PROLOGUE: A NIGHT OF KNIVES THE SYCOPHANT The Sycophant stood above the city; from where he floated in the air even the Wizard’s tower and Palace were but specks below his feet. It was nearing the end of the month and the moon was full in the sky; but even if some night-time denizen was to look up he would see nothing. Layers of magic shielded him from human sight and even the most skilled mage would only see a shifting blur. To the east the fertile the stony grasslands of the city gave way to the sand sea and to the west the Golden dragon was a silky blur on the horizon. . Antioch stretched out below him like some monstrous tapestry; from here the city was an open book to him. He closed his eyes and muttered incantations: the twisted tongue of magic. He drew analogy and Metaphor in that wretched tongue turning and curving the words with subtle intonation and as the words bent to his will so did the world. With an audible pop a third eye appeared on his forehead: horned, golden without irises and full of malevolence it regarded the city below him almost with a will of its own. The eye turned its gaze to the slums and he was there; walking through the ramshackle alleys: the aroma of cheap ale and piss and semen assaulted his nostrils. In a side alley a man had a woman pinned against the wall and was thrusting furiously; the woman moaned and stood limply under the assault. A bed on the upper story of a cheap brothel squeaked loudly across the street drawing jeers and curses from those traversing the streets. Food vendors selling meat cooked over flimsy wooden grills; whores too old or ugly to be taken in by any of the establishments that lined the street and those that were just too poor to live in any part of the city. They didn’t see him of course; he was here only in his mind. He moved down the streets to the hovels where the poor and desperate lived; past gambling games played by men on an overturned bucket with two battered looking wooden dice. He saw them all but they would never know that he was there. Slowly he guided his spirit form towards the nicer parts of the slums; such as they were. They were no longer lit by the odd lantern but proper gas lights. Finally his footsteps stopped before the Blooming Orchid. He was tempted to physically manifest himself and go in for a drink; he had been months since he had gone in and it gave him some childish satisfaction to see the people scuttling around and falling over themselves with shock. He was considering the idea when he felt a shift in the flow of magic. He uttered a single word and he snapped back to his body so far above the city. A large sphere of darkness floated above the city, a foul sphere of miasma. He recognised the Necromancer magic immediately. It hung there for a moment then split into dozens of smaller shapes plummeting into the city like stones from a slingshot. A few flew towards the market district; a larger number towards the slums. Almost two dozen black shapes plummeted towards the inner city: three of them splattered like flies against the magical wards the circle had erected around that part of the city; the rest had altered their trajectory after that and landed only at the gates of the inner city. Another dozen had landed in the area near the gate of the wizard. These however were not half as alarming to the sycophant as the even ten shapes that seemed to have landed at the foot of the cultivators’ plateau. All the other areas had some form of protection or the other. The inner city had the guards and the circle; there was no chance of the Nazarene wizard-assassins pulling down the gate and starting a massacre. In the slums they would have to contend with the local assassin’s guild. There was still no reason to think that whore Athel has turned cloak. The mercenaries were near the gate; they seemed trustworthy enough and even if they did betray their contract gate it wouldn’t matter anyway: the Nazarene army was miles away. Delphi would be sleeping now but would be soon enough to act once the Assassins started setting the market on fire. The Sycophant closed his third eye and dropped. He fell for what seemed like hours, his robes: a purple so deep it was almost black fluttered around his waist. He landed soundlessly among the assassins. Before any of them could as much as move he had opened two of their bellies; their intestines moves like snakes to his will and wrapped around the legs of their compatriots, the assassin’s stumbled and fell, cursed and fumbled. His daggers moved up and down methodically and five more were dead before they had as much as drawn their blades. The arcane assault nearly broke him when it came; obsidian thunder raced towards him from up the slope. It shattered the wards he had set around him, he felt his skull crack and blood run down the side of his face. He jumped back and fell into a crouch. More force slammed the spot he had been standing on blackening the ground and leaving it steaming and bubbling. The necromancer was on a higher part of the slope. His robes black robes were lined with wide golden whorls; indicating his rank as being just below the Necromancer Inner Circle: he wore the skull of a Yak or some other great horned beast on his head. The empty eyes of the beast crackled with black lightning as the Necromancer renewed his assault. This time the sycophant met it with lightning of his own. Azure and Obsidian crashed against each other with a force that cracked the ground under it. Again and again the Necromancer sent spears of black light after him and time and time again he met it with his own magic. The sycophant grinned: if this was the child’s play the Necromancers called magic he would soon – blinding pain crawled up his thigh. He looked down to see the corpse of the man he had just killed plunging a dagger into his thigh a second time. He shouldn’t have forgotten that he was fighting a necromancer. Red clouded his vision. He moved the air into his palm, the strain of the magic cracked a rib but he did not care. When he let it go an ear-splitting sound echoed across the city. The moving corpses in front of him disintegrated. Organs, blood and body parts rained down the length on the slope. Ribcages burst, teeth cracked and clothes were reduced to shreds, Any metal the corpses were carrying bent and twisted, Even the Necromancer was knocked of his feet. Then he began to sing. The strange grammars of the high magic filled the air: the necromancer began to counter with a chant of his own but he was a child to the Sycophant’s power. The necromancer’s body suddenly grew taught; he jerked up like he was a puppet on unseen strings and began floating towards the Sycophant. The sycophant started walking towards the slowly revolving man all the while singing the song of high magic. The Necromancer gave up his chanting and began to scream. The Sycophant bent down to the Necromancers neck and took a bite. Bloody sprayed and the Necromancer started thrashing further. The Sycophant; seeming oblivious pulled down his hood and took another bite, this time from the cheek; he chewed swallowed then moved his thumb near the eye socket of his victim. He regarded the eyeball solemnly in the palm of his hand for another moment then yanked at it to free it from the trailing string of tissue that still connected it too the necromancers skull and popped it into his mouth. After a few minutes the Sycophant suddenly stopped; letting a piece of the man’s gut he had just been eating fall from his hand. The red haze left his vision. He looked at the necromancer’s body as if he didn't recognize it; then he puked. He knelt there in the moonlight for a few moments with his hands clutched around himself sobbing. He cursed himself: for his rashness, his stupidity and above all his weakness. He reasoned that all was not lost and there must still be assassins left in the city: maybe someone had already captured a few alive. Rising slowly he broke into a sprint and jumped into the air. He rose into sky until he was no more than a speck from the ground. Then just as silently as he had come, he vanished.

Tor sat with a faint smile resting upon his features as he listened and watched his men around him enjoying themselves, the many dancers and escorts flitting around as another large cask of Tillian Ale was brought into the room – raising cheers and whoops from many of his men as they raised their mugs to the air to once more toast their previous successes. The free city of Tillian had fallen, as all the others like it had, meaning this was likely one of the last times any of them would be able to drink the renowned beverage. A large behemoth of a man was the first to fill his mug before turning and raising it into the air. He waited as a hush quickly fell upon the room as all eyes turned to him, his bald head and bushy beard were quite the sight when combined with his rippling muscles and huge form. Surveying his comrades-in-arms slowly and deliberately he waited for a few more moments before he shouted “To Balith!” to which there was a multitude of agreeing cheers as he continued “To the company of the Bloody Hand! To the gold of Antioch! And to the fine women of this city!” As the cheers continued the large man walked over to Tor before he set the mug before him and with a hearty pat on the back said “Drink up my captain, for once you should relax. Pick a pretty little thing and let her do unspeakable things to you!” Tor shook his head fondly as he responded “Davos my friend, you know for me this is a relaxing evening. Besides that I’m still recovering from our session last night, I don’t know how you can drink so bloody much. Besides Vanir feels uneasy, and you remember what happened the last time we ignored his advice”. The large man’s expression dropped as Tor’s dark emerald eyes bored into him for a moment and his thoughts turned back to the day that Grayston had been killed. “Pah, I’d like to see something threaten us here!” he said boastfully as he gestured around “Not only is the entire company spread throughout the city, but that old coot Darrius Mahakam has his dogs on watch, as well as the countless spell-slingers that are watching over us. What could possibly happen?” “I suppose you may be right…” said Tor slowly though unconvinced. “I suppose I should be trying to find either the Day or Night Master again tonight. They’ve proven most elusive thus far – I’m starting to think they may be avoiding me you know”. Davos grinned and nudged him as he said “You know I hear they are both quite the lookers. I wouldn’t mind having either of them day or night – or both!”. Tor rolled his eyes as Davos continued “and I hear that Athel can drink most men under the table to boot! Now that I would love to see. Oh! And she is apparently unspoiled by the ravages of a man if you can you believe that? I don’t mind telling you that some of the men have already put some coin towards this bet – apparently they think you will be the first one to fu-…” “Shh!” interrupted Tor suddenly. “But I was only…” remarked Davos with a bashful grin on his face. Standing, the look of relaxation now completely gone from his face Tor commanded “All of you, silence now!”. Suddenly the atmosphere changed as each and every man fell silent, the numerous half naked courtesans looking around with confused expressions at the sudden change in the atmosphere. Tor listened intently as he heard the sounds again. The unmistakable sounds of panic, slaughter and death reached his ears. “Men to arms!” he bellowed as he sprinted towards the exit “Davos, gather Vanir and his men now! Tell them to find me, I’m going to find out what the hell is going on out there!” In an instant the barracks were a flurry of activity as men rushed back and forth trying to gather their weapons and armour, whores and dancers alike stumbled around as they were involuntarily pushed out of the way. With his bow in hand Tor burst into the streets where the sounds of panic became suddenly more audible as people rushed back and forth, the sounds of distant combat and the crackling of fire spreading through the streets. Grabbing the first man who fled past by the scruff of his neck Tor shouted “What is it? What is happening?” Terror gripped the man as he gazed into the hard face of the mercenary as he stuttered “W-w-we are under attack… so much blood! So much!” before he broke free and continued to flee. Tor then noticed that the man was covered in blood and gore, his own hands now thick with it just from his touch. Tor continued to push his way through the crowds, many people all fleeing in the opposite direction to him making it quite difficult as they were almost frenzied with fear. Rounding the next corner he came into sight of the large gatehouse that protected the inner city, the square before it filled with chaos and destruction. Several dark hooded figures were in the square, some of them launching flames from their arms into the surrounding buildings and gate, others slaughtering every person they could reach with a combination of savage magic and deadly blades. Blood already was running thick in the streets and corpses were beginning to pile up. He watched as one of the attackers chanted and directed dark plumes of energy into the bodies which were then reanimating before begging to carve their own paths of death through the helpless inhabitants of the city. Gritting his teeth Tor watched in horror as a mother and child fled from one of the flaming buildings only to be cut down by one of the undead abominations as they ran. Reaching into his quiver he pulled out one of the five arrows that Vanir had prepared for him in case of such situations – the majority of his arrows carrying no enchantments of any kind. Exhaling slowly he drew it back and fired, the shaft hurtling at staggering speeds through the air before it pierced the skull of the necromancer who had been resurrecting corpses – sending his body crashing to the ground. At that moment each of the attackers turned from what they were doing and fixed their collective gaze upon him. Wasting little time Tor fired each of his four remaining arrows in the flash of an eye, four of the necromancers crashing to the ground dead as each found their mark and pierced through their protective wards. The remaining necromancers sprang into action, the closest to him flinging a barrage of dark flames directly at him. Feeling the heat scorching at him Tor dove to the side, the majority of the fire missing him as his cloak started to smoulder from the intensity of the heat. As he started to stand one of the undead husks was upon him, its lifeless eyes glaring at him as it lunged forwards with its gaping maw. Rolling onto his back Tor aimed a swift kick at the creatures knee, a sickening snapping sound resonating as his foot found its mark and the thing toppled over. Springing up Tor pulled his sword free as more continued to swarm him, one of the remaining necromancers now staring intently at him as he chanted and sang in the strange language of magic. Tor cleft left and right as he tried to cut himself free of the numerous grappling hands of the dead, however it seemed there were too many of them and he would not be able to reach the spell-caster in time. At the moment the necromancer was about to complete whatever vile spell he had been planning there was a yell from behind Tor as someone shouted “Loose!” A small but accurate volley of arrows soared over Tor, catching the necromancer with several of them. The man shrieked as he collapsed – the numerous arrows obviously being enough to overwhelm any wards he may have had. Glancing behind him Tor was glad to see Davos with several of his men rushing forwards from the side-streets. The giant of a man charged forwards bellowing like a bull as he swung his great-axe with ease, quickly clearing the way for Tor to fall back as several more of his troops charged forwards with their blades drawn ready to defend their leader to the death. “Where the fuck is Vanir?” shouted Tor above the chaos. Davos simply shrugged and replied “We couldn’t find him, looks like it’s just us and cold hard steel tonight”. “What about the bloody city guard, shouldn’t they be here?” he asked again, dismayed that so far his men seemed to be alone combatting whoever these freaks were. Davos again shrugged as he prepared to charge himself back into the fray, adding only “I think these things are all over the city”. Tor sighed before he turned his gaze back to the square and he started to bark orders left and right to his men as they rallied at his side. “Time to earn our keep boys!” he yelled as they sprinted forwards.

The Cultivator's Plateau A woman in brown robes yawned as she walked along a muddy path. The moon was high in the sky, and it shone its pale light onto the golden fields of the cultivators. The fields didn't quite feel as alive during the night, for one could only hear the wind whistle through the grain and the muted sounds of laughter and mirth at the Temple. This woman was put on patrol duty to find would-be thieves, but she found something quiet different indeed. She heard screams of anguish and battle coming from below the plateau, so she darted to the edge to see what was going on. It was hard to see from up high and in the dark, but there was a battle occurring down below. Screams of agony were interspersed with flashes of light and incantations spoke in ancient tongues. Soon afterwards the sounds of panic could be heard from other parts of the city. After a few moments she had seen enough, and ran off to the great temple shouting for help. In the cavernous Great Temple, one of Marton's massive feasts was underway. Only the most talented performers were given permission to be on the plateau this night, and they truly met their expectations. Several bards sang cultivator hymns and other songs, knife jugglers juggled twelve of their knifes at a time in reference to the twelve harvests, and one very talented magician was able to make a likeness of Plenora out of rose petals and told stories about the goddess with his magic. And the food, the food was the best part. Several loaves of bread still warm lined the tables as well as several roasted chicken and just about anything you could find in Antioch. In the center of it all was Marton IV himself, also known as Marton the Fat, which is a surname he truly earned. The morbidly obese man laughed and laughed and wine dribbled down one of his several chins. While all of the cultivators wear brown robes, and Marton was no exception, he also donned a ceremonial hat which looked like a tall, thin wicker basket with flowers sticking out of it. Marton also had a wooden staff beside him that had vines snaking up it and a gas-lantern hanging from the top. The joy of the feast was not to last however, as an acolyte burst into the temple screaming: "There are sorcerers below that seek to defile the plateau! I've seen it! Antioch is under attack! I've seen it! We have to strike or they will defile our precious fields!" Soon after everyone got the message, a panic went through the feast like a wave. Several of the cultivators simply gasped in shock. Others shouted that they would drive the sorcerers out since Plenora was on their side. Some others said it was their duty to protect the city, and they should take arms. Marton wiped the wine off of his chins and was saying "Silence." over and over again each time a little bit louder and more frustrated, but it was barely audible over the crowd. The frenzy of the crowd grew and grew until Marton slammed his staff against the table smashing several plates and bits of glasswear and roared: "IN THE NAME OF PLENORA, BE SILENT!" Out of respect for the liason, the crowd quieted down. Marton looked slightly exasperated as he pointed to the acolyte that burst into the door: "You there, step forward." The acolyte did as she was bid, and before she had a chance to speak up Marton continued: "You are going to lead my chancellor," Marton cocks his head toward a thin old man, "to where you saw this conflict." The chancellor looked somewhat surprised, but was led outside of the temple by the acolyte after muttering a "of course Marton". Marton raised his voice once more and said: "It is Plenora's will that we share our prosperity and help others when we can. However. If we have nothing to give, then we cannot share in our wealth. If we don't know anything about this threat, then we may do more harm than good by interfering." The crowd murmured, and one acolyte shouted: "Do you really suggest we just sit back and do nothing while the city burns!" "No of course not! All I am saying is that we need to be able to protect ourselves first! What good will a mob do against a sorcerer? We don't even know where the sorcerers she saw are, and your suggesting that we go into the city? No. We wait until we know more, and we do what we have always done, we protect the fields. Arm yourselves, arm yourselves and if any sorcerers are spotted we will hear from an acolyte patrolling the plateau." And with that, Marton the Fat collapsed into his chair, and watched as the crowd scrambled for weapons in the great temple. Meanwhile, Chancellor Tero and the acolyte descend the plateau into the main-city. Panic is wide-spread, people are locking their doors and closing the shutters on the windows hoping for the best. Eventually after winding through several alleyways, they arrive at the where the fight took place between the assassins and the sycophant. As the light of the chancellor's torch licked the side of the plateau, the more of the gruesome scene was revealed. The side of the plateau was coated with blood, gibs, and chunks of bone. A corpse of man wearing black robes with golden trim had a look of sheer terror plastered onto his face. His neck had a large chunk of flesh missing, and he had a missing eye that looked like it was removed recently. Chancellor Tero looked slightly shaken but not nearly as much as the acolyte, who looked absolutely gripped with fright. The Chancellor and breathed a sigh of relief: "It looks like one of the mages got to him first... What I don't understand is why he is so mutilated... And why his compatriots seem to be painted onto the side of the plateau... That... is going to be a question I have for the mages. But thank Plenora that the threat to the plateau is gone. We should go back to report what we've found here." The acolyte merely nodded, and they began the trek back to the Great Temple on the Cultivator's plateau.

The Market District Delphi bit down hard on her lip. "Mmmmph..." Delphi, despite herself, was moaning in pleasure. Pure ecstasy was shooting up her spine, and it's vibrations could be felt all over her body. She rested a hand on her bare chest, Delphi feared the heart it contained may try to escape, she had never felt it race this fast. Truth be told, she had never felt this good in her life. "Ngh.." She gripped the sheets of the bed, her head rolled back on the pillow, her eyes met with the ceiling of her darkened room as the sanguine sensation welled up in her body. Another hand limply grasped at hair, the silky locks of her paramour, the one who was granting her such joy. Who could have known the pleasures of the flesh were this sweet when earned, instead of bought? "...Oh Goddess..." She was whimpering. 'Delphi the Grand' was whimpering, if only her enemies could see her this vulnerable... Delphi didn't care though, in that moment she didn't want to think about a damn thing in the world, the city could be burning for all Delphi cared. In this moment, she didn't want to think, she wanted-- she needed to feel this good. Even if it was only a second longer. "O-oh Goddess!!" She had to use the pillow to stifle her screams, lest she risk waking the whole Market District-- perhaps the whole city. Her eyes closed hard as her body began to contort despite herself, "I-I-I'm--" A light few taps on the door were all it took to force Delphi back into reality. "FUCK!!" In an instant, the ecstasy, the joy, the bliss was gone, replaced by annoyance, frustration, and anger. All because of one tiny disturbance. Delphi found herself panting, both due to frustration and the physical exhaustion-- after coming so close, only to have the experience robbed from her. She heaved a heavy sigh and adjusted herself in the bed again, to find herself staring at her ceiling once more. Where before, the room was almost unbearably hot, now, her sweat covered body was shivering. Another, much more hesitant knock came from the door, the transgressor, clearly registering their mistake. Delphi gave another sigh, gripping the bridge of her nose in frustration. Rustling came from in between Delphi's legs, and the figure beneath the sheets, her lover, exposed herself to the cold air, "I-is everythin' okay, m'lady?" Those innocent brown eyes held only concern for Delphi, initially they had turned her away from the girl, much like the fact that she is... after that performance was a brothel maid or that she was almost 10 years younger than Delphi. Still, something had made Delphi want to keep the girl-- woman around. For good reason, it seemed, now that investment had more than paid off... or at least, it was about to. Against her frustrations, Delphi found herself unable to stay mad while looking into those brown eyes, their irritating naivete was soothing. Delphi's expression softened, a small smile appeared on her face as she ran her hand through her lover's unkempt black hair, "Everything's fine, my sweetheart," Delphi cooed, before adopting a more playful tone, "And I thought I told you dearest Polly, at the very least when we're together like this, no formalities..." "O-okay," Polly responded, lifting the sheet to cover herself, shaking for more reasons than just the temperature in the room, "B-but I--" "No arguments." Delphi stated, matter-of-factually, "You will address me as Delphi." Her face became very strict before returning to a smile, "Do not be so modest, my sweet Pollyanna," Delphi moved to turn on the bedside oil lamp, illuminating the beads of sweat that had been formed over her forehead and torso, "You've certainly earned the right." She planted a single kiss on Polly's lips before getting up with a groan, beginning to put back on the clothes that had been so carelessly thrown across the room in a frenzy not 2 hours earlier. Polly's shuddering stopped and was replaced by a blush, a small smile and slightly downcast gaze. Concern was repainted on her face however, as her doe-like eyes flicked over to the door when another meek knock came, this time followed by a voice. "Madame Day Master!?We have--" "Oh, excellent!" Delphi interrupted, tying her boots on, "So you remember which one I am? That's just excellent. So then, is it that you've had some bad spirits and become blind? Is that it? Because unless there's something wrong with MY vision-- Polly, is there something wrong with my vision? It is night time isn't it?" Polly receded further into the plush fabric sheets, "Y-yes..." "Yes!" Delphi clasped her hands together as she stood and began marching her way to the door, "So you are aware I am Day Master, yet you come here-- in the dead of night, completely unannounced I might add, to what? Tell me of some emergency Athel can't handle?" Madame Delphi 'the Grand' Day Master, swung open with all the fury of a lioness denied it's prey. While not particularly athletic, the fury she could convey when she felt she had been robbed, combined with her own impressive height, made her into quite a sight. She didn't quite tower over the man, but the two or three inches she naturally had on him was enough to put the fear of the Goddess in him. "W-well...." "Well!? WELL!? Allso, you have 5 seconds to tell me something that guarantees you survive to see dawn's light." "R-right, m'lady. Sorry, m'lady." "4, Allso," "T-the city m'lady. Something is..." "3," "The Nazarenes m'lady! We're under attack." Delphi froze. She couldn't have heard that right, but she knew she had. The Nazarenes had launched their first formal attack against Antioch. In that moment, it was as if Delphi's entire thought process rebooted, she smelt the smoke, she heard the screams. She wouldn't fight for The Magnificent One, she needed to fight to ensure all she had worked for wasn't lost for the sake of petty political conquest, right now, preventing that was all that mattered. The anger left as she looked back down Allso, her face and tone became serious, calculating, as if she was thinking while she spoke, "Allso, where is Seth?" "O-on the roof with the ravens m'lady... H-he said that's where you'd meet him, he just sent me to... w-wake you." "Right." She looked back at Polly before continuing, "Allso, you've done good, but the night isn't over yet. I need you to get to Athel in the slums. Tell her we need to mobilize the assassin's guild and concentrate them around the city as fast as possible-- everywhere but the walls. I doubt she'll agree, but tell her it's time to earn some favors, she'll know what I mean. Take the back alleyways when you're getting to her Allso, you know them, the Nazerenes don't." "Okay Madame!" And with that, the youthful courier was off. It was good that got taken care of early, Athel would probably jump headfirst into fighting the bastards without thinking of all that was to be gained here. If they were smart about it. Correspondence would keep them smart. Sighing, Delphi made her way back into the room, to give the now shaking Polly a reassuring kiss. "Relax, just stay here, you'll be fine." Polly sniffled, "H-how do you know that?" Delphi retrieved her spear from it's display case, "Because I know what this is, they aren't raiding, they're razing-- my guess is that this is a squadron of suicide mages sent here to see how much damage they can do in one night, burn the buildings, kill anyone on the street, demoralize the people... that kind of thing..." They're actually kind of doing my job for me, in a way Delphi shook the thought out of her head for a moment, "Anyway, this room's got wards, so you'll be protected." Polly's shaking subsided, but she sniffled again, "But what about you?" Delphi struck a regal stance, "What about me?" She noticed Polly's eyes looking at the weapon, "Oh, this? Oh dearest Polly, this is honestly just a good luck charm. Something the Day Master carries around for appearances I've never used it, my master never uses it, It's just a sign of rank, really..." --- Delphi overlooked the burning streets of the Market District as she gave commands to her bespectacled assistant, Seth, who was writing up scroll after scroll of messages for the carrier ravens docked on the roof. "How many reported in the slums?" "At least 9, ma'am, but that number may fall with the Assassin's Guild in full force." "They aren't in full force." "Ma'am?" "They aren't in full force. I've asked Athel to send divisions across the city-- our assassins are skilled at killing from the shadows, and with the poisons they have access to I don't doubt we won't manage to capture a few of these Nazarene's alive." "But ma'am, that might drastically increased the damages caused by all this--" A smile came across Delphi's face as she watched the burning roads, "Exactly." Seth dropped his quill, "M-ma'am!?" "Seth, how many confirmed civilian deaths have we suffered?" "At least 300, and quickly rising--" "And how many confirmed Guild deaths?" "Significantly less, maybe 10?" Delphi held her fist to her heart, and furrowed her brow, the look on her face mirrored one of genuine concern, "10 good men..." She looked into the orange distance, "Who fought to keep the citizens of this city safe..." She looked at Seth with a smirk, "And where was our government? Where was our "precious" Magnificent One when we needed him? How many military deaths have we suffered?" "W-well, as of right now none, but..." "Typical." She scoffed, the smirk growing wider on her face, "When we need them, we get no help from the soldiers in the slums... meanwhile... the Assassins Guild was all over the city helping everyone, even people who don't pay protection money to the Rouges Guild..." Seth's eyes widened as he got the implication, "Oh my Goddess..." Delphi tilted her head and looked innocently at Seth, "Oh your Goddess what? I didn't say anything..." Seth could only respond with a dumbfounded expression, he could only maintain it for a moment though, as picked up his pen, he needed to keep serving the correspondence of the Day Master. "How many left in our District, Seth?" "4 out of 5 confirmed killed." "Great, our priority is now putting out those fires and making back our losses by looting the abandoned houses." "Yes ma'am."

Captain Darrius Mahakam was, of course, doing paperwork. Filling out a report here, replying to every letter sent to him. Fuck, he spent half his life doing this stuff. Back on the streets he used to smell steel and blood, now all he smelt was damp parchment and ink. It was choking him. He needed to get some air. He stepped out onto his balcony with his wine as company, but didn't keep it for long. It slipped from his grasp as soon as he saw the first lights, and heard the first screaming. The city was under attack! Why in gods name had the alarms not been rung?!? Sergeant Ferri arrived right on cue as the barracks awoke. "Sir!" he spoke, out of breath, "Necromancers, sir! The dead assault our barracks across the city!" Of course they would, stop the guard and spread panic. Darrius started, "Sergeant, help wake the men and gather your own troops, call the other sergeants here for orders, if they aren't here in 2 minutes I'll hang them myself." The veteran sat in his office, and counted up to a minute before sergeants started to arrive. The loud clatter and moans of men arousing from slumber ran through the building. He gave orders to the sergeants as they arrived, setting his plan "Haratio, Yvette, Francis and Killian. I need you to take all your men and put out fires. Johnson, David and Wilson, you must head out to the other barracks and find out what has happened to them, take the heaviest men you have. Johnson I rely on you to manage where these men go, as it is they are probably buckling beneath the assault. Even if this is the case we need those fires out." "Dillian, Feross and Abatha, we will form the main assault force. We may not be much but our main objective is to block up the main plaza. The area us currently not exposed to fire and the streets should help us hold off the enemy. Not only does it nullify the enemies numbers, but the number of streets means we should be able to distract a large number of them." "That leaves both Jason and Veldron. Jason take your bowmen and set up on the rooftops around the main plaza, not only will this reduce the enemies number advantage even further, as you can fire into their ranks, but if you see a Necromancer I want him feathered before he can raise a hand of magic. This should make the battle quicker and a lot more winnable, as a single spell could blast open our defence." "Veldron you are to tell civilians to make for the main barracks for safety, and gather scattered guardsmen across the city to meet up with Tor, captain of the mercenaries. You must race to the Cultivators aid, they are pretty much defenceless yet key to the city!" "Is everyone clear!" His last command was met with salutes and boots clapping. "Let's get to it!" 10 minutes and a half from when the first reports of the attack and Darrius was out of the barracks with his guard. Various numbers of forces headed off in different directions. The fires had only got worse, the slums were tight packed and, worse, it hadn't rained for several days. Darrius began to wish he had sent more people to deal with the fires, even though The Day Master was probably dealing with it already. His force of 200 men had split up into 3 different groups which each took 3 different routes to the market square, not only to reach there quicker but to cover a larger area on the way there. There was very few enemies on the path there, but upon seeing the plaza Darrius understood why. There was a number of Necromancers ready to start an assault on the main palace. More importantly, however, were the undead surrounding them. An experienced Captain, he quickly assessed the size of the crowd, despite it not having order at all. Probably about 350 shambling abominations, probably entirely citizens, though he recognised the occasional guardsmen armour. Darrius' unit of 75 swordsmen and 50 archers were the only ones there currently, and they needed this plaza. If they couldn't hold this ground then the path to the palace would be clear for their reinforcments. "Dillian!" the stout sergeant marched up to him as the group of undead started to leer. "I need you to take 25 men and hold this street behind us, Jason should be able to assist in this, and get him to order his finest marksmen to aim for the necromancers. Bear in mind the square will become as chaotic as a bar brawl when more and more men flood in so I don't want volleys flying into our men, got it? I will take 50 men and distract their force. Remember they lack grace and skill, so as long as we don't get tired we can easily fight them barely losing a man. Let's go." Darrius shouted for his men to hear him. "Remember men, these aren't your friends anymore, just soulless shells! Attack!" At the head of his men, he clashed into the waiting abominations, just as Abatha's men shuffled into the square with war-cries. This was the definition of a blood bath, but if you too had been living in Antioch, you'd be used to it.

It was there that throbbing in her head, the pounding grew only slightly dimmer over time. The memories of how she had gotten such a pain... well that was a good question. It would be the last time Athel played with the venom spiked liquor. Rubbing at her eyes, with fingers touching at the arch of her nose, inhaling the noxious fumes of cheap liquor, sex and all other sorts of debauchery. Each step sounded a moan, scream or grunt of men and women giving to their carnal desires. Something Athel couldn't wrap her hands around, yes true she had those thoughts from time to time but they lead to nothing. A pint would fix anything, so the desire never really struck her. Though it was amusing how much the bet had gone up since The Bloody Hand had come into town. She'd let them have their fun trying and let the pot grow higher, but was appreciating the boom in business they'd brought with them, or rather their cocks. "To take the edge off?" A voice sounded, then a hand with a silver engraved flask. Stolen obviously "Your timing is impeccable as always. Thanks Sarel." Athel took the flask, with hesitation. Emptying a large part of the flask to her stomach. Musing a small cough afterwards. "The Bloody Hand is still looking to meet with you and Delphi mistress."Feeling almost magically better, she knew it wasn't a good thing but to ease the pain it was work it. Sarel the only man she actually trusted with more power, perhaps it was because he was a eunuch. These mercenaries certainly notorious, but what was the reason behind wanting a meeting. Business was business, but perhaps a visit was in order to make sure her terms were settled even though it had been some time since they came to Antioch. "Our friend came to pay us yet?" Athel wanted to know since the previous nights successful operation. "Yea, he's waiting for us at the Orchid."He pointed at the establishment. "Expressing gratitude for his increase in business. I'm just hoping he'll actually pay the rest of our bounty." Sarel didn't like the deal but business was business and he knew Athel would get her payment one way or another. Ending in either blood of gold. Either would suffice. Stepping threw the double doors, she felt at home. Though it was money that was calling, catching the Spice Lord Ural on the second tier. Something was a bit off with his fish mongering look, tossing the barkeeps a small bag from her thigh. "Buy a couple of rounds, its too quite in here. Next round is on me!" She yelled out, followed closely by cheers all around. Cheers and music played louder as Athel and Sarl went to meet Ural. "Satisfied?" She asked, sitting down across from him "Very much, coin well spent." Shifting a bag toward her, the jingle delighted her but it didn't sound like enough. "Shorting me? Really now." Giving Sarel a nod, looking back at Ural. "I carry out your request to have your rival what ever his name is in front of the city guard no less and now your shorting me. Grab him." Sarel despite not technically being a man, did possess the speed and strength of one. One hand over the spicer's mouth the other holding the merchants right hand out. "Obviously you haven't heard what happens if you pull this stunt. Now next time I will take your balls you try to short me." Taking the tables mutton knife and in an instant had smashed it against Ural's ring finger. Giving no prior indication of taking his finger off. Though the giant ruby on his ring finger would be sufficient for the rest of his payment. "Now get out my sight worm." Watching him scurry about his finger still squirting out blood. The hit wasn't official sanctioned, but with the current state of affairs Athel over went protocol knowing that an encroaching army was more priority that spice lords duking it out. Next however was something that they hadn't expect. Waiting for a small supper plate to be brought an ear curdling scream was heard in the distance. Athel and Sarel looked at each other then the window outside. The Blooming Orchid was silent as the grave as more screams of torture came pouring over the city. "Dammit, they could have the sense to wait until I'm myself. No one fucks my city except for me!" Exhaling an prolonged sigh, the mayhem she was used to just not on a scale so vast. Rushing downstairs and out of the tavern to gain a more collected insight to what was going on. Though having collided into one of the guild couriers. "I'll handle it my way. Favors or not." Quickly turning to Sarel. "Mobilize our people, this place is home after all. Groups of three, no less. Anyone who can bag one of this pricks will have their weight in riches. But don't approach them stuipedly. We aren't guards." Shocked at such a statement since money rare slipped out of Athel's pockets except for alcohol. Sarel nodded and had proceeded with haste. Looking outside Athel had to admit she was a bit shocked, the fires, death and mayhem were overflowing. Followed by two of her assassins already inside the tavern. The three drifting into shadows, moving quick and fluid like the so many shadows coursing threw the city. Finding one such of these attackers, they seemed a bit careless. Throwing one part of her storm blade at the culprit, pining him to an adjacent stone wall. The other part of her blade sung as it cut threw the night air, pinning both shoulders now. Blood oozing from the wounds. Could she take this one alive? Yea, but as the first and in bad mood because of the attack he wasn't going to live. "You decided to agitate me to early." She spoke in whispers. Holding out her hand, in which a dagger from her group appeared. One motion was all that was needed as she stuck it at the attackers throat. "While your dying listen. If you wanted to die, I have no problem obliging you. But next time, DO IT LATER AT NIGHT!" Removing the blade, letting him gush out blood before returning the daggers and taking her blades back "Now lets hunt these bastards." She said looking back her partners with a smile, feeling slightly relieved.

Tor panted and it seemed that every muscle in his body ached, mainly from physical exertion but also from what he was forcing his men to endure. “Hold!” bellowed Davos again and again as it seemed that every time they had managed to clear the square of the abominations more had emerged from the cracks to fill their place. “Blast, how many of these freaks can there be?” asked Tor, already knowing that the answer was as many as citizens were being slain and resurrected elsewhere. Already he had witnessed too many of his men die tonight, each one being like a part of him torn away by these foul enemies. Moments ago he had seen a young lad Cedric Siloti take a direct blast from a necromancer and melt into a pile of fleshy gloop on the street. Only three days ago Tor had shared drinks with him and they’d told stories of their childhoods – and now he was nothing more than foul gloop on the ground. This hadn’t been the plan, this was too much too soon, and they were now paying for their lack of preparation with their lives. His men were used to knowing his plan, used to having orders to follow to the letter. A mistake Tor would not repeat. He dreaded how things might be going for his men elsewhere in the city. As again the last of their enemies fell it seemed for a moment that they would have time to regain their positions and composure. As the fight had worn on the city guard had sprung into action, men emerging and joining with Tor as they held the inner city gate. There was a cheer from the walls that surrounded the inner city as the archers that had been positioned there saw the last necromancer fall. “Davos” shouted Tor, his tone and mood showing that he was now practically fuming with anger. “Take the men and the rest of these city guardsmen. You’ll do as Mahakam has ordered and go to the Cultivator's Plateau, once there make sure it’s safe and secure”. Tor hesitated for a moment before he added “But your orders still stand, you are not to deviate from the plan in the slightest – don’t do anything I wouldn’t. I‘m going to the slums, if I can help the day or night master at all then I don’t want to miss the opportunity. Now go – oh and Davos, I don’t want to see anyone else dead tonight, the lives of our men are paramount”. With that Tor turned and sprinted away from them, heading towards the slums as quickly as his feet would carry him. ------------------------- It pained Tor to lose his men, but the thought of losing their contract pained him even more. They were too invested to pull out now, and he’d be damned if he was missing out on the ridiculous amount of coin that was offered just because the city had fallen under attack at this early stage. He would make sure tomorrow that the office of the Magnificent one knew how many men he had lost down to the cities unpreparedness, and that he would be expecting some form of redress for each man. As he moved through the city it became clearer to him that the necromancers were trying to cause as much damage as possible, but now the city was starting to fight back. People rushed to and fro trying to combat the fires and prevent them from spreading any further, whilst some had armed themselves and were now guarding certain streets against any of the undead abominations that were roaming the city. As he got deeper into the slums it became clear that the poorest area was suffering quite heavily, the older rackety wooden buildings going up like kindling and many abominations roaming about the place unchecked. As he approached a junction in the street ahead he spotted a necromancer strolling casually as he launched flames from his fingertips and set fire to yet another row of buildings. At that moment a trio of figures leapt from one of the buildings, Tor only spotting them at the last moment as they emerged from the shadows and simultaneously attacked the man with lightning quick speed. One man plunged a long knife down into his neck, the second driving a pair of savage spiked knuckles into his gut as the third assassin lopped his arm clean off with a great swing of his curved sword. The Necromancer screeched and cackled as blood spurted from him in fountains before he spoke a single word of magic, his blood suddenly beginning to burn like a corrosive acid – some dark curse that he had evoked as he died. The three men cried out and began to convulse as the foul substance ate through their clothes and flesh, the necromancer himself still cackling as every drop of blood in his body turned to acid and he began himself to melt away. At the last moment he pulled the nearest assassin into an embrace, the gruesome sight and chorus of agonized screams making even Tor feel sick to his stomach as both men completely bubbled away. After what seemed like only seconds after the assault had begun all four men were dead, though Tor couldn’t waste time reflecting how damned unfortunate their fate had been. He knew that he was now only a few streets away from the Blooming Orchid, every source he’d found in the city pointing at that as the best place for someone to contact the rouges guild – and a good as place to any to start. He also knew that quite a large number of his men would have been frequenting the many establishments around the same area, so he was hoping he’d run into a few good men he could use at the same time. Soon he was there and began his search, a few corpses here and there, but relatively few compared to where he had come from. Tor heard screams from a building ahead and so he slowed slightly and prepared himself for more fighting. Suddenly there was a smashing sound and a body tumbled from the top floor of one of the three story buildings that lined the street, the now definitely dead man crunching into the paving stones right beside where Tor had been standing. Looking up Tor saw a face glance down at him before disappearing back into the building. A few moments later after a flurry of activity a group of seven of his men emerged from the building where they had been fighting, some of them wearing very little as they were obviously caught unaware whilst in one of the brothels, one of them wearing nothing other than what appeared to be silken underwear. Tor shot the man a questioning glance before he disregarded it and greeted them, filling them in on the situation as quickly as he could. “We are with you sir” said the first man followed by nods from the others as already Tor was again making his way towards the Orchid. “Over there” said one of his men pointing down one of the numerous large alley ways that littered this area. Tor could see a small group stood at towards one end and after a moment he soon realised that this was exactly the kind of group he was looking for. He watched as a trio of men began to drag away one of the necromancers, the dark magic user somehow subdued and bound, leaving only three others stood in the alley as they disappeared into a secret doorway. Two other men looked like they were also assassins, their appearance similar to the men he had seen before – now knowing for certain these were rouges guild men. However it was the third figure that interested him the most by far. Even from this distance he could see fierce red hair which stood out above any flame he had witnessed and drew his eye to the woman who stood gesturing and giving commands – and his heart even seemed to skip a beat as he couldn’t help but stare and hop that this was the Nightmaster, the woman whose name he knew simply as Red. His eye was quickly drawn to the savage and exotic looking blade she was carrying as well as her more… subtle womanly features, not that he could enjoy them for long. Soon the temporary lull was over and the dead were again thick in the streets, a huge number seeming to pour into the alleyway from the opposite side to Tor. It quickly became clear that this was no ordinary coincidence as four necromancers soon joined the attack – urging the undead on as they perhaps wanted to recover their fallen kinsmen, at least that’s what he guessed judging by the ferocity at which they were exerting themselves. In just the first few moments of the brawl Tor was amazed by what he saw, the pair of assassins flowing like serpents as they struck at the multiple abominations that flooded in, but mainly at the woman who almost looked more like a deadly dancer as she whirled around and easily dealt death all-around of her. His men needed no instruction as they followed him forwards, joining the fight and together making short work of the reanimated dead as Tor fired arrow after arrow, each one felling one of the dead-men that surrounded the small group. One of the two of her assassins caught a blast from the nearest necromancer, his flesh seeming to crack and turn into white ash slowly as he collapsed to the ground before the second assassin lunged forwards and drove his dagger into the man’s heart. Three of the necromancers lunged forwards simultaneously attacking the woman, the fourth and final necromancer beginning to sing and chant as he started some incantation with his eyes fixed on her as they tried to bring her down. The woman dodged and ducked as she flawlessly evaded or deflected each blow aimed at her whilst at the same time whirling her double sided blade around her, felling two of her attackers in the flash of an eye as the third seemed to be protected by his wards. Tor wasted little time as he leapt forwards seeing the furthest necromancer completing his incantation and slowly beginning to pulsate with a strange dark energy that he soon recognised from his experience – the insane man was opening a channel between himself and one of the many hellish realms that existed in order to snare some demon and allow it to possess his body – the results of which would be near catastrophic. Tor pulled back another arrow, realising that it was his last and he would not get another shot at this, things seemed to slow for a moment as he focused on waiting for a clear shot, his heart pounding rhythmically in his ears. Losing the shaft he held his breath as it whipped right past the Nightmaster’s face before it hurtled into the left eye of the necromancer just as he began to tremble and lose control of his body, his other eye turning a deep blood red a second before it rolled up into his skull and he fell backwards, an anticlimactic ‘poof’ sounding as the magical energy was dispelled from his body and passed harmlessly into the air. At that moment the woman decapitated the final necromancer with a swing of her exotic blade before she turned and came face to face with Tor and his men as the last few undead were easily finished. A slight smirk on his face Tor nodded his head towards her in greeting as he said “The Nightmaster I’d wager?” before he gestured to himself and his men “Company of the Bloody hand at your service”. Several of his men (including the man in nothing but the silken briefs) bowed enthusiastically as they were introduced. “Tor Balith” he said introducing himself “but I’m sure you know that already. It would seem that it takes an undead infestation to flush you out, you’re quite the elusive woman” he added. He couldn’t help but stare slightly, the combination of her impressive display of martial prowess combined with the fact he had finally found one of the woman he had been searching for practically since he’d arrive in the city serving to blind-side him a little as the adrenaline rush started to subside. He couldn’t help but think that Davos had been right when he’d joked about her appearance what must be not even an hour ago, practically finding himself not being able to take his eyes away from her as he spoke. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Davos was thick with sweat and already covered in blood and grime from head to toe. His heavy half-plate armour was nicked and dented all over and he was fairly certain he had received a broken rib or two. He hated fighting magic users with a passion, the cowardly nature of magic combined with the damn arrogance of every mage he’d ever met having cemented his opinion long ago. “Is this it?” he grunted between pants as they finally arrived at the large gatehouse that lead into the Cultivator’s Plateau. The city guardsman that had been leading them, Veldron or whatever he’d said his name was nodded, his attention now focused on the gate before them. Where there had once been a set of heavy wooden doors reinforced with numerous metallic bands there was now a gaping hole that was still smouldering with a thick noxious smell hanging thick in the air. “This cannot be!!” exclaimed Veldron, his sentiment being mirrored by the many other guardsmen that had now joined them. “How many of them could be inside?” he gasped in an exacerbated manner, his voice thick with distress. “Pull yourself together man…” grunted Davos as he pushed past him roughly and moved through the remnants of the gate, glancing at the twisted and blackened bodies that had obviously once been the guards stationed here. Veldron commanded half of his men to stay and hold the gate, stopping anything else from getting in before he followed Davos with a deep scowl on his face. As the muscular mercenary led the group of men onto the Cultivators Plateau he marvelled at the vast fields that soon stretched out before him, chuckling a little to himself at the thought of seeing them without the express consent of the priesthood that watched so fiercely over this place. Veldron pulled ahead of the group once more, leading them towards the towering Great Temple that dominated the flat landscape. As they moved it became obvious that there were many of the shambling abominations wandering through the fields, several of them mindlessly attacking the group of experienced warriors only to be cut down in moments. “Veldron, take your men and sweep the fields” barked Davos “take half of my men with you and focus on finding out if there are any of those necromancer bastards out there. Kill any you find and make sure you get every damn one of those deadmen”. Veldron turned and glared at him and for a moment Davos thought he would question his authority, each man holding the other’s gaze with a fierce glare. After a few tense seconds the city guardsman turned and stalked towards the fields barking orders to those that followed him. A small grin formed on the huge man’s face as he turned to the rest of his men and said “Shall we see if we can stop these Necromancer fucks from crashing that chubby little man’s party tonight?” before the group turned and began to make their way as quickly as possible towards the Great Temple, weapons and armour clinking as they did.

Inner City, near the rope bridge to the Cultivator's plateau While Chancellor Tero and the acolyte were almost back to the plateau by the rope bridge, they heard the rowdy shouts and cries of a group of soldiers. The cultivators stopped in their tracks and the acolyte let out a hasty whisper: "Oh goddess, is that Nazarenes or the guard?" Chancellor Tero simply said, "Neither.", as Davos's squad of mercenaries bounded the city block. One of the mercenaries shouted out: "Look it's a couple of those priests!", and a few other members of the squad parroted him. One of the mercenaries towered over the rest and called out: "Priest! We heard you need some help cracking Nazarene skulls." The chancellor replied in a shaken voice: "Of-f course! We could a-always use more assistance!" As the mercenary crowd marched forward, the large man's features became visible in the moonlight: while the rest of the mercenaries were no slouches, this man muscles seemed to ripple, he had a bushy black beard, and his bald head shone in the moonlight. He flashed the priest a flashing grin: "Lighten up priest! This is going to be a cakewalk." The acolyte quickly whispered to Tero: "Are you mad! You are going to let those brutes onto the plateau!" The acolytes protests were cut off with a glare from the Chancellor: "We don't have much choice in the matter! I want you to wait by the rope-bridge and direct any more help we can get to the Great Temple, are we clear?" The acolyte responded with a simple nod, and stood by the bridge as the chancellor followed the crowd of mercenaries. Cultivator's Plateau Marton the Fat watched the feast before him with a sense of dread. The cultivators gathered pitchforks, kitchen knives, and whatever they could find as weapons. Marton simply thought that this should not be. Feasts were a time of joy and mirth, not whatever thisis. He simply wished life could be like how it was a few hours ago, with no talk of bloodshed and necromancy. His wishes were not to be, as Davos and his crew burst into the dining hall. The crew was met with a series of gasps and murmurs, but Davos paid little mind to that. He wiped off some of the blood of his blade as he addressed the cultivators: "Why hello there priests! We're here to kill some fookin' Nazarene scum!" One cultivator in the crowds shouted out: "How dare you trespass on Plenora's sacred ground!" The crowd of cultivators echoed this statement with angry murmurs as Davos protested: "You ungrateful little shi-" The chancellor frantically interrupted Davos which earned him a glare from the mercenary captain: "Do not worry brothers and sisters! I have invited this man, Davos and his company onto the plateau to help us eliminate the undead lurking on the plateau." The crowd seemed to agree, and the hostility died down somewhat. Marton finally spoke up: "You vouch for these men chancellor Tero?" "Of course Liason." Marton's dour look was replaced by a hearty smile as he shouted: "Well then Davos! I shall throw you a feast in your honor when this is over!" Marton clambered down the stairs to the lower part of the hall while he shouted out to the crowd: "Enough cowering in our temple! We will suffer these unnatural defilers to live no longer!" The fat man stopped at the bottom of the stairs, his face flushed red and shouted: "Remember my brothers and sisters, we have nothing to be afraid of! Plenora protects!" The cultivators echoed in a deafening roar: "PLENORA PROTECTS!" The cultivators ran out of the grand temple in a stampede, and the mercenaries followed suit. The dead moaned while stumbling around in the cultivators' fields. The lone dead were easily picked off by the mercenaries at range, or were swarmed by a sea of zealots. As the cultivators ran through the fields, they found a group of undead surrounding a necromancer. The necromancer was met with a sea of insults from the zealots. They called him defiler, a disappointment to Plenora, and several other things. The necromancer responded by speaking in an ancient tongue and flinging a bolt of black lightning through the crowd. The mob seemed to lose faith that they would succeed for a moment, but their faith was restored when one of them shouted: "DO NOT FEAR DEATH! PLENORA PROTECTS!" The rest of the crowd echoed "PLENORA PROTECTS!" as they charged the crowd of undead. Davos shouted to his squad: "To the left men! LEFT!" His squad wheeled around the mob of zealots crashing into a sea of undead while peppering them with arrows. The mob of zealots were making little headway, as their fallen would rise again as undead, but they served as a suitable distraction for Davos. He shouted to his men: "Halt and take aim!" The squad halted, as they had a line of sight on the necromancer and did as they were told. Davos shouted: "Open fire!" The squad of mercenaries fired a volley into the swarm of zombies. Many of them dropped like flies, and Davos was able to get a shot at the back of the necromancer's head. As the necromancer fell, the crowd cheered and shouted "PRAISE PLENORA!" The mob of zealots stabbed the dead necromancer with their pitchforks and lit him alight, while they shouted: "DO NOT LET THE DEFILER RETURN!" The cultivator's plateau was cleared.

She lay in wait, silent as the grave. Besides her mistress Athel, Blue Rose or known as Blue to the others she was the second most deadly in the assassins guild. Already a mute, she was quite but also was able to catch her mistress off guard sometimes. Though now wasn't the time for trivial thoughts as the dead assaulted the city. She knew it was coming. Her black ashen hair tied in a single braid down the center of her back. Watching people flee from the dead, sickening that this was happening but it wasn't her job. Already blaming the guards a few years prior for the loss of her parents, though she snapped to reality when a lower ranking necromancer was hurrying down to something happening down the way Sarel's orders had come to her just several minutes before the fateful encounter. Athel wanted one alive or at least one alive. For what reason she didn't know. But if was what the nightmaster wanted she'd get it. Picking from her small satchel, two green feathered darts. Waiting for the necromancer to come closer. Feeling only the slight twinge of something piercing his neck, though as he felt it he dropped. A special mix designed for that exact purpose but it did have side effects. Which to say the least was unpleasant. Moments later she saw two groups approach one of which included her mistress. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Blood, Athel was used to but see such a scale of vast carnage was disheartening and sobering what alcohol was in her system. The young and old, regardless of the gender they were slaughtered without mercy. Pushing the notions from her head though, survival was the only thing needed. The dead rising though it gave her the creeps. Athel didn't like the dead coming back to life. The dead was supposed to stay that way, not get back up. Out of the corner of her the dead approached, shaking the cold chill of corpses that should be in the ground away. Gripping her blade as the two men behind her steeled themselves with twin daggers. Sweat seeped from her hand eyeing the mob of freshly hewn flesh come at her, exhaling a breath as focus soothed over. Circling the blade as several came running. The momentum of the blade hacked half into the abominations head, taking the two down with the relative ease.The blood gurgled out, as the blade was retracted. Death was a natural thing, least around her. The two men at her side, carved the two at her sides into fresh sliced sliced meat. Disturbing as it was it made Athel hungry. A bird whistled, or so it would seem to most. One of the varying calls the guild mates made to one another. Looking back it was another group over a downed necromancer. Over the body he protege, Blue. With the blood still dripping from her blade, Athel approached. Looking down the would be attacker. "Dead?" She asked, but Blue had pointed at the darts in the mans neck. "He's gonna be feeling it when he wakes. Thank you, go help the others" Kissing her head. The girl felt like a little sister in ways, watching her trail off into the shadows "Hollard, take him to the vaults. Triple tie and keep him sedated. We need at least one alive to talk." He would or she'd make his last make his last moments even more excruciating, information would flow one way or another. Watching Hollard and the two others take the man. Back towards one of the various hidden door ways that the city guard would love to find. As he associate hauled the man of, a flood of both dead and several necromancers came in charging. The focus rebooted as the killer resurfaced in Athel. Detaching her blade for the close quarters. Coming from years of training under her uncle, dancing threw the dead mob came easy. Though necromancers controlling them seemed much tougher than their mindless counterparts. In a flash, one of the two men had vanished into white ash. Rage drove the other assassin to the necromancer and a blade to his heart though, seconds latter after a chant her other associate fell into a pile of goo. Holding back two of the necromancers, being pushed back. Using their own momentum, Athel let the two drive forward. Missing her but her own blades ripping out at the sides of the two necromancers. The third was tougher though the ward bounced her blade back. Quickly reattaching it, striking again and using the bounce back of the ward hitting back twice as hard back on the opposite side. Which gave way to a headless necromancer. At the moment of the assassins beheading she felt a stray wind blow past her. Not something she felt before but last necromancer had fallen, at a glance it was an arrow stuck in his eye. Exhaling a breath of relief, though who was her savior exactly. Not exactly keen on owing her life to someone but, if they saved her ass it would seem she'd have to kiss theirs. Looking back, seeing a few men and one that looked like Tor of the Bloody hand or at least what her people had said anyways. Nodding at the notion she was the night master. But unable to stifle a slight laugh seeing one of the men in the silken undergarments. The attack must have caught them... well literally with their pants down. "Well a woman in my trade has to be and if it takes this sort of mess to get me out, I must be doing good no? Though I admit the circumstances could be better." She looked at the two piles that used to be her own people. Never wanting such death among them, though the siege would provide more. "I need a drink." She murmured looking at the two brave men that she was with not two minutes prior. "It seems I'm in your debt though Tor. Not something I tend to rectify. That is if you and your boys there can stop staring." Shaking her head, but being in Tor and his men's debt couldn't be helped. She'd let others ogle for even less. Let them drool a while longer. "Athel." Mentioning her name, though she wasn't too far in debt for the last. "I'll think of something, though something perhaps discussed over a drink after this mess." Tor catching Athel's slight murmur. Using it for to get to know at least half of the rouges in Antioch for the time being and perhaps a better understanding of how things actually worked about the city under the gleaming surface. Both of the glanced over. Tor to his right, Athel to her left. Another part of slums had caught fire, Athel exhaling yet another sigh. It so wasn't her night and being the nightmaster which was an odd thing to say. She shook her head, looking at Tor. "Help me get the rest of these idiots out of my city, help with fires and me an escort. I'll supply the drinks afterwards. Stuff better than that Tillian ale your boys seem to love." Using the partial love his men's love for a good drink to her advantage, though it probably wasn't necessary to do so. Knowing the drink of their choice from the reports of her girls, even if half of them walked bow legged since the Bloody Hand's coming. "It'd be an honor Athel. I'm sure I speak for both me and my men, it'd be a privilege." Tor couldn't help to give a brief pause and think of Davos. He'd be both shocked and grateful for both seeing this elusive woman and a chance to taste something better than the Tillian ale, they'd feasted on moment prior to to the assault. "Well you saw the direction of the fire. Lets go." Athel said. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sarel had seen Blue by chance earlier prior to his meeting with Athel and knowing the girl half as well as his mistress did helped to locate her to some extent. With that girls help they'd bagged one of the attacking necromancers. Perhaps the second one too, but that was rumor as of the moment. Though none the less Delphi would want to know such an event. Catching one of the guilds couriers being attacked, he intervened. Gutting the abomination in the process with his curved blade. Besides the thanks of the young courier, he carried Delphi's words with him. It was no surprise that Delphi's orders were relatively the same that Athel had given him prior. Strange that the two would think so much a like. But with the two working so long together or if it was Athel not wanting to hear Delphi bitch. "Find out how the city guard is handling this mess. Use the sewers to avoid these corpses." He said. The courier ran as Sarel continued on. Figuring critical information such as the capture of one of these attackers would be best given straight to the head, no need of any information split over to other such ears that could be listening. Even if the city was under siege. He moved quickly, avoiding anything unnecessary. His gut was been wrenched as it was seeing the dead crawling over the city. Reaching where Delphi retreated to during the night hours. His trek up the stairs reminded something Athel had once told him. "If the need ever arises, rip that girl from between her legs and make Delphi listen." Hearing Athel's voice in his head, though honestly both of the Delphi and Athel scared the living hell out of him when they were pissed. Making his trek to roof quick.

Delphi coughed. The woman paced on the roof's smokey balcony, she watched with mild interest at the slowly dying fires beneath her and any incoming ravens-- the screams in the distance didn't even register to her. Her only concerns in the moment were maximizing profit and minimizing losses, just as always, this was nothing but a business transaction to her. Albeit, one seemed intent to keep as interesting as possible. Delphi turned from her view of the chaotic streets to the roof. Seth, small in stature but fast with pen, was seated at a table in the middle of all the raven cages, writing as fast as the Madame Day Master could give orders. Delphi coughed again. Seth looked up in concern, "Are you alright, Madame?" Delphi shook her head as she made her way over to the clay desk, clearly built into the roof, "I'll be fine once we clear the air of this wretched ash..." Delphi leaned against a raven cage as she watched Seth write, "It is of no consequence. Do we have any new information?" Seth thumbed through the notes the most recent messenger ravens had brought with them, "Well..." He squinted, the smoke making it that much harder to read, despite candlelight. "Glaucia's brothel to the east reports that eastern quarter Market District businesses have suffered little in the way of physical damage and have had no deaths-- archers on the roof have been posted, but it appears the Nazerene weren't able to cause much actual damage besides panicking the common folk, Madame." "Good," Delphi leaned over Seth to view the map of the city. It was a map littered with lines and circles, all indicating to which establishment her ravens had been trained to fly, most of these locations were located in the Slums and the Market District for varying reasons, these were the locations she was most concerned with at the moment, the ones in the pocket of the Rouges Guild. The Market District was a giant circle itself on the map, a cluster of homes and businesses, it was the area with the second highest population density in the city, right behind the slums. However, opposite the slums, it was where most of the city's coin was to be made. Delphi had been born here, and found herself with no desire to be anywhere else. Fitting, then, that she now had the task of protecting it. The Market District was separated into six areas, Four Quarters, a Central Borough, and the Outer Wards. Each is unique in goods, business opportunities, and culture; All lines on the map led to the Central Borough, specifically a major hub of Rouge Guild activity, Delphi's own residence, the only brothel in the Central Borough, the very roof she stood on-- Plenora's Bounty. The Central Borough was known for it's banking, making the presence of a brothel and hive for illegal activity a haven for some, and a nuisance for others. The Day Master took it in stride, the brothel's 'classy' theme brought in the wealthy bankers of the district, as well as the occasional royal or other wealthy public official. All the money in Antioch, eventually, made its way through the banks of the Central Borough, making her position one of strategic importance for her less than legal dealings with the banks. The other Quarters-- North, South, East, West, as well as the Outer Wards, were also important for the Guild, albeit for other reasons; The North Quarter serving as an area of gathering for the merchants and businesses of the city. The West Quarter, until recently, was a place where exports leaving the city (and imports entering) passed through. The South held the great artisans and craftsmen of Antioch. With the Outer and East Quarters serving as a place where all of this... converged. The Outer Wards were where people too poor to move to the Market District proper lived, where poor worker from the slums would go to spend their nights in a pub after a hard week, and where poor Market District citizens would go to save some gold and get some beer, they were home of Blooming Orchid. A hive of information and business opportunities, and the East Quarter, with all it's brothels, was it's wealthy brother. Of course, under Delphi's leadership, the Guild had expanded into all six areas of the Market District, and was on the verge of creating a stronger foot in the other Districts of Antioch. Glaucia, and her brothel, The Stories End, were right in the middle of the Eastern Quarter, and in a near perfect position to tell of it's status in the fray. Despite her cough, Delphi held a smile on her face. "I want you to send word to Glaucia, she's to have her archers and any mercenaries still in the Eastern Quarter form a perimeter-- no one--" She paused to think, biting her lower lip, "No one of those Nazarene-possessed things is to get in," As she paused, Seth wrote, looking up briefly to ask. "Anything more, madame?" "Oh, dearest Seth-- there's always more." Delphi paused to consider her wording before continuing, "I want, all houses, all businesses not under Rouge Guild protection, completely cleaned out." Seth stopped writing, an incredulous look on his face, "I-i beg your pardon, madame?" "Don't look so confused, Seth." the woman scolded, "The Goddess of Plenty has given us an opportunity, and I intend to take it. The confusion this is causing serves as the perfect shroud to attack outright those who oppose us. Any business, in the Market District and in the Slums, not currently paying protection money to the Guild is to be cleaned dry." "..." Seth took a moment to adjust his wireframed spectacles before continuing his writing, "And what of those behind on their payments, madame?" Delphi scoffed, moving over to the edge of the roof to view the street once more, "What of them? They get this chance to pay-- if they do not, then they pay in anything and everything we can have lifted out of their homes and businesses before day break." She turned back to Seth, "If they prove troublesome, this includes their lives." "Yes, madame." Seth made swift work of writing out the orders, as ravens with new notes from around the city began to pile around Seth. "Oh Seth?" Delphi called over as she found herself pacing once more around the perimeter of the roof, "Be sure to include instructions to burn that note... the less solid evidence leading back to us the better." "Of course, madame," and in a matter of seconds, the raven was off, carrying with it instructions for one of the biggest, if not the biggest robberies in the history of Antioch. Everyone would know the culprit, but with all the confusion caused by the surprise Nazarene assault, as well as the note the raven carried being the only solid bit of evidence-- no one would have any grounds to accuse any member of the Rouges Guild. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Allso's head peeked out of a sewer grate of the plaza near the main palace, following the advice of the man... man? Half-man? Man without man parts? Allso scratched his head in confusion. He wasn't sure what you called him, but he was thankful to Sarel regardless, back alleys had been mostly safe, but then people started coming back to life! He'd have been done for if Sarel hadn't saved him when he did-- it was awful convenient too, as he could just tell what Delphi had told him to Sarel, and then receive some new orders from him! He was the Night Master's adviser, anyway! "Find out how the city guard is handling this mess. Use the sewers to avoid these corpses." Sarel had told him. So find out how the city guard is handling this mess he did! Allso also found himself greatly appreciating the advice of the Night Master's Second, the sewers were much safer than the streets-- although a little bit smelly. He didn't mind too much. He had found out Guard posted all over the city were being called to the palace and a few apparently went to the fields, he took that to mean the slums and Market District could look out for themselves, which was good! Lady Delphi liked it when that happened. Allso watched as the guard prepared to fight, their staggering numbers split between the wall, the Palace, and the Cultivators plateau. "Remember men, these aren't your friends anymore, just soulless shells! Attack!" Allso ducked back down into the sewers, figuring he should probably go find Delphi or Sarel, he couldn't help but muse as he began to walk the cramped septic corridors, though. What an interesting night... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Rest easy, Sarel." Delphi poured two glasses of grand wormwood spirits, "The difficult part seems to be over, with the Nazarene mages gone from the markets--" she took a sip from her glass, "and soon to be gone from the slums I hope," She handed one of the glasses to the giant eunuch, who sat at a table in Delphi's quarters, across the room Pollyanna slept in Delphi's bed. Delphi shrugged at his refusal and poured the green liqueur in his glass into her own, plopping several cubes of sugar in the beverage, she sat across from him. "Too much time spent drinking with Athel?" Sarel gave a dry chuckle, "If only you knew.." His face became more serious as he asked, "What do you mean, difficult part? What of what comes next?" Delphi sipped the green liqeur with a smile, "Well it shouldn't be too hard-- the Assassins Guild is scattered around the city, 'helping' the greater good, meanwhile, we've got the entire Market District's perimeter under our watch--" "But," Sarel cut in, reaching for his own, now empty glass, "We can't possibly maintain that, there are still sighting of Nazarene undead spawn in the Southern and Western Quarters, the Outer Wards and heavy concentrations in the slums--" Delphi raised her had to interrupt, "I said rest easy, Sarel," taking another sip, she continued, "The perimeter only needs to be maintained for however long it takes to rob clean the businesses who don't pay the Guild protection money. I've received word that the guard is preoccupied with protecting the palace and the Cultivator's plateau-- now is the time to perform these robberies, the Nazarines are gone, their spawn are dwindling-- we've already swept through the Eastern Quarter and we've recovered enough coin from there alone to cover any expenses the fires may have caused." Sarel couldn't help but look a little impressed, it appeared the timing of these events may have been to the Guild's benefit, he poured himself a glass of water, "What of the Magnificent One?" Delphi poured herself another glass of the grand wormwood, "What of him? In all this confusion they won't have any solid evidence to accuse us with, especially with the City Guard away." Sarel took a sip of his grog, "Well then," he raised his glass in a toast, "To a night filled with profit!" Delphi raised her liqeur, already a little tipsy, she didn't possess half the alcohol tolerance of her counterpart, "To the bloody Goddess of Plenty!"