**~ Around an hour ago ~** The horizon was tinged in a new shade as the sun began to set, a soft wind blew across the grasslands, not much was to be heard but the sound of birds and a slight rustling of leaves. somewhere in the ever stretching meadows, resting on a hill, Seth looked up at the darkening sky. The stars started to appear and soon the first moon would rise, followed by the other two, Taking this as a cue to move Seth put away the book he had been reading storing it into a bag he carried with him and got up. Around him there were seemingly endless fields of grass, flowers and certain other plants. He had been waiting darkness’s approach before heading towards Amaryth, not wishing to make his presence known he had decided to take full advantage of Gammel’s positioning towards the end of cycle, a few more days before it reached its peak, but the bursts of invisibility his Relic gave him at these times would be enough. After getting his bearings, Seth began to walk towards a path not far from where he lay, one commonly used by travelling merchants wishing to get to the lakeside city, upon arriving there he continued heading to Amaryth, he knew it was about an hour’s walk, but he had been resting for a fairly long time, and if nothing got in his way would arrive at the city as night settled its dark embrace. **~ Now ~** The City of Amaryth was quite a sight, Walls stretched around it with huge gates being the only paths in and out, the city seemed to stretch into the oceanic lake itself, almost as if hovering above it due to it covering all of the bit of land that went into the lake area. Seth had left the path he was taking, hiding his daggers on straps on his ankles, inside of his pants. And making sure his amulet was out of view he entered the main path leading towards the city. A couple more minutes of walking and he reached one of the gates leading inside, entering the city he looked at his surroundings, it had been a while since he came here and he wondered why The Gatekeeper had summoned him. He decided to make his way to an inn, and look around to see if he could find any hints as to where The Gatekeeper might be seeing as no info was left in the note besides the part telling Seth to make his way to Amaryth as soon as possible.

_Roan _ Roan eyelids were heavy and threatened to close while he forced them to stay open and lingered onto the man that stepped forward. Despite the exhaustion washing over him, the his weary mind took in the details slowly and carefully. The first thing he noted was the fact the stranger literally towered over him. His built and figure seemed thickly built enough to haul trees with only minor trouble, covered in head to toe with black armor. The man’s face was hidden completely under his helmet making Roan wonder if he was roasting from the spring like weather but his mind didn’t bother to care. The pain filled Roan’s mind, feeling weakness pour into his limbs and the only thing which kept him a man. It wasn’t as if his relic wasn’t trying. Even in his terrible shape, from the moment the blood reached his eyes Roan could feel the magic tingle and try to spread only to fail in holding its sway over him. There were questions of why. Easily answered with the obivious evidence staring him back into the face, ranging from scared the change might kill him to the fact he had little energy to move at all. He knew it didn’t matter now. "If I had wished to slay you I would have attempted so already." The strange man said calmly, seemingly unworried or disturbed by Roan’s last transformation. A fact the Kalesian ex-soldier was certain had been witnessed earlier. "We best get you to an apothecary." Roan stared harder at the man, though his eyesight was starting to fail, while he put his weapon away. It wasn’t hard to noting the lack of fear or cautious nature within the stranger’s reaction which made him edgy. Anyone, normal that is, would’ve taken one look then high tailed it away from the monster, not to it. For several moments, Roan was quiet. His mind mentally debated or judging for himself if he should risk using the man’s help. However, he was in little position to deny help when he couldn’t walk on his own. “You’ve been the first I’ve met that hasn’t. “ Roan said his tone held tight and forced himself to move, feeling the pain raging in his body. The knife had been and still was rather close to the spine. When the agony settled within his mind, Roan realized this wound mended like the others had. Most were mended within a small amount of time unless they were of a very grim condition, then it look only a bit longer while in his more beastly mode. However it seemed there wasn’t that usual tingle or mending at work now. This fact worried him much more than he wanted to admit to himself. He had great difficulty when he finally pushed himself to his elbow, tilting his body forward and weakly motions for help. His other held out and gestured for help from the man. “I’ll have to lean on you… heavily.” When Markul hoisted Roan up, gently or not, he fought back a scream when the wound flared at the movement. His muslces tensed and instantly his legs nearly collapsed from under him. The balance he had fairly gain was quickly lost when his eyesight finally completely failed. His lost any pitiful grasp he had, weakened by the energy spent and blood still seeping from his wound, causing him to crumbled, passing out completely forcing Markul to haul him out. Sadly it would’ve seem Roan’s actions lately had drawn his unwanted attention right back to him. A man, his tunic crumbled and stained from head to toe, emerged from the shadows where Roan had came. His one eye had been slashed vertically until it was nothing more than a useless thing leaving him blind on one side. In one hand he cleaned his nails, idly picking out the dirt with the tip, as he raised his head to the pair. He paused, raising his hand to push away the greasy hair and studied the much larger man in consideration. Namely if he wanted to risk the hassle for whatever gold was Roan’s bounty. The hunter’s lean figure eased slightly when he spotted another man who’s barrel middle bounced with each walk before halting at the first’s shoulder. “‘ey, yorse a big lad, ain’t ye?” Stated the thinner one, his eye lingering on Markul for a moment then shifted down to where he spotted his prey. In his head he measured the distance, judging a good few feet between the three, while his tongue started to concocted a lie. “If ye be kind ‘nuff and set our friend down there, we’ll let youse be on ye way...sir.” The addressing title was said with a tone crossed between mockery and a snide joke among the pair. Mainly as the fatter one snickered, his red hair collected about his forehead, while his hand muffled the snorting end it ended in.

Myth rode slowly into town, giving the guards a gold coin to keep their mouth shut (as his father had told him), and then continuing on his way. The main roads up to the marketplace were clogged with all sorts of people, primarily Othean for obvious reasons. He dismounted shortly into the city- wearing armor that is not used anywhere on the continent, or having features that are uncommon among common men almost everywhere. Once dismounted, he continued into the city, looking for a decent inn to stay at. Finally spotting one after several minutes of walking, he headed towards it. At the moment, he wasn't enjoying himself- he was on alert. He walked past patrols, both Idris and Guardsmen, both of which he went out of his way to steer clear, while making sure that he didn't go into the dark alleyways. He was confident of protecting himself, but what lurks inside, he didn't want to know, nor did he want to find out what might happen to his coin if he did. A pickpocket may get his money without him even noticing- which is why he was on such a lookout. As he picked an inn- The Travelers' Rest- and told his horse to stay, one such pickpocket slipped his hand to his belt, grabbed his coinpurse, and very casually walked away. Unfortunately for him, Myth wasn't entirely unprepared for a said encounter, and a rare string had been tied to it- essentially, one that could stretch. When the pickpocket walked a single pace, he found the coinpurse suddenly yanked out of his hand, his new prize gone, and a very angry foreigner glaring down at him, fingering the hilt of a longsword and throwing knife. The pickpocket promptly ran away, fearful for his life. Some minutes later, Myth came out of the inn and set about unsaddling his horse in the stable that was kept just behind it, accessable by a narrow alleyway that only led to the small, cramped barn. It was there that he finished taking care of his horse, and set off to explore the city. His first stop was, of course, the Royal's Palace or Citadel or whatever they wanted to call it- on his way up, he would pass through the marketplace, and maybe buy himself some snacks.

Markul simply stared, sighing softly at the man's words. It seemed either he didn't trust him or he had given up. Either way, it did not matter if he trusted him or not: If he didn't accept his help, he was dead, and if Markul chose to betray him, he would also be dead. A 50/50 chance of survival is superior to simply dying. **"I do not wish to allow a man to die alone in an alley for no reason."** He stated calmly, dropping to a knee. It would seem he was far too weak to walk, which was understandable. A normal man would likely have died already. He lifted him up, placing him over his shoulder. He was heavy, though manageable; a man of Markul's immense stature could easily carry him. He seemed to lose consciousness, which would at least help with the pain... Before he could turn to leave, however, the rats arrived. A pair of wretched, worthless souls. It was plainly obvious they were up to no good, likely simply vermin that scented blood, coming to steal the valuables of a fresh corpse. They had asked him to give them the injured evoker... it was clear by the man's tone alone that he was lying... Ugh, he had no time for this. Without speaking, he pivoted his foot. A simple, innocent gesture... Stone rods, each as thick as a man's fist rose around the two men, like the bars of a cage. The rods were tall and the gaps between them thin enough to completely imprison the two men without assistance... He rose another, thinner rod near him. **"I do not have time to waste on scum like you. Leave, or I shall break every bone in your bodies..."** He said, pouring every ounce of menace he could into that statement. He reached over with his free hand, and with the help of a small amount of geomancy he made it look as if he snapped the rod in two with one hand... **"Speak to anyone of what you saw, and I will find you..."** With that, the rods imprisoning them lowered... Though he still held the stone beating stick in his hand...

The reedy man, otherwise known as Alis by his comrades, had his eyebrow raised upward and his lips pressed into a thin line. At this moment, his ‘worldly’ patience threatening to come to a fast close. Mentally he debated on which was more trouble in his thoughtful options. Either attempting to distract the man or kill him because both ways got him his prize. They been tracking this particular evoker for months, namely since they first got the information he was wanted by the Kalesian Empire for the slaughter of his pals. In a small way it was justice and payment rolled up into one. Not that Alis or his crew cared about the prior at all. All that money was all that brought him, Bart and Corth, to this stupid city called Amaryth and risk their lives should the Inquisitors attempt to caught wind of their profession. Alis’ good eye lingered on Roan’s unconscious figure saddled over the larger stranger’s shoulder like a heavy sack of flour. The eye sharpened and noted something odd about how this brute could hold such a thick ex-soldier. There was the notable lack of stress and difficulty, making man seemed beyond human and thoughts flooded his mind. Ones which worried the him most. Could this stranger be an evoker? His question was shortly answered when he noted the man move his foot, ever slightly, in a causal way. Any other time, Alis wouldn’t have thought much about it and cursed himself later. Stone rods erupted from the ground at their feet and shot up, causing the two to press together, their eyes wide in shock. Each rod stood too close together to allow either of them to be able to squeeze, Alis’s dagger dropped in his haste to back up and avoid being belted in the face by one. His teeth gritted in anger as he never broke his glare at the man’s speech. Damn it, the bastard was an evoker!. It was the one thing Alis didn’t count on. He didn’t know evokers were like rats and tended to swarm together, his fury at being denied his bounty growing within his heart. His hands had started to ball into fists, seeming not to take the man’s warning into his mind when they were finally released. The rods melted down and crumbled back into the earth, strictly where things belonged. “Youse gonna pay for tis. Ye hear?” Alis hissed under his breath, noting the thinner rod still hanging around within the stranger’s hand. Bart, his companion, on other hand was trembling. The fat fellow’s meaty hand crasped his thin arm, jerking it, and finally when he realized Alis wasn’t following, he started to retreated down the alley driven by his own fear. Leaving a lingering scent of piss in his wake from his weakness. After a few moment, the ferret like man darted after the stouter one.

**Collab between Ellri and Enalais.** The Kalesian ambassador looked down at the wax tablet that had been delivered to him detailing the request for granting an Othean citizenship in the Empire. He smiled a little, knowing that those numbers would skyrocket once the Brenhold passage was completed. It was good, he thought, that already Otheans were joining the Empire. It would save a lot of work later. He would not deny that the majority of the supplicants were those recently converted to the worship of the goddess. He was of a mixed mind as to the power of the goddess, but he had no doubts at all about the power of the Empress, may she live forever, who all know is the corporeal incarnation of the Goddess. Still, not everyone could be trusted. There had been more than one instance of spies claiming to convert, only to be quickly proven false. Some from the Othean government and nobles, others from the much-detested Order of Idris. While the former had at times been a challenge to root out, he had not needed the aid of the Vocators to root out the spies of the dominion. When they sent spies, they were always fanatics, fools who thought that relics were a curse. He read the notes on the tablet, clearly seeing the optimism some viewed the candidate with. She was of the wrong background to be a plausible spy. Too young, too inexperienced. The spy stationed in the hidden alcove in the tower chamber had confirmed that much. She’d not once looked at the casually placed documents and maps, other than to let her eyes drift over them without so much as focusing for a second. That left only the formalities. A task. He pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, carefully scratching the task into its surface. Given the evoker’s powers, she would prove quite useful if loyal. All he’d have to do is make sure she got it without drawing attention to the other evoker, Alessia. Given the knowledge that the Order was actively hunting her, she’d also need a small escort to go outside the embassy. Using a different wax tablet, he also wrote the orders authorizing that, summoning a page to deliver those. After the task was fully written out, the Ambassador sealed the parchment with a blob of wax, pressing a signet ring into its softened surface. He made his way down the stairs to the room where the new evoker would be found. ~|~ Angie had been seated in the finely decorated room for what felt like hours after her bath before anyone came in. Considering the escort, it did not take a genius to figure out that whomever it was had considerable authority. She bowed her head in respect. The man, easily a head or more taller than her, nodded once, then handed her a sealed piece of parchment. “As you are now a Kalesian citizen, I am authorized as ambassador to assign you duties. I think, given your relic-granted abilities, you will be particularly suited to the task written upon that sheet. You will, naturally, have a small escort to ensure that the Order of Idris do not bother you while you do it.” He smiled at her and Angie did not feel any real concern at his smile, not like the smiles of many of her father’s customers over the years. Only when he spoke of the Order did he show much of any emotion, and the emotion in question was pure and unadulterated disgust. The ambassador left shortly afterwards, not giving her any time to proffer an answer. Angie broke the wax seal, realizing quickly that the message within was written in a type of writing she had no idea how to read. She walked through the embassy, trying to find someone to help her read it, like that woman, Alessia. Unfortunately, she couldn’t find anyone to help her, either the rooms were empty, or the people ignored her. Eventually she came out into the central courtyard, where she somehow managed to to attract the attention of a soldierly type, a man who looked old enough to be her father. Garet tried to exude as much composure as possible as he entered the embassy, riding a horse was bumpier than he expected and the beast was frail and timid compared to the one he was used to riding. As he entered with a few quick flicks of his hand a few men who entered with him went about wearing various arrays of jewelry, as he looked around his eyes settled on a girl no older than Shara. *”A child of an ambassador perhaps?”* The thought flickered through his mind and for a brief second Garet wasn’t sure if it was a thought of his own or someone elses then as he took the girl in further he noticed the eye color. *”Evoker!”* This thought wasn’t his own. Garet ignored the voice and proceeded further eventually stopping in front of the girl and taking off his helmet. “Can you tell me who is in charge here?” He asked. Angie nodded, a little overwhelmed by just how much he towered over her. “The ambassador, I think.” her accent betrayed her Othean origins, and since she had no idea where the ambassador was, she didn’t have any idea of where to point. “Are you my escort? Apparently I’m to go out into the city on some task for the ambassador, but I have no idea what it is. I can’t read.” She held out the message she’d received from the ambassador earlier, hoping that even if he wasn’t her escort, he’d be willing to read it to her. Garet smiled and he spoke softly his tone of voice was like that of a father speaking to a child. “I am now.” He said and turned to the soldiers who were awaiting his command. “Ada, you are in charge here tell every guard here that he is head home. And tell them only that you are replacing them.” He said, the warrior in question only put hand to her heart and saluted outward, turning back to the girl he found her handing him a letter so he took it and read it aloud to her. “Someone here must trust you.” He said as he finished the letter. She listened as the tall man read the message to her, understanding the words, despite his relatively heavy accent. Immediately after he finished, she nodded and let her mind loose, searching for any nearby canines. It took but a few moments to find several, but took a few minutes to give them a rough interpretation of the persons she sought. Where humans thought primarily in images, her canine friends all viewed the world through smell enhanced by sight. She had never before sought anyone in that manner, so she had no idea how long it would take to find them. They left the compound, even as Angie listened to canines all around. She could hear how her request was spreading, and unfortunately, there was at least a dozen men fitting the description she’d been given. Hounds and dogs only used sight so much. What would really have helped, would have been something belonging to each person. Something with a scent. But wishes did not help. She would just have to check every one of the people who might match the parameters. “This way,” She said to her escort, leading the way towards the dock section of the city. Garet kept quiet and allowed the girl to do her job there was a period of silence as they stopped and she seemed to focus on something. *”She reminds us of our daughter, grown up despite her age.”* One of the voices said. *“She reminds you of your daughter.* Garet replied *”We are one and the same Garet, you are one of us now and when this gets passed on to a new wielder your voice shall meld with ours forever there will be no afterlife for you not even your goddess can stop the pull of the band.”* After the voice spoke of him joining the band it went into hysterics speaking of how the ring drove him to kill his family about how evil this ring is and when it was done it began to sob and go into hysterics Garet just blocked it out as the girl continued to move. Garet followed the girl through crowds of city folk who looked at him strangely, a man armed with a blade and wearing leather armor does not go unnoticed here but he ignored the looks and instead focused on hands and fingers of passersby making sure none drew a blade on them finally as they drew closer to the docks Garet broke the silence. “So what’s your name, when you’re done here have you found a place to stay or a family to take you in?” Garet asked. Angie turned her focus temporarily away from the canine minds all around her, distracted momentarily by her escort’s voice. “Hmm? Oh, my name? Its Angie.” She kept walking forwards, only turning her head sideways for a moment to be sure he was still following along. “No family yet. I think i’ll be staying in the embassy. Not safe outside. The Inquisitors want me dead.” Just then, a butcher’s hound ran out of the nearby alley. “In here! In here!” it kept shouting to her. Which to everyone else sounded just like excited barking. Despite the size of the huge hound, she easily reached out, scratching it behind the ears as if it were the smallest of puppies instead of a slavering beast. “There’s a good doggie…” she muttered. “One of the targets may be down this alley.” she mentioned to her escort. He chuckled at the sight of a huge dog acting like a puppy in the girls hands, but at the mention of target he drew his blade and went first down the alleyway, looking around for possible ambush points and places where the enemy could pop out, at this moment all the voices melded with a single purpose to chase down the enemy, almost instinctively his hand raised to tell the girl to move forward but he realized the hand talk used amongst his soldiers would seem strange to the girl. “Come on we can move up.” He said quietly, his voice was void of emotion. Angie rested a hand on the hound’s neck, staring after her escort. He peeked quickly into the alley, perhaps searching for possible enemies. From both her own and the hound’s sense of smell, she knew well that there was no ambush within, but knew on some subconscious level that her escort could not possibly understand that. She stood there confused for a moment when he raised his hand, not realizing that it had some sort of meaning to military men like him. Only when he spoke to her did she realize its meaning. She immediately followed him in, the dog following at her side. With every step into the alley, she sniffed the air, trying to take in any unfamiliar scents, barely relying on the hound’s senses at all. As expected, the alley was clear. They moved deeper into it, eventually stopping before a small, makeshift shack almost at the far end of the alley. “In here.” she whispered to her escort, stepping aside to let him enter first. Garet swung open the door and proceeded inside blade drawn, Garet’s eyes switched to the man who was backing himself into the corner a frightened look in his eyes as he took in the pair. “In the name of the Empress you have been charged with treason against the Empire, Idris gave you nothing but your death as the eyes of the Empress find you.” Garet said driving his blade through the mans chest as the mans life faded Garet put a firm boot on his chest and withdrew his sword flicking his blade sent spatters of the mans blood across the floor. “Who’s next?” Garet asked looking to Angie. “Not entirely sure…” she muttered, a bit shocked at her escort’s brutality, but also a bit awed at his efficiency. “I think its somewhere in the inner city. There’s no clear scent trail to follow. Possibly in the arena. The hounds haven’t found out exactly who it is yet. They’re still searching.” She followed led the man out of the alley, heading for the inner city, presuming he wasn’t familiar with the layout of the city. Garet sheathed his sword and closed the door of the hut behind him, he let the girl lead as she knew the city better than he did and he would probably get them lost among all these twists and turns. “If you need someplace to stay back in Kalesia there is room within my home, My wife has begun to speak about wanting another child.” He said his voice sincere. Angie was a bit stunned by the offer. She hadn’t had time to think about the future, about what she would do in the Empire. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to think about it either. At least not yet. With how much she’d been changing lately, she didn’t know much of anything about what she was becoming either. Some feeling deep down told her that all that had happened so far was just the beginning. She thought back to the bath earlier that morning in the embassy, to what she’d seen on herself. It didn’t show yet on the outside of her clothes, but she’d seen it then. Seen the nascent lupine traits on her torso. Seen how her toenails were starting to turn into claws. The thin spread of hairs in certain regions. Without thinking, she touched herself on the midsection, but could not feel the difference she knew to be there through her clothes. It would, she knew, be interesting to see what it all ended up with. But also a bit scary, she had to admit. Another thing that worried her, was when the other traits would begin to show on the outside. like just how lupine she’d end up looking. After leaving the southeastern quarter of the city behind, they made their way first a bit north, then west and north again, heading along a slightly roundabout route to the inner city. With each block they passed, she communicated with more and more canines. Among the tens of thousands of residents in the city, there were thousands of hounds of all sizes and shapes, from the massive butcher dogs and warhounds, to the smallest puppies. She felt a sort of camaraderie with them all. To her, they weren’t pets of mere animals. They were friends, kin almost. The further north they got, the more some of them spoke of a strange creature, a massive, two-legged wild one. he-who-smells-blood, they called him. Or at least thats what she thought they meant. It wasn’t clear if they meant that he sought blood, could find it, or if he smelled of it. For all she could know, it could be all of those. Or just some. Most hounds, it seemed, gave him a wide path. As if he were the city’s ultimate alpha. She suspected on some level that he could have taken control of all the canines in the entire city if he’d wanted to. But they also kept referring to him with references to three crescents, but she couldn’t figure out what they meant by it. Eventually the two of them came to the inner city’s southeastern gate. They’d had to follow the tall wall for a while to get to it, and it could possibly have been shorter to go to the western gate, but Angie did not quite feel up to passing the so-called Sanctum of Idris. Not yet at least. She’d heard tales of people disappearing near there. And the hounds didn’t like it for some reason. Like so many other things, they wouldn’t explain what it was they were afraid of. Or maybe they couldn’t. They just didn’t like the place. And she couldn’t blame them. Passing through the gate, they joined a small crowd of people, all heading in towards the market and the arena. people from all over the countryside were coming to partake in the royal celebrations. Angie couldn’t blame them. The marvels of such a festival had never come before in her short life. Not at least that she could clearly remember as more than a vague, fond memory. Garet followed quietly he had the feeling he had brought up a sore spot in the girl he didn’t say anything as they reached the inner city and the crowds within. Moving through the crowd as they passed a few alleyways within the inner city he stopped and looked down one. At the end of the alleway were four men and it appeared one of the bigger men was suffering from a grievous wounds and the other was holding him aloft, as the two smaller men were brandishing weapons and it looked like they were trying to mug both men but then the unexpected happened stone spikes shot out of the ground at the mens feet causing the two of them to scatter. “Evokers.” Garet said, pointing them out. “Nevermind them they can handle themselves, let’s keep moving.” He said, keeping the two men in mind so he could write a report and get the “Guards” that came with him on it. When Angie saw those four strangers in the distance, she felt a sort of uncomfortable cribbling at the pit of her stomach. A cribbling she really didn’t like. When her escort suggested moving on, she was very much happy to do so. It was only several minutes later that she realized that one of those individuals must’ve been the one the canines called “he-who-smells-blood”. She idly wondered which of them it had been, even as she knew deep down that he was an evoker. The further they got from that particular alley, the more at ease she felt. She did not, however, think to ponder why. It simply was. Eventually they got to the entrance of the grand arena, right beside the bustling marketplace. Here she let her escort take the lead again. Garet looked up at the marble arch that was the entrance of the the arena, within the plaza before the arena people were hawking food and drink but Garet paid them no heed as he entered the stands, below them was a simple dirt arena with bits of dried blood upon the walls. The crowd eventually began to rise and cheer as two groups of six men entered the arena various weapons in hand the grand announcer began to introduce the fighters but Garet paid the words no heed as he scanned the stands for the man they were looking for.

**"I doubt it."** Markul said, smirking as the two ill-prepared 'hunters' ran off. He caught sight of another two people off towards the end of the alley, a man and a girl. He cocked an eyebrow, but simply shook his head as he turned the other way, they were none of his concern. He hefted the beast-man, and made an effort to find a clinic or apothecary. He would go about this task as subtly as he could, keeping to alleyways and avoiding extremely populated areas.

Aral and Kheris Location: Northeast corner of Amaryth, near the royal castle Aral held his breath while his father’s booming voice, the first signs of strength in what felt like years, echoed to the courtyard where the people gathered below. At the sound, each face, reflecting the numerous walks of life, shifted to look upon the source, . The prince could easily spot each of them and deeply respected each one, not just for what they supported but their individual talents because without a single citizen there would be no Amaryth or Othea for that matter. Slowly his blue eyes absorbed the masses as he shifted between the proud, lesser nobles dressed in their finery to the humble butcher or farmers, cheeks stained with their trade, with equality. And of course pride. He knew that despite the various classes they belonged to, they all had eagerly gathered to gaze upon the pair. The prince watched, his eyes still fixed upon the crowds, when the king’s speech began. His eyes lit up on hearing the powerful words emitting from his fragile father, namely after the courtyard scene yesterday, while he tore his eyes away for a moment. Aral’s sight lingered onto his father as if seeing another man, the words and voice chosen specifically to enlighten their souls. Curiosity, he thought, if his people’s reaction was anything like his own. Aral’s eyes shifted back to the crowd, his face calm, studying each individual below the balcony and standing alert within the courtyard. “People of Amaryth! People of Othea! My dear, beloved subjects!” The mass fell silent as they always did when he spoke, their eyes staring up at him with excitement and awe, causing Aral to straighten up even more. His father, deep in his speech, didn’t seem to notice while he continued onwards with the same energy and authority Aral had grown accustomed to hearing in his youth. “Today is an auspicious day. I know the rumor mills have been running wild for months. They have spoken of my failing health. Of how old I have become. How I am no longer the king I once was. These rumors are true. I can feel my body failing me slowly. Only the presence of my beloved son, Aral Otharion the fifth, has kept me from giving in! However you need not fear, for even as my body fails me, my love of you the people, has never been stronger!” It warmed them as well as Aral at first. The power inherent to the king’s voice had begun to empower them all, lighting embers of hope in each of their eyes. Even now his father still managed to surprise him when he, in his own fashion, admitted to his failing body and built his speech toward the fact the crown would fall to him soon. Aral managed to keep his face blank and expressionless, his fists held rigid but appropriately at his sides. He wouldn’t fail them by looking like some scared, grieving boy. He had not been one for many years and would not become one now or ever again. Strength was something he was born to have after all. Inwardly Aral scolded himself. Now, even after all his practice, mental preparation, and more for this moment, he had found his middle twisted up into a million mangled knots. He hadn’t even noticed the robes of the Inquisitor hidden among the people as he held his breath, distracted in controlling his dread, even as his father’s speech reached its climax. “My beloved subjects... It is with heavy heart that I do this. Effective immediately, I transfer all rule of the Kingdom of Othea to my son, Aral Otharion the fifth. Henceforth and until he dies, he shall be known as king Aral Otharion, the fifth of his name, lord of Othea!” Aral didn’t move until his father’s last word rang and reverberated through the air. It was like a weight, an unwanted burden, had been lifted off the king when his arms raised his crown high then transferred to his son’s head. The crown felt far heavier than its weight in mere gold and gemstone. Aral suspected that it only felt that way, that the extra weight came from the fact that it was he, Aral, who had to bear the responsibilities that came with the ancient crown of Othea, That it was he who had to lead in the fight against the storms to face his beloved country. , Aral breath . of applause . Aral ke himself from looking at his father the same utter confusion he had felt earlier. , literally, before the speech was . His father’s reason had been simple. To brace Aral and allow him time to hid his surprise at the crown in a fashion. This was what had made the prince, now king, nervous throughout the entire ceremony. And now it was over. Aral wasn’t too proud to admit he didn’t understand the reasons behind his father’s choice of method. It shouldn’t have came as a surprise since most his father’s motives, schemes and unusual behavior had seemed rather strange to the prince lately. However, he refused to publicly question the king. It was then the corner of his sight caught someone moving through the crowds, masses clapping strengthened from a dull politeness and finally progressed into a deafening roar. Instantly Aral recognized the dark blue Inquisitor's robe worn by the man, realizing his office within the Dominion of Idris, letting a silent curse follow from his breath. The man would likely want an audience and soon, Aral’s logic told him while he paused a moment to note the Inquisitor struggle with the crowds. It lightened his heart somewhat to see the man have some difficulty, secretly increasing his gratitude to his subjects as they were unknowingly giving him effective protection during this overwhelming event. Even if it was merely delaying the inevitable. Deep within his heart, Aral had slightly wondered if he even had the mental strength to deal with the man from the order he felt had been manipulating his father all these years. One wrong step and Amaryth could end up crushed under the Order of Idris’ heel. Anger seep into his fist but manage to prevent it from spreading to anywhere else on his person, the height of the balcony in further ling it. His attention was refocused when his father had started to make his leave, prompting Aral to move his gaze from the figure and with dignified steps gracefully followed the old king back into the adjacent room. Once inside and out of sight, Aral’s serious expression softened into a youthful smile. His face turned to his uncle’s image when it came into view and, out of pure practiced habit, Aral had started to greet his uncle as a Knight of Othea would’ve. Just when his hand started to move did he realize his flaw and flawlessly corrected it. Only the keenest eyes could’ve seen the error and part of him had hoped his uncle would’ve missed such a mistake, mainly because if it had been anyone else then things would’ve far more awkward. He was no longer a knight now. Acting like when his whole nation rest their safety and well-being on his slender shoulders. “Greetings Uncle Kheris.” Kheris sat through the entire ordeal, while he was pleased that his brother was willingly giving up his title and was glad he didn’t have to go through the campaigning against his nephew when he didn’t really want to become King he still wasn’t one for all the pomp and ceremony. Least of all where he knew several of the nobles would openly scorn Hroldaf for skipping the due process and choosing the new king himself. Kheris of course had to save face but privately he was naturally pleased. He had enough to worry about with trying to keep Othea safe from the shadows, even as he was also trying to make it better for everyone. His job would become so much more complicated if he people everywhere openly questioned his every move. Far better if they ran the country’s day by day affairs while he made it a better place from and through the shadows. It had become complicated enough when Hroldaf had convinced a relic user to be captured, to later be saved him Kheris’ underground and moved to the sanctuary to find out the truth behind rumour and as such had learned about the Gellors Shadows. The mind of Hroldaf was a complicated and disturbing place, but it was closed. Unlike Arals which was open and who seemed willing to look outwards from the Kingdom of Othea. He was possibly the key to uniting Azukhar, and finally bringing an end to the wars before they even begun. Moving his petrified hand on front of his stomach, he bowed himself over it. Not as much as many of the nobles would have merely a small tip of his upper body. “Greetings Aral, or should I say my liege?” Aral felt the tug of smile pull at his mouth corner, his eyes focused upon his uncle and followed the motion of his bow in respect. Seeing his elder now slightly slouch to a lower position made the fluttering knot within his stomach tighten and coil, turning deeper within his middle until it felt like it would burst out through his flesh. The embarrassing sensation washed over him when he realize he had almost done the same himself. A gesture which would’ve done little, save for showing how unready he was for this. Calming his nerves, Arla gave a small, noble nod to signal Kheris to resume his earlier position. Though he displayed it flawlessly, he felt the power of it far less than he once imagined as a child. When his elder and well respected relative rose, Aral cautiously yet firmly walked forward to cover the distance between the two. Convenient and in a artful fashion, the newly king stood at Kheris’ right side and at the respected distance fitting for their difference. Though he admitted he was more comfortable than before, he couldn’t risk with loose tongue. something he inwardly dislike, simple it seemed even those most in his eyes Such a lonely life his father appeared to have lead. Aral let the thought linger, time passing in a silent moment then returned his attention to his Uncle. His next words were befitting a royal, though they were blunt and honest in the fashion most his lesser subjects admired. “Entitled and birthright, perhaps, but I feel I still must earn it fully.” “Wise, and given time you shall. With guidance from those you keep around you, and at the same time from those you keep at arms length. However, so long as you retain your own identity, then you shall make a great King.” He cast a finger at the crown. “While you wear that, and you have a burden remember that it is not yours alone to carry it and more importantly remember you are not just the King, you are King Aral.” Kheris turned as he expanded his senses, as another one entered the small room. Most of the nobles had all seen their cue to leave and had done so already, and whoever had just entered had ignored all the social protocols for entering the room that had the king within. Aral had been absorbing the words when the sound, a door opening and boots trailing in, caught his attention. The currently crowned king’s eyes narrowed while a slight hatred flared into his eyes. It passed as quickly as it arrived, fading to leave no trace, when he noted his Uncle’s reaction. Turning to face the newcomer Kheris decided that he would indeed scorn him, the Inquisitor for the Order of Idris. They were becoming far too bold. He turned and spoke before Aral had a chance to speak, effectively lowering the Inquisitor as if not worthy to speak to the King. He held up his right hand, lowering the inquisitor even more by using his damaged hand. “You should know better on our ways than to simply walk into a room with the King in it.” Unable to perform the turning motion with his hand, without using his relic, he bumped it slightly in the direction of the door. “Do it again, and do it properly this time.” Stevan, High Inquisitor of Idris, was inwardly furious at the elderly brother of the king. The man actually dared to think that he, Stevan Vlahovic, was a mere lowly courtier! He let none of it show on his face of course, but quickly realized, with the belligerent look of the annoyingly incorruptible royal guards that he had no choice but to obey. He intended to find some way to make them all pay one day, but not today. He turned about, walked out of the room, then turned abruptly around, Knocking on the doorframe, waiting to be acknowledged. As he stood there, he checked that his robes were straight, that his beard was relatively straight. The least he could do when delayed like that was make sure he looked his part. He think and look forward to the day when this nation too was utterly subjected to him and his order, as he knew they one day would be, willingly or not. Aral watched the man exit then return. It made his skin bristle with disgust and loathing at how easily their traditions were sided, merely in favor of the Order’s arrogance. The very arrogance of their faith. Acts like this was part of the reason he wondered what the evokers had done to provoke these people and their religion. What reason was powerful enough to ultimately end in a relentless war on all relics and their users? A question, Aral thought, with bitterness deep in his mind, he would never know the answer to. Such thoughts didn’t help him here when the the Inquisitor bid by the official rulings, his hand tapped the wooden door and waited for entrance. Aral sighed then gave his Uncle a swift glance and it was one speaking volumes about his thoughts. The main one was the fact he didn’t want to face the man who represented something he had grown up hating and rather send him running back to the Dominion of Idris immediately. His eyes closed to brace himself for the reality. It wasn’t that simple and even with the good of his own country in mind, Aral knew he couldn’t validate a reason for such an event to occur. Not without worse coming to make his people to suffer for his unwise choices. He opened his eyes, trying to keep them steady and calm, before he spoke. “Enter.” The even tone in the single word was the hardest part while Aral eyed the entrance. Stevan fumed when he wasn’t granted immediate entry upon following the antiquated customs of this place. When at long last the king granted it, he stomped in, utterly ignoring the newly crowned king, heading straight for the old king. “What is the meaning of this?!?” he almost shouted out. Aral’s jawline made the smallest twitch, a small tick his Uncle knew well enough from his childhood, when his eyes darted to follow the Inquisitor. His mind momentarily seared the swine’s likeness to his memory and words formulated onto his tongue. Each one chosen carefully though they didn’t spare the sharpness when used in his address. The prince’s main goal was aimed at attacking the individual as oppose to the Dominion of Idris, using the man’s unwise reaction to burden and shoulder his anger at both the present and past. “So, this is Idris’s true representation? They teach their priests, symbols of their order, disrespect and arrogance to fully ignore the rightful traditions set by the royals of old? Disrespectful.” Aral managed to say before taking a single step toward the Inquisitor and making the violator aware of his presence. To disrespect him was not just wrongs against the nobles, but all the people of Othea, something he wouldn’t tolerate. By the time he realized his blunder, it was already too late. He knew he should’ve paid at least a semblance of attention to the new king. The old king had at odd times broken with the reins his handlers held, but never in this fashion. It made Stevan think back to the reports from the days when the queen still lived. Not an easy time for the Order. He let his thoughts churn rapidly to think out a solution to this mess. The easiest would have been to humbly apologize, but the very thought of being humble towards a heathen king disgusted him, much like the thought of relics being used did. He’d do virtually anything to avoid being forced to do such. In his heart, he started laying plans for what to do about House Otharion. It was getting far out of hand, straying from the carefully paved path he and his predecessors had laid out. If only there had been another son of Hrodlaf. Then that one could have been raised to the throne after he arranged for it to be… vacated. But of course the cursed Queen Leena III Otharia had been physically too weak to produce more than that single living son. His predecessors hadn’t known for sure, but they had suspected that the reason for her frailty was related to how closely that branch of the royal house had married for several generations. It was unfortunate that that line hadn’t produced any simpletons. A simpleton king, was after all an easily controlled king. But before he could do anything like that, he would have to extricate himself from this blunder. He resorted to lying. “I am sorry, Liege. I was not aware of your coronation, having arrived late at the ceremony. The people had already begun to cheer, so I could not hear the words of your father.” Some small, resentful part of Aral had hoped the man would add much more to his current crime. Escalate it farther until he would have little choice and the great pleasure of escorting an representative to the Dominion of Idris right out of his front courtyard gate. Alas, it didn’t happen. Now he was left with an unexpected apology and no excuse to rid himself of the unwanted company. Could he turn this around to his favor now? He desperately hoped so as his bright blue eyes studied the Inquisitor, from his stringy thin figure to his harsh image, while every bit of him screamed caution within his head. This man looked like one of his language teachers, the one who rapped his knuckles over and over when his oral examine fell below excellence. That memory did nothing to endear the ignorant man before him. It might’ve explained Aral’s next words quite a bit. “That would explain the insult toward me. However, it doesn’t redeem your actions of disrespect to the people of Amaryth when you dared to barge into the King’s audience. Especially when you were not bid entrance. Or perhaps have you not been within Amaryth long enough to learn our customs and because of that, they slipped your mind so easily, Inquisitor Vlahovic.” The use of the Inquisitor’s name was a slight hint that if the once prince knew the man’s name, then likely he had plenty of time to learn the right customs. Or at least should’ve learned the ways to address the king properly. Stevan knew when a fight was lost. He’d had far too bad a hand of cards in this fight. He could not even bring up the insult from that Kalesian. Not without looking petty and more than likely lose more in the process. He truly and intensely hated retreating, but it is better to retreat from one battle in order to later win the war, than to push on and lose the entire war. He struggled hard with himself to force a semblance of sincerity into his voice when he answered. “I am sorry. I will strive to do better in the future.” It wasn’t easy, but he thought he accomplished it plausibly. He did not offer even a slight curtsy or bow before turning around, leaving the room and king behind. He had to plan more carefully next time, so that future surprises could not catch him so off-guard. Aral said nothing though he should’ve. As king, it was his right and duty to ensure no one, not even the Dominion of Idris, disrespected the crown. Mainly because it symbolized the people as much as the kingdom, a fact he was bound to live with for the rest of his rule. The young king felt a bit of breath escape his lips when the Inquisitor finally left. Like the room had been cleared of something rotten and everyone was able to inhale some fresh air for a change, clearing his head further. His thoughts were spoken out loud to the only other living person still within the room. “I don’t completely trust him. He’s going to make things more difficult in the future, isn’t he?” His eyes turned to Kheris and silently requested his thoughts, namely since his uncle had been silent during most the conversation. “Of course he is going to make things more difficult. He is an Inquisitor from the Dominion of Idris. When have they done anything but that?” He spoke for the first time since he had sent the Inquisitor out. He had had nothing to say, it was not his place. Doing such would have been undermining the Kings authority which wouldn’t exactly of helped the argument in anyway shape or form. A King had to be consistent in how he treated all others and that was why even though his help had been needed, he had not offered it. “You have handled the situation as best you could, that is all you can ask. What is more important is that you do not let this encounter nag at you, to do so would give him the advantage in the next round. Your father has upset whatever Idris has been attempting to achieve here by suddenly announcing you heir, he has also upset a number of Nobles who while chose him over me are now questioning that decision made years ago.” He turned to face his Nephew, though didn’t look him directly in the eyes. “The numbers of evokers are growing, your father has upset the Order of Idris and Kalesia has stood silent for far too long. These are troubling times and you must keep a clear head, no matter what the world throws at you.” Aral returned his eyes to the door and stared a bit. It was seemingly like he was trying to bore a hole into it with his sight alone, gathering his thoughts. Just like Idris, Kalesia’s influence had created interest among his peers, despite the more traditional adults’ discouragement and claiming an unsavory ulterior motive. Even more stronger when many concepts began to oppose their long standing religious ones. The sudden conflict with the Inquisitor reminded him about his childhood, now no longer important which caused him to stray farther into them. At least one last time. It was late in Aral’s childhood when his father strove to refrain him from satisfying his own curiosity about the subject. Slowly, those peers he once interacted with had started to dwindle down each day. It also lead to other topics within the subject of Kalesian being limited. One of those wary topics was relics. He failed to understand the true danger or power behind them or the evokers themselves. The whole subject only confused him more whenever he came into contact on views related with the nation divided by the Karak Claw mountains, despite how close it was to their borders, making it more a mystery then anything. “These evokers, whether they realize it or not, have created too many problems for Othea. Maybe it was best my father kept any details about them from me. I don’t know what I would do if one was someone I knew or worse.” The tone of Aral’s voice was unsure yet it held a slight distaste for the evoker word, seemingly to hint he wasn’t fond of it. He shook the terrible thoughts from his mind then smiled genuinely at his uncle for the first time since his crowning. “I believe we’ve got a tourney await our attention. Shall we?” “It is not a relic that makes it’s user evil, but a person that makes a relics power evil. Idris hunts them and sees them as blasphemous in terms of their belief, it has always been my opinion that such an order should not be allowed to thrive. The Military, Government and Religion should not all be as one but with Idris they more or less are.” He shrugged at his nephews new enthusiasm for the tournament. “If you really think such menial shows of strength and combative skills are important or interesting then I suppose we shall my liege, as after all. I am yours to command.” He gave his nephew a wink as he walked out off the door.