealed by the bright flash of light. Iadia then turned her attention from the dumb-founded assailant towards the man with silver eyes - A'emv or Sevvy as some others would call him. His introduction wasn't long as he explained he needed their help and wind gushed by the group as the explosion burst from the wall, revealing close to fourty guards.

She glanced back towards Sevvy as Tyrr shot lightning across the hallway - a man she truly knew little about, but if A'emv was worried about this one man, there was likely more to him than a simple bolt of electricity and perhaps even the simple burst of energy held more power behind it than Iadia could see. Turning around finally to let A'emv do his battle with the apparent general, she quickly saw she was the last to even leave - the scene exploding with the giant man bursting through the crowd and taking around fifteen of the watchers with him and the strange attacker from before summoning some sort of sprite that turned into a flash of blades and lightning. As the rest of the group dispersed and lead away more watchers, Iadia was left standing in front of eight left, more than willing to draw their blades now and circle her. 'What a strange array of abilities...' she thought quietly to herself as she heard a few clashes of battle behind her between Tyrr and A'emv.

Suddenly leaping forward, the guard directly in front of her trust his sword out towards her, an attack that would've normally met it's mark. However, she jumped a bit higher than should've been possible and landed one foot on the flat of the blade, leaving a few of them to stare. She was no beast of strength or flash of magic, but instead displayed simple feats that even Charon - a man who broke their lines with ease - could likely never do. Moving her momentum forward, she kicked the guard in the face with her free foot, causing her to go into a back-flip over the body of the falling watcher and landing on her feet. Without a wasted movement, she darted forward quickly with a pace equal to that of the man-beast, losing all but two of the left over guards. Gaining foothold on a ledge that was about eight feet off the ground, she propelled herself upwards onto the roof of the building and going where the two watchers could not follow.

She made her way towards the mentioned wagon with relative ease from there, jumping across the buildings and eventually finding smaller ones to jump down to and onto the street. The wagon came into view at last, making her arrival rather late as she glided onto the back and let out a sigh. Calmly, she took a seat on the bed of the wagon and leaned her back against the wooden sides.

[Callthecops]

Charon raised his hood and slipped through the crowded marketplace with ease, sidestepping left and right, weaving through the throng of bodies. Many people moved out of the hulking man’s way, making things much easier too. As he moved, the Blighter wondered how the rest of those gathered at the prison had faired. The slender woman who had jumped from the balcony above him earlier on, he was sure would be able to make it. If the jump had been any indication of her abilities, Charon felt confident that she would be able to perform a variety of other acrobatic feats in battle like he would never be able to do. His style focused on maintaining a brutal offensive with the tactics of rapid dominance, his goal in the fight was always to crush his opponent so swiftly that his allies had no time to even react before the monster’s blade had already struck again. It was a style that appeared crude to an inexperienced eye, but a true swordsman could see that each of his movements was calculated and exact.

“Though in time I shall be dust, and none will know my name. In battle they will fear my wrath, and they will know I came.”

From here on it took only another few minutes to get to the cart at the southern entrance of the city. As he walked past the driver, Charon flashed him a look that would tell the man whose side he was on. Other than that, the silver-haired man kept quiet as he moved to the back of the wagon and climbed inside. “I don’t believe I had the chance to introduce myself back in the square… My name is Charon, I am a wanderer, much like yourself, and I too am I hunter of demons and monsters alike.” He said when Iadia had slipped into the wagon a short time after he had arrived. Having said that, he extended his large hand towards her, in a gesture that made up for it’s lack of friendliness with it’s presence of respect. Most other hunters wanted nothing to do with the Blighted, and considered them an abomination to the profession, even though they were certainly some of the best. This earned the woman a few points, not enough to be trusted, as Charon truly trusted nobody but his former master, Wolf.

Now, only time would tell now what kind of journey this strange adventure would lead them on.

[Tytus]

"You always were the brash one, Ish'val'a", Sevv groaned. "Can't you see reason?"

"And you always were tough to kill. Can't you just die?" Came the reply.

"Why are you so blessedly hostile? I'm trying to save us more bloodshed, you realize."

"Stay your tongue. You've already murdered a third of my Watchers, and besides which your eyes clearly betray your tongue. Your lying is as poor as your choice in warriors."

Sevv's voice grew angry with that remark, and began to sound much like the grating noise of a blackboard being dragged against a wall of severed hands. "After as much as I've seen, I came to realize that combat is a last resort for incompetent men and cowards. But I also realized..
That I very much am the latter, and after all of these years, still want to kill you."

No more words were spoken as Sevv and Tyrr shared a speculative glance at each other. Tyrr made the first move, clapping his hands loud enough to cause the birds outside to cry and break away in flocks. The ground beneath Sevv's foot erupted in stone and dust, a purple tentacle climbing through, reaching for his leg. He barely avoided the corrosive touch of the slimy squid-hand, and circled around it. Bringing his hands high in the air, Sevv slammed them against the floor below. Light cracked from his hands and arced toward the ceiling, collapsing rocks atop the writhing tentacle.

It was now Aem'v's' turn to attack. But he did not.

Sevv pressed his hands against each other, opening them in a way to resemble the gaping maw of a lion. Fire began to circulate within his palms, burning blue from intensity, crackling and steaming in the air. After a long while of juggling the flames between his hands, he released it in a line of fire. The magic soared through the air, circling through the wind as if it was a lizard, arcing toward Tyrr who now braced himself for the strike. The dancing flames rushed toward his chest, but stopped, surging vertically against the ceiling after it was a breadth's width from Tyrr. Stone fell from above, and came toppling in a dusty congregation of debris and boulders. Tyrr could no longer reach them. Not yet, at least.

When Sevv stepped out into the blinding light, his work seemed cut out for him. The Watchers' numbers were much fewer, even if still formidable - yet the remaining soldiers created a path to the gate for Aem'v's, possibly in fear. They thought he killed Tyrr, after all.

He began to walk through the now opened pathway, feet crunching against the road, neck baking in the heat, before something tapped his shoulder. When he turned, something dropped against his cheek like a tumbling boulder. Of course, it was none other than the Captain of the Wall-Watchers. His eyes burned with fierce determination, but slowly widened after he saw what it was he actually did. Flinching, expecting to meet the Maker above, he was met by a much more powerful force. The laughter of the man they all feared, chorusing throughout the battlefield, stinging their faces and draining their veins of its color.

"That was a good hit." Sevv responded. "Nice and clean."

He continued down the path now, through the twists and turns and windy passages that led its way to his wagon. He walked with dignity, but at the same time a hurried pace, in anxiety of Tyrr breaking through soon. When he finally arrived at the wagon, he saw that most of his company was already there, save for one or two - of which he felt would show up soon. He felt it was time to explain things.

"Ah, sorry about that. So, I guess it's time for me t-"

Dust enveloped the man as his eyes closed and his body tumbled to the ground.

The battered Sevv had collapsed.

-~-~ -~-~ -~-~

Old Crow grinned a Cheshire smile and rubbed his wrinkled hands together at Fiske's offer. He greedily and hungrily snatched the bottle from the lizard's hands, pressing the bottle against his lips and gulping the spirit down in a manner that was, well, not natural. He handed back the half-emptied beverage to Fiske rather guiltily. "Ah..sorry about that. Hard times, y'see. Haven't had a drink in some time, ehehe."

His plans to make conversation were cut short when he saw Sevv finally show up. "Took you long enou-" He began - but stopped dead after he saw Sevv drop like weighted baby in a pond. "Sonuvva bitch." He grabbed the collapsed man by the collar, and dragged him across the ground toward the wagon. It was either a depressing sight, or a make-you-smile one, to see the old man -possibly in his seventies- hobble and break his back in an undignified effort to lay his master down atop the wooden oak. Old Crow was soon after left panting and wiping beads of sweat from his forehead.

He silently climbed into the carriage-driver's seat, patted one of the horse's on its muscled back, and laid back against the wood.

"I suppose that once you're all gathered, it's time an old man tell you an old story, eh?"

[GreenGoat]

It was quite fortunate that she had thought to stop and purify her clothes of the blood before going out. The many people that stared at her pale face and her shocked expression would have made quite a big fuss if they saw her with her clothes bloody. Scilicet would certainly be caught if that was so. Caught and punished as one of those who had murdered so many.

How could this happen? It was supposed to be a happy day for her, the start of a prestigious, prodigious and honorable life as a paladin. And now she was suddenly embroiled in some sort of conspiracy by some divine intervention.

She could see the gates now, along with the wagon that she faintly remembers to be an escape vehicle or something to that effect. However, before she could take another step, visions of the dying men flooded once again into her head. Remembering the cloying stench of blood and that smell of human offals, she collapsed to her knees by the gate and started to puke up the contents of her stomach. Some of the men, some of them were those she had treated earlier in the streets. She had spoken to them, she had spoken to them before, and none of them were really bad men, though some were definitely perverted. One of them had mentioned proudly that his son would be of seven years today.

Wiping her mouth, she stood up shakily. By then she had noticed the old man hauling a man over to the wagon. It seemed that the old man neither wanted nor needed any help with the young man, and she herself wasn't that strong to be of much help. Scilicet sheepishly climbed onto the wagon. She had no intention of ever going along with this group of misfits, but she had a feeling she wouldn't be treated well if she stayed behind.

"I suppose that once you're all gathered, it's time an old man tell you an old story, eh?"

She jerked her head upwards at the old man's voice, looking at him with surprise. One of whatever group this is, she suppose. She lowered her head again, and closed her eyes.

Let me be rid of this group soon, oh great Lord....

[kassarock]

This had to have been one of the worst days in Willet's life. Really, absolutely, bloody awful. Everyone was trying to kill each other and it was terrifying. He had been bemused more than anything at the transformation of the stranger Sully into cat, stranger things had happened in this world. He had been curious had the arrival of the 'Lord' they had meant to be saving, it looked to Willet he had no need to saving, if that was the case why the hell had they all been dragged here. This 'Sevv' seemed to be causing a whole load of trouble for no particular reason, and trouble was never a good thing in this age, there was already more than enough of it to go around.

And then of course, the orgy of violence began. Fire, blood, hacking, killing. It was horrible. Absolutely horrible. The group tore away, swords a'swinging through the ranks of the Wall Watches. He left it to the big guys with the big weapons to deal with that, sticking to the back of the charge and using his axe to pick of anyone not quite dead who was still had a weapon in their hand. It was messy, bloody work, and he relished in it in no way at all. Killing people was ugly, especially with a damn axe! He used this axe to chop his firewood, would his next camp fire reek of death because of this?

He paused to crack open the head of a Watcher who had been protected by the body of one of his comrades from one of the blades of some huge, tall... monster... that Willet guessed was now his ally, until he got out of this hell hole of city any. It was in that pause that he was leapt upon by a Wall Watcher who had been holding back, and had noticed that Willet was not one of the group's strongest fighters. He just managed to parry back with his axe, but his footing was all wrong and it sent him sprawling back as the Watcher trust his sword at him again. Willet dodged that one, as as the Watcher leaned in and over balanced slightly, he whipped his axe in from the side and buried it into the man's torso. He spat up blood, Willet dug it in again. And again. The man coughed up a bit more blood. Then the man fell down dead.

"Gods..." He muttered appalled by the violence of what he had just done. He had tried not to look into their eyes, but he hadn't been able to here... it felt so brutal, so much worse than killing an animal you hunted, there was nothing natural about this at all.

But the fight had left him behind the rapidly advancing swirl of swords that was the 'rescue party' and now, seeing he was alone, there were a group of Watchers closing in on him. Far to many to fight. So Willet ran. He sprinted down off of the street, through a vacant plot of waste ground, full of rubble and weeds, the soldiers in pursuit. On the other side there was a fairly wide alley, it looked like it should have been open at both ends, so Willet just picked a direction and ran that way. It was a bad choice, the deceptively wide alley ended round a corner where new warehouse had been placed over the archaic street layout. He was trapped.

The watchers were closing in, where the hell could he escape to? To his right there was a wooden door, it looked well rotted, he ran at it and put his shoulder to it. It groaned, but didn't open, the axe? No, there wasn't enough time. He had seconds before they caught him. He rammed at it again, putting everything he had. For an agonising moment, it sounded just like that same disappointing groan from before, a sign the door would be standing fast. But he leaned all his weight into it, the door crashed inward, Willet falling down with. He sprang up, eyes blinking, dust and blood from a broken lip in his mouth. No time to look, he ran inside.

It was an open courtyard, pull of weeds in the cobbled floor, looked completely disused. There were doors leading inside to what appeared to be some kind of industrial building, dark and forbidding, across the courtyard strange brick stacks or towers... some kind of old kins maybe? This must have been a potter's yard. One of the kilns had collapsed into ruin, a tumbled mess of broken bricks. It looked climbable.

Willet decided to run for that, rather than try and hide in the darkness of the old buildings. He made it to the foot of the pile before a Watcher entered the yard. Whizz. A crossbow bolt few past the side of his head. He leaped up the pile, scree falling down after him as he clambered up to get over the wall. As he hauled himself up onto it Another crossbow bolt embedded itself in the brickwork bellow. This was close. He was on the wall, and looked below. Oh shit, he thought, but it was better than the Watchers so he jumped.

The cesspit broke his fall quite well, after the jarring impact it was almost pleasant. Save for the overwhelming and absolutely vile stench of compounded generations of human waste. He hauled himself out and was retched at the side of it before recovering composer and sprinting off in another direction, just as the Wall Watchers looked on from above.

Running through the city had not been easy, blending in when you look like a walking poo monster is a tough enough act on your average day, let alone when the city is turned into a battleground. But somehow Willet managed to avoid the attention of the guards as he fled the city and made it to the south gate. It looked like everyone else had made it as well, even the Sevv bloke, Willet had thought that Tyrr would have killed him, after seeing how he had melted through that wall like butter. He didn't quite know if he was glad or worried to see him unconscious.

"Look, I know I'm late. Let's just go. You can see the shit I've been through to get here."

[Chelubai]

Melluch divided himself from the shadows of his hiding place as more people arrived at the destination. Admits all the greetings the ghost boy positioned himself in the corner of the wagon with his knees to his chest and his chin on his knees. His beautiful but scarred face fixated into such an expression he appeared as innocent and unlethal as a sixteen year old choir boy from a church, his medium length hair in his eyes only strengthening the effect.

When his eyes met the drunken lizard as he sat down, they rolled furiously. He'd seen Fiske several times at the bars in town. Nd if he wasn't mistake. Fiske was one of the regulars he had stolen a coin or two from the other night when he was persuaded perform "Starsong," from which he got his last name. Well, there was more to it than that but nobody in this country would know, considering the roots of the surname where in gypsy culture. "Hey, Fiske." He started, and before the lizard could even turn around Melluch had two coins pressed to his palm. "You might want those back." He smiled and sat back in the corner.

His attention then turned to Sevv as he came to them and promptly collapsed on the ground. Melluch sighed with half relief. So they weren't dealing with someone invincible here, he was human too, albeit a little more skilled than normal... Okay, far above normal if he got Melluch to be wary of his strength. "Lets hear that story old timer. " He murmured, watching Sevv with a wary eye. The man may look youthful but something told Melluch he could be older than a century.

His eyes portrayed a bit to much than would be deemed socially acceptable, and he quickly hid them in his knees. The more boyish he looked after that Fiasco with the watchers the better, they would know he was dangerous, he wanted them to know he was harmless till provoked. He didn't need to have his eyes set on free roam over everything and linger were they shouldn't. Maybe he could pass it off as being overly observant, which he was, but eh.

[Tytus]

As soon as everyone was gathered in the wagon, Old Crow snapped the reins with a dutiful flick of his wrists, sending the energized horses into a frenzied run. The cart whipped back as the hatch closed, keeping the group safe from falling out, but uncovered against the air resistance. The ride would be bumpy and uncomfortable along the way, yet a brief relief from the day's confusion and chores. While the hard wooden boards that held the cart together were rough against the tattered bodies of its tattered passengers, it was smooth and polished well enough to allow at least some comfortability.

The scenery consisted of rolling hills and fading flatland. Destroyed shrines and scratched waystones littered the earth almost haphazardly as they continued down the mostly-linear road before them, while the sky hung in the air above like a sheet of paper; an unwavering azure that laid above the world like a father would look down on its child. An evening breeze wafted through the air as the beautiful view stretched out before the company. Old Crow tossed them some thick wool blankets and cider flasks as they rode onward through time, into an eclipsing night. The dancing myriad stars that only appeared once every hundred or so years glowed before them, and casted upon them an incandescence like that of a nightlight. The old man broke the silence:

"Garod was my friend.

He had been a noble once: long golden hair, a fair countenance, and two dazzling sapphires for eyes that threatened to take the sun's job at lighting people's hearts. He played cards with us, but always lost his goddamn money. Every. Single. Game. He was the only fuckin' noble I knew who could actually be in debt. He never seemed to care, though - he kept playing just for the sake of being with us, and kept a smile on his face every time we took half his chips into our own pile. And even though he was a damned fool - one who couldn't play cards, didn't know how to tie a sailor's knot, and did math worse than a retarded squirrel - we all loved him anyway.

So one night he says to me, he says: 'Crow I got a problem.' I says "What?", and he goes: "I wanna learn how to use a sword." And I mean, he said that in earnest. You could see it in the boy's eyes, he wasn't gonna take no for an answer. So I told 'em "Fine. Fine, I'll teach you."

Next day, we'se training and he tells me he's gonna try out for the Coliseum's next tournament - prove to his pa' he ain't just good for sittin' around and losing at poker. So I train him hard - now I got him running around the perimeter of the city four times a day, practicing his swings while running up the clocktower stairs, and even not lettin' him not come home to his family til he's caught me three fish with his teeth only, arms bound behind his back tighter n' a sea serpent's tail. Day of the tournament comes, my captain says he wants me in there - get a good name for the Guards. So I says whatever, I can just lose once I get up to Garod and give 'im the win. 'Cept, when we finally meet each other, he ain't holding back.

Now, I knew Garod since his parents popped 'im out of their loins, so I could tell he wasn't himself. He kept swingin' at my neck - hopin' to kill me dead in a tournament where death was prohibited. He yelled at the end, but I couldn't hear it - could only hear the blood chugging in my jugular like a pipe, could only hear the roar of the crowd as he flung his blade at my heart. I rolled to the side, and buried my sword through his right ear and out the left.

You think Garod survived that? No. There ain't no magic in this world that can bring the dead back safely, I assure you. Not even the bastard we got floating in the back." He pointed to Sevv. "As a matter'a fact, this is where he comes in.

It's a week later, I've been off duty and cryin' in my ol' cot in the attic since the tournament, and me wife comes in my room tellin' me there's someone at the door for me. "Tell him to go away." I said.

"He's rather insistent." She says back.

So I grunt and says: "Fine, bring the cock in." Soon as he comes through the door I grab my knife and run toward him with the speed of a white tiger on my back. He don't flinch or back away, let's me bury it in his right shoulder - coulda been his heart if I wasn't unbalanced. He looks up at me and says: "Good - now you've touched my blood. We're blood brothers." I look up at him wit' wild eyes and tell 'im "Fuck off." He grabs me by the collar and throws me to the ground. "How long are you going to writhe in self-pity?" He says. "Til you die and meet him in Valhalla? He's probably dropping shit on you like a bird from the Heavens, Crow. He wasn't himself. Garod did not kill you. Something else did."

"Go on." I told him.
He continued.

"The world's not the same. Darkness is stirring from the depths of I don't even fucking know what, and I have few men to my name to aid me in its destruction. He gave in to that darkness, in his desire to prove himself. This is nothing like the books. This 'darkness' has always been from this world - 'tis not from Hell. Before Alenta - they are remnants from the world before us, the one that we still live in but whose true name is lost to us. Aid me in this task. We shall avenge your friend."

So Old Crow joins him. We campaign and get an army, get a title. Sevv becomes King, becomes a Named One. In the final battle, he enters the land of the spirits; the Fae. I never knew what happened there, maybe never will - but when he came back he was changed. The skill he had from years of honing his craft was gone, replaced by the power of the otherworldly. His men didn't like this, thought he'd just get corrupted like the rest, and slayed him like the demons he hunted. His six generals casted him in the Deep Ocean, and took bits of his title. They formed the Council.

The land is fragmented because they decide it to be so. They choose against unclosed borders. They do not want to explore what is between them, leaving a world that is unmapped and ferocious.

But darkness has come from the lack of light spread by his Generals, Tyrr among them. It is time for a round two - another bout against the evils amongst humanity, and the evils not of it.

It's time for Alenta to become what it was."

Old Crow left his words in the air for them to breathe in, and rode in silence for awhile.

[Lydyn]

“I don’t believe I had the chance to introduce myself back in the square… My name is Charon, I am a wanderer, much like yourself, and I too am I hunter of demons and monsters alike.” She smiled politely and took the hand, though she quietly wondered about the man in her own mind. Was it the hostility of the watchers that caused him to be so eager to make passage for his allies or was it a taste for blood that drove him - maybe his lack of care. She would hope it was not any of the latter reasons, but she withheld judgement until his actions spoke to her, letting her relax as best as she could in the wagon. Grumbling almost silently from time to time from how rough and long the ride was, she mostly wrapped herself in the given silence of the trip.

As night started to cover the skies above, she was glad for the blanket that the old man offered them all, snuggling into it lightly as she looked at the other companions. 'What sort of goal brings together a bunch such as this?' she wondered. She knew that each one had walked a different path in life, from one who drank a demon's blood to the healer that wanted nothing of bloodshed. What did he see in this group of individuals - what was the goal? Suddenly, the old man's words broke the silence, causing her attention to focus on him and his story.

After all was said and done, she raised an eyebrow and looked back to A'emv. "Then ..." she started off quietly before returning her gaze to Crow, as he had called himself, "he and the generals were once friends - a group he sought out like he had us? Though it seems more possible that they were not so much friends, if one were to trust the tale, seeing as they grew fearful quite easily." A sigh escaped her lips as she looked towards the others. She had not been given much time to know much about them except maybe Charon, but if this evil truly existed, then it was not the walks of life or skills he was after - it was the hearts of those sitting here, but would they have the courage to at least see where this went, to see how much truth was behind the story? "Interesting.. a darkness dwelling inside a broken world.." At that, she simply relaxed against the wagon's wooden fence. It was obvious she was willing to at least stick the adventure out, the silence giving the others a window to interject their own thoughts.