Such wonders are born of these rich fires Final Words of Titian III Dormire, Last Emperor of the Somnus Imperium, during the Immolation of High Sepulchrave - The shattered moon hung low in the sky, its smoldering core lending to the night a dull red tinge, illuminating faintly what was left of High Sepulchrave, whose ruined spires and cracked domes crowded the dim horizon like a line of broken fangs. Arctos watched the night sky, as was his custom, tracing its spiraling constellations with his gaze, and tried to imagine what it was like when the moon was still whole. “It was pale,” said the wizard, who was looking neither at the sky nor at Arctos, but at the blade he was methodically sharpening, an elegant southern scimitar of Tripantese make, “So bright it obscured the stars some nights. With a tele-lens, you could see rivers and forests across its face. The Lady's Garden they called it. Quite beautiful.” Arctos glanced at his companion and snorted. He was used to the southron's uncanny way of guessing his thoughts, of answering questions that hadn’t been asked. But the moon had been broken two centuries ago. “Read that in one of your books?” he asked the wizard. The other man shrugged and shook his head and continued with his sharpening. Arctos snorted again and patted his vest, searching for his flask. Drinking wasn't his first choice- he was more a fan of the tarric root, but smoking at night in the plague lands was a quick way to attract unwanted attention. So Dalean brandy would have to do. He took a sip, washing the liquor over his gums and relishing the spreading numbness. It burned deliciously going down. “Drink?” he said, offering the flask. The other man took it with a nod. “I need to take a watch tonight?” Arctos asked. Some nights the wizard slept, most nights he didn’t. Drathans were odd like that. “No.” “Alright. I’m to sleep, then.” Arctos said, shooting a glance at the black silhouette of High Sepulchrave, looming in the middle distance. The Silent City, they called it now. He’d been born in there, spent his boyhood an orphan living in its narrow lanes and crooked alleys before being dragooned into the Legion to fight in the Emperor’s wars. He’d been back once since the Plague overtook the Imperium and left its lands a haunted waste. Looking for easy loot with a band of other ex-soldiers. Thirteen had gone in, four’d come out alive. Three had come out sane. He’d sworn he’d never go back so long as he lived. The things he’d seen were bad enough. Temples rebuilt, but not to Justinian. The rats, swollen and twisted. The children, if that’s what they were, living among the charred ruins, leering out from behind doorways and piles of stone. Worse though were the things he hadn’t seen… but had felt were there, just out of sight. Waiting. Gestating. But the southron wizard had needed a guide, and his pay was very good indeed. And by all the Holy Laws of Sacrosanctum, he needed the money. In the distance, a woman screamed. Arctos’ hand dropped to his sword belt on instinct, as it did every time he heard the Afflicted, but this one wasn’t close. Probably. Sound sometimes traveled weirdly in the Plague Lands. The wizard looked up from his sword, and Arctos’ stomach twisted slightly as he detected a trace of unease in the other man’s usually inscrutable face. “Go to sleep,” the southron said, “We’ll need to be quick tomorrow.” “Aye. Let’s hope this book you’re after is worth it. And easy to find.” “Let’s hope.” Arctos lay down on his bedroll and closed his eyes, trying to focus on the rhythmic, comforting grind of stone against steel as his companion worked on his blade. After a time, he fell into a fitful slumber, trying not to dream of the children he had glimpsed the last time he’d entered the Silent City. Of their soft laughter, and rows of needle teeth.

The Town of Rinswald, miles west of Castle Detrimus

Buildings stood as burnt out husks. Charred bodies littered the abandoned shelters as a sepulchral reminder of the funereal sickness that plagued the once booming town of Rinswald. Here a morbid disease took the townspeople by the hundreds, forcing many of them into an unending sleep, cursed with mumbles and soft jabbering as the unwaking mind still ran active. Others woke from the gloomy slumber, but as beasts. The waken were insane and perverse figures of their former selves, gnawing on their own flesh as well as the healthy. They carved hideous unworldly symbols into their ichor covered skin and muscle, and their eyes bleed as if mourning their new forlorn existence. A blazing sun painted on the crumbling walls stood as a caring embrace to the townsfolk, reminding the Charlinite citizens of the town that all was not lost, and a slice of virtue still policed the hopeless situation. This sun was the banner of the Paladins of Krax, the callers of the inquisition, and the knightly patrons of the god known as Justinian. The shining plates of their armor reflected the sun above, giving the virtuous men the look of heaven sent angels. They were the citizens hopes and dreams, they were the saviors. The Paladins guarded a prisoner line vigilantly, but there were no regular prisoners shackled together in the train being led out of the destroyed town, but the monstrosities of the plague, the prisoners of the dream plague. The rhythmic clang of the heavy shackles that adorned the pale legs of the sick monsters provided a beat for which the Paladins saw fit to whip the disobedient creatures to their final place of judgement, and ultimate execution. Women wailed as their infected children were marched, and their husband and sisters funneled into the large pits that were dug outside the towns by the Paladins. While no sane relative wished to openly acknowledge it loudly, they all knew this cruel fate laid out by the saviors was the only fair solution to the even crueler beasts of madness. At the lips of the pits, the Paladins wore thick masks to filter their own breaths as they forced the damned into the earthen chambers where headsmen swung wildly at the helpless creatures, their blades dull with extreme overuse and the soil moist with blood and gore. After hours of filling the pits, they were evacuated by the blood splattered headsmen, and then after a showering of extra kindling the Paladins lit the pits aflame. Soon the fires roared and licked at the sky, jumping far above the pits in a deadly dance. Muffled and estranged screams and shrieks of those spared by the headsmen scratched at every witnesses ears as the creatures attempted to crawl out, only to have the few victorious flame engulfed bodies pushed back in by long poles wielded by the Paladins and angry survivors. When the flames began to die and the sound of charred bodies crackling under the heat replaced the sharp shrieks of the living, the Paladins began to chant a prayer to Justinian, a prayer of cleansing so that the plague may not continue it’s conquest of the Kingdom of Charlin. As they chanted, each and every Paladin knew the plague had already spread into Charlin, maybe not at such a potency, but it had, following suit behind the cultists of the dream plague that riddle the Charlin underground and worshiped ancient and bizarre figures in the dead of night. Overlooking one of the gruesome fires was one Grandmaster Paladin, Marc Galenon, cousin to the king and leader of the Paladin order. His shining armor was adorned with a crimson red cape that housed the embroidered golden sun in it’s center. On his hip hung a nobles sword that was dull in decoration in comparison but instead utilized the pragmatic uses of a true war sword. Marc was a tall man and definitely an imposing figure to all who he deemed heathens, and a clear hero to all he deemed righteous. His face was a serious one, wielding sharp blue eyes and a black beard, with long hair that matched. He looked like a true Charlin. On his orders alone all across Charlin the Paladins marched, in search of the plague carriers and cultists, and with blazing righteous fury, they marched to cut them down, in the name of justice and order. This was his way, his word became law to those who listened and his sword became punishment to the dishonorable. He stood there by the pits contemplating a thought while watching the plagued bodies crumble under the immense heat. The acrid smell caused his nose to wrinkle as he continued his lonely thought in a calming silence. While his thought was lonely, he wasn’t, as three of the twelve masters that formed the elective ruling body of the Paladins stood by his side. They wore armor almost as grand as him and on their hips were swords of equal make, the fine quality steel coming from the scorched lands to the far north east, the Kingdom of Karkarth, long trading partners of the Charlinites. One of the Masters spoke up, his face was young and boasted only a short dark beard in comparison to his present company. “Sir,” He said obediently, “Rinswald has been evacuated, and transgressors and the infected have been neutralized.” The obvious remarks of the report were barely chewed before swallowed by Marc, as he was the man who orchestrated the mass execution. “Have there been any news from the Monodominics?” The Grandmaster asked, his voice hoarse from all the commands he had yelled on the battlefields of his past, yet still sharp enough to bring a man to his knees in submission. “Our reports still remain mysterious and spotted, all who are sent to the Mountains of Roland in search of their monastery either never come back, or come back without any information to provide about the long lost Monodominic structure other than a few reports of a massive foreigner barring the way in some of the passes.” Marc grunted, “They deny Justinians supremacy, and even though we use a gentle hand, they refuse to enter our custody, and now foreigners are meddling in our business?” “No one can seem to pinpoint the strangers accent, or size for that matter. Some question if he even has horns-” “I don’t care about the stranger, Paladin, we need the Monodominics. We need them to submit themselves to our charity if we are to ever unite the Kingdom of Charlin completely in Justinians name.” Marc Galenon sighed, “ Sometimes I wish their influence wasn't so ancient and deep rooted into the Charlin way, so we could just go around them. However, since that is not the case, we have to dissolve them into the new Dynasty of Galenon and the reign of Justinian, or our foot hold is threatened by the remnants of the old Dynasty of Roland, and the heresy of the Monodominics. Our glorious nation cannot succumb to it’s current state of a decentralized mess. ” “Understood, Grandmaster.” “ Do you?” Questioned the Grandmaster. The Paladin master pounded his cuirass covered chest with his gauntlet covered fist, “I submit my honor to you, Grandmaster, and request the privilege to ride to the Roland Mountains myself, as to oversee Justinians reign.” “Sir Edvin, you truly are a Charlinite,” Marc agreed with a sharp smile, a curve that always sat rarely on his face, and sickly whenever it did.

Kyugyu, Kingdom of Old Otnemarcas, Otnemarcasan Empire “My lord, I beg you to reconsider.” Very rarely did an arch-priestess formally bow towards another. Why would the living conduit for the deities need to show subordination to another? Yet arch-priestess Sying did just that, holding the bow for a few seconds before rising to look at the uncaring face of the emperor. Sying simply couldn’t understand the man. Why would he turn his back to the deities and become a Sibytte? “No” Emperor Lii Severin answered. The man, who had once been thought to be one of Otnemarcas’s most brilliant and benevolent of leaders, sneered at Sying as he said “The time for tolerance has long since passed. In fact… wasn’t it your predecessor who said that ‘tolerance was the worst thing imaginable’? Frankly I have to agree with the sentiment.” The emperor brought a hand up to his chin to stroke his beard as he continued “I believe the time has come for you to give up on your heretical ways.” Sying could feel her jaw drop as she processed what the emperor was asking of her. “I will not be converted.” She said. “I will not turn my back on the gods like you have.” “Then I will have you branded as a traitor and executed.” The emperor proclaimed as he turned to leave. “What will it take for us to gain the freedom to worship our gods?” Sying cried as she grabbed the emperor’s arm. Sying felt something strike her stomach as the emperor spun around with incredible speed. Had he punched her? “The price of freedom is death” The emperor quietly said as he stepped back and turned his back on her to walk away. Sying tried to follow, but couldn’t seem to gather any strength in her legs. Looking down she saw a short blade protruding from her stomach. She fell to her knees, her hands quivering as she reached for the blade. She had almost reached it when the sound of a child screaming reached her ears. She slowly turned her head to gaze at the small form of Princess Meirong. She found herself able to do little more than stare at the young princess as her life rushed out of her, staining her previously white hanfu a starkly contrasting red. Finally the she passed the point of no return; she toppled to the ground, the last of her strength having been used up. As the arch-priestess of the Otnemarcasan Empire fell to the floor, no longer able to hold herself up, all she could think about was how she hoped the young Meirong wouldn’t be traumatized by what she was seeing. Somewhere in the North Sea Meirong awoke to find herself and her sheets drenched in sweat. Her pulse raced as she rose into a sitting position, memories of her dream still racing through her mind. Even in the dim light available in her cabin she could see her hands shaking. When would she be able to forget that terrible day? Taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, she rose to her feet and changed into a clean set of clothes. She felt disgusting, but there was little she could do until her ship reached a port in the Justinian Patrimony where she could hopefully take a bath. It was in the Justinian Patrimony that she hoped to find a means to end the Sibytte Wars once and for all.

The mighty blows of hammers to hot iron echoed throughout the great vaults that were known only as the Chambers of Making. Here miracles of metal were woven into meticulously well-crafted works of art that proclaimed the skill of their artisans. Jahun-ka smiths armed with numerous tools and shirtless but for their work aprons and great gloves toiled away while seemingly immune to the intense heat of the chamber. Forging, like smelting, was a refined art in Karkarth. Nearly every technique used by men and beastkin alike were utilized here, together with a myriad of specialized processes known only to the Jahun-ka. Theirs was a craft unmatched by any other peoples; nowhere was such more apparent than within the forgeworks of the great Chambers of Making. Rows upon rows of master smiths worried away at their stations, twisting, melting, beating, and brewing works of iron and steel. The sound of their work held a kind of sublime tune all it’s own. All bolstered by the crackling of flames and the hissing breath of steam when hot metal met cold water. Built deep within the great Dread Mountain itself, such fuels as coal and wood were scarcely needed and at best redundant. Through Jahun-ka ingenuity, rivers of molten lava were funneled away from the core of the sleeping beast, it’s heart giving the fires they needed for their craft. Out of great archways built high into the walls came great assembly lines holding freshly made ingots, all operated by extensive pulleys that turned the Chambers of Making into a true machine of industry. From the lower levels that twisted throughout the under depths of Djerád Thymár, were the great mines that feed the needs of the Chamber of Making. Achvyn of House Orlious was appointed Master of Crafts of the Chamber, and worked closely with Clan Orlious’s far land traders. It was the Orlious who were responsible for a great deal of the Karkarths trading wealth. Achvyn position meant he oversaw the most lucrative sources of income for the Scorched Lands. Thus, Achvyn held the position with much pride. He watched the proceedings on his usual inspection walks down the chambers long hall, smiths on either side working away. Ingots were dropped within overhanging melting crucibles, each resting just over red hot flames which slowly melted down their cargo, once mostly liquidated, the smith pulled on a chain to tip it thus pouring its payload into finely made molds at the makers choosing. At Achvyn’s side marched his assistant carrying a flat wooden tablet with leafs of paper upon it and armed with a quill, was jotting down various bits of information as Achvyn directed. Replacement tongs or where levers and pulleys needed fresh oiling. He also jotted down various quotas that still needed to be met. They began passing by a rake of newly forged Karkarthian blades. Achvyn raised a hand to call a stop, and walked to one of the swords. Having only reached the phase of making before they received their hilts and handles, the swords seemed markedly naked. Despite this, they still held undoubtable sense of beauty to them, and each revealed the mark of their marker. As every smith in Karkarth made sure to leave their sign on their works. Each blade was deeply engraved with ancient Draconic symbols, etched into the very soul of the weapon. The smiths of Djerád Thymár were a superstitious lot and believed every blade held it’s own spirit, it’s own personal legend. One did not forge a new weapon so much as allow it to take the shape it wanted. Achvyn didn't know what to make of their strange practices, but he could not deny their efficiency. A nod of approval sprung from Achvyn as he traced the lines of the runes with a dark finger. “How many newly born are ready for shipment to Otnemarcasan?” Achvyn asked. “Given our current output this month and today's progress, we should have as many as six hundred ready by weeks end.” Orvo, his attendant, answered crisply. “Our quota will take another month to complete, taking into account our efforts to meet Charlin’s growing needs in their current wars.” Achvyn nodded. As expected the Chamber of Making within Djerád Thymár was excelling expectations. Theirs was the premier foundry within Karkarth, and easily outpaced the works of other great forges elsewhere in Karkarth, and very likely all of Avara given the Jahun-ka’s advances in metallurgy. Still, even the skill of Karkarths forgemasters would be hard pressed in the coming times. War often meant a surplus of work and trade for smiths throughout all of Karkarth. Yet even in all the centuries of warfare it had faced, Avara’s needs for armor and weapons had never pushed Karkarth like this in the past. The timing was good, considering the lackluster harvesting of shroom’s this year. Due in no small part to the working of a particularly large Ash storm. Something that would hopefully be fixed in the coming days with trade. However, if rumors were true, Karkarth might not be able to risk getting such much-needed foodstuffs from Charlin their closest ally in these trying times. Not if the plague spread any further or grew even worse... The two continued on their way. “Let us hope those grains from Charlin arrive soon then. Preserving us from famine is the least they can do given our aid in their conflict.” “The hottest fires forge the strongest steel.” Orvo chirped, quoting a popular Jahun-ka saying. “I’m sure our allies will hold. Their nothing if not resolute.” “That's putting it mildly.” He stood atop the treeless hillock that sat between two running rivers of magma and he waited, his eyes glued to the eastern horizon, to the tiny sliver of light heralding the approach of dawn. He was naked, every hair, every nerve feeling the tickle of the hot breeze. He was naked and he was free, and as the horizon brightened a bit more, he lifted his sword, a large but well-balanced weapon, into the air before him, both hands clasping its long hilt, the muscles of his arms bulging. Sparks of fire wafted through the air and met flesh, but the sword wielder neither hissed in pain or made any note of feeling them. Fire Prince Kelnzo brought the sword across in a gentle sweep, his weight lifting gradually with the movement of the outstretched blade to keep his balance perfect. Up went the blade over his left shoulder. He stepped right foot forward, then brought the sword back, again slowly, perfectly balanced. His left foot came forward, then went out to the side, blade and right foot following, turning the young man as if he were now facing a second opponent. Strike, parry, strike, all in harmonic and slow motion, and then he dropped his right foot back, coming around in a fluid movement to stalk back to the left. Strike, parry, strike -- the same routine. Then he dropped his right foot back again and half pivoted, so that he was facing exactly opposite from where he had started. He came ahead in three strong strides -- strike, strike, strike with the blade as he moved, then repeated the same motions he had used, left and right, from this new position. "Bi'nelle dasada," it was called, the sword-dance of the Iron heart discipline. The young man continued for nearly an hour, his arms and weapon weaving ever more intricate patterns in the empty air. This was the bulk of his physical training, sparring rarely but gaining a memory of the movements within his muscles. Every attack and parry angle became ingrained in him; what had been conscious battle strategy melded into a reactive response or an anticipatory strike. From under a great shroom across the eastern river of fire, Thurirl’ver and some others watched the sword-dance in sincere admiration for their prince. Truly the muscled young man was a thing of beauty and grace, a combination of pure strength and uncanny agility. His sword swished with ease, as did the long braids of his midnight black-colored hair. Never losing the slightest edge of balance, Kelnzo’s muscles worked in perfect harmony, perfect fluidity, none battling, flexing and complementing each move. And his eyes! Even from this distance, the others could see the olive-green orbs sparkling with intensity, truly seeing the imagined foes. The young Kelnzo’s movements improved with every day, and so Thurirl’ver had gavin him more of the sword-dance, the most intricate battle movements known to the Jahun-ka, who collectively were the finest swordsmen in all the world. Kelnzo mastered the intricate movements, every one, soaked them into the sponge he had become and held them fast in his heart, mind, and muscles. No longer did any, even Jatil, question his prowess or his bloodline. Never again in Irrál Feth were the words "Blood of the Dragon" spoken derisively where young Kelnzo was concerned. For he had passed through the "wall of nonperception," as Thurirl’ver called it, had shrugged off the common view of societal inhibitions of consciousness, had become one with the greater powers, the natural powers, about him. On those occasions when he did spar, he not only understood how to defeat any attack, deflect, dodge, or block, but also knew which tactic would offer appropriate counterattacks or would keep his defensive posture strong against subsequent attacks from that foe, or even from others. Kelnzo now won far more often than he lost, even held his own when battling two against one. His routines became more varied, more deadly, resembling in many instances the motions of an animal predator. He could put a dagger in his hand and curl his arm in such a way that he might strike as the viper. Or he didn't even need the dagger but could stiffen his fingers that he might drive them right through any obstacle. And every morning, before the ash veil blanketed Irrál Feth, Kelnzo came to this spot and watched the dawn, weaving his sword-dance, building the memory. There was no doubt Kelnzo was his father's son in every way. The Blood of The Dragon.

Humanity is the sole object worthy of worship. From the Analects of Justinian the Lawgiver, God-King of All Avara - To All Subject Sovereigns, Highest Servants of the Law and Lawgiver, Protectors of Humanity: In this the Fourteenth Month of the Two Hundred and Thirty Fourth Year Since the Giving of the Moste Holy Law, In the Name of the Dread Authority Whence All Authority Flows, Greetings, faithful one. The Somnus Imperium has failed its god and Humanity. It must be punished, scourged of impurities, and built anew. Its decadence, laxity and insufficient zeal for the Law allowed the Plague of Madness to spread unchecked. Now these so-called sons and daughters of Sacrosanctum slay each other in what remains of their Imperium, fighting for the now-meaningless title of Emperor, willfully ignorant of the commands of their god and the requirements of the Law. Across His World, the foul worshipers of the Vanquished Crone and the red demons advance into once hallowed territory, the Unclean spread disease and disharmony, monsters abound. You, servants, must correct this. Unite your armies with those of your brother Sovereigns and restore order to the lands of the Imperium. Control the spread of the Plague, drive the subhumans and foreigners from hallowed land, and put down the rogue elements and armies who everywhere devour and destroy, endangering our glorious future. From among you who carry out this task shall be anointed a New Emperor, who will carry the Law to the farthest reaches of Avara, and destroy the moon-worshipers and wicked sorcerers who oppose the progress of Sacred Mankind. Obey and be rewarded. Issued by Caius Faustus, Uppermost Servitor of the Divine Temple-Palace, In the Name of Justinian, God-King of All Avara, Master of Mankind

No one knows exactly what happened, or where he came from. All any of us can remember is praying in the courtyard as per usual when the sun was at it’s height, and as we prayed to the Whispering One the last words of our mantra, there was a great flash. As our eyes readjusted after being blinded we saw him, standing twice our size in height and width in the middle of the great courtyard. He stood with a great axe aflame in his hand, two horns erect out of his massive skull, and a massive tome strapped securely to his back in a vestment covered in magical wards and fit to protect a knights own heart. He spoke an unknown language in an alien accent, but despite the thunderous tongue, his words were calming and shone with enlightenment. As brother Wilxham tried to speak back to the great figure, his language changed to that of our own. Soon all the monks and I sat down with the beastly bull man, and we had a long conversation. He spoke of chaos and destruction, but also of our prayers being answered. We could not find out where he hailed from, but he assured us it was a glorious place, where even our ideals were known; Such honeyed words proved true as he managed to recite to us the most complicated and esoteric scripts and mantras of the Whispering God of Monodominum as well as those of other religions even we have never heard of. He even granted me to take a look at his mighty tome, of which he called ‘The Codex’. After a quick flip through part of his strange book of knowledge, I grew enlightened, and I knew why he was here. Praise be the Whispered God. Praise be his silent answers. Praise be, for Freg has come. The slightly chilly mountain air of the ancient cliffs, peaks and valleys that made up the mystic mountains of Roland smelt sweet with violets and pine, as opposed to the usual deciduous oak and maple that dominated the Charlin landscape. The peaks towered far above the usual flat lands of Charlin to the point that the tallest spire even seemed to mingle with low clouds. The serene landscape was populated by fauna such as deer, rabbits, and songbirds, at such a thickness it was impossible to go through them without seeing hundreds of rabbits and deer while being tantalized by the melodious harmonies of the avian hosts. Through such songs one might be able to make out the soft whisper of the breeze channeling through various cracks and crevices in the rocky sides of the cliffs and rock walls that populate the landscape as much as the rabbits. Though the hidden monastery of Roland served well as the house of prayers for the true Monodominic monks, the surrounded scenes of the mountains proved to be just as well. One such Monodominic monk found this to be quite accurate as he sat on his knees in prayer under a tree of pine. The man’s traditional knee long black robes clung tightly to his body and were tied at his waist with a bright red sash. A thick dark hood covered his head, black pants covered the rest of his legs where his robes did not and his feet were bare and calloused; this was the image of the monks of old, the followers of Monodominum and the ancient order of the monastery of Roland. The man prayed softly and only wisps of his whispered words could be heard against the songs of the birds. The sun warmed his body was soft beams of light that broke through scattered clouds and the boughs of the tree he knelt at. Where the sun did not kiss, a slight chill dominated, causing a wave of chill after a wave of warmth as the clouds slowly floated in the sky. The delicate scene was complete as the soft grass would glow in the sun, then dim when the cloud stopped the beams with it’s thick body, allowing the mountain below to undulate between bright and dim. Behind the monk, and through the trees appeared a group of six that looked completely out of place in this serene atmosphere. They wore the heavy clanking armor of knights, they carried long swords at their hips, and waving capes of war on their backs, centered with the sun of the Paladins of Krax. Four of the knights matched completely, being the usual noble Paladins of the order, while the other two were dressed different. One dressed slightly less impressively than the others, as he was not from Charlin, but a recruit from the Paladins of Krax’s Foreign Legion. The other dressed even more remarkably than the others, with a brighter cape, and Karkarthian blade, because he was not a mere knight, but a Master of the Paladins, he was Sir Edvin. “Monk!” The young master called out to the peaceful Monodominic, shattering the scene’s quiet visage. The lone monk lifted his head from his thoughts and stood up, his knees popping from his long and stiff meditation he was immersed in. As the monk turned to face his guests Sir Edvin put his hand around the grip of his blade, to make sure they both were on the same foot. “Bring me to the monastery,” The Paladin asked plainly. “No,” was all he received in a soft tone, one octave louder than a whisper. “You will bring me at once.” “I would sooner allow my head to part from my shoulders before I dishonor my pledge of secrecy to the Abbot and monastery.” The monk knelt as if he was to continue his prayers, but instead he faced the group, as if challenging the Paladin to do so. “Very well,” Sir Edvin spat as he tightened his grip on his sword. In the distance a thunderous crashing pounded the ground in a rhythm of footsteps, sending vibrations up the knights feet and into their bodies. ‘What in the hell is that?” The Foreigner cursed. “Freg,” The monk whispered. The Paladins looked confused as the sound grew louder. “Freg?” With a sudden blast of wind the trees shook as a mighty figure leaped out from the forest, snapping bough and all that was in the way of the powerful thrust. The beastly half bull man landed between the groups with a ground shaking crash, nearly toppling the standing. The minotaur faced the Paladins with a flaming axe in hand. “Begone,” Freg’s crashing voice rumbled. The Foreigner yelped in surprise as he turned from Freg and began to run away in a hasty retreat. “Damn honorless foreigners,” One of the shocked Paladins managed to grumble before Freg spoke again. “Leave.” “Bring us to the monastery,” Sir Edvin reiterated as he asserted himself with an upright pose and brave steps towards the mighty Minotaur. “Only the eyes of a true Monodominic can witness the monastery,” The monk offered. ‘Do you offer insult to my honor?” Edvin hissed between his teeth, “In the name of Justinian, bring me to your heathen den.” The monk turned to Freg, and the great Minotaur looked at the man with gentle eyes of wisdom. “We will offer you this, sir Paladin,” Freg started, “The monastery is cloaked in magic and mysticism, one of which only the Monodominics can see through, I will allow you to be an exception however.” The monk’s face showed keen surprise at Fregs words and he went to rebuttal, but before he could, Freg addressed him, “Run to the monastery, Wilxhem, and tell the Abbot to blow on the Horn of Roland to celebrate the Paladins arrival.” “At once,” The monk murmured as he rushed off. After a long disorganized and disorienting trek through the mountains the Paladins grew completely lost as they followed their mysterious guide through the zig zagging landscape. Eventually the group found themselves looking at a tall row of pine that were grown so close to each other that the Paladins could not see past it. As they approached the wall of branches and needles, Freg motioned for them to walk through, and so they did. As they pushed through the dark pines and into the bright golden green valley their eyes watered from the light of the clear sky and a tantalizing sound bellowed in the distance, welcoming them in. The monastery stood before them, it’s brilliant marble columns and white buildings shone brightly in the warm sunlights caress. The buildings were expertly designed and cut into a large horseshoe shape that hugged around a glamorous large courtyard filled with brightly colored flowers, marble tile, and a large decorated fountain that gushed sparkling water. Grapevines decorated the surrounding columns with green vines and dark purple grapes as myriads of dark robed monks walked the courts, talked softly to each other, and prayed silently. The sound of the monks as well as surrounding farms that supported the glorious settlement of the old Roland Monastery were equally drowned out by the blasting sound of the bellowing horn in the distance. The horn’s sound was comforting, like a mother welcoming a lost son home and as the awestruck paladins walked slowly towards the marvelous courtyard, their armor’s clasps began to loosen and weaken, and as they advanced the suits of plates and chain began to slip off their very bodies, revealing woolen tunics and gambit. The Paladins paid no mind to their lost weapons and armor as their minds were at peace, while the horn blew so greatly. Sir Edvin stepped a stones throw distance from the fountain and he fell to his knees as his eyes watered and his ears rejoiced at the sound of the pounding horn. “Welcome home, my son,” A gentle fatherly voice warmed the air as the Abbot of the true Monodominics appeared before Edvin. The Abbot was old and lanky, and his white beard reaching his belly that was dressed in the same robes as the other monks, with the only thing setting him apart being his bright blue sash. Edvin remained speechless as the horn blast started to fade out, the sight of the magical Monastery overloading his senses still. The great Freg appeared behind Edvin, along with the other mesmerized Paladins. “As only true Monodominics may look upon the Monastery of Roland, such you will become.” The Abbot nodded at Fregs words and called out hoarsely to an idle monk, “Fetch these men new robes.” The monk rushed over and started to escort the silent Paladins away with hasty but gentle hands. “More Paladin recruits, not exactly how I wish for them to come, but I thank you anyway, Freg,” The Abbot croaked. “The horn inspires all with the virtue and valor of the ancients, it is only sensible that the Charlinites hear it’s song once more, but only so much, I would prefer they come out of honor and respect, rather than to be converted after showing us the tip of a blade,” The Abbot continued before drifting off into thought. “We both know the agenda of the Monodominics or that of the Paladins is not why you are here, so I question why you remain in these mountains?” The Abbot questioned. “Time will tell, Abbot,” Freg answered, “Collect the armor and swords that they dropped and save them, in time you will know why, but until then, do as you do, and take care of Master Paladin Edvin as your own.” “As you wish Freg Gerntef, but in time they will come to their senses, and since he is a Master Paladin I doubt he will stay.” “He will stay, he is young, and he has more Monodominic blood in him than he knows.” “As you wish.” “But with those final words I must leave you Abbot,” Freg boomed, his wizened eyes overlooking the grand Monastery he spent the last few years protecting, “Things are in motion, Abbot, things that require my attention. The monastery will be safe, it’s old magics will keep it hidden from all but the most faithful, and the honor of the Charlinites will keep those who may break through the magic at bay.” “Where will you go?” “Where I am needed, Abbot, Where I am needed.”

RETCONNED

Laona, Capital of the Antian Dominion

Thunk.

The slam of the heavy wooden door silenced the boom of conversation from below as it called attention from a chaotic sea of senators from all corners of the nation and the few governors from the major cities. Tetan Serin, king of the Dominion and supposed highest power in the land walked in, his drab purple robe proving stark contrast to the lauded title. Of course it wasn't that he was without power, but it would be criminal to say he even came close to the highest power. Making his way toward the copper and gold emblazoned throne at the center of the podium he couldn't help but notice that the ancient council chambers made for an imposing sight. Indeed with their enormous domed ceilings and vast stained windows letting in a burning red and yellow glare the crowd looked aflame, he mused it would be better that way too. In truth he hadn't been here in years beyond counting, his role had been far away and out of sight, just as the council liked it

Of course those years looking out at the plague lands, commissioning expeditions, touring docks, they had won him many things the council would not have liked. Allies, friends, and a new found respect for simplicity and subtlety. Though he had to admit his purpose here now was anything but; the council needed a clear reminder he existed. Truth be told so did the people, many a man had forgotten their king. That would change today.

Seated in the ceremonial position he remained impassive to the world, the council waiting to hear what their damned king had come before them to do; he could let them wait a moment longer. As the council continued talking among themselves, a voice overwhelmed them all. The speaker Sharod Kepaghe had arose from a separate bench close to the kings ceremonial position. "Quiet! Quiet I say!" he yelled. His words caused the senate to turn towards the king. They became fixed on a figure they hadn't seen in a long time, save the images from paintings. "On behalf of the throne, I present his majesty, King Tetan Serin. Please, be seated." With that, Sharod turned to the king. "The council is assembled, the floor is yours"

Compliantly Tetan sat erect and spoke so that all could hear, as much a necessity as proof he would have none to dismiss his presence, “And you will. Of course you are all aware I do not often come before you, truthfully I spend most of my time abroad, tending to the matters that concern me. It is in this then that I come to you, to speak of matters that concern us both. As you all know the Plague, after ending our bloody conflict all those years ago has not proved easy to defeat, indeed we bide our time behind our walls even as our own citizens become disheartened and flee from lands so much as close to the boundary. It is perhaps strange then that I suggest action away from the plague, perhaps strange that I suggest an end to whatever remains of the Somnus to the south."

Upon hearing those words.. suggest an end. These words caused many in the council to begin whispering to themselves. It was becoming obvious at this point that the senate was going to give the king trouble. Nothing new though, Tetan would know that the people did elect these men and women. Though, their inability to make quick decisions on their behalf could be quite annoying. After a moment, the king spoke more causing the senate itself to quiet down.

“But it is not so odd as you think, rather it is the only path open to us. The plague is immune to weapons, we could hack at it for centuries and never make progress, in fact that is just what we have done. In this our citizens have come to doubt our ability, come to see the military as impotent against the closing threat. It is of this affliction, of doubt, that I wish to cure them. We must stand courageous and prideful, and to do this we must set an example, an example that lays in the Somnus. They are weak now, broken, we would be able to win such a war against their tattered remnants without effort and by doing so we would secure the faith of the public. For the Somnus held us at bay for ages beyond counting, and no matter how weak now their defeat would have immediate effect. Indeed at last we would quash the whispers that nothing can be done about the plague and we would gain ourselves land with which anything can be done.
“I call upon this council today one thing, that we end the last of the Somnus and in doing so recover the reputation we have lost and gain the hope of the people that as I have seen on my travels we now so sorely lack.”

When he finished, the council began an uproar. Their words were mixed love and hate, help the king! halt his warmongering plans.. all could be heard and it flooded the chamber. Even the royal guards outside could hear the commotion. So far away, these people had no real clue as to how the plague really worked, no report that was more than gruesome numbers. and this was fitting seeing as these people were elected by people who were equally ignorant to the reality of the situation. The plague, that was all people could think about.

A young senator rose from the crowd and motioned for others to settle down and then addressed the king, "My lord, the war with the Somnus Imperium is over. They were destroyed by Yuwans grace." He was interrupted by an older male. "Sit down you fool."
With that, the majority of the council laughed, including Sharod but that older male stood up and had some similar thoughts. "He is right though, the war has ended decades ago. The true issue is the plague. Would a king be so foolish as to use a terrible blight to muster armies to fight another foe?" He began walking towards the front of the forum, to the point the king could see his face very clearly.

"There is no need to take our already fatigued armies from the front lines of the plague.. to of all things, march in to the Imperium controlled lands." He turned to the senate, "And more so, what happens if we do beat the Imperium, do we occupy their lands? or do we rape and pillage then come home. What would you actually think to accomplish." He turned towards the king eagerly awaiting an answer. Behind him, many more senators now silently stared at the king, waiting to judge any words he might say.

"What would I think to accomplish? Ask those here who border the plague lands. You act as if this pestilence, this disease will yield to a sword; it will not. The plague cannot be marched on. However the Somnus can. The purpose of this war would not be one of conquest, but one of exhibition where all that is needed is momentary victory, not total conquest. Near the walls our public has fled inwards, sure that our military cannot enforce quarantine, sure that we will fail. What forces we march to the Somnus are no more than currently sit idle, doing little but counting days as they patrol peaceful streets. Nothing is lost from this, but perhaps the hope that has left so many near the precipice may return; the hope in the military, the hope in this council and the hope in myself. If nothing is done the refugees will pile inland, they will grow discontent and in time we will be split with rebellion.”

“The people need an example… That is my intention and that is what can be accomplished.”

The old man took a step back and then faced the council. "You have heard it. A war for pride." The crowd began talking again, mostly about the pros and cons of actually committing to a war. "These forces that 'sit idle'.. they are the ones defending our border from the plague. why not let the Somnus be a buffer while we figure out the plague?" And once more, the Senators turned to their king. The entire room was filling with frustration at this point.

Tetan sighed; this was going nowhere, “Perhaps if we didn’t already border it? Plagues care not for direction, the Somnus will be no buffer. And perhaps you could enlighten me as to how you mean to figure it out? Years have passed and we are no closer to a solution, and in these years I have seen the anger grow, the malcontents blame the council for the plague itself. Tell me then, would you fight a war that would prevent rebellion or would you sit idle until it happens?”

The senator chuckled, "My king, new elections were held no more than two years ago. If they did not trust us to do our jobs," He rose his hands and then extended his arms as if to show off the room. "This senate wouldn't be here today." Sharod stood up and rose his hand. "That's enough Grakus. your point has been made. Is there any others who wish to speak?" Another one stood up, a woman.

"My lord, if you look at the maps, our borders already touch the plague. why should we divert precious resources away from that endeavor, and furthermore, if those resources start to dwindle, isn't it wise to keep reserves?" She took a breath then looked around. "I've read many books regarding combat. I myself am a newer senator but have served in the army during the war twenty years ago." She paused once more. "I say we give the king a token force... and we send a senate approved oversight to get the information we need to really decide to make a move."

The room had erupted in to talk again, some agreed, some thought her a military sympathizer. Sharod turned to the king and shrugged his shoulders then rose his hand again. "All quiet. we will take a vote. We will give the king one last time to plea his case before we vote.. and this vote will be to commit a token force for a first strike against a northern, safer area that will not draw major forces from our current border with the plague lands." he took a breath, "This token force will have a senate approved representative to monitor the situation." The room turned to the king once more.

"I agree with the proposed arrangement, a small force to scout is enough. Think on your vote now, for the future of this Dominion rests upon it.” Tetan turned an eye toward he old senator and continued, “It is an astonishing ting how much can change in a few short years, I hope whatever we do here today will lead to good change, and not one for the worse.”

The old man cracked a sarcastic smile, "And what will change in a few years.. let us hope our dominion doesn't fall due to warlike expansionists.." Sharod rose his hand again, "petty insults gets us nowhere." With that, the old senator gave a bow and an apology but not before stating he still believes it to be a bad idea. Sharod moved forward and gave a bundle of sticks, some red, some blue and had them passed around the room until each senator had one of each.

"Our vote will consist of these stipulations, all must be considered for a proper vote." He took a deep breath as being absolutely clear was imperative to any plan from here on. "Firstly, No more than 500 soldiers allowed. Secondly, The force is only to be used with senatorial oversight. Thirdly, The representative is allowed to go through any documents, any plans and not be impeded in any way. And lastly, and most importantly.This is not a declaration of war, merely a foray and look in to the situation." The room became dead silent, save the occasional throat clearing. This was important, even the king had to understand that every choice they made can potentially consign people from theire represented r egions to death.

There were some that only ran to have the job but in all reality, most of the senators were honest, especially the loud ones. ones that actually cared about their country. And then it began.. Blue and Red sticks rose while Sharod counted section by section. Two scribes did a count as well, to be sure there was no bias. "And... My king, we have a tie." The room lit up once more, men and women trying to convince one another to switch before of all people, the old senator stood up. His risen stick clearly red. "Silence!.." he proclaimed. The people looked to him with some awe as he approached the king.

And it would be a shock to see him raise his blue stick, breaking the stalemate. When he did this though, he pointed the stick at the king. "If you lead us wrong, know that it will not be the plague... or the Somnus who have long since been defeated... who will cause a civil war. It will be your actions... and yours alone." He turned away. "I pray that this will not be the beginning of the end for our nation." Sharod rose his hand once again and everyone sat down. "By one vote.. You have a token force, On behalf of the men and women of this nation. please use them well."

The change of heart was not expected, and as Tetan thought on it entirely politically motivated. The higher road so to speak, well no matter he had been given what he wanted, "I see, I thank you for your rationality in this matter and will proceed with my duties carefully. Let this only be the beginning of a renewed Dominion and a renewed people." With that Tetan stood up and gave a reserved bow to the council before making his way out of the room, leaving them to their bickering as was customary.

The midday sun lay shrouded as it often did on most days behind a veil of black ash clouds. The black smoke may have blocked out the light of the sky, but the land itself gave off enough illumination as not to leave western Karkarth mostly within darkness. Lava pools bubbled, and great mushrooms gave off eerie illumination that caused great shadows to bend away from them. The roads remained well-maintained thanks to the efforts of the Ixelin despite the near constant ash fall. Fortunate given the royal procession that was making its way toward Djerád Thymár proper. Word had spread fast of the visitors from the borders by way of drakenit flocks. The small creatures made quite capable message carriers in the ash wastes, being more adapted to harsh environments then meeker carrying pigeons. It had not taken long for a local garrison to muster and meet with royal escort and providing it with a large screening force as they guided it to its destination. Markien (swordcaptian of the escort) had made the extra precautions to make use of gelded Carver mounts, as the beast were notoriously difficult to control around horses otherwise. Djerád Thymár itself was abuzz with activity, the news of the coming arrivals bringing rare excitement to the inhabitants. As most Jahun-ka, they had heard of their southern neighbors whom they affectionately referred to as ‘Little Chars’. Still they were rarely seen as they did not visit the capital city often, never mind their King. When the retinue of King Vrox Ganelon and his escort came within sight of the city, all was ready. The great stone city rested at the foot of the imposing Dread Mountain; the largest volcano in Avara. The city was reachable by three great stone bridges that spread out like a crows foot and each lead to a gate. They were each built over the same massive natural moat of molten lava that resided sixty feet below, though on rare occasions the lava could raise higher. Like the cracks of a pane of glass, smaller rivers spread out from that moat, and stone platforms bridged the gaps where needed when these cracks would otherwise cross a segment of road. The great walls of Djerád Thymár were as equally impressive as the giant it was built in the shadow of. For the construction of Djerád Thymár was such that it was built on four great levels, each climbing up and seeming to burrow into the mountain, and ringing each was built great walls of dark stone, and in each was a gate, with only the outer gate possessing three entryways. The gates beyond the outer walls however were not set in a line; the Ebon Gate that served as the center entry way was at the south point of the wall, but the next wall had it’s own gate facing half the easternmost entryway, and the third half facing the westernmost, and so to and fro upwards for the Jahun-ka were a judicious people and thus had built their entire fortress city with defence forthright in their mind; thus so the paved way that climbed toward the citadel turned this way and that and then back again across the face of the mountain climb. Djerád Thymár was boasted as the Jahun-ka’s most glorious accomplishment, and this was shown upon every wall on the climb toward the cities heart, for effaced in stone were great works of art of uncompromising skill. So the final lap toward the great iron gate was at last made and the procession came to an end. The great gates were awoken and swayed open to permit entrance of King Vrox and his chosen retainers. Swordcaptain Markien, their guide until this point, turned crisply in the saddle of his carver mount. He respectively inclined his head as he spoke. “Lord Vrox of Charlin, Vanquisher Tiberius would meet with you upon your ready. Should you wish to break-fast before words, accommodations can be made for you and your men at your convenience.” The men waited an answer, the helm he wore concealing all but his reddened eyes. King Vrox was a very tall and pale man, as were Charlinites in general, usually towering over the other races, all races except the Jahun-ka, who stood a whole foot above the tallest Charlinite. So, as was due, he looked up literally to the swordcaptain, whose reptilian mount surpassed the size of his own horse. Lord Vanquisher Tiberius sat bedecked in his full regalia upon his high seat of stone; not a huge improvement from that iron seat that served as his throne. He wore his iron mask, a cowl of black cloth lined with a deep gold silk woven into the edges of the fabric and that ran up the center down the back. Unlike most occasions, he did not wear now his breastplate armor and gauntlets which served more a ceremonial role in any case. The smell of burning incense was heavy in the room, giving the air here an almost sickening sweet quality to it to fight off the otherwise strong ash heavy air from the wastes that oftentimes held an almost brimstone quality to it. Here four braziers burned in each corner, and adding to that light was a ceiling affixed chandelier of candles. Four large round-topped windows posted at the rear of the room offered little in ways of light themselves, for once again the sun only gave a few brief glimpses of itself from behind clouds of black. A true shame Tiberius mused as the view here was spectacular when the weather cooperated. The Chamber of Campaigns served as both a room for war councils, or as the cause would be now, more private meetings when necessary. It served as Tiberius’s favorite room in all the citadel. The center room was dominated by a great long table, one enchanted long ago by a Drathan wizard too, at command, reveal an extremely detailed map of Avara. It gave only landmarks, not armies, cities, or fleets. Yet was useful all the same. Tiberius had chosen this place to meet specifically for very good reason. Away from the trappings of court the prying eyes of others and the reminders of rulership he sought to meet with his honored brother of the south on equal terms. Such was the Jahun-ka way that titles and crowns meant little in comparison to action and merit. Few understood honored earned not given as well as among the other races of men as the Charlinites. It was after much after dawn of the next day following the arrival of King Vrox that everything was fully ready for the meeting of the two leaders. As his guide, a young maiden of rare lithe frame among the Jahun-ka (though still a head taller then he), escorted Vrox to the meeting room. Men in the classic armored plate of Karkarthian make who stood guard at each entryway saluted King Vrox on his approach; gauntleted fist beating steel breastplates. Upon the walls here and there were adorned tapestries of battles and wars long since past. Soon they at last reached a great archway entrance. This chambers portal was a rarity, fashioned of oakwood and bronze hinges. The young lass with bright brown eyes turned and said, “Lord Vanquisher will see you, he has asked your guards need not follow within and may await you here if it pleases you.” “They may even retire to their chambers if they so wish, I know I am in good honorable hands,” King Vrox smiled politely, crinkling the lines that were beginning to show at the corners of his eyes, a clear sign of his higher middle age. Vrox adjusted his circlet styled crown upon his long jet black hair as he pushed through the doors. The incense of the brightly lit room hit the Kings nostrils hard, but was a well-welcomed change from the scent of sulfur and ash. Upon seeing the Scorched king sitting in wait for him across a long and aged table, Vrox removed his crown as a sign of mutual honor and placed it on the table before taking his seat across from the large monarch. In comparison to Tiberius’ attire, the Charlinite wore simple regal clothes of purple and white, with a dark cape cloaking his shoulders. The king tugged on his short black beard and nodded at Tiberius politely. “May I first compliment you on your very hospitable chefs and servants of your home,” Vrox asked with contentment. "You honor me Lord Vorx, I am pleased you enjoyed yourself. Master Chief Orridon will be even more pleased to hear it.” Tiberius gestured to the chalice and bottle of a dark purple beverage near Vorx. “Pekha wine, another gift from Orridon, it is a rather weak spirit so you need not worry of it dulling the senses.” After a short pause he added. “I trust your trip through the waste was not wholly unpleasant? The light dust storms and the stink of the sulfur pits takes much getting used to I fear.” “I must be honest,” Vrox began as he lifted the chalice to his lips, “My sense are unused to the scolding ash, but it is of no concern to me, I am pleased to be allowed such an audience at little notice.” The Charlinite took a sip of the wine and nodded in agreement with the taste, “This is delicious, and much softer on the tongue than some of the harsher imports I’ve tasted.” “So I assume you might have some idea of the motivation behind my visit?” Vrox Galenon asked after another sip. Tiberius inclined his head in a slight nod of understanding. “Indeed- it is no secret of holy Justinian’s will regarding the collapse of Somnus Imperium’s power and fall from grace. Their short-sighted in-fighting further brings shame on us all, and it would indeed be the will of Takataren to bring order to such chaos.” Tiberius leaned back lacing the fingers of his mighty hands together. “However, I must also consider the risk of this plague to my people. Your warriors have had much more experience with this vile sickness than any in Karkarth. I would seek your knowledge on this topic and see fears amended, or falling short of that, arm mind with knowledge toward wises course.” Vrox left his cup by his crown and nodded, “The plague spreads mysteriously, many of the Paladins that comb the land purging it claim it is airborne from the infected and cultists, both of which are burnt quickly to prevent such further infections. However, it is only dangerous to those who ignore every detail, and I assure you, both our great nations do no such thing. If I were to ask for your help in the matter, it would be for a full offensive into the plagued lands to set up a border, protecting our countries from further spread, ideally protected by a great wall, not of which to hide behind, but to preserve our lands to fund a complete purge of the area. The Paladins honed a protocol when dealing with the possibility of infections and would brief your given warriors in the preventions. Of course such help if given would most likely come at a price, and I am willing to set up a fair bargain for a dear brother in honor.” Tiberius was silent for a time, still and unmoving as his eyes seemed to look past Vrox entirely. The only sounds within the chamber was the crackle of the fires. Suddenly he awoke from his reverie and spoke. “Then it is as I have feared, and perhaps Grand Archon Shurdan is right in her suspicions as well.” He stopped suddenly and looked directly into Vrox’s eyes. “There is an old warning of sorts within the dragon teaching of my people. Speaking of a great malice like sickness that turns brother against brother. Such a thing must be crushed under heel before it can be allowed to grow and fester. Yet, I will not have our brothers and sisters of Charlin bear this burden alone. Neither will I send my people into a fruitless situation.” “There is an old order to the Dragon Goddess that follows many of the old ways here in Karkarth, though they still do not openly accept Justinian as one of the first elder sprites. Their teachings have not caused subversion so they have been allowed their existence. My people tell me they have been gathering support for an expedition of shorts. Not one into the plaguelands, but one that seeks to find a cure spoken of in the prophecy. Karkarth will stand with Charlin come strom or hell, yet I would ask one thing of you. The paladins of Charlin stand well versed in matters of this dream plague, and among those who stand taller still in skill. I would wish your most talented to join this expedition, and fire willing, strike a blade into the heart this mystery.” “As blood from my own veins, I will give you all you need to see your expedition a success, provided you return the favor with soldiers fit to defend our borders against the plague in the mean time. I will speak to my brother Marc immediately in the matter as well, as he is honor bound to serve my wishes, he will provide the Paladins help in this quest,” Vrox answered as he pulled on his beard in thought. “Together,” He said with authority, “With Charlinite zeal, Karkarthian steel, and Justinian’s heel, we will stand victorious before our crumbling opposers to wipe away all who do not kneel to the codes of honor, and whatever dares plague our lands.” “We are in agreement.” Came Tiberius’s echoing reply. “Good. The hosts of Karkarth will be assembled, and shall march with their Charlin brothers to victory.”

-Redacted-

Death has come to Kadulum, land of Phiore and the Phiorafates. An onslaught the Ghûls would remember as the Conquest of Uudhin. An attack so sudden and devastating that the proud Moonlander clan of Phiore is all but obliterated. And soon the foul Ghûls will hold sway over all Kadulum. To think; up until now the Ghûls had been little more than gangs of brigands preying on weary travellers, but to launch an attack this ambitiously organised, and this large of scale… Even now it is unclear from whence this influx of Ghûls appeared. From where did they muster this kind of power? It was more than any challenge the Phiorafates had faced up until now.

Everyone of Phiore could feel it though; something stirring in the dark of the Forlorn Peaks. They mostly just didn’t want to talk about it. Too afraid to put the ancient tranquillity of this land at risk, they thought ignoring it would be best. However, a menacing shadow had been growing over the expanses of this continent for the past decades now. And at last it has decided to reveal its ugly face!

In the Halls of his Fathers, the young Lord of Phiore had just returned from a pilgrimage to distant Archeos. Yaroval -- Phiore’s proudest king -- and Voi at his side, his most loyal companion. Both princely and hardy Phiorafate men, tall and strong as young pinetrees. They return to Kadulum to find the landscape lie withered and lifeless. From the high walls of the Starkeep, his ancestral home, Yaroval looks out over the dead valleys of Kadulum.
The young king falls silent. Under the gloomy night sky he beholds the forests burned. The ritual shrines razed. Lush hills toppled. And the fields; ash.
‘’Yuwan’s grief… who could do such a thing?’’

As soon he had returned to Kadulum he was confronted with the sight of a nightmare. Sure, he had been briefed the terrible news; he just couldn’t believe it… Couldn’t understand it. Voi looks sternly at the messenger, who is shivering as she speaks her words.
‘’Our friends in the South have been routed. The western baileys were overwhelmed a few days ago. And the fate of the Phiorafates of Nevelwold is of yet unheard…
The tidings are grim. Very grim.’’
Anxious to sow any further despair into the king’s heart by clarifying just how bad the situation looks for them, she quietly adds:
‘’Sorry.’’
Than lowers her head and shies away.

It was silent for the longest time. Everyone in the Starkeep is listless. The messenger is too nervous to speak any further than she had. And Voi is a quiet type, so he normally doesn’t speak much anyway. But now even the vigorous Yaroval cannot find words to describe just how he feels about it all.
‘’...For what did I become a King of the Lost?’’ He laments.

The silence is interrupted by the scream of a watchwoman. (At least, Yaroval thinks it’s the voice of a woman. Phiorafate men have a tendency to be somewhat effeminate at times.)
‘’Ghûls! They are encircling the Keep!’’

Indeed; word spread like wildfire of Yaroval’s return to Kadulum, even amongst the Ghûl ranks. They know where their enemies hide, and had been waiting for him. Already they've encircled the Keep and prepare to batter down the gate. The few Phiorafates manning the wall tremble, but quickly arm their crossbows and prepare their minds to battle.
A shout is heard from below the wall. A nasty voice, gruff and raspy.
‘’Man-things! Give up now! And we shall deliver you to the Mighty One unspoiled!’’
Undoubtedly a Ghûl.

‘’M-my King! What do we do?’’ The messenger girl shrieks.
Voi peers down to the ground, even his aura of coolness seems disturbed. Though he does try never to let fear get the better of him, or ever to let down his companions.
‘’Voi. Hear me now.’’
The young King speaks, and Voi looks up.
‘’I must go out. You need to cover me. And keep the enemy at bay!’’
‘’No Yaro. I have sworn to remain at your side, come what may!’’
‘’...This is a command. Do as I tell you, my comrade.
Voi! This may be farewell! Go and tell the others. Tell them, Ceci, Mil and Zhisnobud. You need to find them when I’m gone.’’
‘’But.. where are you going?’’
The young King gives no response, but grabs his gear -- a sword, shield and horn -- and calls for a mount.
Then Yaroval climbs down the wall, and the messenger girl just brought him his steed. A black mare.
Mounting it, he turns to Voi and a crowd of Phiorafates that had gathered around him with hopeful eyes.

‘’We sally out! Whosoever fights besides me shall be my brother!’’

At the King’s command the gates fly open. The Ghûls were not taken by surprise however. It seems Yaroval had shouted ‘we sally out!’ loud enough for them to hear it, too. Nonetheless, Yaroval, Voi and a handful of Phiorafates burst forth. And from the walls above, a volley of bolts are shot at the ranks of the wicked foe.
Admist the bloodbath that follows, Yaroval managed to trample through the Ghûls who tried to restrain him. One Ghûl observes Yaroval dash off the scene of battle.
‘’The slag is getting away! Kill him! Shoot at his beast!’’
Yaroval quickly leaves the Starkeep behind and the sound of battle fades away in the distance. Voi, and the others. He can only hope by Yuwan that they’ll be all right…

He passes over the valleys of central Kadulum like a wind amid the dust. A madness of rage has taken hold of him, and as he rides he slowly beholds the Forlorn Peaks appear out of the horizon. The night is ending and the first light reflects on Yaroval’s destination...

When he thinks he has gotten far enough -- wide in the open on a vast plain where all may see him-- he dismounts, and beckons the mare to head away.
And with all his might he blows the horn he carried around his neck. The wail of his horn resounds in the nearby valleys all the way to the very mountaintops ahead, so loudly that it might’ve been heard from overseas. That should get their attention.
Proudly the lord of Phiore challenges the unspoken Master of the Ghûls. The one responsible. The fiend.
‘’I’ll dare you, show yourself, you coward!’’ He cries.
‘’Now it’s me or you!’’
He shines like a blazing star in the night, and his voice deep and loud rings through every rock of the mountain sides. So bold and loud that every Ghûl, as well as whatever other invader, could hear the words of the Phiorafate King.
‘’Lord of thugs!’’

The Ghûls that had been on Yaroval’s pursuit pause. Struck with terror on their faces, they anxiously turn around when it becomes clear to them just what their enemy had called upon. They quickly scurry off, fearful of what might happen next. Yaroval doesn’t seem to pay them any heed. He peers through his regal helmet, wondering if their craven master will answer.

Then the wind ceases. Dark clouds block the rising sun, engulfing the land with night just a bit longer… Silence.

And here he comes.
With zero entourage an ominous figure dawns before the young lord, seemingly out of nowhere. A strangely grey garbed posture that looks to be a man of slim figure. At least twice as tall as the average human, and above and beyond even a Moonlander or Jahun-Ka. Certainly not a Ghûl! His face is covered with a long, vertical ebon helmet adorned with an iron crown, and two blazing eyes burning into the young King’s frame. He wouldn’t seem quite so frightening if not for the Ghûls, or rather their sudden absence, who clearly are frightened of this creature for some reason... And the ominous shadows darting about him give hint to a being of eerie power. Armed with a black halberd with a deep purple axe blade, he walks up to the Phiorafate lord.

For a moment, Yaroval is perplexed at seeing someone so alien as he. The young king of Phiore expected to see a Ghûl warlord of sorts. But this... this is a man belonging to a species unknown to him. But Yaroval’s rage is still burning and so readies his sword.
‘’Is it you?!’’
...
The being keeps walking, almost non-challantly. And only stops when he is a few meters apart from the Phiorafate lord.
Then, a powerfully chilling voice issues from underneath the ebon crowned helmet.

‘’Welcome to my lands. You shall be damned.’’

And with those words, the Mighty One smites his halberd at the young King, rending the earth about him as it struck the ground. The agile Yaroval could only dart away by a hair’s difference.
This creature’s halberd had a far longer reach than Yaroval anticipated, otherwise he would’ve kept his distance!
With no time to think, the creature swipes again. And then again, and again. Yaroval is given not a chance to counter attack. He can’t even manage to get near his opponent like this. He can barely even stay up on his feet!

Eventually -- when he dodged and leapt away for long enough, Yaroval managed to get his enemy within the reach of his blade. Finally! And just when he was going to act on it; his foe literally stomped him into the ground.
Yes, the force of his metal clad boots and superiour height crushed the young King and smote him into a mighty pit.

‘’At my feet, so helpless it seems.’’ The Mighty One sounds like he is chuckling, but only for a second.
‘’Lord of Phiore. Slave of Yuwan... You have dared mock me, and to question the strength of the Prince of Avara.
You’ve troubled my day. Now! Feel the pain!’’
He finally swings his halberd down on him. Down on Phiore’s last king.

The Dominion

Woooosh

The sun rose through a dark, misty sky over the former Somnus Imperium city of Nanstolm. Through its broad, empty city streets and crumbling deserted structures, a hooded figure seemed to leap from roof to roof, moving swiftly through alley ways and through the long abandoned homes.

The figure made a sharp turn down an alley and then dove through the window of a building. Outside, a host of ragged men with loose clothing and improvised weapons ran, chasing that shadow down the alley. The figures heart was racing and was doing its best to not breath too loudly. After a few moments, the men had passed and silence overtook the city once more. The figure decided to stay there until sun down as rest was sorely needed at this point. The figure slowly made its way to the roof and gazed upon the city from the cover of darkness. At this moment, safety seemed assured. Pale hands slowly lowered the hood revealing a female with long white hair and pale blue skin. Her name, Morinth.

As the moon rose and the city darkened, she became active again. Morinth would move quietly along building ledges, careful not to alert the crazed cultists gathered around fires below. Chants with words she couldn't understand filled the air. Perhaps if she were a scholar, one could figure it out but her role wasn't that noble. She was of a far more devious profession. Morinth was the highest agent of the council, the most renown killer they've ever heard of. Just her name would cause many people to shake in their boots. Tales of her exploits, be the true or false, have given her a nasty reputation as a calculated huntress of what ever the council deemed worthy of her attention, and this mission may be the highest priority yet, for an object of potentially immense power.

Maybe thirty years ago the distance from the outskirts of the city to her goal would take an hour but ever since the plague had turned the inhabitants in to monsters, even a creature of the night like a Jonite, has taken so much longer. She had slipped up three times already. There was no invisibility cloak and the creatures here seemed unbelievably observant, This place was dangerous, even for a beast like her..

She found herself walking along the ledge of a building, ahead was a man looking out in to the distance. A sentry maybe? From what she had seen, the cultists had never been that organized. But this was very near the center of the nation and anything was possible. She crouched down and became perfectly still. Behind her, she drew out a small one handed crossbow. She pointed it at her target and took a deep breath. There was no sound from the shot, no whizzing or a bang.. just a dead body hitting the floor. She was quick to pull another bolt out and draw the string back. After her bolt was ready, she aimed the weapon towards the door behind the body, waiting to see if there was any one else. Luckily, no one would come up to check on the lone sentry so Morinth moved on.

Near the end of the night, she stumbled upon the strangest of structures, one that stood out among all she had encountered so far. She went from roof to roof until finally reaching the structure. She wondered if this was where her goal was. Perhaps it would be but upon reaching it, she knew it wasn't. Above the door though, she could make out two words among the charred stone, "Krax" and "Paladin" Could it really be? A Krax Paladin chapter house in front of her. She knew this wasn't the structure she was looking for but nonetheless, it was getting close to day time and there could be some useful information inside.

The first area she moved through was a large entry way and hallway. Attached were a few offices and a set of sleeping quarters. Moving through these yeilded nothing of interest. The sleeping quarter had been sacked and abandoned. A few swords and a helmet, some torn pillows and splintered wood showed clear signs of struggle The offices she moved through were nothing but burnt stone, broken wood and shattered glass. This was obviously intentional, the paladins making sure nothing important remained behind as they left.

Moving forward, foot steps could be heard. She snapped back in to her assassin mode and began creeping down the hallway with her back to the wall. She pulled her hood up and drew a short knife from her boot. One of those crazed cultists came around a corner, breathing heavily and gripping a blunt weapon so hard that blood was dripping from his finger nails. She leaned over and saw that there was no one else around... and then lept to action. Her movements were fluid and precise.

There wasnt but a second for the man to react before her hand was over his mouth and knife dug deep in his heart. "shhhhhh" she whispered as he squirmed, her hand muffling his cries for help "shhhhh".. She felt the life leave his body and she slowly let the body down and pulled the knife out. There wasn't even a second thought as to what had just happened. Like someone slaughtering an animal.. there was no humanity in her actions, just another object in her way. She moved on to the next room and it was just as empty and lifeless as the last. The room was an armory, filled with well-crafted paladin weapons that were still in their racks, untouched in the last twenty years. It was strange to her as to why they remained.. all these dark beings had such a versatile arsenal right under their noses.

As she moved through the armory, a small room caught her eye. It had heavy metal doors that were seemingly battered open. She slowly moved through the room towards the door and then peered in. There were five paladins inside, along side at least fifteen unknown men. They were all long dead but the feel of the battle could still be felt. Dried blood and broken weapons on the floor was the sign of what would be an epic close quarters fight that was ultimately futile. What were they guarding.. why would they bother locking themselves inside this room when the rest of their men fled the city.

Inside, she saw something that would be most prized among the Paladins, a very small stone tablet, light enough to hold in a bag without adding much burden to a person but its importance was obvious.. A completely intact Krax Honor Code Tablet. She looked around the room and then gazed outside the room to make sure she wasn't followed. Outside she could hear whistling wind through the buildings empty hallways. There was some commotion outside and knew there wasn't a lot of time to waste at this point. Morinth gently took the tablet and wrapped it in a cloth before putting it in a small backpack she had been wearing.

Morinth spared no time escaping the structure and darted to the street in front of the building. Outside, Cultists had become active and were actively searching for anything that wasn't familiar to them. For a time she was able to evade their sentries but it was only a matter of time before she was spotted. The city was crawling with the servants of the unknown benefactor and with the sound of a blood curling horn, they began their assault on the single, now cornered Jonite. She had no choice but to show her teeth and fight these new enemies.

She found herself outnumbered by at least ten foes with the sound of rushing humanoids in the distance. There was no time to play around as the longer she was delayed here, the chances of her survival would decrease rapidly. With that, she sprung in to action within seconds. Her long blow was slung around from her back to her hands and it was almost in the blink of the eye. She quickly put her hand on the bow string and a strange barely visible arrow appeared. She pulled the string and let loose a powerful bolt that hit with incredible force, sending the first enemy flying backward at least six feet. She drew another which upon contact with the unlucky foe, had literally caused his head to explode from sheer force of impact. She pulled another, sending a bolt clean through an enemy and piercing the one behind. Four bodies now littered the street but these cultists had no fear it seemed.

Behind these cultists, five more opponents had arrived and were closing the gap fast. She had to think fast and use what little time she had. Without a thought, she sent another bolt flying towards an unlucky recipient, ripping his arm from its socket and sending the body spinning to the ground. It was at this point that the initial six had gotten too close for the bulky bow. She slung it over her shoulder and pulled two snub Amakus pistols from behind her. These had a special cap over the barrel to keep the weapon ready to go at a moments notice. With an unnatural precision, she fired the first pistol, killing a crazed woman instantly. With the other, she pierced a male attacker right through the upper thigh, dropping him to the ground in immense pain.

She hurried and holstered her now empty pistols and withdrew her hand crossbow which still held a bolt, a bolt destined to pierce a woman's face, right between her eyes. With her ranged weapons now expended, she backpedaled a bit before drawing two, one and a quarter foot fighting knives. The first enemy had reached arms length, his weapon was a strangely shaped hatchet and he used it with ferocious zeal. His initial strike was enough to send one of the knives flying from her hand but she had luckily blocked with her other. Before she could recover, another with a long sword was rushing up behind. With incredible force, she kicked the hatchet wielding beserker right in the chest as he rose his weapon. He fell back on to the long-sword, sending the swordsman on to the ground with a fresh corpse on top.

Morinth took the initiative now and rushed towards the body and rapidly shoved a knife deep in to the swordsman's right eye, killing him and then moved on. The next had a pike of sorts. With how fast she was moving, he had one shot to stop her before she closed the distance. His strike was swift but her movements were far quicker than the unwieldy weapon of the enemy. She hopped in to the air and landed on the incoming foes shoulders. Her knees was on his shoulders just long enough for her to twist and snap his neck before hoping back off and preparing to face the next foe.

This one was armed with two swords and rushed at her. Against two swirling swords, her single knife wouldn't be enough so he had to do something quick. She hopped back as he slashed left and right before flipping her knife around so that she was holding the blade. As the berserker swung again, she threw the knife which hit him in the chest. The pure adrenaline from the crazed cultist kept him going but he was slowing down. In his rage, he unknowingly let his lower guard down and she took advantage of this, kicking his feet out from under him. As he fell, she moved forward and punched him in the throat. Ahead of her though, she noticed one of the cultists readying an arrow. There were only seconds before the archer let loose so she grabbed the choking dual wielder by the shoulders and used him as a shield, blocking three arrows with the body.

Things were getting dangerous now. She had no ranged weapons and this archer was persistent. Morinth was pinned and left in a knelt position, using the body as best she could for cover. She needed to close the distance so she slowly started pushing the body towards the archer who was still letting arrows loose. After a few moments, the arrows stopped flying. The guy had run out. She dropped the body and ran towards the archer who was now preparing to use his bow as a bat. She rushed him so fast that he didn't get a chance to swing. Morinth grabbed his shoulders and kneed him hard in the gut then pushed him back then kicked him as hard as she could in the groin, sending the man to his knees in incredible pain.

She stepped back and took a deep breath before grabbing his neck and snapping it. The combat had ended and she was out of breath. As she leaned over and placed her hands on her knees, she could feel the sweat rolling down her cheeks and forehead.. but this moment of rest wouldn't last long so she hurried up and grabbed her knives and walked slowly to the cultist whom was shot in the thigh. As Morinth walked up, she spoke. "What have they done to you.". The beast moaned in pain between angry growls. He was lost to the world so she granted mercy. She kicked him on to his back and then stomped his neck.

Before she could even collect herself, another group of ten had began rushing. She took a deep breath and softly spoke, "fuck." before reaching in to her cloaks inner pockets. Morinth smirked a bit before withdrawing two iron balls. She then took a match and lit the fuses on them and then rolled them towards the incoming men before turning to flee. The explosion from the bombs wasn't big but it did send hot iron pieces in all directions, piercing multiple incoming foes. It was enough of a shock to halt the others which gave her time to dive through a window and take off running through the building.

Her heart was beating hard now and her armaments were dwindling. She had to get away from there to reload her pistols and regain some energy. Luckily, this building had a ladder to get to the roof so she climbed and then pulled the ladder up with her. She was trapped on the roof but this gave her some time to catch her breath. At this point and with how fast she had ran, there was no telling if the pursuers had even caught her trail but for now, she was safe.

Dominion-Charlin
*Fwomp*



The crumbling streets were dark and deserted, or at least, it was suppose to be. Blessed Knight Commander Derrix Herchiv however, commander of a twenty eight man extermination squad, found the gunshots and loud bangs to the near west to be disturbing at best, especially since this was suppose to be a rather vacant pathway to the old Somnus chapterhouse. This was suppose to be a simple retrieval mission, a recapture of the Honor tablet of Krax, and nothing more. The higher ups had carefully mapped out a pre scouted route to the long abandoned structure to avoid all contact with just about everything, and so far they have ghosted their way through the plague lands as such, but the loud bangs up ahead planted the seed of doubt in the commander's mind, as well as his marching troops.

Twenty eight men and women. Ten fresh recruits, ten seasoned men at arms, five experienced marksmen, and two Justinian elites, plus one blessed commander; They all marched in perfect unison, in a perfect block. The troops were well armed and even more well armored, as no skin showed past flexible plate armor and body shields. Their faces were nonexistent in the plaguelands due to the Paladin issued plague prevention mask as well as the full covering helm that covered their heads.

Their booted feet fell silent on the cobblestone roads and the weeds that grew from it’s cracks and crevices and if it wasn’t for the grinding of the articulated plate mail or the horses the two Elites and the commander rode ahead of the march along with their bright red capes that flapped in the slight wind, they would have been as silent as the night itself. Any doubts of the route planned and worries of encounters paled in the brilliant power of the Charlinite Paladins absolute bravery and sense of duty, as well as the comfort of being covered on all sides by other equally as brave soldiers who would sacrifice their lives for the same cause as yours.

Passing one crumbled husk of a building after another, the Paladins of Krax eventually reached their mark, but not before reaching the remains of a recent struggle. The ground was littered with at least twenty dead bodies of infected and cultists, as well as two large scorch marks singed into the street stone. It was a peculiar sight to the commander, as there was no signs of infighting between the cultists on this recent battlefield, as they all faced a similar directed. The only reasonable explanation the commander could conjure was that the beasts of the plague were slaughtered by a foreigner, possibly more than one, to the area, and very expertly at that.

There wasn’t much time to snoop around, the commander reasoned. Quickly seven men were sent into the chapterhouse to retrieve the artifact while the rest stood guard outside. The wind began to die down and soon the soft flapping of the commanders cape no longer supplemented for the silence, and they all soon drowned in the eerie quiet. A quick scan of the area showed no life, only the dead bodies of the recent scuffle, withered plants, and a crumbling city.

Morinth was watching from the roof of a nearby building. Laying on her stomach was uncomfortable considering how many objects she was carrying but with it being day time, seeing an individual standing on a lone roof would be rather obvious. She was however, curious as to who these people were. Their armaments resembled the weaponry and armor in the chapter house and fell in line with the descriptions of Paladins from war veterans twenty years passed. She had to get closer, figure out exactly what was going on and at the very least, use them as a diversion from the cultists. What better to use than warriors who specialize in purging the so called evil.

So was silent as she attached a grapple to the inside of the hole she used to climb on to the roof and then ran a rope to a ledge facing away from the Paladins. Before she could rappel though, she heard what sounded like formations moving between buildings. As she crouched and moved about the roof to get a better vantage, she saw on the far side of the Chapter house… another wave of enemies. “Damn, I didn’t think there were any stragglers.” And at this point, the Paladins would have no idea these people were coming. She would make sure they did.

Morinth swung her bow around and took aim at the closest enemy. She knew that killing him would alert the others but if they were allowed to move at their own pace, the Paladins may have time to get inside the building and would be surrounded easily. Even though it was obvious that these Paladins of Krax knew how to fight, they weren’t invincible, especially considering the earlier engagement, how the plague victims were starting to fight in a more organized manner.

She drew the bow and a brighter colored arrow came into existence. As she released, what would seem like a bolt of lightning shot forth towards the closest enemy. When it hit, an awful cry of intense pain would echo through the area. “Got ya... prick.”

The sound was unmistakable, a body had thumped to the ground after yelling out in pain. Derrix quickly called for the men in the building to reemerge, who proved the search for the artifact desolate and unfulfilled at best. Quickly the soldiers were called into formation, where every soldier faced out from a center, creating a circle of shields and weapons. The formation was loose and was well adapted to dealing with the plague, as it was designed for spotting where a group of infected were coming from, and then adapting accordingly.

Soon the enemy poured out of tight alleyways and broken homes. The formation quickly shifted into a wide block, giving the individual enough room to fight comfortably and flexibly while still allowing the front line to remain impenetrable by enemy forces. Soon the clumsy horde of pale monstrosities and deranged cultists slammed hard against the shields of the Paladins, who retaliated with quick stabs of the front lines swords and long chops of pole arms from the second line.

The mechanized approach of the Paladins proved superior as they kept stabbing and chopping. Crimson ribbons were cut from the throats of the enemy and thrown about the air wildly as the harmonious clang of metal clunked and shanked against the cacophony of ripping skin and snapping bones. The silent Paladins routinely massacred the wildly screaming and distraught barbarians of disease with little expression except for the flashes of their blades against the sunlight, and the soft glow of the blessed Knight Commander who fought heel to heel and shoulder to shoulder with his loyal men.

The bodies of the infected began to thicken as more and more threw themselves at the Paladins, scratching at their shields with strenuous effort if they made it past the hedge of points and edges. The first line began to grow sore from the constant pounding, a fact that Derrix knew without a doubt how to cure.

With a single command the front line fell back and the second line replaced them in mere moments, effectively swapping the lines without breaking their hold. The massacre continued for a while until the horde began to thin until the flood of infected flesh had ceased.

“More will come,” the commander announced, “it’s best we leave, our tablet is not here.”

The troop silently agreed, and a few grumbled over the failed mission, but at least, some mentioned, it had not ended dishonorably. They knew this did not mean they would return to Charlin, but instead that they will have to look elsewhere, which would be wherever the commander saw the tablet fit to be.

Indeed more did come but not in large swaths as before, rather four ranged combatants, likely late to the fight as their archers seemed to be less berserk, but still just as deadly. They began to take up positions and started letting loose a volley of arrows towards the paladins. They fired one at a time, keeping constant pressure on the Paladins. Their bows were stronger than most encountered thus far which at the right angle, could easily pierce most shields and armor. Morinth knew their sustained fire at the range they were fighting, would eventually wear down the paladins. As mighty as they are, an enemy bombarding them from afar is still going to take its toll.

From above the paladins, once more a bright streak of lightning struck the lead archer, sending the body back a few feet. A second shot hit another archer which literally caught him aflame. It seemed methodical at this point.. The third fell and finally the fourth. All with burnt blood and blackened skin. After the last body fell, an eerie silence befell the area. Morinth looked and listened for any nearby foes… nothing. “Well, I suppose they’ll be wondering who was covering them.” she thought. At that point, she shouted ‘Up here!’ and stood up. Her black cape was waving gently in the wind and her hood was still obscuring her face. She then darted away from their view towards her previously set up grapple.

“Who hails,” Called out the impressed Commander Derrix. As he would look about, a hooded figure emerged from the side of the building. She slowly paced towards the Paladins. Her movements were fluid and feminine but still that of a stealthy killer. She got within a few feet of him and stopped. His troops were well armed and watched every move but she paid them know mind at all. Her gaze was solely at commander Derrix and after a moment of silence, she lowered her hood, revealing her long white hair and pale blue skin. Something that would likely be rare from their side of the world.

She smirked a bit then spoke softly, “Seems what I’ve heard was somewhat true about your paladin order.” She leaned to her right and left, eyeing his troop and their weaponry. “Pretty impressive.” she said, clearly dodging his question of who she was.

The expressionless faces of the helmets that hid the paladin’s visages held their gazes as they listened to the woman, waiting for her to announce her name in her western accent, but when they realized she wasn’t going to Commander Derrix reiterated respectfully, “Who are you?”

“Hmmm” she said before looking around. “I suppose.. My name is Morinth. I’m not from around these parts.. just sort of travelling. Had some people to meet. They’re dead now. Crazy fucks I say.” It’d be hard to detect any lie in her voice. She had been so used to doing it over her long career that it was almost natural. She looked around again at the bodies. “So what are you guys doing out here?”

Derrix knew he was far from home, and he knew well the custom of the westerners and how it differed from the honorable east. Back home a name was made by one's actions, earned by glorious feats, and here, it was just a word, given at anyones whim, not even worthy of uttering in his Charlinite ear. This conversation only reminded him of how far away he really was, and he could only imagine how the fresh recruits of the group feel, as this was probably the longest from home they ever travelled.

With an inaudible sigh Derrix surfaced from his thoughts and spoke behind his muffling mask and helmet, “Looking for the remains of that building, the remains of history.”

The seasoned commander pointed at the chapterhouse, he knew secrecy of his mission paled next to figuring out where the tablet really was, and hoped the strange woman would know where exactly that was.

“Would you have any knowledge of anything taken from that chapterhouse?”

She nudged a rock with her foot for a second, thinking about how she would answer this tactfully. It became obvious in her mind that these paladins could come in handy for her next part of the mission. Morinth raised her head and smiled at Derrix, “Well, I’ve seen some stuff in there when I was looking for the people I was supposed to meet.” She paused a moment and looked at the Chapter house. “What exactly are you referring to? Those cultists had a lot of stuff!” All her words sounded playful at this point.

“A slab of stone written in old Charlinite and bearing Monodominic markings,” Derrix offered willingly.

“Hmmm” she said before looking around. “Well, I’ve seen many slabs of stone around this area.. Granted most i’ve seen seems to be signs or plaques.. something strange. You know, Somnus strange.” She turned towards the building she had previously been in. “Any chance you guys can stay around for a moment longer? I’ll grab my rope and I’ll help you find your stone..” She tried her hardest to sound distressed at this point, “But in return would you be kind as to help my friends? I’m fearing that they’re dead and I’m no warrior.”

Derrix contemplated and organized his decision quickly, this woman shot down four archers with lightning, and she probably was responsible for the scorched bodies he witnessed when he had first arrived, she was clearly trying to play him for a fool, but he knew he really needed that stone. He spoke plainly and directly, “Where are your friends? Who are they, and how many of them? Lastly, why would you choose such a silly meeting place?”

She sighed a bit. “Well, Ok.. fine. I’m actually trying to find a missing friend.” she crossed her arms and began rubbing her chin. “Wow this is embarrassing.” She nudged the rock from earlier a couple times with her foot. then started to tear up a bit. “I used to live in the forest with my family out west in the outer dominion lands. Some bastard came in the middle of the night and killed my mother..” She put her hands to her face. “I…”... “I wanted to kill him so bad that I took lessons from an ranger and once I got pretty good with a bow I went searching for the man who was responsible. I killed him. And it felt good at first but I felt so bad afterwards.” she paused and pulled off her bow. “I did find this nifty thing on him though!”

“So I have a friend who wanted to study the plague for some reason. I called him an idiot but he kept in contact while on the border. He then sent one last letter that clearly had this city’s name written on it. I could’ve swore from what he drew on an accompanying map that he wanted me to meet him..”-“I guess after my mother died I decided to be a helpful person rather than mourn. Ya know, the right thing to do in life. I’m sure you paladins know that virtue.”

One of the Justinian elites groaned behind Derrix in annoyance and disbelief, and the commander shared the sentiment silently. This woman was a liar, and every word nearly forced Derrix to hold his head in absolute skepticism and exasperation. His mission was simple, and she was not a part of it. The hidden lips of the commander parted and he began to speak, his voice was it’s usual unphased authority, “Listen, it is clear beyond a doubt that you are a liar, and it is even clearer that I have no need to keep talking to a liar. Every word that has slithered out of your mouth has been riddled with deceit and not even very convincing deceit at that. I am not a fool, and I would rather march away from here to continue my orders then to keep this silly ordeal alive.”

“However,” Derrix said almost chuckling out of disbelief, “However, for some unknown and illogical reason, I will stand here and keep taking your barrage of lies and silly stories, for what reason I do not know. It is as if by some unknown insane magic is binding me to keep taking this shite. Like - like I’m being guided against my own will by some greater being who intervenes with my life and choices whilst sitting on his couch and makes me put up with this stuff, as if I have nothing better to do.”

The commander paused, recollecting his idle thoughts and letting his voice reign steady. “I bet such a being is even laughing at the misfortune he has written for me to go through.”

“So, let us at least be honest with each other, Morinth, what in Justinians name do you want?”

She crossed her arms and rose her head a bit at him. “Well, i guess there is no fooling some people so here. I have a friend here I need to find. leave it at that. You have a tablet you want to find, I won't get into your business. sound fair?” She still knew she had their tablet so she had to be careful now. “Just let me fetch my grapple. When I come back, if you’re still here then i’ll take it as a sure, we can help one another.” She uncrossed her arms and turned to the side, as if she was going to start walking away regardless. “Is that fair?”

“Justinian alone knows why I am going to agree to this, and maybe that writer of my fate, but sure, it is fair,” Derrix replied.

She smirked before turning away from the group. and took a few steps before turning around. “You, in the back there.” and pointed directly at the elite who had groaned in disbelief. “You can go fuck yourself.” And then turned around. Morinth was pretty quick to get to her grapple. She looked up the rope and gave a confused look. “Damn, where to put thi- Ah.. right there.” And slowly and carefully pulled the tablet out and slid it into some sort of a outside waste pipe, resembling a toilet. “Those fucks can eat shit.” she said, snearing visibly.

Morinth whipped the rope just right to detach the grapple. After it fell, she began coiling the rope before finally attaching the grapple to her back pack. “Alright, lets get this done.” and started towards the Chapter house. When it came in to view, the Paladins were, by some miracle, still there. She put her palm on her forehead for a moment and muttered,

“This is going to be a long day.”

Charlin-Dominion

*BLAM!*


Morinth had done the impossible it seems. Perhaps it was a true sign of desperation in this world that a highly devout Yuwan and one of the Dominions top killers would end up allied with some of the Charlins best. A sign of the end times indeed. But they had no idea how bad it really was. Luckily, the scales were tipped in Morinth’s favor so far. They didn't know her mission and had no idea what sort of shitty situation that their beloved tablet was in.

“Alright, When I first got here, there was a crazy guy inside the building when I went in looking for my friend. I killed him but he had came out of some sort of armory. I didn't get far in to it due to hearing your group approaching.” After saying that, she gave a sharp, almost hateful gaze to that butt hole Justinian Elite that groaned. She smiled a bit and spoke to herself. “I’ll call you the groaner.. yeah. that’s it.”

Derrix always was a patient man, well, mostly. However, patient as he may be, he was running out of optimism to fight away the oncoming tide of annoyance. He was glad that his face was covered, because no doubt his true emotions would be showing. As annoyed as Derrix may be, he would keep reaching a point of such anguish in his thoughts that he decided perhaps it was best to ignore them for now and just get this over with.

“So, aside from making men groan in displeasure, what do you have in mind, preferably concerning our tablet?” The commander said with a small smirk twitching the edge of his hidden lips.

She looked around, checking to be sure that the others couldn't hear. “Well, I’m not even sure what it looks like.. so……” she took a pause and looked around again. She was always alert due to her profession but has been told more than once that her constant movement at all times, excluding when she was being stealthy, was beyond frustrating.

Before he could muster a reply, she pulled her hair back into a pony tail, revealing her pointed ears. She was possibly showing off at this point.”So yeah, whats this tablet look like. it stone? I saw some Somnus stuff written in iron once so I just want to be sure.”

“A slab of stone written in old Charlinite and bearing Monodominic markings,” Derrix said in disbelief, “I had just said that not too long ago.”

She just stared at him blankly and said with a monotone. “I’m happy to get such a detailed description.” and with a slight sigh. “Alright. OK. I think I can help you out. If I recall, there is a room attached to the armories of most Somnus ‘High-Knight’ places. I’m sure this information is forbidden or something but would the chapter house have such a room? Perhaps I can see the place and maybe figure something out. I am a pretty good tracker after all.”

“Great,” Derrix said almost with a bored undertone. The commander pointed at a rock and one of the Paladins handed it to him. Derrix offered the rock to Morinth, “in case you forget what stone looks like.”

The knight commander shook his head at the woman. He couldn't believe what he had to deal with, especially on such a simple mission. Without giving Morinth another glance he started towards the chapter house, a spring in his booted step that his troop mimicked perfectly. As he stood in the rotting doorway he turned to his loyal troops and gave them simple orders to guard the exit while he went inside with Morinth.

The inside was colder than the exterior, it’s roof and walls showed signs of structural discomfort. The floors were littered with smashed furniture as well as dried up blood and vermin that didn't quite make it from the hungry grasps of infected monstrosities. Despite the smashed and dirty windows that were covered by remains of furniture, light managed to poke it’s way into the chapter house from various holes, dimly lighting the air that lingered with the smell of wet and rotted wood and stone.

Upon walking in, Morinth stood still and looked about. “Wow, place is in such poor condition.” She smirked a bit. “Should take notes from that sturdy rock you handed me. you know, well built and all.”. Without a thought though, she pointed ahead, “Armory is this way.” She wouldn't assume they didn't know where the armory was but the chance that a Somnus chapter house is identical in build to the ones in Charlin would be highly unlikely. May as well be helpful at the very least.. seeing as she hid their tablet in the first place.

“Morinth,” Derrix said, his usual authoritative tone was softer. He opened a drawer and rummaged through the rubble he found within, aimlessly knowing nothing was in there.

“The tablet is not in this chapter house,” He continued as he opened the next drawer, “I know that, and I think you know it as well.”

He slammed the drawer shut and turned to face her, “Listen, if this was not a special operation, if I didn't have orders to remain reclusive during this mission, as well as all of my men, I, like any usual Charlin, would have cut you down by now, but you are lucky, lucky I am incapable of doing so at the moment. For the honor of my troops, and of Charlin, you are lucky.”

He shook his head and walked closer to the Jonite, he was clearly irritated “So I ask of you a favor, just give me the tablet, so my men can see home, I’ll stay and work whatever debt a vile snake like you has in mind, just let my men go home.”

“Why I have no idea what you are on about,” Morinth said with an innocent shrug, “Oh! is there any like, cellar around here? maybe… maybe the tablet is in there! I’m sure there are places you and your people didn't look.”

The Jonite tossed the rock at the Paladin and began looking for a doorway down, “What’s your name anyway?”

“Blessed Knight Commander Derrix Nightbane Herchiv,” The Paladin replied as he caught the stone in his palm, “As for a cellar it’d be that door over there.”

Derrix pointed at an old dark door with a smashed lock and walked up to it.

“But my troops had already searched the area,” Derrix said with an exhausted sigh as he slightly cracked the door out of boredom.

“I’m sure you are all amazing trackers,” Morinth teased as she slipped by the Paladin and down the cellar stairs. As they arrived at the cellar, Morinth looked around the area. It was dark and muddy by now as the twenty years of neglect was even more prevalent here. “Hey, Derx.. you got a torch?” She had developed a pet name already. With his mission though, she didn't think he would even care, regardless of how ignorant the name sounded.

“When we get some light, check for discolorations or something along the walls, anything that would give away a secret room or something.” She turned away and began moving her fingers over the walls, hoping to find something out of the ordinary.

The blessed commander shrugged and went looking for a spare torch. All that was on his mind was completing his task, and getting his troops home safe. He had given his word as an honorable Charlin, and he would sooner die a very painful death before dishonoring his word or his troops.

His body was enveloped in an eerie glow that fought against the dark, giving him just enough light to make out a torch, as he reached for it; his grasp caused the torch to erupt in flames, and a smirk curved his hidden lips as he waved it for some light against the walls. However between the time he took thinking about his mission and honor, and the time he spent finding the torch, there was a loud grind behind him, and he assumed Morinth had already found the secret door, so he turned to meet her.

Morinth was surprised at what had happened. The door opening that easily. “This room must have been used a thousand times by now..” She started to walk through but not before seeing that eerie light faintly showing on the walls beside her. She turned as the knight commander walked closer. “Ha! glow in the dark knights.. So, tell me. If I shake you.. will you get brighter?” She giggled hard and turned away before putting her hand to her mouth to hide how hard she was starting to laugh but then she stopped abruptly. The room was huge and strange, even by knight standards. “Woah.” was all she could say

The room contained twisted black spires and in the center, a solid gray obelisk, plainly shaped considering the rest of the room. She turned back to him. “you’re seeing this right?” How could she know, his face has been shrouded in mystery this whole time. “Well, I’ll just assume you’re awe struck.” And turned away. She was trying to get a good idea on the rooms set up in case she would have to fight the knight commander. She had no idea if he would be pissed that she had misled him this entire time.

After seeing she had room to defend herself, she turned to him once again. “Alright, most holy bright.” she chucked a bit. “bright one, remember the building right across the road from the entrance to your chapter house.. Well.. I’m sorry in advance.. I mean REALLY sorry.” She gave a smug look and then lowered her head. “Behind the building is a shitter. Your tablet is in it.” she paused, “But its wrapped in a cloth so it shouldn't be too turd-ridden.”

“As I said,” The commander began, there was almost a sign of relief in his voice, “If it wasn't for my special orders, you would be long disposed of.”

With that the Commander took one last look at the bizarre room and turned around, eager to get to his troops and the tablet.

She turned away from him and then waved her hand at him. “yeah yeah, you’d have killed me. what ever you say.” and started to walk away. “If you want to leave that’s fine but tell me, you have to be a little curious.. why would your chapter choose to build a holy site right on a place like this..”

“My thoughts belong to my soldiers, miss,” Derrix said, “But if you want to satisfy my curiosities, as you seem so pleasant to do so, then perhaps you can tell the rest of the Paladins why there is a site of such under a house of the Paladins.”

The Knight Commander began to ascend the stairs. He called down to her, knowing he was going to regret every word as he said it, “Quickest way to Charlin is behind my troops. I’ll be outside, we march in twenty.”

“Hmph” she said while the Commander walked away. “I ain't telling that whole group if he doesn't care to see it.” she said. “Well, may as well get this over with if I’m to find that damned ring.” And began walking towards the obelisk. She began chanting something in a very old language, one of the old gods in the pantheon times. “Come on out.” she said as the obelisk began show to shine with strange glyphs becoming visible. “Come on… come on out.”

With a loud ear piercing howl, one that forced Morinth to cover her ears in pain, one loud enough for any outside to hear.. swirly energies from the pool of water coalesce into a single being, held by chains. It was bloody with no legs but long arms with long claws. It had to be ten feet tall.. and it stared at her angrily. its voice was deep and almost burned with fire “Thank you for releasing me.” She walked up, unimpressed of all things. If anyone but Morinth knew the shit she has been through, they’d know there isn't much fear left in her body.. but this sight would cause many to cower in fear. “Know this, Jonite witch. Your actions have doomed this world for I, Pharos, have been released upon this world.”

She gave a sneer, “Yeah yeah. Look, I’ll set you free if you help me out. I need to find one of your rings.” She then became sarcastic. “So.. mr dark evil lord.. how about it. You help me find it, then i’ll get you out of those chains.” The beast lowered its arm and stared at her for a few minutes, long enough for her to cross her arms and began tapping her foot. “I accept your offer. Now, you have a map, I will need it if you want my help.”

She pulled a map from her backpack and held it up. The beasts gaze hit the map and behind her on the wall, it amplified in size. On it, there was a green dot over the nation of Charlin. “The old Dragon region. That’s where my ring is.”

“I will set you free from this prison but it’s gonna cost you.” She smiled and pulled out a bizarre, flat star shaped stone with a bright orange stone in the center. It was an artifact from ages passed. Created by a red pantheon demon to imprison his foes once they had been weakened enough. The beast reeled and then began roaring in anger upon seeing it. She didn't have much time as the creature was regaining power by the second.

“You wouldn't dare!” it screamed as she held it up. Words in ancient tongue were spoken and a bright light erupted from it, enveloping the demon. It’s body turned orange before turning to pure energy and then shot into the star. When all was finished, the center stone turned a bright blue. Had she waited too much longer, it would've likely broke free and began some rampage but to her, it was a necessary risk though.

“Hope you’re comfortable.” she said. An extremely faint voice replied. “You’ll get yours Jonite.” She laughed then covered the thing in a stained, gold colored cloth. As she emerged from the building,. The Paladins could only look at her with confusion. She had a feeling they wouldn't understand or believe what had happened by she decided just to tell them the truth. “So yeah, A demon showed up, I trapped it.”

The paladins weren't likely convinced and were likely frustrated by her actions regarding the tablet itself, being in such a shitty situation to begin with. Regardless, Morinth walked to the Knight commander and let him know that the situation is over but she needs to get to Charlin. Derrix by now, was just impartial to her so he allowed it. He gave the order for his troop to move out and carry their precious cargo to Charlin.

From Wisdom comes Power. From Power comes Right.
From the Twenty Seven Hidden Precepts, Drathan Holy Text

-

The caravan crawled across the desert, by night a line of plodding gan-lizards and men on foot, beast and man alike burdened with supplies, their trudging column illumined by the the pale glare of the indifferent stars. By day they formed a small circles of tents, huddled against the merciless sun and the blowing black sands.

Even the Nuvidians avoided these waterless, shelterless badlands, home to scorpion ants and angry spirits. Yun Es, they called this place, and theirs was the only tongue in which it even had a name. Translated roughly it meant something like "the haunted sands", though haunted does not carry the connotations of hunger and greed present in the Nuvidian words.

The party traveling through these wastes knew what the desert men called it, and knew what lurked here.

In fact, they sought it out.

It was no rare thing for a Drathan master to have dealings with the red gods. Though most followed the Hidden Paths of Yuwan and did not worship the many spirits that wandered the world, neither did they despise them or their boons. The mage-lords considered themselves superior to other beings, corporeal or not, and the greatest of their number rivaled even the mightiest red spirits in power and Art. Rare was the southron wizard, therefore, that paid such creatures homage in place of Yuwan and the Old Gods.

Ulthaur daz Nagath was one such rarity, Drathan master and devotee of the Red Pantheon both. It was not for lack of skill that he worshiped the earthly spirits; among the Congress of Masters few were his superior in magical talent. House Nagath- rulers since time out of mind of the great slaver port of Tripantos- had worshipped the red gods for centuries, perhaps millennia if the old lineages be true. Their reasons were obscure, save perhaps to themselves and the dark spirits they honored.

Nagath rode at the head of the caravan, atop the gnarled back of an ancient gan. Powerfully built, with thick arms and a broad chest, he was clad in simple linens, in the style of the nomadic desert chieftains, the white raiment stark against his dark skin. His eyes glittered in the starlight as they wandered over the trackless black desert, seeking out signs invisible to others.

Just behind him rode another figure, more slender than he, with features obscured by hooded robes.

"Air's changed," the robed figure said. A woman. Her voice was quiet and cold.

"Soon now," Nagath said, white teeth flashing in the gloom, "He's close."

His gan-lizard snorted, pawing at the dark sand.

The caravan slowed as animals grew nervous.

The woman held up a hand, signaling a halt.

In the distance, some vague shape interrupted the shadowy outlines of dunes.

"You and I will go from here," said Nagath, "Have your men bring the offering."

The pair proceeded, leaving the caravan behind, followed by two of the woman's guard. They traveled in silence, moving by foot when the gan-lizards refused to go any farther, the guards carrying a small chest between them.

The hot of the desert night cooled rapidly, and the air took on a dank, rotten smell like overripe fruit.

Softly, the wizard Nagath began intoning the ancient litanies of his House, and something in the woman's crate rattled in sympathy with his prayers.

The distant shape grew clearer: a ruined tower of scorched stone, or rather, the very top of one. The highest spire of an ancient city, now buried beneath the sands.

"Here." said Nagath, stopping some ways before the tower, "Bring forth the offering."

The two guards came forward, setting the box at Nagath's feet. He smiled, opening it. A Voian serpent sat coiled inside, fangs bared and hissing. The wizard scooped it up easily in one hand, holding it just behind its arrow-shaped head.

"What does it do with the snake?" asked the woman, and the wizard chuckled.

"Nothing," he said.

He threw the serpent at one of the the guards, and the man screamed as the snake coiled around his neck, striking his face repeatedly. The other guard reached for his sword, but Nagath was faster, grabbing him by the head and twisting, hard. There was a loud pop, and the guard collapsed.

The woman took a half step back, hood falling from her head.

She was astoundingly beautiful, raven hair and pale skin, tattooed after the Drathan fashion in intricate, curling lettering.

"What is this?" she said, eyeing the wizard, "Even here, you think you could best me?"

Her voice remained quiet, betraying some annoyance but no fear.

Nagath shook his head, "I am not so foolish as to challenge you in the High Art, Archmagistra, nor do I covet your title. Your guard, not the snake, was the needful offering. One poisoned, one broken, neither suspecting. That is what He demands."

The guard struck by the serpent was on his side in the sand, groaning softly, face blackened and swelling, the snake winding its way down his arm.

"We could have brought slaves for this." said the woman, frowning, "A waste of-"

"No." said the poisoned guard. The woman turned towards him, raising an eyebrow. He was grinning.

"No...the surprise is delicious." The guard's eyes rolled back in his head, and his smile widened into a twisted leer as he stood.

Nagath fell to his knees, muttering prayers, but the woman remained standing.

"You know why we are here," she said simply.

The Poisoned Man touched Nagath gently on the brow. The wizard jerked and shuddered.

"You do not pay obeisance like this one, Kai daz Syfo," the no-longer-a-guard said, "Are you above such things? Or do you save your worship for the mute heavens? That broken rock so beloved of your Augurs?"

"Most Drathans do not kneel so easily," the woman said, looking at Nagath with distaste, "But I am not here to discuss piety."

"No," said the Poisoned Man, "You are here to discuss the Plague. Could you not find answers in your libraries? Are the stars silent to your inquiries?"

Archmagistra daz Syfo said nothing.

The Poisoned Man made a gurgle that might have been a laugh. Blood bubbled between his teeth and dripped down his chin. "You have journeyed far and given me choice gifts. I am compelled to reward you... One of my brothers, the Dweller Under the Mountain, knows of this plague. He knows what is missing from your libraries. He can tell you what your augurs and scrying will not reveal, and what the pretender Justinian only suspects. I doubt he will part with such information easily, however, and his followers protect him most jealously."

The poisoned man paused, bloodshot eyes looking down at Nagath. He pondered something a moment, then continued.

"There is also a book- The Dialogues of Alhazred. I do not know what is in it, nor do I wish to. But one of your number is already seeking it."

"One of my number?" asked the woman.

"Gabul."

"The Wanderer? He is alive?"

"Yes, in the plaguelands. Seeking the same answers you would have of me."

daz Syfo stepped towards the Poisoned Man, drawing close to him.

"What is the plague?" she whispered, her quiet voice trembling ever so slightly. "How can it be beyond all our Art and power?"

The Poisoned Man stepped back, blood dribbling from his nose and eyes, "I have rewarded your gifts with knowledge, this compact is finish-"

"You're afraid of it too." Syfo said, "That's why you don't know more. You're frightened and you've shut your eyes. What is it that scares you?"

The poisoned man shambled away from the woman, over to the prone corpse of the other guard. Slowly, he began dragging the body towards the tower.

Nagath stood, shakily. He was sweating, eyes unfocused.

"What frightens you?!" called Syfo after the poisoned man, but he did not answer.

"We should go, now." said Nagath, watching the poisoned man drag the body into the tower, "Now, Archmagistra."

She nodded, and the pair turned away, trudging through the black sand towards the caravan awaiting them in the distance.

Behind them, carried on the warming breeze, could be heard the sound of cracking bones and of something big slurping and sucking as it fed, and the faint mewling of a long hunger temporarily sated.

Time oft played cruel tricks on men, even when he but allowed only a moment of lapse to take his eyes of the shifting sands. It seemed only scant years ago he had vied with his brothers for right to rulership. Fought all to the last for the honor to lead their proud homeland. It was rare such duels of succession took place even in as martial as a culture as the Jahun-ka. Yet, when Dianru II Dracon the ruler of the five houses of Karkarth and lord of the Seat of Flame died suddenly of illness. Three of his four sons quickly began vying for power in the coming chaos.The situation had almost spiraled out of control before Dianru’s youngest son had stepped forth and challenged his older siblings to duels of honor.

The move surprised many, most of all the three contenders. None had expected the young Tiberius, who had showed little ambition throughout most of his life, to move so boldly. So often forgotten was he that many had nicknamed him “The Other Dragon”. His brothers had thought his challenge equally absurd, but so assured were they, and not to mention the repercussions for refusing, that they quickly accepted Tiberius’s challenge of succession by trial by combat. Little had they realized Tiberius’s grown skill with the blade and shield. Oposs, Suaco, and Vignar, from eldest to youngest, had each mastered a given path of the Sublime Way. Tiberius however had done something rarer, something many thought impossible. He had learned all nine paths and mastered each in turn. Years of endless toil and training, of which Tiberius had thrown himself into with greater degree than even the radical Jahun-ka norm had allowed him to succeed where few even tried.

It had been an escape mechanism he knew. A adolescents attempt to escape the unbearable truth of Ashara, his beloved's, death. He had never imagined his skills put to use against his very kin. Yet, it was an unavoidable outcome. He had seen what his brothers had become, he could not have allowed Karkarth to fall under the sway those who cared so little for those they deemed lesser than they. Honor demanded more than they were willing to sacrifice.

Those days were years ago yet he would remember the fateful day of his duel until his last breath. The memory forever etched into his skin, quite literally. Here in the Honored Halls of Memory, a large circular room with with an oval high ceiling, such remembrances seemed fitting. Adorning the walls were heirlooms of countless sorts; from artfully crafted weapons, portraits or suits of armor from famed figures throughout House Dracons history immortalized in stone. Here and there were placed these stunningly life like sculptures placed throughout the room. The walls too bespoke of the legacies of kings and queens alike.

Tiberius Dracon stood before a portrait of the late Dianru II. The stoic visage of his father stared back down at him as if with judging eyes. Tiberius returned that stare with one of his own, all the while wondering idely what the man before him would do in Tiberius’s situation now. Immolation had been declared on the lands of the once mighty Somnus Imperium. The man who would call himself the prophet of the Dragon Goddess had called all those who upheld her honor to restore order.

Of course he knew what his father would do. He would march to the aid of his allies without hesitation and with firm resolve. Come what may. Could he harness such resolute resolve himself?

How this coming of the Dream plague had changed much in the world, for it now made difficult a once simple thing. A knock on the door to the chamber rocked Tiberius from his silent thoughts.

“My Lord, the council of war is ready to begin but at your command.” came a voice from behind the two large wooden doors.

Tiberius sighed and collected himself. He gave one last look up at his late father. “Let it be so then.”




The Chamber of Campaigns was alight with its usual fires, something not as needed as usual since today the sun had decided to reveal itself on a rare occasion. Tiberius took it as a good omen. Seated around the oval table were the some of the east’s most talented tacticians and warriors. Tiberius sat at the far end of the table in his own stone seat, his distinct iron mask and hood obscuring his face as usual. To his right was his son freshly arrived from the northern frontier, still wearing his segmented battle plate armor from the road. Kelnzo’s long braids hung down across each of his massive shoulders, his features sharp and carried a rugged handsomeness to it, his dark draconic eyes were on the map before him. The colors and landscapes of which shifting slightly from clouds flowing by peaks. The illusion of the tables magic even showed the movement of rivers and the smoke billowing forth from Mount Dread.

On his left sat Kiha Dracon- her expression unreadable and every bit as imposing as most Jahun-ka and no less armoured at that in her corselet of tempered steel left sleeveless to reveal her impressive muscled arms. She wore a single long thick braid of her night-black hair which ran down her back, with an added pair of wicked horns protruding from her forehead, the twin spikes matching the curve of her skull so that their pointed tips stuck out behind her. The horns alone bespoke how strongly her dragons blood ran within her giving her a frightening if exotic beauty about her. She was also just as tall as her father, if not an inch or two more, making her the second tallest in the room. Only Warsword Kayun of House Vervesh was larger, his arms thick like cords of steel, he was built like a small mountain. His wild mane of hair was unbraided, rather rare for a warrior Jahun-ka, but his beard was well groomed and braided with many iron beads. Each one bespoke of a victory over a foe, and he had many indeed.

Lord Kayun was in fact Patriarch of House Vervesh, which held the fearsome Black Host. Warpaint was painted around his eyes a snow white coloration to it, its pattern sweeping down his face like tears. Of those at the table, Lord Kayun perhaps held the largest smile. His place had always been that of the battlefield, even when he was a young toddler the Ankin’s of his Cradle had seen it early on.

Once Tiberius was certain everyone was settled he began. Looking across the table at his Charlin guest he nodded slightly then said. “I welcome you honored brothers and sisters. As we are all here I believe we shall begin. Yet first, introduction I believe are in order.” He turned to his left. “This here is my second born and my only daughter, Ash Princess Kiha Dracon. To her left is Kayun of House Vervesh, he leads the Black Host as their Warsword and has been most active among the Host Warswords in the westlands. On my right and last but not least is Fire Prince and Firstsword Kelnzo Dracon.”


“A pleasure,” King Vrox Galenon answered, he himself wearing his usual purple regal vestments.

“Allow me to introduce those who will be joining us from Charlin today,” He continued, gesturing at three others who sat across the table from the great hosts.

“My Brother, Grandmaster Paladin Marc Galenon,” The king nodded towards the well armored man straight from the purging in Rinswald. Out of all the Charlinites at the table the large man closest resembled the muscularity of the Jahun-ka, as well as their fierce demeanor. He resembled the king in visage, with the usual beard and long jet hair, but weilded sharp blue eyes that had seen the deepest pits of battle and turmoil. A soft eerie glow pronounced itself from his pupils, proving his personal blessing of strength and valor he received from Justinian himself.

“Of course,” The King resumed, “My Daughter, Princess Rachox Galenon.”

The Princess in question sat to the kings left, opposite of Marc. She was the youngest one at the table and was clad in her carefully smithed suit of articulated plate armor, as to not show sloth and weakness in the royal family. She was tall as all Charlin women are, and just as athletic as the female knights. She however kept a soft feminine face with a gently angled chin, fair unsullied skin, dark hair and large bright green eyes. Her figure gave off the aura of grace and pose rather than a battle-hardened maiden, but her benevolent eyes spoke of ambition and willing, as well as die hard honor that screamed out of every notable Charlinites core.

In contrast to Rachox’s beauty was an older gentleman who the King simply addressed as the prestigious Boyar Ivan Purlox of Lrev. The elder man had grey shaggy hair and signs of balding as often as signs of long ago battles and duels that marked his skin with scars and imperfections. He was a wide shouldered man, and despite his older age, he showed fierce aggression in his very stature. As if trying to seal the image of a very capable seasoned soldier, the Boyar sat in his well-made plate armor that was proudly adorned with tokens of past wars and campaigns.

“So, I find it fit if we first start with mapping out the details of the expedition first, then the plague and ultimately the more complicated planning of a campaign in the Remnant,” Vrox Galenon offered with his usual smile and noble prose.


Tiberius nodded once. “Then let us begin.” He gestured with his right toward Kelnzo, who in turn took the cue.

Kelnzo cleared his throat as he looked up from the map. His voice clear and strong as if possessed by one older than his 27 summers. “As you are now aware, an old order by the name of the Keepers of the Covenant have reached out to the Houses of Karkarth. Their quest involves finding the six lost Dragon Tablets from the Age of Dragons. They believe in doing so will give us much needed answers involving the dream plague, perhaps even give us a means of combating it. The last two members needed for the expedition are being rounded up now, The Order requested aid from the Paladins, as no one else holds their expertise when it comes to dealing with the plague. In fact ,the first clue to the Dragon tablets is believed to have been resting in what is now the plaguelands. The expedition would wish to know in what way the paladins could aid its venture.”

Marc exhaled sharply from his nose and nodded at the mention of the plaguelands, “Coincidentally,” The deep voiced grandmaster began, “there are Paladins already looking for a tablet in the plaguelands, it is of a different nature, but still that raises a brow.”

“As for aid, I can provide man power, as well as provide proverb on dealing with the plague, my order has developed a very fine tuned process of preventing plague outbreaks and dealing with the infected,” Marc paused to think, “But I wonder about the similarities of the tablets you seek and the single tablet I seek.”

“You speak of the Code of Honor tablets,” King Vrox concluded after Marc had finished, “The one of Krax. I don’t doubt the coincidence in the matter, but I confess a doubt in any similarity, I think we would have noticed foreign marks on the tablets years ago.”

Tiberius head raised at that. “The tablets of Krax?” Tiberius’s dark almost reptilian eyes inherently fell to the map before them. Specifically where Krax today stood. “If memory serves. These same tablets of Krax, later moved to a chapter house, were originally from the monasteries of Roland, I’m I correct?”

“Correct,” Marc answered first.

“The possibility of mere coincidence proves an unlikelihood then.”

“Though not an impossibility.” Kelnzo was quick to note.

“As you say. Yet, legend holds that one of the dragons secreted a tablet in the Roland mountains. There is no mention how, and this was to be the expedition's first goal.” Tiberius eyes narrowed. “It would seem, fate plays a cruel trick on us then. Should this in fact be one of the dragon tablet we seek.”

Kayun who had been quiet until now spoke up. “Aye, possible. Chatentarea is well known to play such tricks.”

“We won't know for sure until we can reacquire this tablet and see for ourselves.” Kelnzo voiced.

“Precisely.” Tiberius added. “It seems the expedition has it’s target, it has always been my suspicion the tablet of Roland had always been a Dragon Tablet. Proving so would put us on the right path.”

Kelnzo shrugged. “Then they have their first target.” He turned his attention fully to Marc. “You will have our aid in finding this tablet. I only hope it is as we believe it.”

“Blessed Knight Commander Derrix Herchiv was sent after it weeks ago, and should be nearing it soon with a detachment,” Marc replied as he leaned back in his chair slightly, “Derrix has proven himself very competent to myself as well as Justinian personally, I’m sure he will see to it that his mission, which is now ours too, will be carried out with haste. In the meantime, we could send messengers in his path to update him and us on the mission or perhaps a look at the remaining tablets of honor will prove useful?”

“A look at the other tablets would be most appreciated, perhaps we will be fortunate and recover a Dragon Tablet easily.” Kelnzo then turned his attention back to the map. “The other tablets will be more difficult to acquire. But with that handled..”

“That brings us to the heart of this meeting purpose.” Tiberius placed a gloved hand on the table before him. The landscapes previously showing all of Avara now narrowed and seemed to fall toward one specific area. That region being the eastern portion of Avara where Karkarth, Charlin, and the Somnus Imperium bordered. “As promised the Host of Karkarth will march with Charlin’s riders. I would hear of your plans and ideas involving the campaign, however.”

“After a long discussion with Marc and Boyar Ivan,” Vrox began, “We have decided that the two points needed for a successful campaign in the remnant would be a port city to control the sea that lies north of Karkarth and the remnant, as well as a city far between the axis that borders all three of us, so as to cut off Somnus reinforcements to the surrounded finger of territory.”

“After a successful capture of these two points we can close in on all sides and take the finger of territory with little resistance. However the Somnus will surely come against our newly captured city, and hopefully most somnus leaders can listen to the reason of Justinian and give up without fight.”

“Though I doubt it, so after the successful campaign in the ‘finger’ we will have to reinforce the western front, while using the sea to transport logistics and troops around the newly created war front and split their force,” The king finished with a smile and sat back in his chair.

“”As were my thoughts and I have a plan in taking the port city, Everyren, as they call it.” Tiberius nodded toward Kayun.

The big man grunted, “Ah, thoughts on that matter have been upon mind. I have had a few dealings in Somnus. The Marquis of the city is known to me, and both port cities around the Sea of Night are under his control.”

Kayun drained his cup of water to wet his dry throat and continued. “Hmm, now on my visit we had something of a small meeting o’sorts. Apparently he wished to procure some Jahun-steel, which trade for has been strained of late since the start of their squabbling war and the demands from Otnemarcasan. I’m not head of House Orlious, but he believed I might persuade them. Now, I’m thinking we give’em what he wants....” Kayun then gave a big fanged smile. “Only, not’so much as he may have thought. A few of our best fighters can be smuggled into both cities when our ships go to anchor and trade there. Then by night, they make their way to the cities gates and leave’em wide open for our forces. It would get us both cities without a siege so quickly the Remnant would never know what hit them.”

“Thus giving us access to the entire Sea of Nights,” Kelnzo reasoned. “With little bloodshed at that. If Takataren smiles upon us, it might convince the other barons among the other rebel factions to join in with us and tip the balance. Many depend on those ports for trade and fishing in the local area.”

“Such is the aim of our plan, it would be a decisive early victory at no cost to us, swinging support to us and hurting the rebel factions will to fight.” Tiberius pointed out. “From there a small raiding force should move quickly toward the their central mountains where they keep their mining outpost. Quickly removing those would further hurt their ability to fight us in a battle of attrition, as well as their desire to fight. We will need to move quickly upon the success of these victories to capitalize our full advantage. If done right, we will have almost won the war before it has officially started.”

Kiha Dracon who had been quiet until now as nodding. “That would also leave a raiding force far within and behind enemy lines. Further sowing chaos.” Despite her experiences and well she already knew the man, Kiha was still surprised at the tactical and strategical insights of her father. Truly he showed why he ruled a people who demanded only excellence.

“I like it,” Marc said simply, “I would volunteer myself for such a mission, on the honor of our alliance.”

“Although I would have to get back to the main camp to lead Paladin forces in case of a counter attack,” The Grandmaster concluded, “Either way, we will both go into this together, it is an ingenious plan.”

“Perhaps then,” King Vrox said, “I shall go in your place, the boyars are so keen to lead their armies without my help anyway.”

The king shot Boyar Ivan a playful smile, but got a very stretched false smile in return. Marc shook his head at the exchange, “So it is settled, I will lead the Charlin main north forces outside the gate, his majesty will personally honor the raid with his blade, and the boyars?”

“I pledge my men to securing the mines along side the Jahun-ka,” The toadlike voice of Boyar Ivan croaked.

The princess only offered a smile to the group. As much as she wanted to fight with everyone else, she knew that the absence of her father in Charlin meant that she was to sit in his throne for him.

“Is there anything else we should discuss about these raids?” Marc asked, thinking the plan over as he stared vigilantly at the map.

"Excellent," Tiberius voiced. "The Vanguard Host sent to take Everyren will be lead by my son Kelnzo Dracon,"

Kelnzo looked pleased by the announcement. "I will bring honor to our family and realm father," He inclined his head in respect.

Tiberius gave a slight grunt in response. Kayun smiled at that before saying. "Aye, then we shall be fightin alongside each other then, fer'if it pleases you Vanquisher, I would volunteer for opening the gates."

Tiberius seemed to raise an eyebrow at that. "Truly Warmaster? Such a dangerous task for one who has proven himself is not required, but I shall not turn away your aid. I profess in fact to feeling secure with this plan knowing you will be its spearhead."

"As for me, I will gather the Host of western Karkarth and march them to the border of Somnus. We will not pass into their land, but it will draw their eyes south. No doubt they know of Justinian's announcements and fear a crusade of some kind. I would feed on that fear and thus draw their forces south. It must be timed a day after our trading vessels land. But the force that will take the seaside cities will come from the north instead, ferried by our fleets in the Sea of Night. By the time they discover we have taken the Sea of Night, we will be at full strength and ready to march north to rejoin our forces. They will be forced to leave their cities in our hands, or risk a siege and thus be caught in the rear by our southern forces."

Kiha understood her father full scheme now, but there was one piece she still did not know. So she dared voice her concern. "And what of my contributions?"

"You will remain in Karkarth and oversee the affairs of state in my absence."

Kiha's jaw dropped, and Kelnzo did not miss the look that crossed her face. He had seen her lose temper enough times in their youth to know that look; and fear it.

Kiha exhaled sharply. "Father, surely you do not expect me to remain her locked away like some frail maiden."

"I expect you to do what you are told. I cannot trust this to Taldon, he has not yet earned the respect of all like you have."

"But fa-,"

"Enough, the matter is settled." Tiberius turned to Vrox while Kiha fumed. She held her tongue however. "The raiding force will require speed and aggression, something the famed Charlin destrier can accomplish with ease. If you send a tally of your swiftest horses with the northern force carried across the sea, I dare say there will be little our enemies could do to stop them. This would be risking some of your men of course, So I would hear your thoughts on that matter."

“You will get your destrier as well as knights to ride them,” Vrox looked at Marc.

“Paladin trained knights,” Marc finished.

“So it is settled, The King will help infiltrate the city and the Grandmaster will help take the city with the northern vanguard once the gate opens, while I will ride with the southern main forces,” The Boyar reiterated.

“Then it is settled,” Tiberius announced. “The ships we need should be ready in three days, it will take another week to reach our targets. We must prepare our southern forces accordingly.”

“The Paladins will be ready at a moments notice for the crusade, and Master Paladin Franx Jerril will be informed about the dragon tablets in my absence,” Marc offered, “Everything is set in place it seems.”

A Spleen-Aristo Collab:
Off Hokksulgugae's shore, North Siphonese Sea

Men screamed as their flesh came to meet sinister blades. Specks of blood on the deck turned into streams, then pools, of blood. The scent of burning wood and human flesh, although faint, was distinct compared to the normal salty scent of the sea. The creeking of wood could be heard as a ballista bolt smashed into the side of a nearby combat junk. Groaning as if in protest, the ship slowly leaned to the side as water seeped into the compromised hull. As the ship sank, Ithicists on board its two sister ships had to wonder if their ship would share the same fate. Surely there was no way for a single combat junk and a merchant junk to fight off the five Sibytte combat junks that had swooped in on the convoy.

"Ahimatsu burn them in spite!" Kau Ling cursed as a Sibytte warship came alongside either side of the ship he was on. "Prepare for a boarding party!" He cried as he drew his jian. The command was unnecessary as most of the crewmen had long expected some sort of boarding attempt. Why would the Sibyttes bother sinking the remaining ships when they could simply steal the ships and everything on them?

Soldiers jumped onto Ling's ship as soon as the two Sibytte ships had drawn close enough throwing the crew into a pitched battle. Ling found himself almost immediately beset by a pair of Sibytte sailors who swung their dao's at him with reckless abandon forcing him to parry one aside as he stepped back to avoid the second. Nearby a Kunlander sailor bellowed a warcry as he hurled an axe at a Sibytte counterpart. The Kunlander gave a cry of victory as the axe found a home in the Sibytte's skull, only to give a second cry, this one of pain, as an arrow punched threw his simple leather armor and threw him to the deck.

Ling leaped towards his two assailants, repeatedly thrusting his jian at one of them. The man managed to parry most of the thrusts, but a few of Ling's attacks got threw the man's defense. Within seconds the man was bleeding from several nasty gashes on his arms. It was enough to make him back off and just in time as the second Sibytte had positioned himself to swing his dao down towards Ling's head. Ling stepped towards his attacker and caught the dao near the hilt of his jian, stopping the descending blade an inch from his head. He then stepped even closer to the Sibytte, sliding his jian free from the dao and positioning it so he could slash the man across the neck. Ling coolly ignored the blood that squirted out of the man's neck, drenching his clothes, as he turned his attention back to the other Sibytte. The Sibytte, obviously caught offguard by how quickly his companion had been dispatched, was unable to fend off Ling's renewed assault and quickly shared a similar fate.

Ling had won that fight, but as he regarded the battlefield he could tell that the Sibyttes would surely win the battle.A cry of victory from the merchant junk made it abundantly clear that it now rested squarely in Sibytte hands. To make matter worse more and more Sibyttes jumped aboard the remaining Ithicist ship, turning a pitched battle into an impossible one.

---

Oars battered the waves, drawing the quartet of warships closer to the scuffle. The banners of Hokksulgug whipped about in the wind, the leering eye of Kogucheyol watching the commotion on the waters. The clamor of arms and rasps of men could be heard from this distance, though so occupied were they with killing that the shadows approaching failed to garner their notice. Captian Sun Pyeok stood in his vessel's command tower, watching over the chaos through a spyglass. Already the Sibyttes had battered the Ithicists to near-submission. He was surprised at the gall of the Sibyttes to stage a raid this close to Hokksulgug shores. If they had forgotten the consequences of such an offense, then he'd be sure to remind them.

If the Sibyttes had realized the danger of their predicament, it would be too late at this point. The Hokksulgugae vessels were speeding towards the fray, gunners readying their matchlocks and fire rockets. Sun bellowed orders to his men, who responded with an eager spring in their movements - it had been far too long since Hokksulgug's soldiers had spilled blood. The thought of the slaughter that would ensue danced in Sun's head as the warships slid into the effective range of the gunners' weapons. More than a few Sibyttes paused momentarily to notice the great death bearing on them, the folly of their actions wracking their conscious before meeting a salvo of gun shot.

The Ithicists' salvation came in smoke and fire. Pang! Pang! Pang! The matchlocks spat, raining lead into the ranks of Sibytte marines. Bodies rocked to the deck of the junks as rounds struck their mark. Volleys of haphazardly-aimed arrows whizzed from the Sibytte warships, striking the nearest gunwales of the Hokksulgugae vessels, but not much else. The high vantage points of the ships were ideal positions to pelt the would-be marauders below. Like fish in a barrel, the pseudo-Justinians were shot down from above. "This is what it means to be a Hokksulgugae!" Captain Sun cheered.

After the Hokksulgugae's opening volleys, Sun ordered the ships alongside the remaining vessels. Utterly battered by the superior technology of their adversaries, the Sibyttes presented a negligible threat, and Sun's marines quickly subdued and rounded up the new slaves. The surviving Ithicists were taken aboard Sun's command vessel, and he stepped down from his perch to meet them personally.

"I regret we did not arrive sooner," he began. "We'll see your needs taken to and goods accounted for. But first, who is the acting officer of this formation?"

"I would be that" A young man stepped forward, speaking in a somewhat broken and heavily accented version of the native Hokksulgugae language. His once fine clothes, a clear indicator that he came from a wealthy family or that he himself had managed to accumulate a somewhat sizable fortunate during his short life, were now soiled blood, both his and that of his foes. A makeshift bandage, little more than the torn off sleeve of his clothes, did little to halt the flow of blood escaping from a nasty gash on his forearm.

"This one's name is Kau Ling" He gave a deep bow to Captain Sun. He then rendered a bow to the captain's nearby crewmen as he said "Ling is most debt-full for the aid rendered by his Hokksulgugae friends." The twenty-five remaining Ithicists mimicked Ling's actions, murmuring things in their native tongues, presumibly sentiments of gratitude. Twenty-five men. That was all that was left of the convoy. The ship Ling had been on had carried just over a hundred men. The other combat junk had had a similar crew with the merchant junk carrying about eighty men. All in all the convoy had had a crew of two-hundred eighty men of which only twenty-five remained.

"Ling is- was the second leader. Leader now with Irochi apparently. Ling is... how you say... son of a defender? Assailant? No. Warrior! Yes, Ling is son of a warrior." He smiled, obviously pleased with picking the right word. "Ling glad you are here. Kau will be even gladder to hear of this. Kau will surely discuss Hokksulgugae heroics with the king."

Sun Pyeok returned the lieutenant's gesture, declining his upper body toward the remnants of the Ithicists. "Captain Sun Pyeok," he introduced himself. "It was fortunate our patrol stumbled into you. The damn Sibyttes have never been so bold as to raid this close to Hokksulgug before. Any idea what might have provoked them?"

"Pride? Greed?" Ling shrugged. "Ling is confused always by the false believers."

"Yes, well, it seems that Hokksulgug cannot avoid open conflict with the Sibyttes for much longer. If they wish to challenge the integrity of these waters, they'll find themselves sorely punished." Hokksulgugae marines were clambering over the decks, retrieving whatever goods and equipment could be saved from the Imperial vessels. The survivors were led below, given space to rest and stopgap medical treatment to hold until reaching the mainland.

"We're headed back to Hokksulgug," Sun informed Ling. "There you'll have some time to recuperate before going home. I'm sure the Daekuang would be interested to hear of the situation within the Empire as well." With that, the Hokksulgugae vessels turned back, leaving the cluster of unmanned ships and souls destined for the depths.

Untreggstead, Several months in the past

The brow on High Chief Untregg the Younger's sloped forehead had been furrowed already when the advisor had burst in, for he had been deep in thought. Now, though, it was furrowed even further, causing his head to resemble something of a stepped-on lemon in shape. The reports he was hearing... Disturbed him, to say the least. Not that he could let his meager court know. He was the high chief, damn them! Chosen of The Colossi, son of Untregg the Elder, and grand Pyromancer of his realm! For him to be disturbed by anything was a sign of weakness, and a weak chief never lasted in these lands.

"Great Leader," the grovelling counselor had said, "I bring news from our scouting boats."

These were words Untregg the Younger had been waiting to hear for some time. "Speak then!" He bellowed, "And tell me of our progress!"

Many of his council had not approved of his ideas. There had been much progress, even prosperity, in the lands of the Northfolk since his grandfather, Untregg the First, had unified them. His father had only served to solidify that unification, and provide a form of centralization for the people and their tribal holdings. Now it was his turn to carve a chapter in the legacy of the Sons of the First, and he had gone with the bold decision of expansion.

"Sire, the news is... Not good," the tremble in this fool's voice was beginning to annoy Untregg, and he made sure to let all in his presence know of it.

"SPEAK PLAINLY, FOOL, OR NEVER SPEAK AGAIN!" He stood now, and drew a hunting dagger from his belt. "What have you to say of the lands beyond our own?"

"The... The lands to the south, sire... They are not a land of men," the poor fool was visibly shaking now, fearful of his liege, and of the news he carried with him. "The skies are black, filled with dust and death, and the horrors that lie there... Undescribable."

It was then that Untregg the Younger snapped. "You come into my court and tell me of 'danger'? Of 'undescribable horror'? FOOL! YOU KNOW NOTHING! YOU ARE NOTHING!" and with that, he plunged the dagger into the abdomen of the quivering supplicant, twisting it thoroughly to the tune of a pleasing scream. "I am the judge of what is horror. Of what is danger!" And with that, he pulled the dagger back, wiping it on his own tunic, and returned it to his belt.

But it had all been an act. The words of the now-dead servant had gotten to Untregg. He was filled with doubt, and fear of that which lay beyond his realm. Were there really lands such as had been described? All he knew was that for the next voyage, his men would be stearing clear of the coasts to the south.

The coasts of Karkath, Present Day

It had been several months since they had set sail, but Captain Skrugge and his men were no less enthusiastic than when they had set out. This was their destiny! A crew of hearty Northfolk handpicked by High Chief Untregg the Younger himself for a voyage to the lands beyond! There had been much drinking and feasting to celebrate. Their voyage had not been a smooth one, and more than one foolish sailor had been lost overside to a beast or a storm. However, the cold of their homeland now far behind them, the men were joyous once more: the shores they had been sent to find were within reach! A land scorched by the sun awaited them, the smell of fire and dust filling the air. Such a peculiar sight had never before graced the eyes of a Northfolkman. Truly, the Colossi had blessed their journey!

As their boat came closer to shore, one of the men began to shout. "I see something, Captain! It looks... Manmade!"

The land they had come to was populated, eh? Well, thought Skrugge to himself, This may be one small step for myself, but this is a gigantic leap for all of our kind. With that, he ordered his men to drop anchor, for it was time to go ashore. Surely, this arrival would not go unnoticed.

Ka'lae
584 Days Ago
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Ting.

The impact of the fallen knife echoed through the room and crimson red began to pool below her. An ephemeral shadow vanished through a window and before Stephan could form a thought he was on his knees. How long he sat there seemingly impassive he could not tell, in that time all he knew was confusion, pain, and anguish.

The open door swayed in the breeze, its creaking providing rhythm, logic to disjointed and uncertain thoughts. Ever so slowly and he came to understand. Yes, he had known this was coming. He had told her as much, told her to run so many moons ago. Of course she didn't, why would she? The king had showered her with gifts, promised her things that a simple concubine could never have. It was a sick joke, the man prized for his love of the people, a murderer. A man rumoured as impotent, perhaps it was no surprise he wanted nothing from her but the child in her belly. Of course when she gave birth it was also no surprise they cast her aside like so much shit.

He had warned her, he had failed her.

The pain and anguish faltered, already replaced by a burning hatred. He hated the assassin for killing her, he hated himself for failing to stop them, but he despised the King for betraying her. His legs shook as he forced himself upwards, then he took a step. The blood stained his shoes as he neared her face down body, the ornate knife lying just ahead. He thought to look at her once more, but the idea of seeing her eyes struck him with terror greater than any he could imagine. With a burning glance to the knife he decided to take the weapon, one day its user would regret leaving it behind. Now determined he turned, it was too late for her, but the child lived on.

The door slammed behind him as he trailed fading red footsteps in the dark of the night. He wanted revenge more than anything, but she would have never abided it. No, more death was not the way, not yet. For the moment he knew where the King was and so he would take something better than the bastards life. The child would suffer in that fools care not more than a minute if Stephan could help it.

These thoughts and more gathered in Stephan's mind as he neared the docks. Most of his crew would never help him, they were too loyal to the navy, the dominion. They were everything a soldier should be. Until a moment ago so was he, but now he felt the same as those few discontent and angry fools on his ship. Yes, he was going to seek help from the very people he had wanted to throw over the deck. It was a cruel irony if there ever was one.


Eastern Sea
77 Days Ago
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The harsh sun beamed down heating every inch of ship, the sails sat lax and the wind was idle in its duty. To any sailor things could hardly get worse, out here they were sitting ducks just waiting for any pirate shrewd enough to have equipped oars and crazy enough to attack a ship with the Dominion sigil raised high. Stephan felt only anticipation.

It had been more than a year at sea now, running as fast as he could from his own Country. A mere seven of his crew knew it and he was constantly worrying the rest would find out. Well, he supposed they would now. It had taken long enough to organize but now the situation was perfect, almost all the crew were asleep or below waiting out the hot day save the ones he trusted; they were in the armoury.

Stephan left his cabin and made his way to the main stairs leading below deck, letting himself in slowly and silently placing an oversized black lock on the door behind him. A few men playing cards from their cots further down noticed the captain enter and stood up. The majority seemed to be asleep, that was a stroke of luck at least. There was the thudding of steps and a look to the other end of the cabin showed the rest of his men, each one armed.

One of the standing men, Aron spoke up, “What's goin on here cap'in?”

With a smile Stephan replied, “Dereliction of duty crewman.” He drew a long pre-readied pistol from his coat and levelled it on the man, “Would you be inclined to join me?”

With a mixture of shock and fear on Arons's dirt stained face he managed to mutter out a reply, “Ye o' course cap'in.” Before he fell back into his cot, the others around him quickly doing the same.

Stephan lowered the gun, “Glad for it.” He waved to the rest of his men and they burst into the crew quarters, shouting and levelling their own guns before most of the crew had even awakened. After a great deal of cursing and angry shouts the crew had been lined up. Stephan simply made his way to the front of them and began, “I'm sure you're all wondering what's going on, so lets make it simple. As of today this is no longer a Dominion ship, it will belong to me, and to the crew who have chosen to join me. Now, those of you who have a problem with that please speak up now.”

A man a few yards down shouted out, “I ain't no criminal Captain!” A few in the line murmured their assent.

He put on a false smile and walked over until he faced the man, “You're a good one Chaning, always were our best marine. So please understand, I am sorry for this.” With a bang and a puff of smoke Stephan dropped him there. After a second he shouted out, “Anyone else then! No? Excellent, clean this fucking mess up and finish your sleep.”

He moved to the door and undid the lock, only to put it back on the other side. A brisk walk to his cabin and he slumped into his seat. The gun that had been gripped in his hand fell to the floor with a thud and he wiped a speck of blood off his face and inhaled the acrid smoke wafting off the gun. For all he was, Stephan had never before killed a friend. He tried to steel himself, this was what he had to be now. This was what could save the boy only a few doors over. He had to kill Chaning.

He felt like throwing up.

The sun sets over the blessed land for the last time. The night reigns deadly in the crazed from pain lands of Kadulum. Uudhin is born.


The Ghûls consume Kadulum in the fires of industry



Hail Axoa!
Hail! Hail!
And shall his enemies fall!

Dark riots rouse the soul. The bleak mountains of central Uudhin resound deep with the hoarse, brooding chanting of triumphant Ghûls. Rising above even the high mountain slopes of the Forlorn peaks are the towers of Azagôde, the colossal citadel from whence the conquest of Uudhin was staged. Rows of captured and chained-up Phiorafates are led into its sombre gateways. They are headed for the vaults and slave quarters underneath the mountains. In the industrious land of Uudhin, they don’t have need for prisoners. Everyone that breathes the fumes of Azagôde’s industry is expected to do his or her part by manual labour. Ghûl and slave alike are put to work the lands and scavenge for scraps of metal to be cast in the wide complex of furnaces. Many unfortunate slaves are sent off to work in the very depths of Azagôde itself to ensure absolute nil chance of escape. Lost to where no pathway goes. And Yuwan doesn’t hear them… call her or not.

The hundreds of brightly-lit hallways and tunnels of Azagôde ultimately lead to but one chamber. The central Focus Chamber of the Spirit of Ashes. The Red God whose ghastly claw has enthralled all but the bravest and proudest souls in Avara’s north-eastern expanses, chanting songs of wizardry and yelling curses of treachery.
But the Spirit of Ashes – may his name be blot out – is not really there. That is, his physical form is seldom present but always felt. Felt by those under his vast shadow. But this hall is inhabited by other terrible shadows under His great shadow. They are the Courtiers of Azagôde.

Resounding echoes of footsteps are heard through the central pathway of the colossal Citadel. Someone is coming.

CLANG
And the metal door flies open! -- through which a shade is cast on the Chamber’s purple tiles.
‘’I answer your summon. For what have you recalled me from the fields of strife?’’
The Silver Viceroy enters the room. His frame is sleek black and grim. Covered in sturdy metal all over with a mask across the face. No one knows what he looks like or who he really even is. Not even the other Courtiers of Azagôde.
Well. Save for perhaps one: the sorcerous Ekektheï.

She is a wicked sorceress, foremost Courtier and staunch servant to the Spirit of Ashes. Ekektheï is not a lady of grace but rather a frail wretched abomination of a woman. Draping with strange necklaces, earrings and talismans amongst other trinkets only she can see the practical use in.
Seldom does she leave the colossal walls of Azagôde physically. But with some kind of mordant telepathy the sorceress seems to govern the lands of Uudhin, and that mostly by herself. Possibly sending visions across Avara’s upper classes to herald her master's return.
For Ekektheï is perhaps one of the greatest magic users in all Avara… Knows secrets lesser men couldn’t fathom. Though all she does is meditate, and gaze into dull enchanted mirrors for a glimpse of the Other Side.
Always sitting by herself on the luminous purple floor, in the centre of the Focus Chamber… focussing.

The Viceroy looks at her expectantly from the Chamber opening. Receiving no response from the terrible sorceress to his previous dialogue, his outburst resounds in Azagôde.
‘’My warriors slew the last pockets of Yuwanist resistance. Uîrn Dolihn, Kettukhûr, the Crescent and even the Starkeep now belong to the Ashbringer! And the King of Phiore met his demise. …The fool challenged Azagôde at its very slopes, my scouts informed me. Uudhin has been carved out and the machine is set in motion. What more need be?’’

The gloom garbed sorceress eyes the Viceroy sternly, paralyzing him and silencing his tirade. Only when she deems the warlord to be ready doth her shrill voice fill the room.
‘’I have recalled the faithful to make haste for Uudhin. Scattered across Avara still are thralls gone astray. I urged them to come to their master’s aid at long last. But… this isn’t about that.’’
Her raspy throat inhales a large gulp of Azagôdes foul air, before continuing.
‘’A battalion of Phiore’s vanquishers has moved into the rotting domains of Somnus prematurely. I blame a miscommunication on our part. This error can still be salvaged, however. I thought you might be interested overlooking their exploits in person.
…I must remain and oversee myself the plan of Udeye’s final avatar unto its end.’’

The Viceroy snarls:
‘’The invasion of Somnus has already begun?! Without my awareness no less! Insolence! This is a wrong that must be set right… To Somnus it is, and further!’’
He speaks with indignity paired with joviality. Had it not been for the mask covering his face, a wide grin would have surely been visible on his lips… if he has those, anyway.
But the old lady’s shrill voice speaks up again.
‘’Be wary as you carve Azagôdes claw unto the fertile soils of the Empire’s decay… Somnus is land inhabited by humans, not Moonkin.’’

And the Viceroy’s enthusiasm quickly dies.

‘’…That man-deity, Justinian. How do we not invoke his inevitable ire?’’

‘’Not to worry, Templar of Azagôde. The descended celestial is already to be approached in Sacrosanctum… I sent Idhilorne. A folly the descended presence on Avara may be, I believe he can be negotiated with. Kept away from the Ashlord’s plight… for a while.’’

‘’Hrm. So you say. Anything else?’’

‘’Go now beyond the Grey Gates of Uudhin. Swing your ashen steel and let it be heard far and wide; Udeye’s Avatar walks Avara once more.’’

whack

A lone figure ran through the grim destruction of the plague lands. The desolate wasteland of the infected bore it’s ugly grey form on every side of the woman as she trudged through fields of corpses and rubble. In her hands she gripped a massive longsword, it’s blade slightly chipped and caked in dried blood. Her fair skin was tinted red and black from various sources, only impeded on covering her entire body by torn pants and rugged boots. Her messy black hair only barely touched her dirty shoulders. The only marks that challenged the dirt and grime of her torso was a variety of intricate dark tattoos that swirled around her body, leading to a large tattoo of three wisps of wind on her naked back.

Her fierce green eyes were saturated with intense anger as she charged across the debris. Her slender athletic body flexed and relaxed rapidly as she exerted herself despite impending exhaustion. She lept. Her massive blade sang through the sky as she arched her arms, and it found it’s resting place deep into the cleaved head of a pale and deformed infected man. She shot out a hot breath as the force of the blow vibrate the blade, and she slid it out quickly and skillfully out of the skull of the beast and readied the blade for a fluid swing back towards another Infected creature, effectively chopping into it’s ribs. She danced, and used the momentum of the swing to continue her onslaught. Pommel, crossguard and blade she used all parts of her large weapon to cut chunks out of the growing congregation of the sick and plagued.

Slice after stab after crunch, she fought. Her exhaustion increased steadily after each swing, with the number of enemies multiplying with it. As she soon began to find herself surrounded by a wall of pale infected creatures, her thrusts and swings grew less angry and more desperate. She slowly grew to accept her fate as she carved away at what she could, and bravely ignored the sharp pains of stray punches and scratches.

The wall began to bear down on her, and her arms cramped up, without much room to swing her blade. As the infected grabbed her and hit her she let out a shuddering breath of horror.

She knew her time was short and with a growing rumble she shouted out the words of a martyr as she parted her dry lips, “Aristoooooo!”

With her last source of energy she tried to push back against the enemies when suddenly in a blink of an eye, a group of infected were torn from the ground, and their bodies ripped in twain and punctured by long lances, followed by a crunching trample of two giant horses lead by one that shone bright like the sun, with a matching rider. The Infected screamed as the horsemen continued their onslaught with their blades They were Justinians elites, lead by the shining blessed Paladin, Derrix.

Soon in the distance a small detachment of Paladins appeared, heralding light into the dark wastelands. The woman had to squint her eyes past the blessed Paladin to even make the others out. Her green eyes were too dilated from the long battle in the dark shadows of the condemned cities, but she knew she was safe, and half her heart pounded in relief, and the other half in shame.

A few of the infected broke off from their now dead horde and decided to retreat. Derrix quickly charged the three runners, his horses hooves pounding the ground, spitting up the blood of the fallen. The Paladins lance sunk into it’s target, and quickly was dropped for his sword, which too found it’s victim with a gruesome swing. The final infected was far off in the opposite direction, and the Charlinite did what any other from the central plains would do: as his horse kept galloping he snagged a bow tied to his saddlebag and procured an arrow. With a heave he shifted himself so he sat backwards on his horse and with a loud twang he sent the arrow flying. The arrow buzzed through the air and found it’s home between the back ribs of the surprised creature, knocking it to the ground, and piercing it’s lung.

After Derrix reclaimed his dropped weapons he trotted up behind the still stunned woman, who had now been completely surrounded by his own detachment, and Morinth. Derrix leaned forward in his saddle and studied her bare tattooed back.

“Someone see to it that this woman gets a shirt,” Derrix ordered, causing the woman to turn to him.

“I am dishonored sir Paladin, that is why I do not wear much clothes,” She answered, her voice sounded as though it would be soft if it wasn’t so hoarse from thirst and exhaustion.

“What have you done?” Derrix questioned while searching for his water skin on the side of his horse.

“I caused the death of my own child and seek penance through my own blood,” The woman answered, catching Derrix’s waterskin as soon as he found it.

The woman gulped down the water with haste and want as Derrix thought for the moment. He knew by the marks on her back that she was a Monodominic, a heretic, and by her crimes that she deserved death by right, but he also knew compassion.

“Come with me, Monodominic, I have use for such zeal and skill. With me you will find your penance, dishonored one.”

“But sir,” One of the Elites from the Patrimony began, “She is a heathen, and an enemy to Justinian.”

“Do you question my choices of honor?” The helmeted commander said, snapping his eyes into a glare. It was slightly concerning to Derrix that her Monodominic markings unsettled the Justinian Elite more than helping one without honor.

By now, Morinth had arrived and was watching the scene. It was strange to her as tattoos weren’t common where she was from. As the Paladin and The girl exchanged words, Morinth walked to the woman and pulled a simple shirt from her pack. “This may fit you better.” and tossed it towards her.

The stranger smiled weakly in courtesy and stretched the shirt over her torso. Her taller Charlinite figure caused the shirt to stop at her belly, but in retrospect it was a lot better than being topless. The Elite watched the woman with a sneer as she fixed herself, and turned to Derrix.

“The Patrimony would not agree with your choice of companions,” The Elite grunted.

“I am not the Patrimony,” Derrix replied. The Paladin sat up in his saddle, slightly taken aback by the sudden insubordination from the foreigner.

“You are a good officer, there is no doubt, commander, but you show compassion where it is not due. Sometimes I question your dedication to your own honor,” The Elite glanced at the two newest members of the group.

‘Perhaps I see where you cannot,” The Commander replied cooly.

“Or perhaps you spit on your honor as a Charlinite in favor to be whipped by a couple of heretics.”

Derrix lept from his saddle at the words of the elite, who dropped down from his own. The Elite was much shorter than Derrix as they stood next to each other, one looking down on the other.

‘You dare question a Charlinite?”

“Yes,” The Elite replied, although his word were slowly becoming more and more uncertain.

The commander’s eyes seemed to glow with fury from behind his helmet. With a quick motion his ripped his helmet asunder, revealing his face. Thick bright scars spider-webbed his pale face, dominated only by two raging golden eyes and two bull horn tattoos, one horn on each cheek. His scars traveled all the way down from his forehead to his chin, then throat and disappeared under his neck guard. His hair was short and black, and rumors of scars underneath were visible.

“Take off your helmet and we shall draw blood to see whose honor is truly insulted,” The commander growled. The group of Paladins seemed to take up a circular position around the commander and the elite, almost forming some sort of combat ring. Morinth upon seeing this, became unsettled and slowly crept through the surrounding soldiers and gave a very, out of her normal character speech.

“Guys, guys.. Look. We have a tablet of super powers or some such and are obviously surrounded in all directions by the plague.” She walked further in until ending up right between the two. “Derrix, Other guy, I think it’d be wise to stop this fight here and now. maybe fight it out once we escape?” She turned to Derrix and gave a smirk, “Live to fight another day.”

Derrix unsheathed his blade and leveled it towards the Elites throat, his lips were pursed and his eyes glew unresponsive to Morinth’s words.

“Maybe,” The Elite stuttered, clearly taken off guard by the commander, “Maybe we should just stop it all together, forget it happened. I forfeit.”

The commander sheathed his blade at the words of defeat and the Elite sighed in relief. With one quick motion; Derrix backhanded the Elites helmet and sent him reeling with an audible crack, “You are without honor, and not worth sullying my blade.”

Morinth pinched her nose before backing up and muttering, “That was cute.”

With that the commander threw his helmet back on and swung up onto his horse, glancing at Morinth.

She looked at Derrix and threw up her hands and gave a cheesy smile. “See? we can all be friends..with honor and such.” Morinth didn’t give him a lot of time to answer before she slowly started backing from the Paladin, her smile though wasn’t going anywhere fast.

“Let’s just get to Krax,” Derrix announced to his troops, but clearly directed it at Morinth and the new woman. With that he reared his horse back into formation, and his troop quickly followed suit, putting the new woman shoulder to shoulder with Morinth in marching form.

Morinth was right in the middle of the marching column and was trying her hardest to keep rhythm with the marching Charlins. Her smaller stature made it harder to follow the strides of the large warriors that surrounded her. It was likely amusing for any soldiers who saw her go from a slow walk and then fast.. then hop forward a bit. For Morinth, marching was rare.

Once she got a marching rhythm, which was still straining her, looked at the new woman. “Hey, that shirt looks really nice on you!” and grinned, Waiting for a response from the tall woman.
“Thank you,” The woman replied, a look of subtle dissatisfaction seemed seared into her dirty face, “My name is Aristal, Aristal the dishonored.”

Morinth looked her over, from head to toe then back at her. “Should call you Aristal the dirty and needs clean.. Well, anyway, I’m Morinth. You should really stop with the whole dis” She paused, remembering how much Honor meant to these people.

“I’m sorry.”