Dreha had managed to clear out the war room, but the problem was that even though the assassins were bottle-necked outside trying to get in the door, she couldn't see past the immediate to see how the men outside were doing. She slayed another of the abominations and then another, as assassins they were impressive but as straightforward fighters she had the upper-hand. She was trying to keep them at the door, if she could do that fewer could get in. Every time one would make way she'd bash him back with the shield but it was tiring her out. When finally no more came to the door itself she moved to the entry way and took in the scene. Men were fallen, taken by surprise, it was clear from the fight still raging who was winning. The assassins had had the element of surprise and that was all they'd needed to devide Mhundir's men and send the group that had attacked the war room.

"Men, to me... Regroup!" There was momentary confusion, they did not know her and there were so few of them left that they weren't sure to trust her or to keep fighting. "To defend your Prince! REGROUP!"

That seemed to snap them to, several retreated... fighting their way back. Dreha took down another assassin, keen on killing the new threat bringing the soldiers together. When the men had made it back to her, tired and shaken from the amount of loss, they managed to form a ragtag barrier between the assassins and the war room. In the prospect of a newly united force, the assassins hesitated but were no less determined. The small battle waged on.

~*~

The roughness of Kyrtaar's voice made Aevah frown but follow him, she did. When he handed her the stick she thanked him and used it to feel ahead of her so she didn't trip over unseen objects while following him. As he helped her onto the horse she sighed softly, at least now she would be safer from tripping on rocks and things. She was grateful when Kyrtaar took the reigns and led her out of the forest, her mind lost in the shifting colors of auras all around her. If it was alive she could see it.

When Kyrtaar spoke again she nodded, "No need to hurry now, Mhundir is healed. We'll stop for the night, I'm tired after so much excitement and my eyes could use the rest. They still hurt a bit."

She followed him along, his aura guiding her and when he spoke again it was with concern. However, she watched his aura change and spark it's colors suddenly as his mood shifted. She eased the horse up along side him and shook her head, "It's hard to explain... and having the Fae in you now will make you far moodier than you've been before. Their emotions change on a dime, being half feral as they are... I suppose that was part of the price you paid? I can see it in your aura..."

She considered momentarily before trying to explain her reasoning, "You know my past. I had no parents, none of their affection... The healer was kind but she was not the mothering type. She fed and clothed me but the rest I did on my own. I never really had friends, I was different and then when I developed my abilities it drove everyone away. There was never anything beyond a first kiss, that kind of touch... the intamacy led me to see... too much." She smiled wanely, "My parents are dead, I've no family... I'll never know a lover and I will never bare children because of it though I want them... and if I had them I could never touch them without fearing seeing their future deaths."

She shrugged a little sadly, "The group of us are the first I've known of real friendship, street rats and theives aren't good friends after all... I learned early that everyone uses everyone for some reason or another. Such a bitter view of the world makes friendship difficult so those friends I have... I've chosen to hold closely. They help ease some of the pain of the voids that will never be filled."

She glanced over at him, "I'd have done the same for you had you needed it and Mhundir is right about one thing, something is coming... I've seen it when my mind wanders off but never clearly enough to know what it is. It could destroy everyone, everything... Maybe it is foolish to give up so much for a person but everyone dies eventually and forever is a long time to be alone. I'm tired of being alone so I suppose my best option is to keep my friends alive."

Slowly the sun began to set and though Aevah couldn't see it she discovered she could feel the change in the air and the sound of crickets and night time creatures alerted her to the time. "We should stop here for now, it's going to get cold tonight..." The nip in the air was already biting at her skin.

"I tire of voids," Mundhir quipped as he once again found himself in an endless expanse of nothingness. "Am I carrion? Asleep? Worse?"

Nothing made a sound; no one answered his queries. He was alone, in infinite darkness, with only the slow drum of his heart to keep him company. Duranar was dead, though he had hoped Ebli was a mere hallucination - a manifestation of the Ice Venom - he knew it in his bones that the menace had spoken truth. The world had been in a constant revolution of war and thunder for a thousand years... any good God worth his or her salt would have intervened by now.

"So then, humour me," Mundhir spoke again, "what purpose did I serve in the mortal realm? Ebli spoke favour of my actions. What fell plot have I unleashed upon the dwindling peoples of my country?"

Nothing.

The Prince sighed. Dark thoughts started to creep into his mind, and for a moment his heart fluttered as he mulled the possibility of his death. If there was no Duranar, then there was no Undying Lands, and nor was there the Underworld. In the great being's absence, would there be only darkness? Surely his machinations would thrive without him, built from his infinite power as they were? So many questions, and nothing but dread to answer them with.

"I'm sorry father," the Prince said finally with a sad wheeze of regret. "You were right all along; Duranar's will was peace, and I was a fool for heeding vague visions."

A white haze suddenly set upon Mundhir's surrounds. He rolled his eyes as the familiar fog started to swirl, and another aspiration came forth to visit him. As the figure took on solid form, the Prince raised an eyebrow in a mixture of intrigue and indifference.

"You too?" He asked, smiling slightly.

Prince Thrandel had been a handsome man in his living years; porcelain skin, wrapped tightly in the reflective green of Elven silk. Eyes, deep and full of youthful good wil, and the colour of the deepest ocean. A friendly, yet sad smile formed under a hawkish nose.

"So it would seem," the Mad Prince said.

"What fate befell you, after your encounter with Ebli?" Mundhir asked, giving little patience to formality.

Thrandel paced, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped when he spoke, and looked at the Prince; anger twisting his lips. "What you see is my soul; what you see in the waking world is my body. The two were cloven from each other."

Mundhir clambered to his feet, to look the Mad Prince in the eye. "This... does not surprise me, unfortunately," he said, "I have learned much of the world since I came here."

The Mad Prince's anger vanished, and his smile returned. He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, the void does well for one's wisdom. I too have learned much in my time here."

"Where is here?" Mundhir asked.

"It has no name," Thrandel said immediately, as if reading from a script, "it is truly a void. We are outside the realms of logic and time. Trapped with the nightmares of the universe's unsettling dreams."

"Can we escape?" Mundhir pressed, stepping forwards as if doing so would haste Thrandel's reply.

"You can, not I," the Elf said, still smiling. "You carry the blood of a God in your veins; Ebli was no apparition. He came here in person to see you, to torment you - to temper you for his designs."

"I will kill him," Mundhir spat, "and any who aligned to him."

Thrandel's smile vanished, and he shook his head. "No. You cannot. My father tried, and he was an infinite amount more powerful than you will ever be; divine or no." A tear strolled down the Elf's left cheek, and his right eye twitched with some hidden rage. "Though you can escape."

"How?"

"Kill me," Thrandel said plainly. "Kill me; it is his price for your freedom."

"Ebli's price?"

"Yes."

Mundhir shook his head, "I have no weapon with which to run you through."

"Really? I see a sabre in your hands," Thrandel shot back, nodding his head at Mundhir's right hand.

Mundhir looked down, and realised he was clutching his ancestral sabre as if it had been willed there by an invisible force. Hesitantly, he stalked towards Thrandel. "You are sure this will work?"

"Yes."

The Eblistani Prince drew his hand back, ready to run the Elf through the chest; a clean, lightning fast strike. It would be both humane, and-

"No," Mundhir sighed, lowering his blade. "I have killed enough in Ebli's name. He may have taken everything else, but of what there is left, he shall not have."

The Elf Prince looked saddened by this, as if he was hoping Mundhir would kill him. Perhaps doing so would have been a mercy? How long could someone dwell in the void before their sanity was lost to the ages?

"Then you will be here for a very long time," Thrandel said at last.

"Perhaps that is best," Mundhir grunted. "I grow wearisome of being a pawn in another man's game. The death of some hapless Elf's soul on my hands will do little to help things."

Mundhir felt a sudden unease; Thrandel's sad smile flattened, and he peered over Mundhir's shoulder.

"What is it?" Mundhir asked, half-afraid to turn.

"You have won someone's curiosity," Thrandel said, and he stepped backwards, gradually fading away into the darkness.

It was a monster; a thing devoid of all feeling. Neutral, uncaring - not evil, but not good either. Bones ground across slabs of sickly, black muscle. Fangs longer than a longbow's arrow jutted from a skeletal face of unnerving intensity. Were Mundhir not fighting an epic battle within the confines of his mind for the last scraps of his resolve, he'd of noted that the creature was smiling.

"So, mortal, you think yourself able to interfere with Her will?" it spoke, though its fleshless face did not stir. Its voice was deep and guttural, sending slight vibrations through the Prince's innards.

"W..who?" was all that Mundhir could muster.

"Who I am does not concern you, mortal, but what I can give does," it said. There was no emotion to its sunken words, and Mundhir became aware that the more it spoke, the bigger the monster seemed to appear.

Straining his neck to look the creature in the eye, he shrugged, "enough riddles. If you are my doom, then take me, I'm beginning to care less and less with each passing second." He was banking on appearing courageous, but his trembling body betrayed him.

"Tempting, mortal," the creature said. "Though you do not fit my ... criteria."

"What is it you want then?" Mundhir shot back; he brought his sabre up in a futile gesture of defiance.

"To help," it said. "To help you forge your destiny, free from the hands that have guided it this far."

"And," Mundhir chuckled madly. "what price do I have to pay for such a pleasantry?"

"Your flesh."

"My flesh?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

The creature shuddered suddenly, and growled. "I grow impatient. Do you accept or not?"

Mundhir shook his head, "no, I do not. I'll keep my flesh, thanks."

"Then everything you know, everything you love will burn; Eblistan with its high walls, Nillanor with its sad cemeteries, and the lands beyond. All scorched by Her will... made possible by you," the creature rattled.

The Prince was unmoved by such words; he stepped forwards. "I have learnt much since I came here, demon, namely that Gods cannot be trusted, and that their words are poisonous lies. Away from me, before I add you to the list of things to burn at my hands."

"Such hubris. She has willed for this to happen, and I have done what I can. You stupid, stupid mortal, you have no idea of what horror are you to unleash," the creature's voice took on a rasping tone. "Return then, to your precious world, and embrace your purchased doom."

"I accept your offer," Mundhir said suddenly. "Take my flesh."

The monster's terrible grin widened, and it chattered its teeth. "Why change your mind?"

"Because I have lost all reason to live; your promises seem finer than any other, and... I see an honesty in that gruesome appearance of yours," Mundhir said, and paused to throw down his sabre. "I don't supposed you care to give me your name, now that you have my flesh?"

The monster lowered itself, so that its eyes were level with the Prince's.

"Death."

***

Mundhir awoke in the war room; the din of battle muffled in his ears as if he were submerged in water. He raised his hand over his face, when he realised his eye lids would not respond to him, and recoiled as he saw yellowed bones instead of fingers.

"You are dead, Mundhir." the monster's voice had followed him to the waking world.

"You sai-"

"I said your flesh, and I have taken it; you will walk the world without feeling, without weariness, without conscience."

Mundhir mulled these words, and noticed that the pang of dread that had hung over him of late had subsided; the haunting image of an Elf child being ridden down by his rampaging horse nothing more than a grim observation, rather than a soul crushing memory.

"Am I... like you?" He asked, picking himself up from the floor. The world around him was a whirl of violence and bloodshed.

"You are without flesh, without blood and without organs; though others will not see you as such."

Mundhir had heard all he needed; suddenly, he had little care for subtlety. He had come to Baalor a poisoned corpse, and now he was going to leave the ruins a carefully disguised skeleton. Oh, how fun life could be!

Humans fought humans within the war room- but no, they were not all humans. Mundhir's mind recalled the masks the assassins hid behind, and knew them from the night he was infected by the Ice Venom. There was something unnatural about them; something divine and evil. He looked around for his sabre, and noted a woman stood nearby him; a small pile of discarded black clothes around her feet.

"Go Prince. I have removed Her controls over your body, for you are nothing but marrow and gristle. Go and cause Her a mischief, and tell Her that I am waiting."

Sounded like a fine plan to Mundhir; a fine plan indeed. A quest worthy of his uses.

"You there," he said to the feminine warrior, with her scantily clad legs and flowing blonde hair. "My sabre, where is it? We have knife work to do!"

Something shunted him from his blind side, and he crumpled to the floor with the force; he saw the bones of his wrist scrape across the stone floor - though he felt no pain. He chuckled to himself; this was all just hilarious. He looked up to see who had caused such a fun thing to happen, and noted the metal mask frowning at him.

"Welcome to my humble city," Mundhir said, stifling laughter. "Please, stay a while, and let me show you the sights!"

Within an instant, he was on his feet; his fleshless, albeit disguised form was weightless and he felt he was able to move much faster than his former self. The assassin backed up, surprised by Mundhir's vertical recovery.

"Yes, I have much to show you," Mundhir said, and then shoved his bony fingers into the slits in the assassin's mask with a lightning-fast jab. The assassin squealed for a few seconds, and then vanished. "Oh? Where did he get to?"

"They are the Dark Kin, and they serve Her. Men once. Men no longer. They escape my power, and are affront to everything I stand for."

"Is that so?" Mundhir muttered. "Well, let us put them back where they rightfully belong." he cranked his head to the heroine. No doubt she'd stood her ground, defending him for a time whilst he spoke with Ebli and Thrandel. "Woman! My sabre!?"

Outside of Baalor

---

Hazim was staring death in the face. A half dozen Elven lances were poised at him, throbbing with feigned lunges. The warrior did not know the Elderborn to mock the dead or the dying, but for him it seemed they were making an exception.

"Scum," yelled one. "How many dead and for what?"

"Butcherer. Many of our kind will rejoice in your head upon a spike; lo! the captain of Eblistan's whorish son felled finally," added another.

The six Elderborn, with their immaculate steel plates and flowing blonde hair moved forwards to skewer him like a pig. He willed his limbs to move; to react and make himself a prey not so easy to kill, but he could not. His innards were a motley pattern of pulsating pain and crackling fire, having been run through by that Elf's pesky blade.

"Women," he laughed, coughing blood through his white teeth. "You're all a bunch of artsy fartsy women, high on the moon's blood."

One of the Elves seemed to take serious offence to Hazim's words, and he removed his gleaming rectangular great helm to reveal a flawless face of porcelain skin and pink lips. "Make whatever prayers you wish to make, human, your end hath come," he said, adding a hint of what Hazim perceived to be pity.

"Ah, go fuck yourself," Hazim snorted, flashing a bloody grin.

The Elf hunched his lance.

"Duranar! Duranar! Duranar!"

The Elves stood back, cursing themselves for falling victim to drama. Through the chaos of battle, a mamluk contingent stormed through the clash of swords and twang of bowstrings on horseback; they made for Hazim, striking down any Elderborn foolish enough to step into their path. The Elves surrounding Hazim readied their lances, but a brief hail of arrows smashed into their unprotected chest plates. Two fell.

"Shoulda brought your shields, women," Hazim chuckled.

The remaining Elves knew they were outmatched; the lance was the horse' nemesis, but add a mounted warrior to said horse armed with a bow, and suddenly the threat was negated. They backed off, splitting in various directions, calling for their brethren to aid them.

One of the riders pulled up alongside Hazim, and looked down at him through a slitted bronze helm. "My captain, you look well," the rider said with a gruff voice.

Hazim nodded, "doing just fine."

"Be that as it may," the rider nodded. "Baalor is under attack, and the Prince needs you."

Hazim's eyes widened. An attack, on Baalor? Had Eblistan marched on the city already?

"No," the rider grumbled, as if reading Hazim's mind. "Whatever they are, they are not Elf nor are they our peoples. Regardless, we're needed there."

"My men," Hazim protested. "I can'-"

"They will die," the rider said coldly. "In glorious battle, no less."

Unable to resist due to what he suspected was a mortal wound, Hazim was hoisted up onto the saddle, and the group of horsemen sped off; narrowly avoiding an incoming hail of longbow shot.

Baalor Sewers

---

"We're here," Jakig screeched, more than spoke.

Jazeer was startled momentarily, "why the change in pitch, my little friend?"

They had walked into a large chamber, with spherical sides leading up to a giant endless chasm for a roof. Sickly water ran through channels moulded into the stone paved floors, and the smell of stagnation was raw to the nostrils. Though darkness held sway, there were a dozen torches spread about the vast expanse, illuminating random patches of stonework.

"Quiet," Jakig hissed, stepping backwards.

Jazeer shrugged. He had not come so far to turn back, "your people dwell here, do they not? why are you afraid?"

Jakig thrusted a trembling finger into the shadows ahead of them, and for the first time Jazeer noticed that aforementioned shadows were moving. He'd of made a terrible soldier, the Crown Prince, and it was fortunate his disease limited him to the safety of his father's walls for most of his life. Not seeing something so obvious would have cost him his life mere seconds into a battle.

"Not your kind, then?" Jazeer asked curiously. He was not afraid, fear had been steadily beaten out of him since he was first diagnosed with leprosy, and by the wards used to treat it ever since.

The goblin frantically shook his head, and turned to flee. "Run human, run!"

"I do not run, little friend, I only seek to find purpose," he said, before glancing back at the approaching mass of who knows what. "I am Crown Prince Jazeer, heir to the Caliph's throne. To whom do I speak?"

The shadows stopped their advance; muttering broke out amongst them.

"Well?"

One of the figures stood forwards out of the darkness.

[Enter Golem, if it suits.]

Kylmi found herself swindled and championed by Shorus's usual bluster, his confidence and strength did not heed any restriction and while she had formerly dismissed him as a a simple admirer, she found intelligence within his execution when he discussed their intentions and movement. The nymph nodded, her antlers gleaming with the swirling decorations and malachite that winked within moonlight, she delicately wove her fingers into the soil at their heels, sinking her claws in deep as the life within teemed and writhed at her call; the thickets swarmed with a plethora of thorns and vines as thick as her arm, clenching into coils at the roots of the brush they currently took refuge in. Using Bones' eyes, she honed in on the tent that Shorus had indicated, a quick scan provided that Tarwin was scouring out opposite tarpaulins pulled taut and hammered effectively, their flaps barely disturbed by his evasions. She signaled that she was prepared with a lift of her thorn crusted blade, Bones' mimicking her salute with a toss of his head and rattling the bones interwoven through his overgrown, ebonnette mane.

Shorus would be a tough act to follow, his effective charge into the encampment signaled by the clash of blades and armour, the Elderborne and all their skills paling in comparison to the wrath bridling the Minotaur as he roared and tore through the guards surrounding the Mad Prince's tent. Kylmi drew in a breathe, withholding it in her lungs and breast as she mounted atop Bones and rode down after Shorus's charge. But her preparations were nearly for not, a terrible thunder clapped within, stealing all breath and reason as she fell from atop her mount and rolled upon the earth in a terrible confine of agony. She screeched, her hawk's cry piercing the air in a ear splitting call that capered across the encampment and drew attention by the immaculate enemy gleaming and clashing against their Mamaluke opponents. The temporary distraction proved beneficial in some, damaging in others as soldiers fell upon the blades and lances of their aggressors. Bones reared, his voice shattering through her consciousnesses and booming in all of its fury:

Get up you fool, or I'll trample you right here instead!

Kylmi's body trembled, suddenly encumbered by her armour as she pulled and tugged upon the tangled threads of her harsh companion, but her eyes, lined in silver and glowing, flickered towards the horizon, dark and woven in shadows, she could see the massive cloud rising above the canopy of Uchfos, coiling and conglomerating into a single, wreathing darkness that spun and ascended higher above the tree tops. With Bones' eyes she could see the finery in details of feathers and leathery wings, every species and creature of flight suddenly disturbed by whichever threatened their mortal plane. Kylmi's heart pinged with the forest's wail, a silent, moaning anguish as the borders resealed themselves and became festooned in thorns and roots, tree trunks swelling in size until all potential nooks were compressed. Another clap of thunder tore through her as she pulled herself upon Bones', throwing her leg over and leaning heavily against his heaving flank as he retook the charge towards the Mad Prince.

Something had happened, something was happening - something was coming.

---

The nymph though had a quest, a designation and one way to figure out whichever was happening was to interrogate one of the focal players in this prophecy of doom. Kylmi seethed against the pain, trying to shelter the earth's sighs of terror as Bones galloped past elven soldiers falling to the Minotaur's merciless assault.

The forest kin did not know what she would find upon entering the tent, she had left Bones outside, listening to his irritation and overall furious qualms as he stomped his hooves repeatedly and spun in mad circles as he awaited his charge, and Kylmi was not prepared for what she saw therein.

"It is she that comes to greet me, but She that has done this to me. And to you. Do you want to know what She has planned for you? For The All." There were no eyes through the slit in his helm and his calm exterior was only split by the manic simper stretching across his cheeks; he was aged in every way she knew, much like she herself was. There was a kinship of pity, but Kylmi did not have sparing notions for those that had burned her homes many times before. She wonders if these Elderborne knew of the glory that was once her Isildier. Would this ancient insanity know?

"Who is She?" Was all Klymi had to inquire, posing her blade of thorns upon his brow, honing in close to the helm, the tines throbbed in tempo with her heart, bidding to be extended. Outside, Bones began his usual ticking, a vibrating sound of annoyance.

"She is that which wills all to come, a calamity and ruin, a fire that will reach beyond your forests and your walls. She has made her Chosen and her desires cannot be thwarted." His tone was an ascending madness, but almost desperate, as if repeating from some other being that whispered and uttered these reflections. Kylmi's eyes narrowed as her vines snaked beneath the tent, coiling up and around the Prince's gleaming armour and his tall stance, cording tight as he did nothing to disturb her, as if without his soul and reasoning that would bid him to react normally.

But he did seethe at her, baring a grimace of disgust.

"You are nothing, you'll be nothing, just like I - you'll suffer a loss that is eternal, an aching pit of despair within your body. You'll rot, decay, much like the wilting plant you are."

Vines closed up around his lips, snaring him shut with a clench of her hands as she trembled with the wealth of everything he spoke of, of his insanity and manic intelligence that bore into her. Her former pain and the forest's response affirmed of this Queen, of She he spoke of. But now as she snared the Elderborne within her vines, she felt something that sunk deep into the flora, a deep loss and hate, something seeded by means of ancient magic and history. Kylmi shuddered with it, whistling for Bones who tore through the tent's external skin and trampled the posts with vicious kicks and snaps. His hooves flashed and his gnashing teeth bore into a snarl when Kylmi hoisted their charge upon his body, using vines and plants to secure him into place. Beneath all the greenery, she heard a soft murmur, a whisper that slunk across her skin and bones and struck inside her mind.

"You can't stop it, no one can stop it."

---

Kylmi ran through the encampment, her eyes scanning with flickers of silver and white as she tried to locate her companions, but nothing could be seen beyond the onslaught of blood and death, bodies littered the earth and the soil became swollen with their life, heavy and thick, over flowing with death song as the world around her moaned and wept, making her face contour into one of tragedy. The nymph lowered her stare, not wanting to witness the vacant gaze of the dead as she led Bones through the masses, upon her treads flowers and vines crawled, smothering over bodies and blood, staining most of the spring colours in hues of carmine and black. She knew she had to meet up with Shorus and Hazim later, followed by Tarwin some where in the confusion, no doubt they'd want to kill the Mad Prince upon seeing him mounted upon the vicious Kelpie, but she'd attempt to reason with them beyond all means.

And so she traversed across the battlefield, veering off in a sprint as the trio of nymph, Fae beast and elf circled around, searching in vain for the Captain that was no longer present among his troops that were dying for whatever cause was deemed worthy by their God and she wondered briefly if death was a price they all were going to have to pay.

Surely Mundhir would not ask that of them, right?

Shorus felt sorry for the poor Elderborn soldiers, with such a crazy leader they stood no chance. Shorus remembered his own idiot captain and the reason he left the Minotaur militia and his home village..
But a war is a war, and if he won't be able to destroy the enemy soldiers, they will destroy him and his friends, so without hesitations the Minotaur waved his axes and the head of the last guard rolled to the ground.
Shorus looked at Kylmi from the corner of his eye and a grimace of horror appeared on his already not so pleasant face. "No!" shouted the Minotaur as he passed the dismounted Nymph and jumped into the tent before she could enter it. It was not Shorus's first attack on an Elven leader's tent and he knew what can be inside, that was the reason he told Kylmi that he will be the one entering the tent and capturing the mad Prince when they talked earlier. A loud explosion thundered from within the tent and Shorus flew out of it, landing by Kylmi's feet. The Minitaur's face was scorched and he was holding 2 Elven fire crystals in his hands. "Now it's safe!" said the Minotaur to Kylmi and passed out. When Shorus regained consciousness Kylmi was already standing above him, with the mad Prince entangled in vines on the back of her monster horse. " Shorus is feeling fine! said the Minotaur to the concerned Nymph while getting up on his feet through the pain. The Minotaur understood that Kylmi has better chance to get out of there alive without a wounded Minotaur by her side. "Strong like always! Roared Shorus and waved his axes. The Kelpie looked at Shorus with disrespect and giggled. "I will see you in a soup before you will see me dead!" Shorus answered the monstrous creature. "Go, Shorus will be good!" said the Minotaur to Kylmi in a confident voice. After that the Nymph rode away.
Shorus felt the blood dripping from his wounds into his armor as he turned away towards the shadows, but there was something in his supply bag that was worth the trouble, while in the tent he found the mysterious goddess's holy symbol. That little piece of wood will finally tell him and his friends who are they dealing with.

As Shorus's blood got absorbed by his armor, something unusual has happened. Something that haven't happened since the days of the first worldbreaker.
The armor suddenly changed and with outstanding precision enveloped the Minotaurs body. No more gaps between plates, the pieces of steel chain that Shorus used to connect the parts of the helm to make it fit to his not human head have fallen to the ground as the helm became an exact match to his head. Even his horns, tail and hooves were now protected by the black alloy of the armor.
Shorus understood that the armor has now found him worthy.

The Minotaur quietly followed the shadows and avoided the moonlight as he made his way out of the Elven camp, it seems that Kylmi's wall of thorns have done it's job and prevented the Elven soldiers from following long enough for him to disappear into the darkness. His armor as if it had it's own intelligence had tightened in all the right places and acted both as a pressure bandage to stop the bleeding and as a support for his broken ribs.
It took him a while but finally Shorus managed to arrive to Hazim's camp, he wasn't fit to fight at the frontier in his current condition, so he looped around it and crashed at the rear of the camp. One of Hazim's healers has recognized the Minotaur and attended him, Shorus didn't remove his armor, because now he didn't have to. The Minotaur just willed the armor to open like a shell and allow the healer to access the wounds, and the armor obeyed.
While lying inside the first aid tent and getting treated for his wounds, burns and broken ribs Shorus asked for the guards to call Hazim. "I have something important to show him." said the Minotaur calmly.

Dreha was, for a moment, surprised by Mhundir's sudden appearance in the fight and when he asked her about his sabre she had no answer. She'd been too busy in the fight to notice where his blade had gone but she promptly looked about as she fended off attackers. She'd only ever been around the prince himself but a few times but she was certain something odd was going on with him, especially when he started to talk to himself. She worried momentarily that the ice venom that she'd heard he had been inflicted with had damaged his brain... but the way he moved and fought assured her that he appeared unaffected by the poison, at least in body. Also, there were none of the blue veins on his skin.

As he called for his weapon again Dreha finally found it hidden beneath a pile of clothes and tossed it to him along with a shouted warning, "On your right!"

She braced herself under her shield as one of the assassins took a reckless flying leap, trying to get over her defenses. She was forced down to one knee with the weight of the blow and then delivered her sword through his middle and then yanked it to the side... eviscerating him before he vanished. Her arms ached from the sword and the shield and if she didn't want to tire too quickly she'd have to alter her tact. She dropped away the shield and felt some of her energy returning with the drop in weight.

Kyrtaar

Kyrtaar looked at Aevah when she mentioned the Fae in him. No use hiding that. "Yes, I have taken on some Fae" he said. He listened to Aevah's reasoning, it made sense to him. But he still felt bitter. "Everyone uses everyone eventually. There are the powerful who use, and the weak who are used. I don't have the power of Mundhir just given to me, the ability to throw lives at a problem until its goes away. Whatever is coming, Mundhir will use the same tactic everyone else will. Feed it human meat until it stops."

As the sun began to set, Kyrtaar would dismount, and help Aevah dismount as well. He tied the horses to each other to prevent them from leaving, and began collecting the tinder and small things they had in their bags for a fire. He took his bow, and arrows, and broke them to feed to the fire. He figured with his strengthened abilities he would never need it again. He shot a small ball of energy into the tinder, causing it to combust. He helped Aevah sit next to the fire and then he went to the saddlebags to remove the dry rations they had been given, and returned, placing the food in her hands. Kyrtaar ate in silence, and stared into the fire. Eventually, Kyrtaar laid down and went to sleep for a mere hour. He dreamed of the sky burning and the world coming to pieces around him as he ran into an infinite void. He woke up in his cold sweat, and sat up. He then tended to the fire until morning in silence.

---

Lazuli

Lazuli had heard the goblins coming. Often times they let the small green creatures pass in peace, but when the goblins tried tricks they were killed. Sometimes they brought prisoners or sacrifices or gifts to the goloms. But Lazuli and it's kind didn't care. They waited in the dark. Watching. And so it was when Jazeer was was brought before him. The goloms gathered slowly, what was left of them watching the sickly man approach. They stood in the shadows watching him. Many of the ones that stood around him were silent and had lacked or lost their sentience.

Lazuli approached, his blues eyes glowing in the dark before his body broke out of the shadows into the light. It spoke, the voice being gravely and bassy, the lips moved with the words but the noise didn't seem to generate from the mouth. Lazuli felt compelled to speak and interact. "Crown Prince Jazeer." It said before pausing for a moment. "This one is called Lazuli." It looked the prince up and down, sickly. Dying. Weak. But Lazuli's prime directive was to protect, to serve. Prince meant one of having power, and Lazuli, having no allegiances to anything felt compelled again, to assist the man. "What do you want? What have you come for? Do you need my assistance?" It asked the prince.

Lazuli waited for the reply, and looked around, looking at the goblins cowering in fear of the stone creature, almost 3 times their height.

Aevah could hear the bitterness in Kyrtaar's voice and sighed softly, deciding to let it go for the night. On the one hand she agreed with him. If nothing else, living on the streets had made her cynical. She knew better than to believe someone wouldn't use you if given the chance but on the other hand living that way gave only loneliness. She was about to go to sleep when something hit her, hard like a massive headache. She laid down and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ride it out as Kyrtaar slept... It was only after an hour of pain that she dared to try and move, and stepped outside her body.

Without the weaknesses of her physical form she could see fine, she could see the moonlight, she could see Kyrtaar and his aura. She could see fireflies and their auras... like stars over the field. Then, she felt as if she was being dragged... pulled along by some invisible force. She fought, hard.... She knew what could happen if you left your body too far behind. In moments all her fight became for naught as things around her shifted and changed. Suddenly, she was in the middle of a battle looking out of someone else's eyes... She wasn't sure whose but she found herself throwing a skeleton a sword... a skeleton wearing Mhundir's clothing.

Your sacrifice was for naught... he abandoned his flesh and now is alive by fell magic. Your sacrifice was for nothing... use the vial.

The voice whispering in her ears was the Norn? Or was it? She couldn't tell, it sounded like a young girls, a woman, and then an old crone.... all jumbled into one. Past, present, future... it threatened to swarm her. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, when she opened them there was nothing... nothing at all but she could feel the cool of the wind on her skin and smell the rain on the air.... or was that the dew?

She heard Kyrtaar wake and could feel vague warmth on her skin... it must be early morning. She heard him begin tending to the fire and scanned the field, she might be blind but seeing auras meant that maybe she could still hunt... if she could see her arms. She held her hands out in front of her and discovered she could see nothing of them. She sighed, it would have been too good to be true if she'd been able to. She could see a rabbit and wondered if she told Kyrtaar where it is if he'd be able to blast it without turning it into a charred mess...

"I'm sorry... I can't hunt but there were some dried fruits and salted wrapped meat in the saddle bags... The bread is probably stale, but it's better than nothing..."

As the guards left the first aid tent to search for Hazim, Shorus tried to sit but with swollen muscles it was not such an easy task. His ribs were already patched together by the efforts of the healer and his potions but the Minotaur still suffered from the burns and the soft tissue damage.
Shorus laid down and started to examine the strange piece of wood that he suspected was the holy symbol of the mysterious goddess.
It was round with protruding bulges from all sides and resembled something between a star and a human skull. The wood was just local wood and it seemed that the mad prince or one of his servants made the symbol themselves from an image in the prince's mind.
Nevertheless there was something disturbing about that symbol that made the Minotaur feel uncomfortable. Shorus shove the piece of wood back into his supply bag and made an effort to finally sit up. "No time, make your potions heal Shorus fast so Shorus can fight!" said the Minotaur to the healer. Shorus understood that something big is going on and his friend will need his help.