“The Black Continent has ever threatened Elyden throughout it's history, each incursion we have fought back but not without great lose. The beast men they brought with them still ravage our lands to this day, yet, as the point has been raised before, leadership and unity will be needed more than ever in the coming days. Which brings us back to who will sit as Lord Regent of the Greater Realm. It would seem Lord Flint and Lord James are our staring candidates. The time for speeches, however, has come to an end for I believe we have heard enough and know enough of each man to decide for we have parleyed overlong already, one man alone can hold the esteemed title of Lord Regent. Vote now my friends. As for me and my house, long we have known both the Houses of Conrad and House Whiteshorn. House Conrad for their part have proven indispensable in the security of the seas of Elyden, long have they defended valuable trade routes and become stance supporters of the Royal Navy. However, I must give my vote to one I respect and feel will help our future king steer our realm in the right direction. So in this I shall place my fate, and vote, with King of Odesh and Lord of Amplefort , Lord Flint of House Whiteshorn.”

To that he nodded respectfully in Flint's direction and waited to see where the other lords would place their vote. In his mind he might have been more open to James as Regent, but he had lost all of Shamgar's truest with his disrespectful mock turn to Kammeth.

Osmodeus

King Osmodeus of Alabast sat in the shadow of the great statue of his ancestor. The epigraph below read:

KING OSYMANDIAS MARROW OF ALABAST
THE GRAVEYARD KING
SCOURGE OF WYRMS. SKELETONS REMAINED IN HIS WAKE.
“LOOK ON MY WORKS, YE MIGHTY, AND DESPAIR!”

Osymandias was sculpted in a frightening aspect. He was clad in his infamous bone armour, plated dragonbone which covered him head to toe. His face was obscured behind a mask of bone with slits for eyes and a crown of dragon fangs ringed round his scalp. For all the glory of sculpture, it could not capture the glowing yellow eyes of the tyrant, shining out from his inhuman mask. At his side hung the Makitherin longsword, Gravetouch, the instrument of his defiance against dragon kind. Ancient scripture tells that a mere touch from the blade caused the dragons’ scales and flesh to deaden and rot away, leaving naught but bare bones. King Osymandias took the bones from the dead dragons and crafted them into dreadful armours using magic, raising an army of dragonbone warriors. There remained none of the ancient treasure.

He watched over the stone table in the centre of the room with a cold silent vigil, gauntlet perched on the pommel of Gravetouch, wrought in the shape of the water buffalo skull of House Marrow’s sigil. His descendant mirrored.

Osmodeus’ gaze shifted languidly from speaker to speaker. Nought stirred him till the Voice spoke of the terrors from the Black Continent. He would watch with interest how the other lords reacted. Fight, or flight?

Heldan of The Weald spoke for his lord, a detail King Osmodeus noted. He spoke wisely and eloquently as only a man of great experience could. The older man had been whispering in lords’ ears for generations. The king’s stare radiated through the Heldan as if reading his hidden secrets. He would continue to watch him.

Lord Benedikt’s words were less refined. He assumed too much when he regarded him and Gori Lamillur. No one had said anything about investigating abroad, and the logistics of doing so would be preposterous. You know nothing. Osmodeus met Roman’s sympathetic eye frostily.

Shamgar’s intervention put an end to this folly. It was time to galvanise this summit.

King Osmodeus clasped the arms of his chair and rose slowly to garner attention. He had known where his vote lay for a while. The chirping of little birds had done little to change his mind.

“I vote,” he rasped, his voice hoarse as if his throat had been abraded by centuries of dusty desert air. It was the first time he had spoken in a long while, usually finding gestures and his gaze satisfactory for conveying his thoughts. It was thickly flavoured with the sharp accent of the far east. The next two words would come as a shock to some there. “Shamgar Paragon.”

No sooner than King Osmodeus cast his vote, Lord Barad Anselm of the Weald came to his feet, drawing the eyes of the table.

"James Conrad." Barad declared rather curtly before resuming his seat. He resumed his seat beneath the stone likeness of mighty Yorick: the barrel-chested serf who downed his wood axe during the War of the Wyrms and felled dragons instead. The sculptor had skillfully carved a disheveled yet triumphant champion; muscle rippled under a tattered leather cuirass. Perdition, a blade so sharp and so resilient that it could cleanly rend stone - or dragonscale - in twain, had also been depicted in the sculpture half-buried in the scaly base of the pedestal upon which the victorious Yorick stood. Beneath the grand statue, the same starsteel blade hung idly in the unassuming leather scabbard of her modern owner, having lost much of its magical sharpness to the passing of the cycles.

The sons of Anselm too had been diminished by time. Even now, his descendant gave his vote away for the pocket change of another lord. Barad knew his progenitor would have been ashamed. As the voting continued on, he shot a brief glance behind him, to Heldan.

With a tacit nod, Heldan assured his Lord it would pay off soon enough.

Skyhaven never looked so beautiful then this time of year. It was a lush haven, full of life, beauty, and glamour. It was a place full of promise and hope. It made a person feel safe, regardless of what was happening to the powers in charge. It was a place that would shock many foreigners. Some races have never set foot inside the majestic city, save a few diplomats or traders. It certainly is not the place where you expect a Taurician. Tauricians have never been near Skyhaven, always choosing the relaxing comfort of the sea and the beaches rather then lofty cities on dry-land. A common Taurician saying goes; "If you cant get a boat out from it, then it is not home." It certainly did not feel like home, especially to young Lartha Karacid.

Lartha, who is no older then 14 years old, looked at the city through the hood of her red cloak. It was a beautiful place, a place that was mysterious to her as it was to the rest of her kin. At home, the sea salt provided the only true smell, and many Tauricians feel safer when that smell permeates the air. Here, the smell of the sea was as distant as the Black Continent. The first impressions on the young girl however were not left by the smells, but by the sights. In Civola, the buildings were made of wood, stone, and brick. Here, elegant marble made up ever structure, from the lowest shops to the tallest statues. The marble was a glistening white, and the roads were paved with white stone. The buildings of the rich were trimmed with gold. The city itself gave a fairy-tale impression on Lartha, remembering the many tales of the Olden days her wet-nurse told her when she was very little.

Those fairy-tale days were long gone though, crashing down to the floor as soon as her father hit the hard ground dead in the arena. She has been on the run ever since, fleeing from city to city, hopping that one day she could return home and kill her uncle for what he had done, as well as kill her cousin, the infant prince of the Islands. Her biggest curse however, was not this, but having to be in exile with her older brother. Jo-Gal Karacid, true heir to the islands, yet any Taurician would beat him in a duel if given the chance. He had no backbone, and was a coward compared to the rest of the family. Lartha remembers her aunt Jejin, and how she managed to twist the reigns of power to become a great diplomat for the Islands.

"I hope you realize we did not come here to sight see sweet sister?" said her brother in a tunic, echoing from her side. "We came here to do important business, and business must be done if we are to return."

"I do not want to marry him." said Lartha in a very shy tone. She was to marry a member of a high-lordship, whom her brother calls "the closest thing to a Taurician we can get in this world."

"Sister sister sister....... I have explained this to you many times. We are to simply vote for their family to be regent, you marry into the family, and we go home and put uncle Temir's head on a spike with an army of warriors at our back." replied Jo-Gal

"A true Taurician would stand and fight, not cower behind some army." said Lartha, in a shriveling and weak tone. They walked through the city to a tavern on an empty street near the main palace. There, Jo-Gal entered a room with some other men, and preceded to speak to them. "I give you my vote and my sister, and you promise to lend your army to retake my land?"

"Yes yes yes of course, we are better sails-men then those bastard Taurician savages. I hope you are a bit more civilized once we put you on the throne as warchief." replied the booming man. "Now about this sister?"

"LARTHA!!! GET IN HERE!!" Yelled Jo-Gal into the other room. Lartha entered the room, her head covered by the red velvet hood of her cloak. She did not want her future husband to catch any glimpse of her face. "Remove your hood sister, let the man see what he is bargaining for." Lartha slowly clasped the velvet and pulled back on the hood. Her face was slowly revealed.

Lartha was a ginger, and a beautiful one for sure. Gingers were not rare in Tauricia. Red hair was extremely common among the Tauricians back on the islands. Lartha was no different. He hair was flowing freely and cleanly, like a red fire burning gracefully on her head. Her face was dotted with freckles, but in the way that made her beauty greater. He teeth were perfectly white and her smile was always warm and welcoming, unlike her soul which is constantly tormented by the demands of her brother. Yes underneath all this beauty was a frail girl, taught in the ways of multiple cultures, and always forced to listen to her "warchief" brother. He would be mad and mentally abuse her if she did not obey, and this pulled a physiological effect on her. She was wearing a red dress that flowed down to her feet. She had a shell necklace of rare shells on her neck, and her velvet red cloak only brought out her features. While she may be stunningly beautiful, she was young, and she only recently has started to bleed.

"Amazing! Truly beautiful! If only my master knew that Tauricians would actually be good looking!" said the astonished man.

"Now, lets see the man himself." replied Jo-Gal.

A man stepped up from the back of the room, and moved forward to greet the siblings. "Greetings young warchief, my lady, allow me to introduce myself as James Conrad..........."

Gori cleared his throat silently and spoke up, "I too vote for Shamgar Paragon, for his neutrality and care for both the East and the West."

(yep, that's it, LET'S GO PEOPLE)

"I, too, put my faith in Lord Shamgar Paragon," Roman announced, following the lead of the lords before him. "I can think of no better Lord Regent than he, among the lords at this table. House Paragon has long basked in the light of Elyden, and Shamgar is a just lord. Would it not be right for the boy king to be mentored by a lord of his own blood? Lord Shamgar's neutrality in the feuds of the houses and his ability to bring us together are ideal qualities for the position of Lord Regent."

James stood up and looked at all his allies,competitors and even his enemy Roman. He gave a small smile and said "I vote for Arch Dawnbringer Shamgar Paragon." James then took a seat looking at the other lords reactions.

"I vote for Lord Shamgar Paragon" Flint announced "I believe he to be the best choice for all of this fair land. He will be wise in all matters that would need attending to."

Hzell knew what the message meant, a raid was to take place. The broad-armed man entered the Karacid palace in Civola, wearing furs, a battle-helmet, and a sword he made at the smith a few months ago after his spear was shattered in a merchant raid. Hzell was a strong man, a man who could inspire thousands, and a man who gave the best war-speeches in the world. That is why his nephew the warchief gave him control of the Horde. He has lead the Horde to numerous victories and glory throughout the years. Yet he still has the memories of defeats and deaths. He remembers that arrow from a Phoenix Throne guard killing his brother the then warchief. He remembers the duel between his brother's sons. He remembers one killing the other, and he remembers his grandnephew running from home in fear. He knew what the cost of defeat would be, yet his religion told him he would be served for centuries in Akop's great hall. None the less, a raid was to be organized, and Hzell was the man to lead it.

He entered the throne room to find the warchief was not there. It was odd for the warchief to be late for his own summons. Hzell decided to wait in the room for the warchief to come.

"It has been a while dear uncle since you have pleased us with your presence." Hzell turned around to see who had spoken to him, and standing before him was Guryt Karacid, Hzell's youngest nephew. The man was short and weak for a Taurician, but his mind helped secure valuable information about the enemy. His brain was worth more then his brawn. It is said that no person travels through Tauricia without Guryt knowing about it. "You have received the summons as well?"

"Aye, seems like your older brother wants us to light a town on fire, to show the other High-Lords in Skyhaven we are still here." replied Hzell

"Seems to me that is the case. My dear brother the warchief has been quite busy lately. It seems we have picked up the trail on your grandnephew/grandniece. They are in Skyhaven, with Lartha planning to marry a Conrad." The news shocked Hzell. He was never close to Lartha or Jo-Gal, yet he knew this violated customs.

"So the warchief wants them dead?" replied Hzell.

"Oh no, assassins are non-Taurician at all. My brother says that fighting a man one on one is the right thing to do. He still views them as family however, even if they abandoned their kin. In The Endless plains, the nomads tend to drag a man behind their horse if they wanted him dead. He would collapse, and the sand would tear his flesh off leaving a carcass of Muscle and bone, with red skin. Gruesome sight really." Hzell remembers that Guryt spent two years traveling the continent. "Yet we must be cautious if the Conrads are to use the claims the children posses too.........."

The door busted open. "If anyone is to kill my nephew it will be me. It seems you two have gotten the summons," boomed Temir Karacid.

"Warchief!" yelled Hzell and Guryt at once.

"At ease men. Our target for the next raid is simple." Temir put a map on a large table, and pointed to a part of the kingdom. "We will raid the coast here, and hope to find the exiled Karacids and bring them home to face justice for treason. Kill anyone you find." said Temir.

"Warchief the last news we heard about the children was that they were in Skyhaven....."

"Your news is weeks old. Knowing how this high-lord handles things like this, they will be in his capital by the end of the week, now do you understand my orders?" said Temir cutting off Guryt.

"Yes Warchief, I will get right on it." said Guryt scurrying out of the room.

Hzell remained, looking at his nephew observing a map. The warchief had Blonde hair in a tangled mess. His beard covered his entire face. He was a true Taurician, but he was not an experienced Taurician. "Uncle you will lead the horde to here, and pillage any settlement you find. Bring back any captives. I want them alive do you here me?" asked Temir.

"Yes Warchief." said Hzell.

"Good, may Akop guide your ships to glory............" started Temir

"..................and may Akop bring me home to share it." finished Hzell

"James Conrad." Kenten spoke. He didn't especially trust him, or believe in his ability to lead, but his vote made him all the closer to getting his sword back. An honorable choice, it was not, but Kenten was not an honorable man.

Of Crownless Kings: Chapter One 'End'
68th of Zieliah

Shamgar was speechless, quite baffled in fact. Perhaps, however, he should not have been so caught off guard. The Paragon's had ruled Elyden since its inception, with the vast majority of those years being ruled over by a benevolent king or queen, with the church of the Sacred Flame to guide them. A Paragon as Regent in that light did seem to only make sense. But what truly surprised him as Conrad's support. He had fully expected the man to indorse himself, given his recent actions, yet it seemed what ever machinations he had planned went beyond the Regency. Shamgar realized he might have underestimated the Lord, a dangerous approach he now realized. Surly, after all, there had to be method behind his seeming madness. Yet as quickly as the voting begins, some remained silent, seemingly uncertain of whom they would place their support behind.

Shamgar cleared his throat and stood. “Lords, I thank you for your support. While I never envisioned myself as Lord Regent-- and indeed, would have been more then happy to work with whoever occupied this position. Regardless, if this is the wish of the Great Houses of Elyden, so be it, I shall do my utmost to prove your trust in me was not misplaced. Now, I know he road ahead of us will be hard, I believe if we stay strong in our faith and stand together in these uncertain times. As for the members of the High Council, I believe those who have shown skill and initiative, as well as trust with unwavering loyalty. To this end, I name Roman Benedikt as my replacement for the position of Arch Dawnbringer. I shall speak highly of you in the Flame Keep, but from what I know of the other high ranking Dawnbringers, they much favoured you least I took ill and could no longer serve the role. As for Keepers of Kingdoms, Alistair Suttbray shall remain in that esteemed position, he as served the realm well while under Phoenix High King Taramyth, and I am certain he will continue to do so now. Master of Coin shall go to King Osmodeus Marrow for his support, should he wish to take it. While the position of Firstsword is open due to the relinquishing of the title by it's previous owner, I believe it should go to First Star Gori Lamillur, voice of Ashtoken, for his accomplishments during the Gnoll war uprising. At last, while I know little of you Master Heldan personally, if Lord Barad Anselm is willing to vouch for you, then the seat of the Seeker is yours. Though I will wish to speak with you personally before you officially take that position.”

With that he gave one last look around the great table as he regarded each Lord before added. “Now lords, if that is all. I would like to call to the end of this Summit. We have much to do in the coming days, and little time to do them.”


Chapter Two: A Coming Storm
70th of Zieliah, Year 698

The rancid smell of iron and blood was thick in the air, and seemed to sweep through the canopy of trees like a slow moving plague. The man standing over the last quivering beastling sent his sword through it's back one last time, insuring it was dead- and stayed as such. He wiped his blade clean with a fresh cloth, before resheathing it in one smoothed motion. The sound of movement behind him draw his attention, and he turned to see former Firstsword, Tynacenan of House Selerane, walking up the path behind him with several other men of his retinue. All around them the party was reforming after the unexpected encounter with a Gothian war party. Ealstain Paragon screwed up his face at the stench the creatures made in death.

“I think we got the last of them milord, never knew Gothians to range this far from the mountains.” Tynacenan mentioned before spitting off to the side.

Ealstain could only agree with his assessment. After fleeing the capital city in order to rally support for his claim, Ealstain had taken a trusted retinue of men and women before embarking to Castle Greenwood. It was not long before they eventfully restarted into the Greenwood proper. With help from the Forest Watch, whose captain was a long time companion of his, Ealstain and many of his supporters had managed to slowly gather unseen thus far from the crown. Nearly 6,000 had joined his cause thus far, a respectable amount of support but it was not nearly enough to push his claim. He knew better of course to rely solely on the lords of Aglil.

Still while he had managed to hid his forces thus far, other problems had reared their head. He had learned that forest bandits and other things far worse plagued the Greenwood. Such threats hardly dared to trouble his forces directly, but the common wood cutters, hunters, trappers, or even those travellers passing through were not as blessed. Ealstain had used his time thus far in hunting down wild bands of men and beast alike, which in turn had earned much love from the people in and about the Greenwood. Tynacenan had already warned him that word could spread too quickly if they were not careful. Ealstain knew the wisdom in such warnings, but he could not very well sit still and do nothing for those he could.

Ealstain eyed the tree line as he said. “We shall double back, once we regroup, hunt down any more stragglers before returning to camp.”

Tynacenan handed down the orders quickly enough, sending riders ahead to bring the word to the encampment. It didn’t take long to retrieve their horses, but of the Gothians who'd survived the skirmish, if there had been any, there was no sign. They were forced to return to the site of the battle and burn the bodies. Ealstain knew well the dangers of leaving Gothica to rot, for even a few bodies would produce a black pudding as the wardens called it. At which point more of the vile creatures would spawn from almost indefinitely. The hunt, along with finding a suitably large enough clearing for the fire consumed three full turns of the glass before they were on their way back.

It was well into midday by now. They rode through the forest in respectable silence, where on all sides the sun's light fought its way down to the ground, touching faint here, bold and strong elsewhere. Ealstain had found he had come to love the wild realm that was the Greenwood. It held a mysterious kind of beauty about it he had never seen before. Not in the works of men certainly, not even among the greatest of artists, of which the tilrinics counted among their number some of the brightest of Elyden. He was glad it had not all been cut down over the years of rule of House Paragon, and not just for it's convince now in aiding his cause.

“Milord.” Came Tynacenan rough voice. “A word if you please.”

Ealstain turned to regard the old veteran, a man who had served in his uncles court during the time of Taramyth's reign. He was in his late forties Ealstain would guess, his face showing the lines of age, his beard worn fairly long which held a rust like color to it, while his head was mostly bald, though he currently wore a helm concealing that detail. His eyes however held the kind of energy and sharpness that bespoke of a quick mind. The man had a kind of restless energy around him, as if he had more years in him that what one might first assume.

He nodded to Tyn, giving him permission to speak his mind.

Tynacenan leaned back in the saddle as he began. “Well, we've gotten more lords backing us then we had dared hope for in Aglil. A few of the Royal Army are even willing to fight for our cause, but...” He trailed off meaningfully.

“We need the Great Houses,” Ealstain said pointedly.

“Precisely, if we want anyone to take your claim seriously, we'll need their support.”

“Of course, we do, but who? The Houses are too damn busy biting at one another to see how bad things are getting. I already hear the first snows have been sighted in the passage, it wont be long now before midwinter is truly upon us.” He sighed in frustration.

“Then you need to be the one to show them just how bad it is, you need to pull their heads out of their own asses and show them we need someone on the throne who can properly deal with whats coming. Things are only going to get worse before they get better without the crown; this is a time for men, not boys.”

“I know that, and you know that. It's convincing the Great Houses that will be the problem, some, like House Whiteshorn, would follow the current rule straight into an early icy grave.”

Tynacenan, shrugged. “You don't need to convince all of them, in fact. A few choice houses might be all we need. I know of at least one man who would be willing to listen, if we can get the word past Lochbridge Port.”

Ealstain eyed Tyn warily. “And who might that be?”

“An old friend, of a kind...”

far away…

The dark forest was dimly lit under the thick canopy. Rare beams of hushed light winked through the swooshing brown leaves as a chilling breeze slithered through the ebony trunks. There were soft, crisp crunches of old fallen leaves as a small company of shady looking men, lead by a bald man dressed in a deep black walked through the isolate environment, accompanied only by faint bird calls and their iron weapons.

Suddenly a man in the corner began hacking violently and the others turned to him with a jump, their stomachs curled as they watched the poor man start throwing up red fluids and breathing heavily before collapsing face first in a mixture of soil, leaves, and red vomit. The others quickly went to investigate, the leader being the last in the worried column.

His heart pounded anxiously, something wasn’t right. Then he noticed the tiny red feathered dart in the back of the fallen man as the others crowded around, checking for signs of life. A curse found its way to the dry lips of the bald man, but not before the fearsome sounds of buzzing darts found its way to the once calm atmosphere.

The man swore repeatedly and fled the scene, having been spared a grotesque dart. He could hear the others behind him, howling in a rush of pain, their screams interrupted by horrid sharp retches and dry gags. Suddenly all was quiet, save for the chilled wind rushing past the sprinting mans red bitten ears.

The anxiety at this point had blossomed into an outright fear. He had no idea where he was going, and every deformed dark tree looked the same to him at this point. The darkness swirled the landscape around him as the seed of utter hopelessness took root in his scared heart. His lungs strained for the cold breaths the forest had to offer as he exhausted his burning leg muscles, the adrenaline pounding through his veins being the only source of energy, next to his deathly black fear.

His mind raced along with his clumsy legs, but the forest just kept going, and going silently. His heartbeat was the only sound that thudded in his ear drums, and his body shook with fright, his legs almost failing him. Suddenly a rogue root caught his foot and his stomach felt as if it was to be repulsed out of his body, as if he was to suffer the fate of his company. The adrenaline was banished by pure opaque fear, as was all rational thought as he felt his body hit the gritty forest floor harshly with a loud echoing thud.

He quickly rolled to his back and cumbersomely clammered to his feet, but when he stood up he found himself face to face was a dire monstrosity. The large monster stood like a man over him, and looked like a man, but twisted by evil. Dark hair weaved its way from behind the monsters ears and shrubbed his head in a thick mat. The nose was almost dog like and pushed in, as jagged teeth jutted out as if a warning from the figures bright blood red lips, contrasted by dark coal like eyes and a spotted tan. He was no man, thought the bald leader, he was a Half-Gnoll.

The burning coals of the half mans eyes stared angrily at the other man, who stood frozen in fear. A muscular hand with yellow nails shot out from the monster and grabbed the leaders throat, lifting him in the air with a tight clench against the man's windpipe, a little blood trickling down from where the hideous nails dug into the soft flesh.

A dark snicker boomed against the stone cold wood a the Gnoll laughed, his voice soon being taking over by a serious and deep tone that was laced with every bit of death, “It is not sufficient that we succeed, all others must fail.”

With these few words, every one stabbed the bald mans head with a great emotional strain, as he knew what was to come next, he strained hopelessly against the clawed grasp. After a disgusted look twisted the half mans face into a snarl, the beast threw the pathetic excuse down, the leaders body crashing against the forest floor, and legs cracking off a outcropping of rock.

The man laid there screaming in pain as his blurry vision swept back and forth, staring at the canopies. Tears swelled below his eyes when suddenly a new face entered his view, a broad man standing above him, painted in a dark clay and holding a gruesome and chipped butchers knife big enough to prepare a wyrm itself.

The bald man sputtered, “J-J-Joe-” but he was cut off with a strong and hefty booted stomp on his throat by the burly Joe. The bald man screamed hoarsely as Joe continued his crude and violent attack. His studded soles ripped at the skin and tore it up in harsh tears of blood and skin as the stomping slowly drowned out the helpless yells into a soft and sharp gurgling, until all together with a loud snap, the sounds stopped all together.

Joe looked up casually from the mess under his now red boot. The forest had returned to a gloomy and calm silence once more, only to be interupted by Joes strong voice, “come Cassewah,” he said in a deep and disturbed tone, “The Father of Lies surely waits for our return.”

yesterday...

Kepeshi casually strided into the grand hall of the Skyhaven palace, his padded boots made no sound. As if it mattered, he thought to himself, for someone had already gotten rid of all the royal guard, and when all the high lords were there to boot.

Kepeshi shook his head, “day by day, they just make it easier for me,” he mumbled to himself. The hall had been deserted that afternoon to usher in a night of sleep for their graces, and a young servant knelt in the corner cleaning a boot scuff when she caught wind of the mysterious blackened stranger standing by the entrance.

“oy, you!” his voice bounced off the glorious walls with a volume one octave louder than Kepeshi cared for.

Kepeshi spun to the man, and confusingly pointed at himself while walking closer, “who- me?” He said sarcastically with a slight pause.

The servant began to stand up as Kepeshi stood in reaching distance now “yeah you!”

Kepeshi shook his head and put a hand on the defensive, “ I’m just one of the decorators sent to spiffy up the place my dear lad,” Kepshi said with a reassuring voice, but a very unbelievable one.

“thats the worst lie I ever did hear, you sneak,” the servant spat out.
“well thats too bad,” Kepeshi said, letting go of the mans shoulder, his voice was laced with a pseudo sadness, “considering thats the last words you’ll even hear.”

Kepeshi began to walk away as the man called out after him “what do you mea-”

The servant collapsed to the ground with a squeak as he attempted to gasp for air, his airways painfully swelling shut as he convulsed violently on the ground until with a sudden last jerk, he laid dead.

Kepeshi playfully juggled a miniature vial and a thumbtack sized needle with a big grin as he walked deeper into the palace...

---

“The Black Scorpions”

Also known as The Skinless by the Ashtoken, or Without Token (hero/honor/faith/Ashishian ideals)

The fearsome group of outlaws and contract killers known as the Black Scorpions are a renown organization numbering close to a thousand, though no formal census can actually say. Their roots are rich and coincide with the Ashtoken pretty closely, as Ashishia was their country of origin and they date back over three hundred years, founded as a rogue military operation to combat gnolls by First Star Jufih Aceroth.

They dress in black robes and paint themselves with a clay based paint, just as dark as their ambitions. Very few ever feel it necessary to actually wear defensive clothing as their crimes and assassinations are normally smooth and committed silently. Their weapons of choice happen to be bias towards Ashishian arms, among them being the elegant Ashishian curved sword, nasty desert darts, and the composite bow. However, they have grown into a nasty reputation for using various poisons to aid their kills. Originally when the group was founded, the Ashtoken were exploring new medicines, and in contrast, the Black Scorpions explored new poisons with a range of effects.

They protected the desert and the tribes as loyally as any other Ashtoken for a good two hundred years, keeping honor and conduct up to par with the rest of Ashishian military standards. Sadly, during the last one hundred year stretch they reared off the just course and fell into corruption, as other figures of importance would buy them out to do personal dirty work and smuggling. Eventually the council of the stars were forced to bring up the topic of disbanding them on accounts of criminal activity, spear pointed by First Star Hevi Deprash against the head of the military organization, Lori Deprash, distant cousin of the old Voice.

This did not go over well and an assassination attempt that the Black Scorpions were so famous for was directed at The First Star himself. The plot was foiled by the Ashtoken guard and Lori Deprash was killed in the conflict. Most of the members of The Black Scorpions left the organization or integrated into the border militias when they had discovered the plots of Lori. Not surprisingly though, many of the higher ranked and richer Scorpions delved deep into the endless desert in exile as ‘The Skinless’(coming from their now lack of Ashtoken value and the giving up of the Ash for black clay) to continue their criminal activities in secret, recruiting outlaws and vagabonds of all sorts.

This trespassing didn't last more than a year, as the Ashtoken guard tracked them down, and with the aid of a few magi’s, forced them to retreat out of Ashishia for good. Over forty years have passed since then (twenty years before The Great Gnoll war, ironically), and rumors have it, they are stronger than ever, and providing all sorts of shady services to even shadier clients.

Noteworthy current members:

Skinless Kepeshi, the Bane of Nobility

Kepeshi is perhaps one of the more colorful members of the Scorpions as he is very egotistical, a trait almost unheard of in someone who grew up in Ashishia. He is 36 years of age, but joined the order at the age of 14 after running away from home. He blossomed in the order as one of the most proficient killers and skilled in the use of poisons and the environment for untimely deaths. There is rumor long since dried up that he is a close relative of one of the leading figures in the Tribes of Ashtoken, making him one of the few remaining links between the Scorpions and their old origins.

Lori II

Lori cursed and threw down his real name at the death of Lori Deprash and took Loris title as his own, and convinced the highest members to escape with him to the desert(until forced out of Ashishia), and donned the title skinless. Lori II is now 67 years of age and still the head of the Black Scorpions, and possibly one of the most dangerous men in all of Elyden, as any name spoken from his lips is as good as slaughtered.

Joe the butcher

No one is sure where Joe came from, but he is a good, or terrible, sign that The order isnt exclusively exiled or criminalized Ashishian natives., but has recruited criminals from other regions. Joe’s name never struck fear into the hearts of his enemies, but this was usually because he had already cut it out with his signature cleaver the size of a forearm. He coats himself in the clay like the rest of his houseless brethren, and kills just as well, or better than the average scorpion as it may be. He is a man of little words, but a man who does not hesitate to delimb a target in front of their own mother, as one poor noble found out.

Cassewah Jemjo

A unique man, if one could call him that. His nose is pushed in like a dogs, and his teeth are long and sharp, better to eat you with he might add. Cassewah is a half Gnoll, his unknown mother was raped by Gnolls, and killed by his own birth, his first target if you will. Cassewah is skilled in stealth as well as dispatching enemies from great distances, or in quick hand to hand skirmishes.

As James sat by and heard the rest of the votes he simply smiled. Once Shamgar had made his speech. James no sooner stood up glass in hand and said "May I present a toast to our new Lord Regent. May he and his nephew bring about a new age and prosperity to the kingdom." James raised his glass and took a sip of his wine. After all the lords drank the celebration began and James began making small talk to the other lords.He first went over to Kenton Cragmore and simply said "Thank you for you support once we are done here I'll ride with you to your capital and I'll send word to my son Luke." James nodded as he left Kenton. James then approached Lord Barad and Heldan "Lords thank you for your support. Once I return home you will gladly get your gems. Also congratulations Heldan on being the new seeker of secrets. Perhaps we could talk later." As James left them he gave Heldan a wink and moved on. He went to the Allister "The Fox" "Lord Alister I'm glad you are kept as Keeper of Kingdoms. I should hope you will keep the peace especially with how close to civil war it is." He smiled then went back to his table thinking how Luke and James are doing.

70th of Zieliah, Year 698

"So it's true?" Lord Barad said incredulously, his mouth agape. "You are abandoning me..."

"That is ridiculous, milord." Heldan assured, glancing up from the collection of dusty tomes and grimoires scattered about the desk of his quarters to meet the disappointed glare of his Lord. "I have been a loyal servant of your house for the better part of a cycle. I served in the court of your great grandfather, Hamel. I advised Verrek after him and then your father, Alban, before you. Four generations, I have served, milord. You must not believe I wish to end my service to House Anselm now? Surely not?" The ancient man reverted his attention to an unfurled scroll laying atop a number of tomes.

"I should think so!" The Anselm lord huffed, gesturing to his seer's belongings strewn about the guest quarters he had inhabited for the duration of the Summit. "We ride home to Riddom today, Heldan. Clearly you have not packed and are not ready to leave."

"I stay in Skyhaven until the morrow." Heldan stated nochalantly, furling the scroll up to cross reference against the tome beneath it. "His Regency Shamgar Paragon wishes to speak with me concerning my duties."

"Your duties? What of your duties to me! Seeker of Secrets be damned, Heldan! You are my adviser!" Barad shouted, eliciting a concerned glance from a Royal Guard passing by the door through the corridor.

"Milord, please calm yourself." The Seeker of Secrets pleaded.

"How am I to remain calm when my adviser is abandoning me?"

Heldan sighed as and closed the tome before him with a dusty thud. "My absence from your presence will be an unpleasant change for the both of us, my liege. But it is an absolute necessity; the recovery of the Phoenix Crown is imperative. If this artifact is not recovered with all deliberate haste...

There will be no House of Anselm for me to serve before much longer."

"So I see..." said Barad, now utterly sobered. "But you must understand. These are difficult times. You have guided this House for so many turns. I need your guidance, Heldan. More than ever now."

"And you shall have it, as you and your forebears always have."

At this time, Heldan stood from his study and made his way across the quarters to the horse-sack at the foot of his bed in which he had brought his belongings to Skyhaven. From the unassuming folds of the woolen rucksack, the Seeker produced a hefty object the size of a small melon, wadded underneath a blanket of cheaply-spun linen. The feather and wool-stuffed mattress sagged under the weight of the wrapped object Heldan had taken from his pack. Lord Barad hovered curiously over the wrapped mass as Heldan procured next a small, iron hammer from the folds of the rucksack.

Assured that he had his lord's attention, Heldan unraveled the linen around the object, revealing a block of orange-amber stone as large as two fists. Its surface was smooth and crystalline on its faces though jagged and sharp at the edges, and glowed dimly from within its core. Waves of shimmering light rolled across the glassy facets like running water, utterly mesmerizing Lord Anselm.

"By Kammeth, what is this?"

"A sightstone. Mind your eyes." A perplexed Barad looked up soon enough to see Heldan draw the small hammer and drop it upon the top of the stone. With a metallic clink and a bright flash of light, the hammer broke the scrying stone in twain. Two relatively even chunks and a number of tiny, jagged shards remained of the original stone. Heldan took one of the large hunks and placed it into Barad's hands.

"Look into the stone, my liege. Tell me what you see."

The Anselm Lord peered through the shimmering facets and, through the stone, saw himself from the perspective of the remaining hunk laying upon the bedspread.

"I see myself!" An amazed Barad exclaimed.

"From any one fragment of a scrying stone, one may see and hear that which may be seen and heard by any other fragment." Heldan explained. "With a sufficiently large stone in sufficiently numerous pieces, one could see and hear every happening in every keep in Elyden; spies have long valued them. As such they are difficult to come across. Keep yours safe, and you may consult me whenever you see fit - wherever you might be."

"I shall keep it secure." Barad assured solemnly. "Thank you, Heldan."

"Travel safely, my liege. Be secure in your knowledge that I may guide you whenever difficult decisions may arise." With that, Barad nodded and excused himself from the Seeker's chamber.

As his master left, Heldan wrapped his own sightstone in the linen wadding and hid it away once more. Upon leaving his own quarters some time later, the newest Seeker of Secrets drew his cloak over his wizened face and made down the corridors of the Phoenix Tower - to the study of Regent Shamgar.

Berger Sovanid sat quietly at his desk on the highest level of Talonspire Tower, wordlessly poring over steward's reports and banking receipts. The Bank of Noctua was a sort of monster unmatched in size throughout all of Elyden, and it was quite an impressive feat for Berger to be as involved in its maintenance as he was; all important documents relating to the bank's operations went through him directly, and most of the hours of his days consisted of numbers on paper. It was the sort of daily grind that Berger found comforting—that most men in Talonspire found comforting.

The nearby Talonspire Town was a settlement of scholars and bureaucrats. Between the headquarters of the Bank of Noctua and the most exhaustive library in Elyden, the Laiskas Medjen, there was little room for anyone to live in Talonspire Town who wasn't pertinent to either facility's operations. Talonspire Tower, standing tall over the diminutive town, was hardly an exception. It was a chore to find a single nobleman in the tower's many stories that wasn't either immersed in a work of literature or managing some important foreigner's finances. The capital of House Sovanid was a marvel of architecture that very much represented the character of the house itself. James Conrad the Second, though, was not a Sovanid.

As James went up to the door he was a bit nervous. The Sovanids were always a secluded people, and even though James' father had asked this of him, he wished he didn't have to talk to Berger. James knocked on the door and heard a faint and tired, "Come in." from the other side.

"Hello Lord Sovanid. Might I speak with you?" James asked as he opened the door, speaking nervously.

Berger continued to work as he responded, his attention still on his papers more so than his son-in-law. "I suppose that's fine." he replied, sighing slightly.

James stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "Well Lord Sovanid, my father Lord Conrad asked if perhaps I could stay with you in Talonspire, to help work at the bank and go over finances. He knows how good I am with numbers and thinks spending time at the best and largest bank in Elyden would do me good. It would also allow your daughter Maurice to stay close with you."

Using his gravely fingers to flip over to another page, Berger nodded idly, still immersed in his work. His eyes never once turned to James. "Right, that will be fine. I can arrange for you to oversee the collection of taxes from some of the local businesses here in Talonspire." Berger continued to read, and the room was silent for a moment, but before James could assume to leave, Berger pulled open a drawer in his desk and withdrew a sapphire ring and a key on a looped piece of string. He stood from his chair, and presented both to James. "The sapphire ring is the unofficial emblem of Sovanid bankers. Not necessarily actual members of House Sovanid, but those affiliated with our... 'best and largest' institutions, as you mentioned. If you see a scholarly looking man wearing a sapphire ring, it's fair to assume he's either your coworker or your subordinate. The key has an obvious purpose." Berger paused here, and laughed heartily, apparently considered his statement highly humorous. Wiping a tear, he continued, "Floor six, department three. There will be men working there that can tell you all of the specifics. Was there anything else?"

James smiled "Well, Lord Sovanid thank you for this. Though one question my father did want me to ask. How do you feel about the rest of the realm and the boy king?" James said as he grabbed the key and sapphire ring.

Berger gave a shrug, and then gestured to the sapphire ring on his own finger. "It is imporant to remember, my new son, that who sits on the throne is largely a formality. The noble house seats, the High Council, and the unwashed masses together hold power a hundred fold what the King could ever wield. And once all of those four parties are accounted for, the rest of the power belongs to the men with sapphire rings." Berger chuckled, and made his way back to his desk to work, beckoning James away with a wave of his hand.

James chuckled and nodded to his new father-in-law. He then left and headed out the door, to the third department of the seventh floor. There was work to be done.

((A collaboration between LordZell and myself.))

70th of Zieliah, Year 698

The newly-appointed Arch Dawnbringer eased into the seat of his chair, unraveling the map of Elyden across the flat of the table before him. Roman was dressed in the garment of Arch Dawnbringer, a pearl-colored robe of silk, embroidered with golden trim which gave the impression of flames. Shamgar’s staff leaned on the wall, the badge of office having been passed on to his care. While Roman was not exactly surprised at his appointment by the Paragon Regent, concerning the stature the Benedikts held in capital, he was bewildered at James Conrad’s sudden abandonment of ambition. It had seemed that he was digging everything he could find out of his pockets to secure votes from a select number of houses, yet when it came time for voting, he denied himself his vote. It was counter-intuitive, and in Roman'a mind, he had begun to establish his character as that of a madman without a clear head. However, it had gotten Shamgar where Roman desired and landed himself in the exalted position of Keeper of the Sky Flame. He supposed he could thank the Conrad for that much; it was a first.

Roman traced a finger along the map, absently drawing it across the borders of the Southern Isles as his brain worked. The secessionist Akop-worshipers did not possess the strength to pose an immediate threat to Elyden, but they had been bothering him for some time now. Abandoning the kingdom and lacking in faith, they were everything which Roman despised. Yet they were not the only ones to tease his ire.

The Conrads were an obvious foe, and like the Karacids, preferred their own sea god to Kammeth. But the rumors he had just received of necromancy on the Young Islands were intolerable. No faithful son of Kammeth would tolerate such evil, and the assumption Lord James permitted such practices only served to anger Roman further. However, without proof, even Roman would not be able to adequately rid the islands of House Conrad’s heathen behavior.

The Arch Dawnbreaker thought to himself for a few more moments, brow furrowed in concentration. He'd have to appeal to houses he knew he could count on. Luckily, he had one in mind. Roman retrieved a slip of parchment, dipped his quill into his ink well and began to write his letter…

Their first day of riding was fairly calm, which was a pleasant break from the torrents of Stormgully. Kenten and James rode side by side, one on a diregoat, and one on a horse. They were accompanied from the front and back by half of James' and Kenten's guards, who also had an odd juxtaposition of horses and goats. They road through the countryside with only two banners. One of the black goat, and one of the gold shark. They were not looking for attention, being the leaders of two small houses with only a small entourage to guard them, but they were by no means afraid of the untamed countryside.

James had full confidence that his guards could handle any bandit, and Kenten had full confidence of knowing that the bandits were paid by him

"How long is the ride?" James asked, riding alongside Kenten.

"To Stormgully, three days. To Stonereach?" He pointed to James' horse with one hand, holding the reins of his Diregoat with the other. "Forever. Or, no time at all. Depends on your religion." He snorted with a laugh, while Conrad forced a meager chuckle. Sensing that the joke was lost on his companion, Kenten quickly explained.

"Stonereach can't be reached by horses. Mountain's too steep, too slippery, too jagged. Horses are topheavy, and they tend to get spooked by the thunder and lightning we at Stormgully are so accustomed to." He said. "But the diregoats?" He patted the neck of his goat briskly, and with a sense of pride. "They can reach the peak of a mountain quicker than a falcon can."

Conrad nodded, as Kenten added to his statement. "Don't worry, my men will provide you one by the time we get there. Probably the one my son's taken a liking to." He took a swig from his canteen, which he had filled with Stormgully Ale. "Git spends his time training his own goat. Nevermind looking for a bride, or attending a tourney, or anything normal a young lord should do."

"That's such a shame. From what I hear, he should be a right fine bachelor." James gave a small chuckle. Though he didn't particularly like the Cragmores, let alone trust Kenten, he'd need them, or at least their lands. While he didn't truly understand why Kenten would let his kingdom go to ruin, Kenten made up for it with a rather large amount of rocks, gems, and metals. "You seem rather happy. But I suppose you ought to be, with you getting a sword back. Lord Kenten, if I may ask, how do you feel about the Suttbrays, Marrows, Ashtoken, and the boy king?" James said with a deep look into his eyes.

"Suttbrays?" Kenten shrugged, holding tightly to his reins. "We've been allies for centuries. They know the only reason they still stand is because of Stormgully's metals, and how we guard them from the north. There's even a song about it." He boasted.

He paused for a moment, trying to remember how it went. "Goat fends off hounds while Fox kills him hens, Goat eats his fill, and guards Fox's den," he muttered in a singsong voice, trailing off.

"Anyway, you asked me what I think of Suttbray. My answer is that I don't." He laughed loudly again, slapping his goat on the back. "Pretentious pipe-smoking Southerners, the lot of 'em. They feed us, aye, but I don't see need for 'em besides that."

"Marrow?" He scoffed, smirking and chuckling to himself. "If I was wise enough to understand those skull-fucking Easterners, do you think I'd be talking to you?" He laughed to himself once more. "I'd be sitting on a throne somewhere. Because I'd be the wisest man there is." He drank again, taking deep, loud gulps.

"They asked for my weak, crippled son for marriage. I wondered why they didn't at least want the fighter, but who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth, eh?" He laughed a bit more. "Like I said. The day I understand 'em, I'm the smartest man in all of Elyden."

"As for Ashtoken, I feel a mix of the two." He smirked, as if he knew a secret no one else knew. "Do I understand them? No. Do I think about them? No."

He laughed, taking a drink. "I s'pose their desert sun fried their brain. Explains the mud."

"The Boy-King, eh?" He rubbed his chin with one hand for a moment, feigning a moment of genuine thought. "The Boy King, aye. I prefer 'The Wrongful King'. When I was his age, I was killin' squirrels in the forest and pullin' my pud. Wouldn't know a thing about ruling a country if it bit me in the arse. I think Asura, the bastard, is better to rule."

James gave a chuckle at Kenten's responses. He agreed with him about the Marrows and Ashtoken, but the Suttbrays, Kenten seems to underestimate. "Kenten, if there is one thing I can count on you for, it's being honest. Aye, the desert folk are too mysterious for my liking and now that they are on the high council, makes me even more nervous. As for the boy king, I agree. Asura should really be leading, but what about that pretender? He has my attention though I'm not too sure if I'd side with him." James looked to see Kenten's reaction about his suggestion before carrying on.

"I'd take Asura any day. Lad spoke with me, knows more about running a kingdom than the rest of those High Lords. I hope he thinks of something soon. As for Ealstain?" He scoffed. "Eel-Stain, more like. Wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."

"Anyway Kenten, I always wanted to ask you something a bit personal, and now seems a good time since we're in private. Would you mind?" Kenten shrugged, taking a large swig from his canteen. "Your rule has been known for Stormgully having a less-than profitable run. I'm sure you know that, but, why haven't you tried to change your lands?"

"My lands?" He laughed. "You, and every other high lord knows, I don't care about them one way or the other." He paused, as Lord Conrad showed no emotion. "Aye, I know what's said about me. It would hurt, if I gave a speck of shit about Stormgully." He roared with laughter, heartily slapping his goat on the neck some more.

"Y'see, I've a theory about Stormgully that I'll tell you for two reasons. The first is that I know 'ye wouldn't tell anyone about it. The second's that even if you did, I don't suppose any of those high lord bastards would trust you anymore." He laughed a bit.

"When I killed my brother, it was because I wanted to be Lord. Didn't feel bad for it for a moment." He leaned in to James, looking him intensely in the eyes. "When I was in that forest, looking down at my own kin, beaten to death, I knew it was for the greater good. Cragmore was always ran by unexceptional men, and I'd be the first." He leaned back to where he was on his goat, as if he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary.

"So, as I was saying, I've a theory about Stormgully, and that story about my rise wasn't just to spook 'ye, James." He smiled sinisterly, looking at Lord Conrad. "Cragmore was always ruled by cunts. Unexceptional cunts. Cunts who didn't go down in history for anything but goat-breeding. Same went for Stormgully. Unexceptional land known for metal and rain."

He nodded, smiling to himself. "Now it's known for bandits, thieves, and smugglers. And all their kingpins answer to me. Y'know why that is?" He said, taking a swig from his canteen.

"The reason is that if I hadn't stepped in, Stormgully would've been bought up or conquered sooner or later. It would've been an unexceptional land, ruled by unexceptional men. Y'know what it is now?" He paused, waiting for an answer he knew he wouldn't receive. "The hub for criminals of Elyden.Smugglers, Thieves, Bandits. And I'm their king." He inhaled sharply, smiling. "The Bandit King."

He laughed lightly to himself, with an almost concerning amount of clarity for the drunken lord. "We might be the bottom of the barrel, but at least we're known, and no one will ever try and conquer us for it. And besides," He said, taking a generous swig from his canteen.

"If history's taught me anything, it's that things clean themselves up. Eventually, Stormgully will be cleaned up one way or another, and go back to being an unexceptional land, with an unexceptional history." He laughed again, emptying the canteen down his throat. "Unexceptional history, except for the ten chapters on The Bandit King."

"Anyway, I've told you a secret. Now you. What's your plan, Sea-Born? Why did 'ye vote for Shamgar? Or spend all that for running? Or give me the sword?" He slurred, gripping tightly to his reins.

James smiled and nodded "Thank you for that interesting history lesson. As for me, Kenten, somewhat like you, I want to go down in history. Though my ambitions are far greater. I want it all." James said in a hushed tone and looked into Kenten's eyes "As for me giving you the sword, you'll need it for our coming war. Against who, I have an idea. We can speak more of that privately inside your own castle." James said in a normal tone.

"The voting is to make me seem like a dim witted fool and that I should be paid no attention to. It seems to have worked as well. I have all the pieces in place, and soon they will be used. Now, Kenten, we should hurry. The sooner we get to Stonereach, the sooner you'll get your sword and I, a friend." James then leaned upright and said "Kenten we're very similar, and you should stick with me. Together we'll go down in histroy." James gave a small chuckle and waited to hear Kenten's concerns.

"Makes sense, now that you mention it, and what you say about the future is certainly interesting." He smirked, looking ahead at the path. "And as for us going down in history? Rightfully so, mate." He laughed once again, slapping his empty canteen on his goat, who had been growing more and more irate. "We'll discuss it more at Stonereach."

70th of Zieliah, Year 698

First Star Gori Lamillur, Voice of Ashtoken, Token of the Second Tribe of Ashishia, Esteemed General of The Great Gnoll War, Prophet of The Hero, Appointed Lord of Ashtoken, and now First Sword and Lord Marshal; These are the names Gori had gathered throughout his adventurous life, and the titles he vividly ponders now in a quiet contentment as he sits silently upright on a silken red pillow, his pale eyes closed delicately in a casual concentration, and the mighty Spear of Ashtoken laid across his copper robed lap.

The Ashtoken Guard Elites waited quietly at full attention around him while he deeply meditated in his timeless bubble of colorful thought and enlightened intrigue. Their crimson trimmed black robes contrasted the bright Skyhaven room, as soft golden light peaked in through the lightly draped windows and laid their warm familiar hand over the exotic group.

Gori exhaled as he finished a perplexing thought and opened his blue eyes slowly, his dark pupils shrank to adjust to the sunny light, as if he just physically dove into the deepest crevices of the ever thinking mind and surreal imagination that rules silently over mysterious subconscious. He lifted his powerful left arm towards one of the obedient guards, and twitched his wrist slightly.

The tasked guard bowed his head in humility and swiftly procured a long elegantly sheathed Ashishian curved blade from an idle velvet bag that rested contently on an oaken countertop. The once pearl white bindings on the hilt revealed numerous cases of active use and advanced age of service. Gori's fingers wrapped themselves around the old familiar hilt and with a nod from The First Star, the elite slowly pulled the sheath back, revealing a long finely crafted blade, sharpened and reforged to perfection over a span of more than twenty years, and the very feared edge that bit deeply into the flesh and souls of countless evil gnolls, and all who ever opposed Ashtoken while Gori could hold a blade in it's defense.

The infallible blade reflected the suns beam off it's polished sides and almost shone in a divine light because of it. This blade was considered a young relic, and was bestowed a special name, Lam'token, Bane of the Enemy, for all the times it's carved its way through thick opposition as a powerful and expertly used extension of Gori's own arm.

Once and always held in defense of Ashishia, hero Gori Lamillur now holds this legendary blade, that is now every part of him as he is of it, not only in the paramount and ever vigilant defense of the beloved desert and her children, but for all of blessed Elyden.

As Gori pondered his thoughts while gripping the sword and finding his usual comfortable spot on the grip, the Spear Of Ashtonen suddenly grew warm in Gori's lap and his reminiscing was cut short to heed it's dire warning. The First Star smoothly bounced to his agile feet, Lam'token in one hand, and the Spear grasped tightly in the other.

He twitched his nose and in one fluid synchronized motion, all the guards unsheathed their blades with a loud shredding sound of the Ashishian metal being revealed quickly and followed the vigilant Gori out into the glorious shining halls in a short ambitious jog.

The armed group formed a tight circle, with Gori at it's lead as they made their swift way down the decorated hall, tempered blades ready and in defensive ward.

Gori could sense it, he could even smell it's taint, a trespasser, a bloody murderer, a unhonorable killer with a familiar repulsing scent. His strong hand tightened around the imposing spear and he held his mighty blade close and ready as the expert group of elite soldiers spilled out into the light filled and calm atrium where all the high lords first met.

The Royal Guards posted responded quickly and in a sense confusion at the aggressive looking groups sudden approach, but this worry was interrupted by a loud clang as a chain snapped above the two groups. With in split second a thud sounded and the body of a servant, chilled by the clammy hand of death, collapsed from the high decorated ceiling into a limp heap onto the floor in-between them.

Gori sheathed his blade into his robes belt and held the spear casually in the nook of his arm, "he is already gone," he said dimly, knowing one of the most dangerous men in all of Elyden accompanied the high lords personally for their brief visit to the capital. With this duly noted, Gori figured it was time to head back to Ashishia to contact the council of six, if Shamgar Paragon required no more of him for the moment.

With a click of his heels, the entire company loyally spun around and marched in synch to The Lord Regents Office, leaving the Royal Guards with the suffocated blue murdered body.

-70th of Zieliah, Year 698- Amplefort-

Rowan was walking.
He could not see anything, the sack over his head made sure of that. He could only hear the thudding of footsteps to the right and left of him, and the faint sound of leather moving over itself after every step. The footsteps where heavy from the large boots the men to his right and left wore.
THUD THUD THUD THUD
The footsteps where quite rhythmical. Rowans could not be heard as he was in bare feet, the cold stone beneath him numbing his already sore soles , he wore no leather on his body but only scraps of cloth to cover his modesty.
THUD THUD THUD THUD
Rowan's nose itched, he attempted to cure this but the shackles that held his arms behind his back prevented him from doing so.
THUD THUD THUD THUD
Soon Rowan could hear a rumble from far away, it grew louder and louder as he and the two people beside him grew closer and closer to the sound. Soon a creak was heard from an unoiled door hinge and the rumble grew into a loud boom as a large angry crowd threw slurs at Rowan. The air was different and the mid day sun hit Rowans bare chest. The texture on his feet moved from stone to wood as he soon was made to walk up steps.
THUD THUD THUD THUD
The men beside him soon moved away, as a third person walked Rowan to a spot, he was then pushed lightly as he found a stool infront of him, he soon was told to stand on it.
The roars from the crowd where hushed by a man to Rowans right.
"The laws of Odesh, Written many turns ago , decrees that
'all persons found guilty of Elephant Poaching, or aiding a person convicted of Elephant Poaching, or associating with a person convicted of Elephant Poaching, shall be sentenced to hang by the neck until dead'
Rowan Hill, you have been charged with one of the most heinous crimes that can ever plague this great land of Odesh.
Rowan felt rope on his neck, he was sobbing slowly, he had just needed money.. he knew someone who would have paid highly for the ivory... all he needed was the money.. and yet here he was. He had hoped his wife and children wouldn't have found out, but word travelled fast in the Capital of Odesh.
Rowan waited as the man who had been talking finished, he braced himself as the floor below him gave way, he was falling for a second or two and then.
Nothing.

Luke was at the bow he could smell the ocean and it's breeze. Normally he'd keep his own personal sword the revenge on him however a few days ago he recieved word from his father to bring the cragmore sword and the rest of the family to storm reach. While he didn't give much thought to why he had to do this he was happy he could take Laurel to see her homeland again. He turned around and walked to his siblings, and the 2 Karacid children and said "Once we arrive in GoldCoast we'll be waiting a few days so Laurel can see her father. You are welcome to have a look around just never alone. Take at least 1 guard with you." The children nodded. He then looked up and could see Laurel, he went up to her and gave her a peck on the cheek.

Laurel snapped out of her day dreaming and looked to her husband. "Oh hello" She said blushing softly. Moving a strand of long red hair from her cheek. She was thinking about what she was planning on doing in her homeland. There was so much she had forgotten about, but nevertheless she was excited.

Luke smiled and said "I'm excited to see your homeland. You must show me all it has to offer." Luke nodded to Laurel. "Will you be staying here while I go to stone reach or will you come aswell?" Luke questioned as he moved his blonde hair out of his face.

"From the stories i have heard... i think it best i stay in Odesh." Laurel smiled softly, looking off into the waves. "I am sure you wont miss me to much" She teased.

Luke laughed in agreement then Luke said"I'm sure I can manage my sweet. But what about your family they won't mind us staying will they? If you can my sweet father asked me to talk to flint can you set that up?" Luke leaned on Laurel looking into the waves with her.

"I am sure my Father will be happy for you to stay, he cherishes the bond our families share. Though between you and me i think it is more to do with your navy" Laurel joked

Luke nodded before he could speak he heard the man from the crow's nest shout "LAND HO." Luke then gave a kiss to his princess before returning to the bow and got ready to dock. As they docked everyone was unloaded and they began the ride to AmpleFort.