The once-white slate of the floor had turned a deep red, as ichor pooled below the trio of Sibyttes. Their bodies were suspended in place by naught but unnatural sorcery, like floating messiahs. Whole sections of flesh were missing from their joints - arms stripped of their midsections exposed the bare bone which connected wrists to elbows. Sections of legs had been hacked away, giving them an appearance of meaty kebabs. Elaborate patterns of long needles dotted their way up and down the flesh. If not for the wizardry keeping them alive, the abuse that had been wrought on their flesh would have long since taken them. These prisoners were not allowed to die, not just yet. Below them, the slender form of Zhoujan Myun slid off his gloves, admiring the artistry with which he'd crafted these souls into. As Kam Haennon's dungeonmaster, it fell to Myun to extract information from Hokksulgug's enemies. It made no difference how that information was acquired; Myun exercised a great deal of creativity in doing so.

Behind him, the chamber's door swung open, revealing Hokksulgug's Daekuan, Sung Yaewoon IV. His figure, clad in a robe of nearly-midnight purple, was flanked by Taegum Il-Soon, captain of the royal guard and a close friend.

"My Lord!" the interrogator exclaimed, turning on his heel and offering a bow of the waist. "Useless! Every one of them is useless!" He rose a talon towards the stringless marionettes above. "None of them have spat anything of value, and the sorcery is weakening. Our own informants have been much more valuable in Otnemarcasan matters. I was just preparing to finish my work."

The Daekuang's eyes bounced from prisoner to prisoner, before returning to Myun's gaze. "And you're sure your techniques gave them ample time to speak?"

"Eh, I, most certainly! But even with what I know of the Siphonese language, much of their babbling is lost on me."

"Is that so?" Yaewoon stepped forward, coming within arm's reach of the closest prisoner. His hand reached for a blade on Myun's table, and with a glint of steel, thrust it into the captive's mouth. Muffled screams pierced the chamber and the Daekuang withdrew a bloody hand, popping the tongue into his mouth. He chewed the fleshy appendage for a moment, then his eyes swung back, gleaming white, and a primal incantation escaped his lips. The sorcery took hold, and as soon as it had began, the Hokksulgugae returned to his former state.

"You, there," he said, in perfect Siphonese. "You are going to cooperate with me. What were you doing in Hokksulgugae waters?"

The next prisoner turned his head weakly, eyes fluttering as Myun's sorcery struggled to sustain him. "We... We... Princesses! We were part... of their fleet. Escort... Out of Imperial waters. Then... followed ships to Hokksulgug... Didn't know how far... we were."

"Where were the Princesses headed?"

"Don't know... We weren't told..."

"But you know something, don't you?"

"Heard rumors... Justinian Patrimony... That's all. Please-" The prisoner hacked a gurgling cough and his head slumped.

"Magic's just about run it's course," explained Myun. "They'll pass on any moment. Did you get anything useful out of him?"

Yaewoon relaxed his body, rubbing his temple with a free hand. "They believe the Sibytte Princesses sailed for the Justinian Patrimony," he recounted. "The vessels we intercepted were among those that saw her on her way, but these dogs weren't informed anything else. If this is true, then they probably mean to solicit aid for their war."

"We should act before they get a solid footing," the dirge of Il-Soon's voice rasped. "If the Sibyttes win, we'll have to deal with Justinians on our doorstep."

The Daekuang turned away from the dungeonmaster and his work. "I will assemble the Houses tonight. I want the Host on alert." He gave a nod to Myun, exiting the chamber in a brisk march, with Il-Soon in tow.

The warm sun's kiss floated down from the bright blue sky, dissipating what wisps of ivory clouds floated around the pine scented mountain air. Sounds of distant horses and cattle fell subordinate to the vibrating chants of the monodominic black robed monks of the marble monastery. Where the sun did not reach, cool shadows from the surrounding tall trees provided shade and comfortable places for contemplation on top fallen leaves and pines.

Under one such tree, ex-Master Paladin Edvin sat dressed in the black monodominic attire. His eyes were closed and his youthful body was propped up against the tree as he thought quietly to himself. Under one of his arms was a leather wrapped book with yellow crinkled pages poking out.

A lot has been on the young masters mind since he arrived at the monastery. When he had come to his senses after the horn blast of Roland cleared his mind he had struggled weakly to escape the monodominics, but something inside of him urged him to stay, and ever since he had been following the monks in everything, from their morning prayers, to their night chantings, only slipping away around dinner with his fellow captured paladins to think about everything under his favorite tree. Slowly his fellow paladins eventually blended into the crowd and he became alone, with only his favorite spot as his sanctuary.

Recently the Abbot had approached Edvin and handed him a small ancient book, claiming the great minotaur named Freg wished for him to have it. Since then he had been studying it profusely. The book was strange, as it was written as if Freg was talking directly to Edvin, teaching him martial skills, sharpening his senses through exercises illustrated within the pages as well as explaining rhetorics and philosophies, but the strangest chapters were the ones that seemed to explain leadership and loyalty to followers. Despite the oddities of the strange book, Edvin followed every word, soaking it in and meditating on its words, sometimes with the help of Monk Wilxham, who was always willing to spar with the young master.

Edvin respected Wilxham, out of all the monks Edvin related to Wilxham the most, as he was born into justinianism just like Edvin, and yet he is one of the most devout monodominic monks Edvin had met. The two bonded over Fregs manuel, and would spend evenings discussing it along side the topics of religion and history. Slowly, and sometimes uncomfortably, Edvin was losing his grip on his devout justinian ways that he practiced with the paladins and slowly replaced the voids with the wisdom of the monodominics as well as the rich history of the land.

As Edvin pondered all this with the cold shade veiling his face, a sudden breeze chilled him slightly and a blade was tossed beside him into the leaves and pines with a soft thud. Edvin opened his eyes and squinted as the suns light rushed his unadjusted pupils and made out the silhouette of his friend.

“Ready for practice, Master Edvin?” Wilxham asked in his usual calm tone. The Man was older than Edvin, but not by much, maybe five years. The monk usually had a relaxed expression on his face, which was tanner than the average Charlin, but kept the usual pale blue eyes and ebony hair, which he kept controlled in a long pony tail, revealing his clean shaven face and square jaw. If the man didn’t wear such humble monk cloths he could have been easily mistaken for a noble knight or tourney champion, which his toned and muscular figure complimented.

Edvin looked young and unimpressive next to the man. Although he boasted a lean muscular figure, his young face only interrupted by dark stubble on his masculine chin, spoke of purity and youth. The former Paladin didn’t become a master at a very young age for no reason however, and Wilxham knew this well, for Edvin was one of his quickest learning and adaptive sparring partners he had ever had, and one already filled with talent and experience.

“Ready as always,” Edvin finally replied, snatching the arming sword and heaving himself off the ground and placing his bare feet flat on the spiny floor under the pine tree. The youthful warrior shoved Freg’s book into his robe pocket and looked back at Wilxham.

‘Great,” Wilxham replied with a wide smile, and put his hand on the young man's shoulder as they started to walk towards the monastery.

The older monk glanced at the contemplative youth with his brow raised in curiousity, “So, what were you thinking about?”

Edvin gave a friendly scoff, his eyes staring at his new crimson monodominic sash“What I always think about.”

“Being a ‘pupil’ of Freg, a Paladin of Krax gone monodominic,” Wilham paused, “Or being a sore loser!”

With his last word Wilxham unsheathed his own blade and swung it in jest at Edvin. Edvin laughed and quickly parried with his own blade and gave Wilxham a shove, causing him to take a few steps back before reeling back and pushing Edvin in return.

Edvin lifted his fist in playful manner “You ass, I’ll pound you!”

The monk simply cracked his knuckles at the youth, “Oh yeah?”

The two threw down their blades and began swinging wildly at each other, smiles plastered on each others face. Edvin jabbed rapidly at Wilxhams abdomen, while Wilxham tried to push Edvin out of his range. Eventually the mock fight got so intense that the sounds of smacking and yelps caused a few stray monks to rush to the fight to break it up.

The intervening monks ripped the two apart after a couple unsuccessful grapples and started to drag them away from each other. The two locked eyes angrily, but soon they light up and the pair began to laugh madly as the furious monks insisted they be separated.

“To think,” Edvin thought to himself, “not long ago Wilxham was offering his neck to my blade for execution, and I considered it; Now look at us.”

Ka'lae
572 Days Ago
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Crack

The twig shattered and Stephan froze in his steps. A moment passed and the men behind him held tight the grips of their blades. Only the wind came to greet them came, but a shared trepidation was driving them all to the edge of their nerves. To venture this close to the lords mansion, while the king was visiting no less, it was a fools errand and a death sentence. Stephan wanted to laugh at that. After all he was still here, and he had had no intention of just getting close.

Behind him were beggars, thieves and would be deserters, the type who joined the military because it meant an easy meal rather than any real loyalty. He had once cursed the luck of having them assigned to his ship, and now they were helping him commit high treason. A funny thing that was.

Regardless, here he was creeping through the bushes toward the wall of the estate intent on a kidnapping. He would have called it a rescue but the bastard king was the child’s father in spite of his killing the mother, in spite of the fact Stephan’s sister was dead. He felt himself enough of a man to admit to what he was going to do, so kidnapping it was.

Reaching the wall his men fanned out against it, keeping careful watch for the guards that had nearly seen them outside the estate border. Stephan pulled out two harsh climbing spikes and nodded to one of his men who reciprocated the gesture and boosted Stephan up to the first ledge. Digging the spikes in higher Stephan heaved himself up foot by foot leaving black gouges in the stone wall.

Muscles aching but still alert Stephan peeked into the window of the room he knew the child to be in, sure enough the long crib sat in the rooms centre of the room perpendicular to a large wooden desk at the wall. After opening the window Stephan climbed in as slowly as possible and made his way to the crib, every step risking a creak in the old floorboards.

Looking over the crib he was struck, the child looked more of his sister than the king by any measure. Their skin was the dark of the south and their eyes a deep brown, taking every care not to wake the child Stephan lifted them gently from the crib. For the first time in days he felt something beyond anger, perhaps it was happiness. Making his way back the window ever so carefully Stephan came to stop near the old desk. Resting there was a small silver box, he figured that the king should pay for his own child somehow and pocketed the thing.

Out the window and half way down the wall Stephan looked down only to see the child open its tiny eyes. A second, a faint beginning of a cry before Stephan had covered its mouth. It was all it took. The light in another window flickered into existence as a lamp was lit and Stephan jumped the rest of the way. His men had already started to run and he spared no moment in matching their pace. Out through a hole in the fence and into the forest just as the sun began to rise Stephan and the child had escaped the den where his sisters killer had no doubt been launched into rage.

By the time he was identified as a suspect and searched for his military mission had already been launched. Two years surveying the traffic going into Justinians city from across the continent from the sea. With a flag he hated raised high and a ships deck below Stephan went about his duties. Back in Ka'lae ever carefully the knowledge of what had been done on the night of his departure was erased from the world.


Eastern Sea
18 Days Ago
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The sea moved as it always did, the wind blew as it was like to do and yet not a soul dared speak. Every moment a speck on the horizon grew taller, closer. It had been two days at full sail now and they had crossed into the northern half of the sea. That detestable speck had followed them the whole time and now that they were far from the trade lanes it had begun to gain on them. Stephan watched it from the top deck, his spyglass making out only the masts and the hull, but there was no mistaking the shape, Stephan knew it well.

That was a Dominion interceptor.

They could run to Hokksulgug for all it mattered, a gun boat like this would never match the speed of an interceptor and sooner or later they would catch up. Stephan was loath to put his nephew in danger but he was without choice, his only advantage rested in his guns. He called out to the helmsman, “Bring us around! Keep sails at full! We can't outrun that.”

The helmsman gave a grim nod and Stephan continued, “Gunners! Man your stations and load shells, prepare for a full broadside on my mark!” A few grumbled but went about their business, in the last two months only two men had defied Stephan, both were dead. The first was merciful enough, but the second one had met the keel and become fish bait. Nobody wanted to see what would happen to the third.

The sun was at their backs as Stephan's ship, the Empty Horizons, charged at their enemy. Every moment it became clearer and when Stephan could see the confusion on his counterpart through the spyglass he shouted, “Turn our side to em!”

The ship lurched and moved to a perpendicular course from the interceptor, lining the unfortunate vessel up with twenty and one protruding black barrels. With surprise on his side Stephan screamed the command, “All guns! Fire!” The world became a mess of white smoke and the small black spheres flew out at unfathomable speeds. The Empty Horizons circled the interceptor as the guns reloaded and the smoke cleared. When the vessel came into view Stephan frowned, though the bow of the interceptor was smashed and holes were plentiful on the ships sails, it had aligned its own guns.

He managed to yell, “Incoming!” And slam into the deck as a return volley placed eight holes in his own ships sides. Stephan scrambled to his feet and cursed, they had unimaginable luck to land every shot they had. With only fourteen cannons left Stephan declared, “Fire when ready! Continuous fire pattern!” More smoke filled the skies and the two ships drew every closer, blasting at each other whenever a cannon was ready, the short range giving them agency to completely ignore the concept of volleys.

For a moment it was hell with dying shouts pounding the ears and reddish sun streaming through the veil of smoke painting a hellish landscape. Then the interceptors mast snapped like a twig. It was all he needed, every moment of this put the child in more danger and only luck had prevented a ball from hitting the cabin. To the relief of the helmsman Stephan ordered a withdrawal and the battered Empty Horizons limped away, sails like cheese and sides like scrap wood. Fate proved cruel and all aboard had to watch the interceptors crew jumping deck behind them only to know that rescuing them would mean the water running out. Even worse, in this condition they could hardly go to port without questions. Deprived of options Stephan fetched the flag of his once hated enemy. Raising the old Somnus flag Stephan set course to a trade lane.

If luck were his lady they would get supplies from a passing ship, if not they would be forced to dock in Lrev. Yuwan only knew what those Justinians would do to the child if they found out his father.


Eastern Sea
10 Days Ago
((Collab))
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The sun was just rising and Stephan was ready to concede defeat. No ships had come and unless he turned back tonight there wouldn't be enough water to do so, it was his final day. The Justinians were bad, but death was worse regardless. Ready to despair a speck caught Stephan's eye as it came out of the setting sun, perhaps he was not so forsaken as he thought. He rang the morning bell as loudly as he was able and woke the crew, by the time the sun had hit noon they would be close.

With the crew assembled on the deck Stephan threw one the spyglass and pointed out the direction, "What do you see there?"

The crewman squinted for a while before his face lit up, "A fuckin ship!" The other crewmen crowded around the telescope and took turns verifying the fact, the state of the ship had been poor for days and any reprieve from repairs, no matter how mundane, was welcome.

Stephan raised his voice above the muttered conversation, "Now! We see a ship coming, I'll bet you all it's a Justinian one. So remember, we're a crew who won't let the old Imperium go, that's why we're flying that shit flag! Act your best and we might get though this, if you fuck up I will be the first one to punish you, clear?"

The threat was obvious enough and for the rest of the morning the crew took their roles to heart. When the time came that the other ship was close Stephan signalled them and hoped for the best.

It soon become apparent that the approaching ship was massive in size, dwarfing Stephan's 42 gun warship. The nine masted ship was the kind found in the countries north of the Dominion. A flag, rippled by the wind, flew above the first and last of the masts. A pair of white tigers, rearing in front of a black and green background; the ship belonged to the Northern Tiger.

As the ship drew closer it became apparent that there were a great many individuals on its deck. One of which waved a bright red flag over his head. After a few moments it became apparent that the flag was sending a message: "Keep your distance".

The approaching ship was truly huge and Stephan had no trouble admitting that there was no luck involved in his spotting it so far out. On the deck were assembled a menagerie of people and he suspected the vast ship was a transport because of it. The red flag sent a clear message and Stephan kept back, though he was thankful for his education in that he knew the other flag the ship hoisted. An Otnemarcas ship this far south was an oddity indeed, the very kind he would have been obliged to report if he wasn't a deserter, pirate, and killer in the eyes of the Dominion. Still the vessel was inconvenient, if it had been a Charlin ship they would have had no problem, Stephan had been chosen for the mission for his fluency in the language. As it stood he was uncertain they could even ask for what they needed.

It was lucky then that a northerner was aboard the ship, and one of the more educated ones at that. Monitors usually attracted the multilingual and Stephan had some confidence Aron would know the language. He called out to the deck, “Aron! You know Otnemarcan?”

Aron shouted back, “Some, not much though.”

Stephan shrugged “Doesn't matter, see I'll wave this white flag here and you shout help? Ok?” Aron nodded and Stephan grabbed the flag from a small stack near the helm. With Aron shouting Stephan hoped they might avoid an unpleasant encounter.

There seemed to be a bit of a commotion on the Otnemarcasan ship as Aron called for help. Men shouting in both Otnemarcasan and several different languages could just barely be heard from across the waters. Minutes passed, but finally a man bellowed “You steady stay!” In the language of the Old Imperium, the country in which Stephan was claiming to be from. At first nothing seemed to happen; soon enough, however, the massive ship began to shift its course, gliding through the water with remarkable, for its size, grace until it had come alongside Stephan’s ship. A massive ballista, situated on the deck of the ship, was aimed at Stephan’s ship. His crew could make out what looked like cannons or smaller ballista waiting behind small ports in the side of the ship usually reserved for oars.

“Leader come! Yes?” A man shouted in broken Imperium as a boarding ramp was lowered towards Stephan’s ship.

For the first time in his life Stephan was glad for fighting the Imperium all those years ago at the inland sea. While not exactly fluent in the language enough conversation with sailors he rescued, and indeed the many refugees that had come over when the war ended, had imparted a passable understanding of it on Stephan. It was a benefit that the language, like most things Imperium, had its roots in the Dominion.

Keeping things short and simple Stephan shouted back, “Coming!” As he adjusted his shirt and walked down to the deck. He waited for the ramp to be lowered and held up his hands in a non threatening gesture as he walked out on it, eyes ever drifting to the menacing ballista.

As Stephan crested the boarding ramp he was greeted by two large soldiers wearing little more than the silken clothes of their homeland and a shortsword strapped to their waists. They nodded to him before gesturing towards the center of the ship’s deck. There rested two beautiful young ladies flanked on either side by a collection of servants and soldiers. Their clothing was more than simply “fine” or “good” as one would expect from a merchant or lower noble. No, the two ladies before him were, at the very least, from a very important noble family; perhaps one of the royal families in the empire or even the imperial family. One of the two ladies, the older of the two, gestured for him to approach.

It didn't take long for Stephan to regret his decision, he figured he would eventually as he had almost every one other than leaving the Dominion. It seemed whatever boons he was given tended to sit on a fine precipice, one where a simple mistake would mean disaster. The women on the ships deck were clearly high born, and Stephan figured he would find out just how high rather soon. Regardless he did as the women asked, having his only experiences with a royals in the past being murder and kidnapping he figured things could only get better. He moved forward and evened out his grey hair to look at least a small bit less destitute and awaited whatever was to come.

"Respect show!" One of the soldiers from the boarding ramp demanded as they followed Stephan.

Stephan cursed internally at the mistake and gave a deep bow, hoping desperately that was what they wanted.

“Welcome” The older of the two ladies said after looking at Stephan for a moment. “You said you needed help, no? Perhaps we can render you some aid.” She spoke clearly, but slowly, obviously spending time to seek out the words she wanted to use in the alien tongue of the Imperium. “Do you happen to know the tongue of the Dominion people? I fear my sister knows not your native tongue and I am more fluent in that of the Dominion anyways.”

Stephan gave a mental prayer to Yuwan for that and switched to his native Dominion, deliberately slowing his speech, “I know the speech yes, and indeed we do require aid. Our ship was attacked by pirates some days ago now, though we prevailed over them the cost was great as you may be able to see. Between the damage and lost supplies we are mighty short of water, I fear we may have succumbed to thirst had you not come along. Whatever water you are able to spare would be of immense aid.”

The older of the two ladies smiled as they listened to Stephan speak; for the briefest of moments the smile feral, but then it was gone, swept away as she spoke. “Irochi must have blessed you with this meeting then.”

“No,” the younger sister said, “surely this is a trial placed before us by our Lord Justinian.” The older sister just barely kept from rolling her eyes. “I am Meirong of house Severin and this is my sister, Fuyumi. We would be pleased to share some of our water with our brothers and sister. Is there any other way we may help you sir….?” Her voice trailed off in search of his name.

Stephan eyed the older for a moment wondering what faith she held before he turned to face the younger of the women. He gave a warm smile and replied, “I am Stephan Alisi, and if you have spare materials it would help in the repair of our ship. While the waters are calm for now any captain knows the oceans a fickle thing, should a storm beset us today we would be like to drown with the holes left in our ship. I hope not to abuse your kindness though, please I must offer something in return.” Stephan watched his words and tried his best to be polite, regardless of the older sisters faith the young one was a Justinian to the core, and they could never be trusted. That was the reason he faked a surname.

“I shall see that what we can spare is given to you” Meirong said, a warm smile spread across her face. “You need not worry about paying us back. It is our duty to help those in need when we can. Our Lord would expect nothing less from us.” She gave Stephan a bow before taking her leave, speaking to one of her servants in her native tongue as she walked off.

“Irochi can be a fickle god at times” Fuyumi said as her younger sister walked off. She let the silence, and the distance between them and her sister, stretch for a moment. “Perhaps I shall pry for your safe journey tonight, when Irochi is visible in the night sky.” She shrugged. “Could I bother you to tell me about these pirates?”

Fuck. For a second Stephan was sure his face let something slip. The last time he had to spin a tale about pirates would have been in his childhood, needless to say he was not confident in that ability. Regardless he continued in the same thankful and warm tone, secretly glad the Justinian wasn't present for this, “Ah, I can only tell you so much but here is what I know. Some days ago, a week? Two? I am not quite sure when it started but a pirate vessel began to pursue us far south of here, we tried to run of course but they proved faster and chased us here gaining all the while. Perhaps foolishly I decided our only choice was to fight them and true enough it was a fight we won, but not an easy one. As for who they were I cannot say, I was able to prevent a boarding and by the time the fight was through we had not the resources to take prisoners. I wish I could provide you with more information though.” Stephan was rather thankful for advice he had been given by his father at at that moment. After all, the best lies are mostly true.

“I see” Fuyumi said before saying something to a nearby servant in her native tongue. The servant bowed before dashing off, only to return with a paper parasol in hand. “As much as I would like to continue this conversation” She said as the servant held the parasol over her, shading her from the sun, “Lady Ahimatsu has seen fit to hold back not an ounce of her heat.” Her eyes turned to the horizon, gazing at the dark clouds that had come into sight. “It would also seem that Irochi doesn’t wish for this meeting to extend much further either.” She sighed, turning her gaze back to Stephan. “My sister asks for nothing in return for this aid, but I’m not so generous. You need not worry; I ask not for your gold or trinkets, they hold little value to me. What I do ask is a promise: should the house of Severin ever be in need and you have the capacity to render aid you do so, just as we have done so for you today. Does that sound fair to you Sir Alisi?”

After a moment and his first honest smile Stephan replied, “Fair indeed. Well, I mean not to keep you. You have my thanks for the aid in this time situation.” Stephan gave another deep bow and departed. With a glance at the dark and foreboding clouds they came to dominate Stephan's thoughts. He had thought the meeting went too well, perhaps people like him were never meant for an easy life. Still, he wouldn't have minded one.


Charlin Bay
The Present
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Over the last few days Stephan had become convinced he was cursed. Supplies had arrived from the strangest source at the last moment only for them to be useless as a storm struck not five hours later. Had it been some rain, perhaps a few swells, it would have been fine.


Shame it was a typhoon then. The Empty Horizons had started to ride low in the water two days after the storm started and with no signs of it stopping Stephan had been forced to do the very thing he desperately wanted to avoid. So here he was in the middle of Charlin bay, listing to the port side and riding low enough that the cargo hold had four feet of water in it. The port city of Lrev lay ahead and though he had some forged logs prepared in the event this type of thing happened he was less than confident that his infantile knowledge of the area would pass the eye of whatever port authority waited for him.


Stephan held the child's hand, he had named the boy Riken a year ago after his mothers father. Yes, the boys name was Ricken Serin, forever cursed to carry the name of both his mothers father and her killer. A year and some old he could speak but generally was quite quiet, Stephan wondered why some days, had he seen the death of his mother? Would the boy remember it even though he was hardly born at the time? The questions went on and Stephan looked out the window towards the cities lamps, it almost looked a kind place after so long at sea. He feared to a Yuwanist like himself Charlin was anything but.

The distant sounds of shouting were a dull background noise to the giant Lathok Gimloran, more properly known as The Red Mountain. He sat head bowed and was as still as a statue of marble stone. He was big even for a Jahun-ka, just under eight feet in height, his chest was barrel like and his arms thick with corded muscles. His large frame and strength had served him well in the violent world of pit fighting in Karkarth. He had earned many early victories against numerous opponents. Many who had underestimated his speed and skill, thinking him but a lumbering if dull giant. However, He would need all his skill and training for his debout this day he knew.

Today he faced the legendary Vlaji the Black Wind, an undefeated champion of the Arena. A warrior many believed to be among the greatest fighters in the East, if not among the most dangerous men in Avara. A consummate master of the Desert Wind discipline, reportedly being among its greatest masters. He also happened to be the murderer Lathok’s younger brother.

Though perhaps murder was too strong a word, as it had been a fight to the death in the honorable arena. His brother had been young, headstrong and foolish. In those, days Vlaji had been new to the arena but already obtaining something of a reputation. Gramora’s challenge had been foolish and utterly lacking in forethought. He had hoped his victory would escalate him to fame and glory. He had however underestimated the young oft time flashy Vlaji. Thus had paid for it with his life. Lathok remembered that day clearly and today; he would have vengeance.

The roar of the crowd was muted within the tight confines of the private corridors inhabited mostly by arena participants and workers far below the seated audiences above. By the sound of things, it seemed the current match had come to a stunning if bloody end. That meant only one bout of the day remained. Lathok breathed in slowly before exhaling, raising to his feet, and retrieving his shield and mace.

The time had come.

-----

Vlaji of no House had always believed himself a man destined for greatness. Even when he had been but a child urchin running mischief in the streets of Verdik. He had carried dreams of grandeur even then. Despite the barbed words of so many a shopkeeper who had all but chased him and those like him from their stalls. Vlaji had been the offspring of a Jahun-ka women and Charlin male. Jahun-char as some called those of such heritage. He had never known either as fate had robbed him of the opportunity. An unfortunate fire was all that he remembered of the event that left him a street orphan.

Perhaps the Dragon Goddess had had plans for him after all, for on one eventful day he had attempted and failed to pickpocket a traveling Drathan merchant. The unassuming merchant had turned out to be a wizard and slave trader. Only luck had saved him from a life of slavery, as a Jahun-ka who had also traveled recently from The Union had happened by; in his kindness he had offered to pay off Vlaji’s crime thus adopting the young boy.

The Jahun-ka had been a master of his own dojo, training in the southern born fighting style the Desert Wind. So Vlaji was given the opportunity of a lifetime, the chance to become something more than he had had ever thought truly possible before. Twenty years had hardened him into the young man he was now. His facial hair was well trimmed into a short boxed beard style; numerous black braids ran down his back, the beads decorating them standing out as trophies and proof of his many victories. His bright brown eyes and delicate but sharp features painted hims as attractive. At only 6’8 however he was short by Jahun-ka standards.

The final match of today was soon upon the young warrior. He sat on a bench chained to the wall; mentally preparing himself for the coming contest. Soon, however, the trumpet horn sounded heralding the coming contest of blood sport that so many of his kinsmen enjoyed. Valji rose to his feet gracefully, and as he marched toward the archway that lead to the arena’s gates-- there waited a tall Jahun-ka with a grizzled appearance holding two swords in each hand blades pointing down.

As he neared the man Vlaji offered him his customary cocky smile. “Master,” He said bowing his head slightly in respect. “Have you come to wish me good luck?”

V'urm-si Golador offered no smile in return, but he did regard his pupil with a steady gaze. “Confident as usual, but take mind young student to not allow your ego to become overblown.” He raised the two weapons he held hilt first.

“Ever the lecturer,” Vlaji answered easily as he took the offered weapons. They were both crafted in the style of the Karkathian montu short swords. Crafted beautifully of Dragon steel and decorated with precious gems, one with a ruby in its crossguard and an onyx gem in the other, both blades curved just so in the style of the southern scimitars.

Master V'urm-si grunted. “Bring honor to the dojo of Vivorlic and your brothers of the sword Vlaji, and be wary of your foe, he is unlike many of your previous opponents. He has been schooled in the way of the Stone Dragon by the Merimac Fighting halls.”

Vlaji nodded, then walked toward the iron gates. He had heard of Dojo Merimac, its master held a long-lasting rivalry with his own master. Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he started steadying his breathing as the grind and squeal of gears sounded with the ominous rise of the gate. Then the gates rose fully and Vlaji strode confidently forward confidently, raising his arms into the air with a great smile, bathing in the cheers and praise spilling forth from the crowd. They shouted his name, for it was well known to many, and were brought to a great frenzy of screaming and waving. Women pulled their tops up begging Vlaji to take them, others wishing him a good and bloody victory. At last the gate from which his opponent would enter also rose, and out came Lathok Gimloran.

He was a lumbering hulk of a Jahun-ka, bedecked in glimmering half-plated mail. He wore a worn but well armored breastplate with throat guard, gauntleted hands and scalemail to protect his arms. He wore no helmet just like Vlaji, as was the tradition for most pit fighters. His shield a buckler edged on either side with wide blades, its center head that of a skull lacking a lower jaw. He stood a head taller than Vlaji, but the cocky warrior was not intimidated in the least. As Lathok walked toward the center circle of the arena, an area marked by a drawn circle in the sands, Vlaji did the same until they stood no more than a mere ten feet from one another. Vlaji own grab of protection simple Karkarthian scale mail and bracers.

Vlaji took the time to survey their coming battlefield. A simple arena circled by high walls atop of which sat the crowd awaiting the start of the bout. Here and there the brown sands were tinged in crimson, the evidence of previous tests of skill. The crowd quieted down finally as the conductor of the games stood on his dais. He wore long robes and bracers of leather and gold, his dreadlocks tipped with silver as opposed to the normal iron beads. He raised a hand and the people went silent and waited.

“Today we stand witness to the last contest of arms today!” He began, “Last but not least! For I bring you the honor of witnessing the great and undefeated Jahun-char! Vlaji The Black Wind!”

The crowd roared in response, to which Vlaji welled with pride at their praise.

“His opponent! A warrior of no small renown, and no small skill of arms! The Mighty Lathok Of House Gimloran, a true titan of the arenaaa!”

The crowd roared up again, beating their feet on the floor and shouting. Though their cheers did not quite reach the height they had at Vlaji’s naming. A fact not lost on the young warrior, nor his large opponent.

“All know the rules of the arena! So I shall not bear repeating them; fight well! Fight with honor, for glory, and above all...Fight for victory! Begin!”

At that the two warriors began circling each other sizing the other up, while mentally preparing themselves Lathok made the first move, springing forth, great mace leading. Lathok swept across to the left, a move which Vlaji predicted and easily avoided, ducking his right shoulder down allowing the weapon to sail harmlessly over his head. However, Lathok was ready for that, reversing his grip just so and winding back again. He had underestimated Vlaji’s agility however, and he avoided the mace again, but this time barely so as he leaned backward the maces head inches from his chest. By all rights Lathok had left himself open with that failed maneuver, but he did not relent his initiative. He came forward, his left arm shooting around and forward, seeking to slash through Vlaji’s throat. Leaving the Jahun-char one alternative and he seized it without thought.

Vlaji nimbly rolled under the blow, this time throwing his entire weight into a dive that had him tumbling below the strike and rolling to his feet again to Lathok’s left. Up came Valji’s left handed blade, scoring a cut under Lathok’s shield arm. The big man’s weight then shifted unexpectedly, his right foot snapping around forward with surprising force considering the lack of room for a proper strike. The force hit Vlaji directly too his upper left chest, knocking the wind out of him and had him flying back across the sands like a doll. He left a notable path in the sand in his wake, one in which Lathok was quick to follow.

“You die today black wind,” The big man growled, raising his mace high while his opponent was still prone and reeling from his kick. It seemed Lathok’s revenge was soon to be at hand, but the wily Valji was quicker still despite his injury. As the mace came down Lathok called upon all his strength and skill, attempting to execute a perfect mountain hammer blow. Valji tucked his legs up and swung back, resting his weight on his shoulders as he did so, the mace never met it’s target as Lathok head meet both of Valji’s feet as he struck upward in one smooth motion with a double kick of his own.

The faint dull thud of Lathok’s brain knocking against the side of his fractured skull was utterly muted out by the roar of the crowed. Lathok fell back from the blow, giving Valji the time he needed to jump back to his feet and start an offensive of his own. Nose bleeding from the hit, Lathok was on the defensive as Valji came forward in a whirl of blades. Lathok managed to deflect or block this skillful onslaught but only just barely.

One slash cut across Lathok’s breastplate, another flash of steel left a nasty gash across his right cheek. Gritting his teeth in frustration Lathok halted his enemies attacks, parrying one chop to his right with his mace, then blocking a blow from his left with his buckler. He quickly stepped within Valji’s guard then, knowing then that both their weapons would suddenly ineffective this close. Using his size and strength to his advantage, Lathok sent down a quick head butt into the unprepard mans face. He then followed up as he focused his strength and with a deep, rumbling shout, Lathok executed an attack that sent his small opponent flying through the air once more with a brutal shoulder charge.

Valji rolled to his feet again as he landed roughly, still dazed from the head blow. That man’s head was as tough as stone! Smiling now Lathok came forward once more, now taking back the initiative. Sending his mace and bladed buckler into a controlled and dangerous routine. It was all Valji could do to stem the tide; parrying, dodging, parrying dodging. Valji knew he could not keep it up much longer, each block or parry sent a painful quack through his very bones, like each strike did indeed of the weight of a mountain behind it. Only one slip and he knew he’d be finished. Valji needed a way to turn the tide in his favor…He breathed in sharply and stooped lower so his knees bent slightly as he focused his ki and waited for the chance to act.

So when Lathok’s mace came back around following close behind close strike of his bucklers bladed edge. The weapon met only air- hot air. As Valji’s foe had moved to attack again, Valji himself had all but disappeared in a burst of flame and smoke, only to reappear as if out of thin air high above him. The move was a difficult one to pull off, as were most of the maneuvers from the Desert Wind discipline, Valji was one of the few he even knew that could do it perfectly. Indeed, his enemy had not expected it, and as his eyes were stung from the resulting ash and smoke Valji came down like an angel of wrath and fire. SPinning overhead one blade cut deeply into Lathok’s right shoulder, cutting through the lighter armed leather there, for he wore no pauldrons. Thus landing directly behind the bewildered giant. Valji spun around dropping to his knees with the momentum of his fall, slashing about in a near perfect horizontal cut that swept through the back of Lathok’s knees and cutting deeply into the muscles there. With a grimace of pain Lathok fell heavily to his knees.

Not yet willing to concede defeat, Lathok began to twist around hoping to bring his mace to bear. A quick cut of Valji’s scimitar forced him to drop his mace arm as Valji’s other blade found itself up against Lathok’s throat, just within the protection of his guard.

“Yield,” came Valji’s crisp command.

For a moment Lathok said nothing, and silence ensued across much of the arena at this unexpected turn of events. Just when it seemed Valji would need to force the issue, the thud of his mace and buckler hitting the ground followed. Valji eased the pressure on Lathok’s neck as he circled around him.

Lathork looked up with an unreadable glare, eyes narrowed and focused. “Finish it then,” He voiced at last. “Grant me a worthy death. I regret only my failure to avenge my kin.”

Valji’s face revealed his confusion at that. Lathok saw it and spat on the ground before explaining. “He would not remember him, he fell to your blade long ago,”

“...Gramora Gimloran…”

Lathok eyes widened slightly in surprise.

“I have not forgotten him,” Valji answering the unasked question. “A formidable warrior… He was the first man I ever killed in the arena. He will never forgotten.”

Lathok nodded dumbly at that then lowered his head. “Then strike true so that I may be at his side again.” Lathok closed his eyes then and awaited his judgment.

In the fighting pits of Karkarth, the conductor did not decide who lived and died, only those who fought. Valji raised his sword-- poised to strike-- then the blade fell. Sinking into the earth before Lathok. Hearing it, he opened his eyes to Valji, who had extended his now free hand to him.

“Live a little longer, and honor your brother's name in future battles.”

Lathok was speechless, suddenly confused on his feelings toward this man who had already turned out to be nothing of what he expected. He took the offered hand in a daze, the smaller man helping him to his feet. At this the crowd cheered and applauded this show of mercy.



Later that day….

It was hours since the duel against Lathok, and Valji was enjoying a much needed drink in his favored tavern. Unwinding was Valji’s favorite thing to do after a duel; perhaps tonight he’d find Falehleen of the night courtesans for some entertainment this evening? It was at this blissful thought that a robed figure was moving toward his secluded corner table.

Valji watched him closely as the man took a seat across from him.

“You're in the wrong place friend,” Valji said pointedly.

“No, I think i’m in exactly the right place. If you are Valji the Black Wind...you see, I have something of a proposition for you that could very well save us all..” The man pulled back his hood to reveal a surprisingly young face, with even more surprising tattoos running down his forehead; artfully designed to look like Bull horns.

Smiling the man continued. “We could use some one of your skills, tell me do you know of something called a Dragon Tablet?”

Astraea, Kingdom of Siphonia, Otnemarcasan Empire

Large transport junks glided across calm waters, sea gulls squawking in the sky, as Lady Ahimatsu rose in the distant east. Smaller ships, flying baroques, darted around the larger junks, their crews on the lookout for any merchant junk that may have had the audacity to have come from an Ithicist port before heading to Siphonia. The waters of the Southern Siphonese Sea had been calm as of late, unusually so. Perhaps Lord Irochi had turned his anger elsewhere, brewing storms to throw at the Ithicists in Kunland instead of the true believers of the Sibytte faith. There was no way of truly knowing, as the mind of a deity was truly vaster than all the oceans in the world.

“Is that the ship?” A man asked as he watched a large transport junk slip into port from the balcony outside of his room. The man, while not the most handsome of men, certainly was far from ugly. The fact that he was dressed in some of the finest clothes in the empire certainly didn’t hurt his appearance.

“That is correct Lord Shan” a nearby servant answered. One of Lord Shan’s many servants.

“Most excellent” Lord Shan said, his eyes locked on the ship and the promise of superior arms it represented. He had spent months negotiating with the heretical Karkathians. Months! But it was all worth it. They may not grant the old Ithicist deities the respect they were due, respect given only after Justinian himself, but they did know how to forge blades of the finest quality. Blades that his clan now held a majority of, at least within the borders of the Otnemarcasan Empire. He held the majority of power in Siphonia now. Given enough time his clan’s reach would expand into Old Otnemarcas and Kunland. Then he would turn his gaze across the sea. Yes, he could imagine it now. Thousands of ships sailing towards the Isoterix Isles and Hokksulgug, their crews chanting praises for both Justinian and clan Shan. The heathens of both those lands trampled under the feet of his soldiers as they marched towards glory… and further riches for his treasury.

“See that the next shipment includes even more blades” Lord Shan said, glancing at the servant out of the corner of his eye.

“Where will we get the funds for such an expense, lord? Our coffers…” Shan let out a long sigh. Why were servants always so idiotic?

“And that is exactly why we are raiding Ithicist merchant junks” Shan chastised, “be more aggressive with the raids if you must. Just see it happen.” He turned back to the port, thoughts of conquest and riches flowing through his mind.

Eger, Kingdom of Acitha, Otnemarcasan Empire

The imperial palace was quite the sight to behold. Towers and walls of wood and stone, rooms adorned by some of the finest silks in the land, space enough to house a small army, a room for each individual soldier, and an army of servants, nobles, and royalty to occupy those rooms. The imperial palace was quite a sight to behold, but it would always pale in comparison to the historic capital in Kyugyu, the capital He had abandoned. But soon He would return the seat of power to the throne of Old Otnemarcas, the heretical Ithicists resigned to memory. It would be glorious. Emperor Lii couldn’t help but let a smile creep across his face at the thought of returning home.

“Your Grace?” A miniseter nervously asked. Emperor Lii merely raised an eyebrow at the minister, bringing his attention back to the here and now. “Shall we burn the women too?” The minister repeated, his eyes glued to the ground before Lii’s feet, his head bowed in submission. Not a trace of disgust or dismay at the thought of condemning women to death by burning could be found in his voice. Smart man.

“Make the children watch” He said as he stepped past the servant and out into the courtyard. “Oh” He paused for a moment as he took in the placement of the wooden poles and mounds of timber and straw that would soon serve as the funeral pyres. “Place several by the door over there,” He said with a gesture, “I think the light given off will look quite pleasant there, don’t you think?”

“Of course Your Grace” The minister was quick to agree. He shot a look at a group of nearby soldiers, who quickly began setting up a pole and mound of fuel for a fire by the specified doorway. The Emperor let another smile creep across his face as the soldiers finished up their work. Yes, the light there would be most pleasant.

His smile evaporated as the form of a determined woman came into sight. What was her name? Howin? Huan? Juan? Mu tan! That was her name, yes! He wondered how he could ever forget the name of the pretty concubine as she prostrated herself before him.

“Your Grace, second to none except those who dwell in the heavens” She said as she rested her forehead against the ground, “I beg of you to show mercy to these lost people. I know that these people refuse to give up their ways, but that is merely because they know no other way. I beg of you: show mercy and patience. In time they will turn towards Justinian, just as you have.”

Emperor Lii looked at the woman as she spoke, his face a stone mask lacking emotion. For a moment all was quiet, the silence broken only by the chirping of an occasional bird. Finally the stone mask moved, a single eyebrow raising. The emperor turned towards his minister, concubine Mu tan letting out first a sigh of relief followed by a gasp of dread.

“Burn her too.”

“Your Grace-“ The minister’s sentence ended in a incomprehensible babble as he looked at the emperor’s expression. “It will be done” He said after regaining the smallest fraction of his composure. A pair of soldiers stepped to either side of the still prostrated concubine who was now letting out a torrent of questions and pleas for mercy, now for herself.

“Why?” Mu tan asked as the soldiers grabbed her by the arms and lifted her to her feet. “Why?”

“You ask mercy for those who refuse to accept the light of Justinian,” Emperor Lii turned his back on the woman, “and then you dare ask why? Only a traitor of the state would even consider showing mercy to a heathen. Isn’t that right minister?” He didn’t wait to hear a response from either the minister or Mu tan. He walked back into his palace, Mu tan’s screams music to his ears.

The emperor paused for a moment, sure he was forgetting something. Ah yes! Mu tan was Meirong’s mother. Meirong, such a bright girl, was his pride. She would be heartbroken to hear of her mother’s death. He turned his head ever so slightly as Mu tan’s screams become shriller, the stench of burning flesh drifting to Emperor Lii. He shrugged an “oh well” as he took a deep breath. “Damned Ithicist sympathizer” He muttered as he continued on his way. He never had liked the woman anyways.

Somewhere near the Southern Border, Kingdom of Acitha, Otnemarcasan Empire

The boy ran. They all ran. For how long he couldn’t remember. Minutes? Hours? It felt like he had been running for weeks, but his mind, the rational part not completely overtaken by fear, was confident that it couldn’t have been longer than a day. There was no way he could run for more than an entire day without rest, food, or water. It had taken far less time for some of his companions, those other people who ran around him out of fear, to drop to the ground in exhaustion. Muscles in the boy’s legs screamed at him, begging him to drop to the ground and rest. But that would mean stopping and stopping meant death. Even now he could hear *them* in the distance.

The boy picked up his pace as he heard the distinct click click clack of their hooves. He cared not when a branch struck him in the face, leaving a long nasty gash across his cheek. Better that then what *they* would do to him. The image of their sneering faces, burning buildings, wings made of broken bone drenched in blood drove the boy to keep moving. Keep running. If only he and those who ran with him made it to the border, perhaps they would have a chance at survival. He knew it would never be, however, as the click click clack became steadily louder. The boy could hear screams and laughter and the sound of flesh meeting cold, uncaring steel somewhere behind him. He risked a look over his shoulder and there they were. The demons wearing the flesh of men.

The Sibyttes, astride their astraean horses, were almost on top of them. This close he could even see their faces, some masks of hatred, others nearing something close to sympathy. In their end what expression they had on their faces matter not. What mattered was the swords, axes, spears, and bows they had in their hands. All weapons that they were using to kill the boy’s companion. The boy’s eyes widened a Sibytte turned a hateful glare upon him, notching an arrow into the bow he carried and pulling back. Just before the Sibytte let go a terrible roar echoed throughout the area. With a small jump the Sibytte released his hold on the arrow, just barely missing the boy. The Sibytte was about to notch another arrow when he was suddenly gone. Well, gone wasn’t exactly the correct word. He was still there, only crushed under a ton of Kunland tiger. The tiger let out a fierce roar, the woman sitting on his back seemed oddly calm given that she was riding a massive tiger like it was a horse.

“Our Lady of Hope” The boy heard himself muttered as he stopped to stare at the woman. Astride her tiger, a slender dao in either hand, as the wind whipped her hair back she looked to be a warrior goddess of legend. The boy found himself in a trance, staring at the woman as her tiger pounced on a nearby Sibytte, one of her dao’s darting out to slice at a second soldier. He had heard stories, but he had never imagined she would be so….

“Don’t stop” The woman was looking right at the boy. “Keep going.” The boy nodded before turning back towards the south, all trace of weariness gone. She had given him a chance to survive. It was a chance he would not squander.

Lrev was a bustling port filled with dozens upon dozens of vessels, from small sleek fishing boats to large Charlinite war boats. The air was moist and smelt thickly of a salty musk, as the recent storm left in it's wake. The hot sea side sun managed to peer out of the remaining grey clouds and lit up the exquisitely decorated port, the largest in Charlin. Lrev was also certainly the most secured, as paladin dressed authorities crowded the soft wooden docks and grey stone bayside taverns, their vigilant presence seemingly noticing every motion in Lrev's docks.

The sounds of gulls and creaking planks against strong waves mixed with the cacophony of shouts, mutters, and the paladin authorities requesting different tasks and papers from docking ships and sailors. Security was tight, and Stephen knew it would be. Charlin was under a plague quarantine, a quarantine the paladins would clearly uphold to the fullest extent.

"Papers," An approaching port authority requested as Stephen descended from his ship's gangplank. The authority wore the flashy armor of the paladins, as well as the cape, but stood over Stephan without the usual helmet seen on paladins, but rather a smile and authoritative blue eyes, eager to get this over with.

Stephan rubbed the white stubble that had grown on his chin and returned the smile as best he could. Reaching into his worn coats inner pocket he pulled out a small book and some papers. When the port authority closed the distance Stephan handed him the documents and joked, “Logs and manifest are there, though I wager we may have entered your port with a few hundred pounds more seawater than intended.”

On the outside Stephan was doing his best impression of a tired captain glad to reach port but any deeper than the surface and he was on the edge. Lrev was rumoured to be the tightest port in the east and so far the security proved those rumours every inch true. While the port authority may not have commented he wagered there were already a dozen eyes on the Empty Horizons. Holes didn't just appear in ships and the blast of a navy shell was as identifiable as it was destructive. No doubt some higher authority had already been contacted. In fact, given his recent luck Stephan didn't even doubt Justinian himself was that authority and just happened to be visiting the port.

The port authority slapped the book of forged logs shut with a quick clap and looked back at Stephen with skeptical eyes.

"Salt merchant," the authority stated more than questioned as he looked over the wrecked sides of the Empty Horizons.

"What's all the holes about," He continued, pointing at the clear gaps created by cannon shot. Behind the authority Stephan could make out a few more figures making their way up the docks, probably not to congratulate him on a successful salt delivery.

That had gone about as well as he thought it would. Stephan gave a nervous cough and 'explained', “Ah, we were beset upon by pirates on our journey you see. We managed to fight back of course but I fear the damage was severe. As we took on water we were forced to dump our cargo to make it here.” To be fair it wasn't the worst lie ever told, to be honest it was close enough that Stephan barely suppressed a groan at his own stupidity. After a long time at sea a sailors senses were never excellent when they first hit land, Stephan feared that when added to the stress of the situation he had completely lost them.

The paladin seemed to exhale slightly as he digested the story, causing Stephan to lean in closer with anticipation. After a brief silence the authority flashed his smile and spoke simply, " Gregory."

"Come again," Stephan questioned.

"Gregory."

"I don't follow."

"Says here," The paladin tapped the logs with his index finger, and an annoyed twist corrupted his smile, "Your name is Gregory, clearly not."

Stephan didn't have much to say to that, coming to terms with the situation he uttered a simple few words, "Well Fuck."

"Definitely," the paladin said, "You, your crew, and your ship are under arrest."

With his simple commands, the approaching figures from behind the authority rushed past the pair and up the gangplank, cuffs in hand, and their heavy boots stomping on the moist planks. The authority in front of Stephan simply motioned for his hands, "Come Gregory."

Stephan wasn't stupid enough to resist, if he submitted he and Ricken might live at the least. He held out his hands and stated, “There is a boy of only a year and some on the ship, please ensure his care.” After that Stephan decided he would stay quiet, the less these Justinians knew the better Ricken, and everyone else on the ship would be.

With a silent nod and two clicks of iron cuffs, Stephan was taken away.




Stephan waited silently in his cell, after two days of darkness he had begun to wonder if they would ever come for him. Every few hours a cell somewhere on the block had been opened and a man taken out, yet every time the gentle light of a lantern came into sight briefly illuminating the grey stone and rusted iron he was skipped. What they had been doing to the others he didn't know. In truth he cared little for them beyond those that had been his confidants all those months ago and Ricken. Ricken, his thoughts always came back to the boy, what heinous things would happen to him if his identity was discovered? Stephan shuddered to think.

Finally the lanterns light stopped in front of his cell. It was held by a burly man with a protruding gut, someone clearly comfortable at the dinner table. He was dressed in the tabard of a jailer with nothing very outstanding about him.

"Stephen," The fat man burped, "on your feet and face away from the door."

After a few quick protocols Stephan was walking down the corridor, his hands cuffed safely behind his back, and shackles on his ankles, slowing him to a clammering rustle. After what seemed like the longest walk, including tired knees popping from underuse the past few days, and sore feet, the pair had arrived at the interrogation chamber.

The brightly lit area burned the eyes of Stephan as he was lead to a particularly uncomfortable wooden chair. The rest if the room was plain cobblestone, and nothing spectacular other than the beaten table in front of the chair, and a heavy iron door opposite of the way the two entered.

Another man was in the room. Surprisingly enough the man was clearly not a paladin, or affiliated with them in any noticeable way. He was outrageously tall like most Charlinites, had long grizzled black hair and a matching beard that covered a salty sea weary face of an older man, but more importantly he wore the garments of an officer, a civil servant of the Boyars.

With a silent gesture the fat man took post by the way he entered and the officer took a seat across from stephan, the scuffing legs of the chair echoing in the lonely stone room.

"So," The officer began, his voice was crispy and as salty as the docks, "You aren't a salt merchant, and you are not Captain Gregory Hermelli."

"Now that we have that out of the way, would you mind telling me why you felt the need to lie and scheme on the honorable harbours of Lrev?"

Stephan couldn't help but smile, even in spite of his circumstances. Two days and they were starting at the basics? No they knew his name, they knew the story. Perhaps it was not the whole of it but Stephan had better sense than to trust the entire crew of a ship he had taken by force. With a smile he leaned into the table and stated, “Lie? True enough I have lied, but scheme? I assure you not a single scheme of mine involved your 'honourable harbours'.”

He stretched as best he could in the seat, it was a relief after so long chained in that cell, before he continued, “As for why I lied, you know some of the truth no doubt, but I'd wager you want the whole of it. I might tell you some, but first tell me of the boy, is he safe?” In truth Stephan had no intention of telling them who Ricken was, but he was willing to tell them anything but just to know what fate had befallen the nephew he had toiled so long to keep safe.

"He is a child of Charlin until we can figure this out, he is safe," the older officer assured Stephan.

"Now it has come to my attention that you are foreign to our customs, even so foreign that you come from the Dominion. So I will have you know that not one of your crew, including you, is in danger of losing their life at this time,"The man stared at Stephan.

"That being said, the quicker we get this over with, the quicker we all get back to our lives, eh?"

Stephan felt relieved, but not terribly assured. Regardless, he had no way to refute their claim and now his end of the bargain was up, “Perhaps so. I’ll tell some as I promised. True, we are from the Dominion, and as you may have guessed the navy in particular. As for the damage to our ship, after abandoning the Dominion for our own reasons we were hunted and attacked in the northeastern sea. That’s all I’ll say for now. You’re Justinians and you know what I am. I won’t pretend to like you and I won’t pretend to trust you, I never did fight the Paladins in Somnus but I know those who did. If you want anything more than that I will need a lot more than you’ve given me.” He was done with the lies and the pleasantries, he would tell the truth, but not all of it. Stephan wasn’t that stupid, and he wasn’t that desperate.

The older man folded his hands and leaned on his elbows against the table as he digested this. With a raised brow he casually spoke, "Here is the deal: you are in Charlin, and you broke the law. You are also defecting from the Dominion, so you broke their laws as well. As of now you are looking at jail time and hard labor for false entry into Lrev ports and breaking quarantine, including the possibility of political disruption."

"However," The man continued, "You have the right to bring this to a hard-ass judge to figure out your punishment, or you can work with me, I pull the same strings as a judge. If you are a victim of Dominion cruelty and wish sanction in Charlin, you just needed to ask, but you didn't. You tried to pull the wool over our eyes, so whatever happens, you will have to pay for transgressions, but depending on what you can offer me, and trust me everything helps, will decide how harsh or comfortable your fine will be. If you happen to be locked up for some time, you won't be able to look after that sweet child, now would you?"

The man lifted his head and put his hands flat on the table, "Just remember, you decide what happens to your crew and child. So tell me, what's going on?"

Stephan had known it was going to come to this. After all, they held all the cards here. If he kept his mouth shut how long would it be before one of his co-conspirators spoke? For every bit of courage those already unreliable few had there was an equal amount of fear, and fear was what broke men. It was always going to come to this, hand all the secrets he had over to a damn Justinian or rot in a cell while they indoctrinated the boy.

Fine, if he was cursed he might as well give in, fighting it had only seemed to make things worse so far. Stephan glared at the man across from him, “Fine, no point in holding back now is there? I am Stephan Unsian, the boy is Ricken Serin.” The questioning look on the interrogators face at that was worth tell him all of it, Stephan explained, “Our floor licking king of the Dominion lacks an heir you see, and he won't take a wife from shame of his... Condition, if you understand me. How surprising then, that my sister, one of his little secret concubines, bore him a child. Of course it wouldn't do to marry so low, would it? No Tetan fucking Serin, beloved by his people, did the kingly thing,. He had her killed and he kept the child.” Spite and anger dripped off every syllable, just putting it into words hurt.

“So.” Stephan continued, “I took the thing he wanted from him, I took my nephew and then I took my ship. Even took his fucking little ring.” Stephan held the black and shiny yet featureless band up from the chain on his neck. He gave a solemn chuckle at the situation, what a joke it was to think he ever had control, “I suppose the question now is simple, what will you do?”

The officer closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, features of thought strained his temples. This was certainly no light matter, and must be handled delicately. The man let out a long sigh before opening his eyes, "Does your crew know?"

Stephan looked down and spoke, “Some, they helped me do it. Garus, Tempan, Gerof, and Perrance. All four know and the only reason I even told you was to spare them the shame of doing it, can't say they're brave but they were stupid enough to follow me I suppose.

"Honorable," the officer muttered. With a quick glance at the fat man who stood silent this entire time the officer spoke loudly, "See to it that those four are secure, and send the rest to the judges for crimes of tampering with the law and quarantine, and preferably deport them to someplace far away from here."

"Aye, sir."

"Now," The government servant looked back at Stephan, "Your crew will pay for their transgressions. As for you and your co-conspirators, I think it is in the best interest of the Boyars to keep this quiet."

The Charlinite paused in thought, "are you truly an honorable man, or are you planning to bite the hand that may as well end up feeding you."

Stephan didn't really care about the rest. He figured it was best they were gone before one decided to tell a tale involving a dissenter, a rope, and the bottom of the ocean. Regardless they meant to keep it quiet, and for the moment that was all Stephan wanted. Looking up to the man he simply stated, “I suppose it has always depended on the food.”

The man grunted, almost letting a smirk betray his stone set face. With one quick motion the man shot out of his chair and cracked his back.

"Well," The old man said, "You are now under my custody along with your conspirators, I am Lrev justice Benoroux Longview Unchix, and the only person keeping you five alive, and your nephew from a long trip to the Patrimony."

"Lucky for you," Benoroux said, "we already knew who you were, or I'm afraid I would have suspected you for a typical liar trying to snake his way out of penalty."

He looked down at Stephan, "We are going to tell your story to the Boyar, all of us, but until then I am moving you to my personal housings to keep you. Don't be fooled, it is still a jail, but a lot more comfortable, a place for honorable prisoners of war."

"I'd rather not present a starving chicken to the Boyar, so take me as compassionate," A big yellow and white speckled smile broke across his old face.

Stephan almost laughed at that, but the situation had sapped him of what little humour had had been able to muster of late. He didn't trust Justinians, but perhaps this one wasn't so bad as he feared. He let out soft few words, “Thank you.”



On top of a mound of soft green grass stood a tall manor of stone and hard woods. In the distance the sound of gulls screaming and waves crashing filled the air, along side a faint salty breeze. Although the manor was out of the way, it’s relative proximity to the harbor was apparent. There were little tall trees and instead favored apple trees that grew in rows leading to the bayside estate. Various sun kissed servants, both Charlinite and foreign rushed around the grounds tilling gardens, feeding the noble horses, gaming hounds and seeing to the orchard of apples.

Inside the great house the party of conspirators, justices, and boyars too place in the study. The study was a tall room with the fancily decorated ceiling reaching far above tall gilded book stands filled with various books on politics, and more noticeably, justinian and theology. The acquired scent of old paper and spine glue from the books invaded the clean air and mixed with the faint salt from the bay, creating a strong concoction of thick strange scents warmed by the far reaching sun. The stained windows let in colored beams of light that fell on the heavily trafficked reed carpets, now stained with dirt as well as the shoulders of the boyar as he sat in his red velvet chair behind a golden wood desk.

The Boyar of Lrev, Dernov Silverwave Unchix, was surprisingly tall for even a Charlinite as well as bald. He looked well fed and well rested as his skin and face showed little signs of stress, except for a few dings and marks on the mans hands and face that showed he had been in battle in his youth. His arms were coiled with rope burns, showing naval experience, but his body wore clean silky cloth, showing those days were for the most part over, or at least that was how he made it seem.

“So,” Dernov said in a rusty sailors voice as he folded his hands together, “that is quite the interesting story. Justinian surely likes to test my patience by bringing me such news.”

“Your grandness,” Benoroux pleaded, “I feel it was honorable of these men to extract the child from such danger and dishonorable upbringing.”

“Perhaps,” The Boyar slowly nodded, “But what about their penalty for trying to dishonor my own docks?”

“They can pay a fine,” Benoroux suggested, clearly the better option than whatever the boyar could possibly have in mind.

“What do they have,” an impatient tone questioned.

Benoroux glanced at the five prisoners, “A ship, cargo, guns.”

“A broken ship.”

“Still a ship, a cheap addition to your fleet, along with cannons!”

“Very well,” the Boyar succumbed, “But does that in your mind pay for all the penalty?”

“In mine, it does,” the older officer offered.

The Boyar grunted, turning his attention to the newly clothed and rested prisoners “In your minds does this suffice?”

The line of men exchanged glances and perhaps predictably they came to fall on Stephan. How they had managed to take Ricken from that manor and not simply run the moment it was suggested Stephan never understood. Regardless Stephan spoke for them, “It is all we have, all we have had for near two years. If it does not suffice then nothing will short of our lives.”

A few of the men behind him shifted uncomfortably but made no move to take up their own case, Stephan rolled his eyes and continued, ”So, that being the case in our minds yes, it does.”

Dernov leaned forward, “So be it, I will take these things as pay for the penalty, their crimes against Lrev are resolved.”

Benoroux nodded, giving Stephan a relieved glance, “It will be written.”

“However, their crimes and scheme that followed them from the Dominion are still valid,” the Boyar began, “and while honestly I have no power to punish anyone for them, I do decide what becomes of you five and the little one.”

Benoroux smiled respectively and raised his hand in protest, “In all due respect but the king-”

“Forget the king,” Dernov huffed, “He is off playing the hero, this is my decision, and mine alone.”

“There are too many of you who know about this, and I don’t like it, for all I know you might be spies.”

“I highly doubt-” Benoroux began.

“Benoroux, be quiet!” the Boyar hissed, causing Benoroux to stiffen his posture as if physically offended.

“Plotters are everywhere Ben, and these short folks love to scheme and plot,” Dernov continued, “I don't even know these men’s plans once and if they are released, I can’t have big mouths running rampant in the streets.”

“So, what are your plots and schemes, Yuwanist, and what should I do with you?”

Benoroux openly rolled his eyes at the paranoia and bias remarks of his superior and turned to the five men, as if joining the Boyars striking stares into unraveling this entire scenario.

Stephan simply shrugged, “I know not this country nor its people. What I know of the language, I know from my studies of language, not of culture. You ask what we mean to do and we cannot respond with anything but uncertainty. We had never meant to come to Lrev and now that we are here what few plans existed are nothing but memories. As for myself I wish nothing but to keep Riken safe, whatever comes of that is what I shall do I’d figure.”

The others behind Stephan whispered among each other before a darkly skinned man with a short beard and bald head, Garus, spoke out, “We’ll follow Stephan then.” Stephan gave him a short nod and smiled.

Benoroux smiled at the sentiment but the boyar seemed unmoved, and he was clear to express it, “So, what, I just let a bunch of yuwanist prisoners bent on tramping around with a kings son loose, and expect everything to be okay?”

“Lord,” Benoroux insisted calmly.

“What, what, what,” Dernov raged, “Why do you doubt my instinct, we are Justinian, proper and honorable, they are yuwan, and already clearly shown distaste for our law.”

“Nephew,” Benoroux demanded, “you will show honor and hospitality that Justinian demands, and the tenets dictate.”

Boyar Dernov shot out of his chair, “you dare patronize me?”

“Justinian would rather these men and their child burn, and burn they shall!”

“You dare harm the innocent, and a child at that,” Benoroux’s voice flared with age as well as righteous anger, "you are unworthy of your mantel and unworthy of honor!”

“You have no power, Ben, this is not the age of Roland, but the age of the new, the age we purge the world.”

A sword shrieked out of its scabbard at Dernov’s words, and soon the sharp tip pointed at the man.

“Then, I command by the code of the ancients, and all honor you lay your life, honor and title into your blade, and we shall see what age is what, and who is who,” Benoroux demanded, his arm shaking with age as it held the blade in the air.

“A duel of righteous honor you want, death you will receive,” The enraged nephew roared at his elder uncle, snagging a blade that was hanging off his wall.

Without further dialogue or preparation the two charged each other, sending Stephan and the others scattering away from the fight in confusion as Dernov rammed into the older, slower man with a stiff shoulder.

Benoroux was sent reeling but quickly fixed his footing and styled his blade into a defensive strike, attempting to slash at the boyar quickly. His swipe was knocked away by the Boyar and reciprocated with a thrust. Benoroux moved towards the Boyar skillfully avoiding the thrust and locked their crossguards together, forcing their blades down and them up against each other.

With a swift, loud snap Benoroux slammed his forehead down the face of Dernov in an aggressive smash, sending blood spattering from Dernovs crushed face. Ben quickly followed the vicious slam with a shove, pushing the stunned Boyar off him, and giving him enough distance to continue his attack. Although slowed with age, Ben’s strike still struck true as he lunged at the dazed Boyar with a powerful leaping thrust, sending the tip of his blade through the rich clothes with a rip and into the man’s stomach with a sickening snap as it severed the internal organs.

Benoroux put his boot on Dernovs belly right below his blade and kicked his nephew off and onto the floor where he squirmed and gurgled at the spectators, only to be silenced with a quick thrust down to his throats jugular and into the wooden floor beneath the carpet.

Benoroux let go of his still standing sword, his hand pulsing from how tight he was gripping it. With a grim look he faced Stephan, “Welcome to Charlin.”

Before Stephan could respond to the blood speckled man, he swiftly took the seat of the former Boyar.

“Both in name, lineage, and now through honor I claim the title of Boyar of Lrev,” Benoroux said softly, “I never wanted it, but sometimes fate is a whimsical mistress.”

Stephan could not believe what he had seen. It was not the fact that Dernov lay dead that unsettled him but that fact that some coincidences simply ran too deep. One nephew traded for another. Looking up he spoke in a solemn tone, “That she is.”

(Paper+Spleen Collab Post! ^^)

Eger, Kingdom of Acitha, Otnemarcasan Empire

"Will Your Grace receive the Princess Vaelinessi Tlaerie" The courtier's voice stumbled slightly with the liquid syllables of the foreign name. "Of Aeieal?"

"She may enter" Came the reply from the stone faced emperor after a moment.

The woman who entered the throne room next instantly drew the eyes of all the courtiers and servants. Long golden hair cascaded down her back and curved around her head in an ornate fashion supported by braids and pins. Golden eyes set in a face that seemed cast from silver glowed and beneath them a delicate mouth wore a secret, somehow almost erotic smile. Her dress was foreign but truly magnificent, seemingly composed of hundreds of strips of silver, gold, and crimson cloth each wrapped around her body and tied individually leaving little to imagination about the comely form beneath them. They formed a pattern over her body that shifted and danced almost like an illusion that drew the eyes without revealing what it truly was. Streams of the cloth trailed behind her, though none were allowed to touch the floor as she walked gracefully towards the Emperor.

Behind her walked two women with skin of silver and hair of gold, though they wore muted garb and kept their gazes lowered. In their arms they gathered the streamers up, keeping them aloft so that they never touched the ground.

The woman approached the throne until she stood the traditional distance for petitioners and then in a fluid motion lowered herself to her knees. Her attendants lowered themselves as well still cradling the cloth strips in their arms. Then she bowed lower in a display of flexibility that placed her forehead inches from the ground. "Your Grace, Sovereign lord of the north, beloved of Justinian and his attendants," The woman's voice was liquid and soothing as she spoke in the language of the court. "My mother sends her regards and a gift to your imperial majesty to renew the Aeletnan Accord."

She then rose again with a smooth motion that spoke of grace and beauty while subtly emphasizing her figure. "Your Grace, in accordance with Aeileian tradition I am completely at your service for I am the gift." For a second the princess' golden eyes met the Emperor's and in them danced the promise of delights and secrets of pleasure unimaginable before she demurely lowered them again in respect and lowered herself to her knees again.

For a moment the emperor remained expressionless, the only hint that he was more than a statue was the slow rising and falling of his breath and minute movements of his eyes as his gaze shifted from Princess Vaelinessi to her attendants. There they lingered for a moment. Searching, but for what not even the emperor knew. Finally his gaze turned back to the foreign princess, the edges of his mouth turning skywards so slightly that one might believe there had been no movement at all.

“Ah yes,” His eyes locked on to Vaelinessi’s, “The kingdom in the marshes. It has been so long since We had last from you.” His gaze drifted down, halting at her lips. “Tell me child” To those assembled in the court she looked to be no older than any of the emperor’s own daughters, perhaps even younger. “How old are you?” He leaned forward ever so slightly as he asked the question, just enough that someone observant enough would notice the change in posture. The aura of detachment dissipating from the aging emperor ever so slightly.

"I have seen 19 cycles your grace." Again her words poured forth smoothly and with a gentle soothing quality to them. The princess' gaze rose slightly as if she had picked up on the slight change and interest that he was showing. Her lips still held the smile they had born from the beginning. A deep breath momentarily emphasized her figure again.

The emperor’s eyes looked her over, all of her, as she breathed deeply. Thoughts jumbled through his head. Younger than Meirong. He let his stone mask slip slightly, the beginning of a smile on his face. Yes, he liked this so called Aeletnan Accord, whatever it was. His brow furrowed slightly as he wondered what it was. Had he ever heard of it before? Maybe, but if so it was a time long past. A time before the human torches.

“Would you be so kind” The furrowed brow and smile slid away, his face returning to stone, “as to state of the terms of the Aeletnan Accord for our official record?” He gestured towards a nearby servant who was furiously scribbling away at a scroll. The emperor had always wondered how the man managed to write so cleanly and quickly while standing. It was a mystery that would probably, unfortunately, never be solved.

"Of course your grace." Vaelinessi replied and for a couple seconds her face went blank before the smile returned. "The Aeletnan Accord, The Kingdom of Aeieal and the Empire of Otnemarcas in the interest of preserving peace and prosperity pledge to defend either other from outside aggression and to provide counsel in times of unrest. The Kingdom of Aeieal will further allow Otnemarcasian merchants safe passage and trading privileges within its lands. The Aeletnan Accord is to be maintained through the union of royal blood." The princess paused for a moment and bowed her head towards the emperor once more. "Your predecessor provided the last member for the union and now your grace my mother honors the accord through me."

She rose to her feet fully and her attendants rose with her, again her motions drew attention to her body seemingly without intent. "If that is, it pleases your grace to accept a renewal of the Accord."

“It would please me greatly” The emperor said, nodding as if he had known what the accord had entailed from the very beginning. In truth he was only now beginning to contemplate the advantages and repercussions of accepting. He didn’t get very far in his contemplations, however, as his eyes were drawn to his new concubine. Who would have ever imagined he would find a replacement so soon? It was almost as if Justinian was rewarding him for his hard work. The thought brought a broad smile to his face. If killing one traitorous concubine and some heretics was enough to earn him a prize as pretty as the princess kneeling before him, then he couldn’t imagine what would fall into his hands once the Ithicists were gone for good and his army was marching on the lands of the Yuwanist heathens.

Laona
Present Day
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The warm sun bathed the Dominion capital of Laona, its gentle rays moving down through the trees and painting soft shadows on the streets. Built in a hilly region of the Dominion heartland the city had an almost wave like appearance as the streets undulated up and down and the meandering rivers formed small lakes on every dip.

King Tetan Serin had been summoned by the senate and now walked the main road of the city to the domed building that held the heart of the Dominion. All around him were people, some asked questions and others made idle chatter with him. Though some monarchs, and truly his father, would have found the idea mad Tetan had always felt that the nation existed for its people and he would never raise himself above them on a ceremonial wagon with a guard keeping them at a distance.

The crowd parted as he reached the guarded bridge and was escorted into the building. With a kind wave he bid them farewell and headed to the grand home of the senate. As he neared the entrance guards opened the ornate doors and permitted his entry.

In a small chamber within he changed into a simple purple regal robe and proceeded though an adjacent door to the Senate meeting chamber. As he entered through the door on the raised platform and preformed an honorary bow many in the senate called their greetings.

As Tetan took his place on the kings chair overlooking the senate, the Speaker Sharod Kephage walked to the centre of the room and looked around, motioning for the senators to quiet down. "I present, King Tetan, presiding over this session of the senate."Sharod turned to the king. "The senate has presented some serious issues, demanding your attention." He walked to the king and handed him a piece of paper with two things written on it, two simple words that were so important. The Somnus and the Plague.

"My king, we have an issue regarding the Somnus, many issues have arisen in their borders that could directly affect our nations well being. The potential for even more refugees has risen due to conflict but more so, the possibility of spies slipping through our nets. At the present, Refugee camps are well supplied and segregated but with the turmoil along a majority of the north eastern borders.. well.. there is a potential for disaster."

The crowded senate began talking about the issue, some hateful things could be heard, "we should just eradicate the problem." and across the isle, "maybe we can convert them."

Sadly, this uncertainty was the reason the King was there, to throw in his outside opinion and sometimes a definitive order. Tetan was smart though and knew that upsetting the senate with direct orders could result in big issues later on so he would have to be tactful in his answers. He however also knew that for the time being, The king was accepted and respected in these halls.

Sharod motioned for the crowd to settle down then spoke, "Now we will hear from the king. Once he has spoken, rebuttals will be accepted." He turned to the king once more, "My king, you have the senates ears."

Tetan had expected the words before him. Truly the history of the Dominion in the last century could have been summed up as such, if it was not an effort to stem that horrible blight it was an attempt to integrate or deport the refugees of their once enemy that had streamed into the nation over the years. Still, the issue had grown no less serious, and no less worthy of his full attention.

After observing the document and eyeing who had said what on the floor Tetan decided to speak up, “True enough we feed the Somnus who come to our gates, and true enough the terrors behind them have only grown. However it seems to me this issue has gone on far too long. The Imperium is a phantom for us and a memory for those who had once lived there, what it is that we must face is the fact that the camps we assembled are no permanent solution and those who come across the border will by all chances continue to do so. The time has come to attempt something greater than a petty containment.”

“What I propose is simple. We must either make it so that these unfortunate souls can integrate into the Dominion as citizens or we must make it so that they can go home without the fear of war and suffering.”

The room burst out into discussion again, many saying things about deportation. After a few moments they started to quiet down. One older male stood up among the crowd and walked towards the center stage. "We have to look at this diplomatically. There are so many states forming in the old somnus. It's unsettling but sending these people away could be disastero-" Before he could even finish, another stood up and spoke, "And why do we need to worry about their well being?"

The older man just pinched the bridge of his nose. "Because we aren't monsters.. not the people that would just give someone the boot and send them to die."

"I'm sure they would do that to us." the other added.

"And that's why we are better people, why we aren't monsters. They already practice their faith within reason in our borders. we even have justinians in some of our major cities. Yes, their views to most would be radical but there have been many crusades and did they rush to join the cause?" he gave a smirk to the other senator, "No, they practiced safely. most would even say their ways have been questioned by a diluted leadership around their so-called living god."

The other man just sat down. His anger obvious but there wasn't any rebuttle to the facts that the old man had brought. "My king, I believe we should work towards a citizenship plan. " Sharod walked forward, "Should this be put to vote?" The majority of the senators rose their hands.

"It seems a vote is called. By tradition though, the king is allowed to speak regarding his position on the matter. What would your ideal belief be?" The senators looked to the king, with each expecting to hear him reflect their own beliefs. The king would know that he is about to piss off half of them but there was no choice.

Tetan looked over the crowd, so full of expectation and every one convinced he would side with them. Still, he had made it clear that these people deserved a home and if the Dominion could not be that home what use was he? What use was the nation his line and the senate had been building for centuries? No there was but one choice available, “You speak true, we are not monsters and we should not hate those simple because of their faith. The only way to resolve this without horrible sacrifice is for the Somnus who had fled to our lands to become citizens of those lands. No matter how much time has passed we must remember that we were once a single people, and perhaps this is a chance for us to be that again.” He watched the faces of the crowd, some with hate and some with inspiration. Regardless Tetan knew he had done the right thing, and for all the mistakes in his life he hoped he continued in that.

The room became silent as his speech ended. Many had remembered how the nations were united but many also remembered the tales of the horror was during Justinians original crusade. Times had changed and had it not been for Justinian, it'd have been a easy choice.


As the senators placed their vote via colored stones placed in a bucket. The room stayed silent. Many were looking at one another, wondering how their opponents would vote.

It was quick though, orderly. And only minutes later, the tally was in. Sharod stepped in to the exact center and spoke up. "The vote is in, thirty to six, in favor of allowing them to become citizens." Only a few people seemed upset but were quiet about it as such a landslide vote would possibly put them off to the side in future votes.

"Plans for a path to citizenship will be written up. It shouldn't take too long but it will be a difficult task." The room stayed quiet though as people were anticipating the king to say something regarding his win.

Tetan looked out and smiled at the room, “I thank those who voted for this, and for those who voted against know this. The days of sectarian war are passing, the plague serves as enemy to us all and we must be united in our effort against it. In the coming months as this plan comes to fruition, no matter the difficulties, I ask that you all remember that.”

The senate were silent towards the answer, but many seemed happy. Regardless of that, something far worse was brewing within the walls of the room. "We now discuss the other situation. The plague." The senate stayed silent. This was a touchy situation as for many of them, it was an unknown. all they had was tales to go on.. few had been to the borders and those that had only seen quiet forests and bland fields stretching in to the distance.

"We..." Sharod cleared his throat. "We have reports of... plague.. " The senators began whispering at this point. "We have reports that the eastern city of Nasita has ad sightings of the plague." Those words would potentially confuse a man as the plague has no real.. look. But they were likely referring to some sort of group and people with dreams. It was still an unknown, and the senators, especially the ones from that area really needed the kings guidance.

"There needs to be some sort of response. Many people are going to be confused in that city and possibly the surrounding region." The group turned to the king once more.

That struck Tetan as news. The plauge? So far from the walls? How was a question, but the more important one was what to do now. Tetan cleared his throat and started, “As for this... Most troubling news, I feel we must act swiftly. The Imperium fell in two years, what we do now may well decide our own fate. So it is with a heavy heart, but firm conviction that I suggest we quarantine the city and all surrounding towns. The measure is extreme, but who here knows how the plague spreads? Anyone? No we need time to be sure and only a quarantine gives us that. The military must be deployed.”

Tetan rubbed his head and looked down, clearly upset with his own words before he continued, “There must be no hesitation in our actions or we risk ruin.”

It would be strange to anyone to see the Senate unannamously agree on anything but this was a special case. Without hesitation, people spoke up, "We must send the military." and other similar phrases. The older man stood up and began to spoke. "As this is a prudent act, shouldn't we be smart to keep the effort as low key as possible? As of now, people will be confused and scared but only hear it as a rumor. If we go in, full armor clad and weapons at the ready, it may throw the entire area into chaos.. refugees from our own nation flooding futher west."

Many senators seemed to agree with that statement, "My suggestion is to still make a lighter quarintine, perhaps using scouts rather than full military forces to be the ones seen along the roads, use our regulars to patrol the forests. And we definitely need to send agents in to offer comfort but also figure out what is going on."

The group, as usual, looked to the king now. In times of conflict, the Senate is who declares former war, allowing the king complete use of the military in offensive opertions. These acts though fell during peace so many actions are touchy in regards to the armed forces. These traditions and rules were starting to falter though, as the world grew darker, the Dominions conviction towards its security was growing stronger.

Tetan had to blame himself for not seeing the panic a full deployment might create, a foolish mistake. In response he spoke out, “You are correct. Perhaps I was hasty to recommend a full deployment, matters like this require as much discretion as they do force. I am in agreement with the limited deployment plan presented, but I suggest we do withhold a larger force in the event that… In the event that things begin to spiral beyond our control.”

Faded light.

A land of grey and soft sounds in the distance. Buildings, I saw buildings, old and decrepit. Buildings long since destroyed by the war. I saw faces too, the grinning old man by the well; the two boys playing sticks, dreaming of one day being squires; The young woman in the purple dress eager to be married off.

They were all dead.

The smiling man waved to me. I remember him fondly; he once gave me a piece of bread. The dead walked here as I walked but they did not see or feel, for I was not dead. I was dreaming.

It was the world of faded light. Ever since my earliest memories I went here when I slept. They call this dreaming, but I am not sure if that is true. They once said I had the plague of the dreaming, but they were wrong. My mother told me when you dream you go to a world where anything can happen but you have no control. Here, all that happens is what has happened before. I know that I am dreaming, which my mother told me was impossible, but I know.

I know this world cannot be real, because as I watch I see myself. A child, she is only now leaving a sewer drain. It is strange to look upon yourself, but still stranger to see so great a difference. She is filthy and tired. Her eyes are sunken. Her blonde hair is wild and her mind lost. She does not care for her appearance, and walks the street regardless. Looking upon this memory is a reminder of humility, to remember that my place in the world was not determined by blood or wealth, but because I was chosen by that which is far greater than myself.

The younger me walked quietly through the street and into an empty courtyard until she was confronted by the two boys with sticks. They grinned and one pointed with his stick while laughing. I did not like them much. The pointing boy spoke, but his voice was faint and distant. In this world all those of my memories speak like him. He whispered even as his mouth opened and closed as if shouting.

Once I would have moved closer to hear him, but this memory has occurred enough where I no longer need to. The younger me, in spite, yelled back. I was much less patient in those days, before Servitor Velmnus taught me to be so. The boy recoiled in anger at my words, and he held the stick in a high guard, in poor imitation of a true knight.

This memory was not the most important I have seen. No great battle was fought. No terrible enemy defeated, but it meant something to me, for it was the first time the voice came.

My younger self did not bother to move or grab the stick, instead holding out her arm, palm open as if to order him to stop. Her face was now calm when mere moments ago she was shouting. The stick collided with her palm. It did not bruise her hand. The stick did not even break. The boys stick passed through her hand, and fell in half, burned through by fire so bright it was white like pure light.

The boys froze in disbelief. After nearly a minute of silence, they finally ran, terrified. They never spoke of this again to anyone, not even the clerisy. It would be years until the others knew who I truly was. But after they were gone, I watched myself collapse like a doll, almost dead... like the time with the witch hunters or, many years later, the Battle of the three armies. I entered the world of faded light, and so for the first time it came, the voice said:

“You have but seen little of what is to come, child. Sleep and I shall show you the way”.

And so he did. For many years, I believed the voice to be Justinian himself. In some way, I still hope this to be true. Even if from the temple within Sacrosanct he ignores the plight of my people, I hope desperately that he truly cares. The voice guided me, and showed me through the path that I am now. My powers grew and as it did my purpose came clear. As with the day I defeated the three men who wished to kill Servitor Velmnus. As with the day I stood defiant before an army of Ghuls. I was to be a saviour, and a protector. In the faded world as I lay fallen on the courtyard stones, the voice first guided me to be more than that girl who traveled through sewers and hit tree’s with sticks in anger. I was to be benevolent, to bring back the fire in mankind’s heart like Justinian before me. I was to become hope, the voice told me.

And so I have become hope.
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It was midday, shining light shone through light clouds. The grass here was vibrant green, and the breeze still blew. A land not yet afflicted by the plague. A girl awakened. Her bright green eyes looked at her surroundings, seeing the time of day. “I must stop doing this” she sighed. She had fallen asleep again, resting on a hill whilst leaning against a tree. Much like she used to back in the days of the Peasants crusade.

The world of faded light was a safe haven for her. It was a place to become calm, in harmony with herself and Justinian. Here, in Avara, it was hard to be an Apostle, to be the saviour of all mankind, as proclaimed by the servitors. She had not even yet reached her fifteenth day of birth and millions hailed her as a messiah, an instrument of Justinian’s will. She was but a girl, dwarfed by those who worshiped her, leading men twice, thrice and even four times her age into battle against forces of darkness and corruption.

Now, she could not hide within the world of faded light anymore. She had to confront the people and their reverence of her. The open field of grass would be a scenic view, if it were not for the large war camp built around her sleeping location. It would be foolish to believe she could simply wander off without escort or purpose. She stood up, and begun walking back down the hill back towards the camp.

She marched with the famed rebel leader, once high-servitor and now general, Daelus Omar. “The Conqueror” the peasants started calling him during the rebellion, and now, with the civil war over, he is one of the most powerful men in the Imperium. The man was something she knew she was not, a genius. A controller of men and armies, he led peasants against knights and came through victorious. He had already begun changing the Imperium, and with guilt she admitted she felt envy for his successes that did not rely on unexplained powers or Justinian’s might.

While thinking on Omar’s achievements she re-entered the camp, only briefly noticing that they had already begun packing up the camp to continue marching. The wall of wagons had been moved; reforming the convoy from what was once a circular fort. Most of the tents were being taken down, except one bright red one in the middle. There stood Omar’s tent, her destination. She would talk with Omar now to apologize, assuming she had held back the hosts march towards their mission. A simple mission it was at least, she would not be needed for smiting monsters thankfully. They were to survey the land and the damage done by the civil war, which only ended two years ago. Persistent nobles in the North West calling themselves the “Ten Barons” as well as Ghul marauders made it necessary for this host to be the size it is, at five thousand men strong.

Originally by her own request she went with the host. She wanted to know what her people were like far away from where she lived, if they lived the same lives as she once had. Omar had agreed on the condition that she made public appearances as a way to recover morale among the villagers and new peasant soldiers. It was a fair agreement, but only Velmnus knew besides herself how uncomfortable she felt when so many came to her asking for salvation.

Ever since that old man with the plague somehow overcame his madness simply to ask to be cured, the faithful scared her. The old man was killed before he could come too close, by a paladin no less, but it was enough. While she had known for some time that the world she lived in was a horrible one, from then on however she had difficulty believing that it really could be saved, by her or anyone. The people came to her not only out of hope, as she wished, but out of fear. Out of desperation and because of their suffering. Justinian promised them salvation, a new world order built from the ashes of the wicked. Where was that world? Why has he done nothing? If he is so great, why does he make me suffer so? These are the questions the people asked her, answers she could not answer.

As the camp, once bustling with noise and action fell to near total silence, she knew that it would continue. No matter how dark the world became, no matter how difficult the questions were these people would uphold her as a messiah. The peasant-soldiers kneeled, the knights followed by bowing their heads. A man coughed. These men saw her as something she could never see in herself. Something Velmnus warned would happen if she continued on her path. These men had long lost their faith in Justinian’s benevolence. They held faith in his might, but not his justice. They saw her as their new god, even their new Justinian as heretical as it may be. They pretended she was a servant of Justinian, or an avatar of sorts. But she and the servitors knew that deep down these men followed her, not the Patrimony. She only hoped that when the time came for the final battle, they through her would fight for Justinian once again.

“So you have awakened, dear Cecilia” spoke a soft voice. Very few called her by that name. Servitor Velmnus had arrived, appearing out of the central tent... no doubt alerted of her arrival by the sudden end of all activity and sound. The old man shuffled forwards in his once pure white robes, now dusty and torn. The apostle has had many mentors throughout her short time living, but Velmnus was the one of the most important. What others called a prophet, she saw as a father-figure.

“Master Velmnus, I am very sorry for my laxity. I should not have left before. I have...” her apology was cut off by Velmnus placing his hand on her shoulder.

“All is well Cecilia. Omar is in no hurry to leave; in fact I believe his talks with the Drathan Arcanist Physical will prolong our stay here for an hour at the very least” Velmnus assured her, leading her towards the main tent. Cecilia did not know what a Drathan Arcanist Physical was, but she knew the man was an engineer of some sorts.

“So, then does the Drathan talk much?” Cecilia inquired. She knew little of the Union or the Drathan people, only that they were sorcerers and slavers. Why one would come here and cut all ties with his nation and deity, Yuwan, was beyond her.

“He has much to talk about it seems. Some of it I do not even understand, in fact I do not think even the Union may actually understand, or they would have not allowed him to defect as he has!” Velmnus jested.

Cecilia smiled reluctantly, she was nervous to meet the man who came from such a worrying nation. She had at least heard that the Drathan was a genius of machines and new inventions. The man had supposedly abandoned magic and left the Union to aid them, which was admiring if worrisome, but what he brought with him was... spectacular.

The two entered the tent and found the interior littered with scrolls and parchment. A makeshift table stood in the middle, also littered with scrolls and parchment. There was red everywhere. Omar wore a bright red hat on his head, a red cape around his neck... he even wrote in a strange red book with a quill, his face scrawled up in contemplation. Dosazes daz Vosazastivis, the Drathan engineer stood next to him shaking his head slowly, pointing at a parchment next to the book with one hand while stroking his great tangled beard with the other.

“No no, the device could not be stored there, the weight would be too—“ Vosazastivis looked up and blinked, seeing the new arrivals. His face was grim, so pale he looked dead and hands that appeared skeletal. His pupils were fiery yellow, disturbed and in sharp, angular eyes. He honestly frightened Cecilia.

“Salutations to you apostle of Justinian and Master Servitor, it is a most pleasant day to finally have met you” he greeted. At least he seemed polite, Cecilia was glad for that at least.

“Greetings, Apostle Victorianna. I am currently very busy. Do not fret however, for I will be done within the hour. Vosazastivis, we will continue this discussion on the road north. Velmnus, I require to speak with you immediately” Omar ordered in a strict but quiet voice, not even bothering to take his eyes off his strange red book.

Velmnus and Vosazastivis looked at each other, and quietly nodded. “Cecilia, would you please go with Mr Vosazastivis and help him pack his tools? I must speak with the General” Velmnus stated. The engineer looked at the parchment again and shrugged before walking out of the tent. Cecilia figured Velmnus and Omar wished to discuss something not meant for either of their ears... perhaps they speak of something clerical in nature? Whatever it was, it was not for her to know. She followed the Drathan engineer to his tools.

Vosazastivis' tent was already taken down; however looking around Cecilia saw his many contraptions. Small machines, cogs and boxes filled with tools made of metal. Strange objects of uncertain purpose. The largest of them all was already connected to a cart... Some kind of strange cannon, instead of a barrel it held a strange box of wood, a box with many holes in it.

“Is it not ingenious? It fires arrows launched by gunpowder like its own volley of bowmen! The Hokksulgug have crafted a formidable device, yet this weapon has only now been brought here by me! For shame, the east is backwards compared to the lands of the west, a sad truth”. The Drathan muttered while ordering what looked like a page, a young boy, to move the boxes onto the cart.

“So why did you leave the west then mister Vosazastivis?” Cecilia asked, confused why such a man, so unlikely to join Justinian's cause would leave his homeland if he held such thoughts of her people.

“There is opportunity in a land that is backwards. It is an opportunity to change things to how I wish them to be, rather than how they already are. The west is advanced yes, but they do not care for change”. The old engineer was only half talking to Cecilia as he continued looking over the Hokksulgug weapon. “I didn’t like being ignored. I have been ignored too long by the other mages. The world is reaching its final years and we must change if we are to survive. I have come here to bring my mind and my machines to fight the plague and have had enough of the Union's over reliance on blood and magic tricks”. He continued, elaborating.

“My people, they will remember you services to this land. To come here to fight the Plague is not an easy thing to do. Most would rather flee”. Cecilia spoke, somewhat surprised by the man’s answer. She knew that Justinian's and Yuwanist's on occasion had worked together, but someone like this... truly it was the end of days.

“They will likely remember me after what I have in stored for this land. And for what Omar has decided on. It seems Omar is trying to convince Velmnus for you to publicly support my endeavors, claim my devices are from neither Yuwan or my own mind, which is of course nonsense. Only I developed these tools” Vosazastivis absently remarked. It stung somewhat for Cecilia, for the man to so easily trivialize the voice and Justinian, but she knew such an individual, to actually have switched sides so greatly much have had a change of hearts somewhere, if not in faith, perhaps in mind.

“Omar has been trying to make me do many things to gain support from the people. He is well intentioned, I know, but...” Cecilia drifted off, not wanting to speak further of her complaint.

“It is forced. Ah yes, I know the feeling, truly. The Unions great mages and scholars were much the same with I. Go there, do that, be quiet for you know not what you speak. Perhaps then, I will be able to do something of it, Omar’s plans that is” Vosazastivis suggested, turning and finally looking at Cecilia directly.

“There are many devices in my workshop at Blackstone, among the black powder makers and gunsmiths; I have machines like no other. Well, perhaps some more similar to existing designs than others” he glanced at the strange Hokksulgug weapon. “Once I am finished with this survey, I humbly invite the Apostle to my workshop to inspect the magnificent crafts in work there. I will have the workers make great cheer and fanfare of your doings there, and we will have no need of Omar’s engineered public displays” He spoke with certainty and with a hint of rebelliousness, as if he had done actions such as this many times over. Despite his daunting appearance and history, Cecilia found she could actually talk to this man. He was strange yes, but he gave her no great questions concerning the meaning or reasoning behind Justinian’s actions in the world.

Suddenly, before Cecilia could respond to the engineer, the page appeared again to collect more boxes. “Vosazastivis is building a dragon I tell ya! A dragon! I seen it, messiah lady, tis incredible!” The child acclaimed wildly.

“A dragon!?” Cecilia shouted. Despite her position, powers and reputation, she was not much older than the boy. She knew that dragons had gone extinct long ago, but the thought of them coming back was exciting, even if the improbability of Vosazastivis, a mage who had supposedly forsaken the arcane arts of the Union, being able to bring them back had to be ignored to even consider the idea.
“It is no more a dragon than I. This boy is speaking nonsense, I am working with adapting, interestingly, another Hokksulgug device, combined with a Karkarthan weapon which breathes fire—“

“Exactly, a dragon!” The boy shouted before laughing, causing Vosazastivis to sigh and rub the bridge of his nose. Cecilia wondered why the boy had not reacted to her presence like others his age. He must be from Vosazastivis workshop she thought, where foreigners are allowed to work. She decided then and there she would rather go to this workshop than whatever Omar had planned.

“I would like to see this ‘dragon’ and anything else at your workshop mister Vosazastivis. I think it is about time I finally see Blackstone and the work done there” Cecilia stated. She wasn’t just saying it to avoid large crowds, she honestly believed this technology could help defend Somnus. A man who had such great designs of machines and engineering that he abandoned his magical powers to continue in its refinement must have something of use.

She also liked dragons.

“Well then, we best hurry with this survey then. We’ve waffled on and Omar has probably finished explaining what he wants of you to Velmnus. People are waiting for things to happen, uh?” Vosazastivis remarked while placing the last machine on the cart.

“Off to the north then, where all the damn Ghuls are”. Vosazastivis mumbled, and within the next thirty minutes they were off, unaware of the crusade being called against them, unaware of the activity of the Ghuls to the north, unaware of storm approaching.
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”These are not the herbs we are looking for” Remas stated blankly. He had been searching through the alchemical supplies shop for twenty minutes now and most of it appeared to be junk. Who honestly sells Grobwood these days?

“Idiot, we’ve been here for like an hour now! Just grab it all and we can move on” spat Saathen “Spitfire”, their resident Jahun-ka expert on whacking things with sufficiently large pieces of metal.

“Please Saathen of No House, let me do my work. We will get to the buying of Karkath steel very, very soon” Remas responded, irritated. Where was the Tendrilweed? Lockgrim? Gauntgargast? These people who call themselves alchemists, herbalists, doctors.... ignoramus. Horrible, horrible ignoramus’ they were indeed.

“Right! We’re done here. I cannot take this affront to medical and alchemical knowledge any longer!” Remas shouted, followed by a small group cheer from outside the shop.

“Finally, had you taken any longer, Takataren herself would have fucking returned!” Saathen continued to yell. She did this a lot. Ever since they were formed as a “party”, she was constantly insulting his dignity and honour as a Plague doctor, alchemist and Servitor-healer of the venerable order of the Knights Carrion Song.

Also, it was hard to breath in this beak mask. Lockgrim was a very dense spice to use as a purifier of element Remos thought.

Exiting the horrible building that called itself a alchemical supply shop, Remas Justinus and Saathen of No House were met by their small band of ‘fellow soldiers of Justinian’. It was an extremely diverse bunch in Remos’ opinion, in some circles even heretical. Why it was deemed appropriate to bring them all along together was beyond him.

The merry band of fellows was, as mentally listed by Remos;

-Saathen “Spitfire”of No House, the aforementioned Jahun-ka paladin of whacking things and spitting. Now she was off to the Karkarthian steel merchants, in the wrong direction;

-Bosk Gauldulus, the big guy with his perfectly untrimmed and shaggy beard leaning on the stone wall, who in Remas’ opinion was a heavyset dimwit of a crusader and nothing more;

-Urian Phebosius, standing in the street uncomfortably and hyper-vigilant, who still wouldn’t shut up about surviving the fall and the horrors, don’t even get him started when he is drunk, the man tried to commit suicide once;

-Odev Trenorix, the kid squatting near the door playing around with his sword. A wannabe paladin of Krax who actually changed his name to be more Charlinite, here for no other reason than the Krax paladins convincing those who ordered this mission to bring the tag along to gain 'experience';

-Aurelius Carpathus Wyverncourt, the almost feminine looking man starring off into the sky, day dreaming probably, also the Grandmaster of the Knights Iron Sepulchrave’s Justinian-damned little brother and here as ‘supervision’. Remos hated nepotism, though at least this one wasn’t a total idiot like Odev and Bosk;

-“Mananimos of the Mountain” a Justinian-damned Dryadicist sage, smiling and waving at passersby city goers as if they couldn’t tell he was an obvious heathen. Apparently the probably immortal man was here to find extremely rare alchemical ingredients to try making a potion for keeping plague afflicted asleep.

And a bunch of other nameless meat shield’s the council decided to bring along.

Today, tomorrow, the next month would all be trying times for Remos Justinus. He knew that only he had the sanity in this group to make sure the correct objects were acquired, the correct people talked to and nobody died who wasn't supposed to.

“Perhaps we could talk to the store owners? They may have a private store for more higher grade ingredients” The sage man suggested, with his squinted eyes, wide smile and white beard.

“Let’s move you fool’s, we have Karkathian steel to plunder!” Spitfire yelled impatiently, only now turning around and going in the right direction.

O’lord Justinian, why have ye forsaken thou mind and soul?


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The the newly appointed Boyar, Benoroux, and the former prisoners of Dernov sat in the warm glow of the sun outside the extravagant manor. The gardeners were on their dinner breaks, giving the group a shocking amount of silence in the flower embroidered gardens that overlook the pink and green apple trees in the orchard.

The air was sweet as an inland breeze brushed away the salt of the sea and brought with it the smell and pollen of the various fruits and flowers. It was an auspicious scene for the group, as if the garden itself came alive to herald in a new age for the noble houses of Lrev as well as the brightening path of Stephan. This silent herald did not go unnoticed as Benoroux breathed in the sweet sun soaked air deeply, sending vibrant energy throughout his elder body.

“So,” his voice dilluded the silence, “You five are now free men, at the cost of your ship and property, and at the cost of my nephews honor and very life, but free none the less. When I had told you, Stephan, that I was your only friend, I did not think it would go this far, but it had, and probably for the better.”

Benoroux looked away and put his still blood speckled face directly into the bursts of wind, as if soaking it all in while the others simply watched him, Stephans four comrades silent, and unknowing what to say.

It was a funny thing, to move from such violence to the serenity of the garden. Though he still had doubts Stephan felt as if the worlds weight was lifted. It as if whatever curse had held him vanished with all he owned. Perhaps his freedom was not a merely physical thing. Yes, since the day he left Stephan had been slave to a master of his own making, anger, revenge, it felt like what was once all he desired was now so little. He broke the silence then, “Do you know what I thought when I was forced to dock here Benoroux? I thought there was curse on me, no matter how hard I had fought against it, there I was, sitting at a dock assured my future would be a short one.”

Stephan looked over at the new Boyar whose face still bore the blood of his own kin, he had done what was needed and Stephan felt in some small measure he understood the man. Benoroux had killed someone close and Stephan wondered if that made it easier, knowing that it was the right thing to do. To not be crushed by the doubts of your own actions, or fear that your own hands had betrayed you. Maybe it made it worse, the knowing. He continued, “Now... I'm not so sure. Fate, call her cruel or kind, but for the first time in a long while I think I understand what freedom means.”

Stephan looked back to the orchards and admitted, “I owe my life to you now, as do all the men beside me. I know not what will come of this, or how if ever I might repay that debt but please know, you have my thanks and in time I feel you will have the boys as well.”

Benoroux smiled softly at the mention of the boy, “I had taken him to my own home while you were imprisoned. He was crying when the paladins handed him over to me, and my wife slapped me for not rushing him to her faster when I in turn handed him to her.”

“As for debts,” The Boyar’s face returned to a serious stare, the flowers of the garden definitely comforted what strong thoughts darted in his mind, “I won’t hold anything against you, I have already taken your ship. However, if any of you want a job in Lrev or anywhere under me, consider it done, I’d like to keep an eye on this situation for a while, but I will not force anyone to stay in my sight or employment. Though, if you want a normal Charlinite life, where better to start?”

Stephan mused over the idea. He had run long enough, and the boy would never grow a man if he lived such a life. No he had known revenge, hatred, he would not see Ricken fall down the same path that had nearly destroyed Stephan. A year at sea was enough, “I... I am no Charlinite, but I am also no fool. The boy needs a life, he needs a home. What words he speaks now are few, he has spent most of his life so far on the sea locked away in his cabin and I fear my efforts to aid him have done anything but.”

He turned to face the Boyar once more, “What work you have I will take, but I do have a request. You see, Rickens mother is dead and I a poor substitute, if you would continue to care for him so that he may know what little comforts he had right to before this all began you would have my gratitude. I may not like Justinians, Benoroux, but as you say, here you are my only friend.”

Benoroux nodded, “I feel that in such a fanatical world, people easily forget to judge a persons individual honor rather than their affiliations; I try not to forget that. As for Ricken, the wife will make sure he gets all the mothering he can ever want, and I’ll make sure to help him escape from her as soon as he can run, perhaps he can help me escape.”

A smile crescented across the old mans face, betraying a short laugh, “So you can rest easy he will have a true home, as for work, I can see what we need to be filled.”

He scanned the group, “you are all able men so I’m sure it won’t take long to find your niches. However, I warn you now, you five are yuwanist but I am open-minded, so I do not care, but I would keep it on the down low around some of the more fanatic.”

The Boyar stood up, the sun casting his tall shadow across the flowers, “feel free to stay in the guest quarters as long as you need, Lrev is open to you now, as are my doors.”

Stephan gave a short smile and stood along with all his remaining his comrades, “You have my, no you have our thanks.”

Read no further, child

Dream gently in your cradle of ignorance.

Eat, drink, make merry- and shut your eyes. Seek not after wisdom.

What happiness there is belongs to the fool.

...

True understanding is horror.

Preface to the Dialogues of Alhazred

-

High Sepulchrave

They crept over the upturned cobbles and charred skeletons that littered Septimus Way, careful to make no sound, the blackened remains of row houses leaning over them like mourners over an open grave.

Arctos went first, eyes flickering between the path ahead and the road at his feet. Though not usually one for piety, he recited prayers under his breath to Justinian and his Champions, the simple litanies the Clerisy had been drilled into him in the Legion. The wizard followed, eyes shut, head cocked as though listening for something. His feet picked their own way through the detritus without disturbing so much as a broken shingle.

In the distance, the domes of Dormire Palace rose unblemished above the shambles of the city, white marble and gilt bronze shining in the early dawn, ragged standards shifting in the faint morning breeze. Just beneath those towering walls, Arctos knew, was the Imperial Library, and- Justinian willing- the book the wizard was after.

The pair came to a narrow divide in the road, blocked by an overturned cart and its spilled load of vegetables- long dried to husks, but never touched. The skulls of draft horses grinned silently amid the jumble of mummified gourds and pumpkins.

The remains of an Imperial Centurion hung over the side of the cart, frozen mid-clamber, a broken pitchfork protruding from rusted armor.

Arctos turned to the wizard, who scowled and shrugged. Muttering something about useless southrons, Arctos edged forward, careful to step on nothing but old produce as he tried to edge between the wall of the nearest row house and rear of the ruined cart.

The wizard grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He barely suppressed a scream.

Arctos turned, opening his mouth to ask what was wrong, but the wizard shook his head, holding his finger to his lips. With a jerk of his head, he indicated the far side of the cart. Arctos looked.

He hadn't noticed them before, amid the general ruin.

Four children standing noiselessly just beyond the overturned cart. Three were wrapped in rags, one was naked. They were all smiling at him, their black eyes twinkling.

Arctos groaned very quietly as his insides turned to ice. He reached for his sword, but the wizard stopped him.

"We'll take another road," the southron whispered, "Another way."

One of the children, if that's what they were, tittered. Another waved at them and licked his small, sharp teeth.

-

Off the Shore of Sacrosanct, Justinian Patrimony



Meirong had never seen anything quite like Sacrosanct. Towers of white and pink stone rising directly from the still, black waters of the God's Eye, or "Justinian's Lake" as the crewmembers of the ship had taken to calling the bay around the city.

Narrow canals ran between the spindly buildings, plied by smaller boats and skiffs. Brigdes connected towers at all levels, and complex stone walkways gave the cityscape the impression of being ensnared in some great web.

Even from a distance Meirong could discern a thriving marketplace at the edge of the water. What could be procured there she could only imagine, surely goods from all over the world.

Ships from across Avara occupied these harbors. Many of the colors flown by them were unknown to her, but Meirong did recognize a few ships from Charlin and the various kingdoms that made up the Otnemarcasan Empire. Even a trading-junk from distant Tripantos plied the waters, flying the Moon-and-Sun flag of the Drathan Union, the strange land of sorcerers.

“Quite a wondrous sight, isn’t it?”

“Sure it is Fuyumi” Meirong said as her older sister approached.

“Look at that” Fuyumi pointed at a large structure dominating the middle of the city. “Travel anywhere else in the world and you will find nothing else like it, even in Kyugyu.”

Meirong eyed the massive ziggurat for a moment, wondering just how much manpower it had taken to construct Justinian's Temple-Palace. The structure was nothing if not intimidating with its sharp lines and smooth walls hung with massive banners flying Justinian's Sigil, a golden pheonix taking flight on a background of royal blue.

“Do you think I’ll live to see Kyugyu?” Meirong asked after a moment. The historic capital of the Otnemarcasan Empire, Kyugyu had been abandoned by the emperor after he had converted to Sibytte Justinianism. Since then the throne of the empire had resided in Eger, Acitha which had a much larger Sibytte population.

“I’m sure our father will return the throne to Kyugyu once we meet success here.” Fuyumi said, resting a hand on her sister’s shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Fuyumi was about to say something else, but was interrupted when one of their guards approached.

“Pardon the interruption your Highnesses,” the guard said after rendering a bow, “but I was asked to inform you that we’ll be docking soon.” The guard gave a second bow before backing away.

***** ****** ******

The Audience Chamber was large enough to house a small city, a shining white-marble hall lit by immense gothic windows. The domed ceiling was covered in mosaics depicting the great heroes of Humanity throughout the ages, with Justinian descending in victory from the shattered moon at its center.

The Holy Throne directly- if distantly- beneath that scene of Justinian's great feat, a high seat of gold and polished stone. It was empty, though a line of paladins stood guard around it, clad in gilded armor and azure sashes.

Beneath the Throne was a lesser chair, occupied by a fat man in volumnous blue-and-gold robes. He glowered down the length of the room, watching the Otnemarcasans approach with barely concealed hostility.

"Princesses," said the tall, handsome young seneschal accompanying the young royalty as they approached the lesser throne, "His Obvious Magnificence the Uppermost Servitor is pleased to grant you this audience. Protocol requires that you kiss the hem of his raiment before making your Prepared Statement."

"It would be our pleasure" Meirong said as she gave the fat man a deep bow. Out of the corner of her eye should could see Fuyumi give a deep, albeit slightly shallower, bow as well. Meirong could tell her sister was not pleased. Fuyumi kept her face perfectly neutral, almost pleased in fact, but Meirong noticed her sister's body had tensed up at the mention of kissing the raiment, although she could tell only because she had known the older woman for over two decades now. The two sisters approached and knelt down to kiss the hem of the raiment, none of Fuyumi's displeasure obvious to the two men as she completed the act.

"Are there any other protocols we will have the honor of completing before being granted our audience?" Fuyumi's somewhat heavy Otnemarcasan accent almost made the word honor sound like horror. Almost.

The senechal stood aside, smiling faintly, and indicated with a gesture for the princesses to proceed. His Obvious Magnificence grumbled something about it being a pleasure to meet them, and glowered down from his throne with an obvious mixture of irritability and boredom.

"It's a long way from your frozen steppeland," he said, "What compelled you to seek out your god in person?"

"We wish to petition for his aid in ending the religious conflicts in our homeland." Meirong said.

"We would be eternally greatful for your aid towards this end" Fuyumi added as she pointed her head downwards ever so slightly, giving the effect of looking up at the man.

"What is it to me, your backwater squabbles?" grumbled His Magnificence, looking incredulously from the princesses to the seneschal who had walked them in. Chins multiplied as he frowned. "You would that I petition the sole god of mankind with the petty backstabbing of heathen peoples, beheld to foreign and loathsome spirits?"

"We understand" Fuyumi responded before Meirong could open her mouth. You are an important man, surely an invaluable asset toour lord Justinian. Yet we ask you to use your time, time that could be spent doing any number of great things, to help us solve our problems." Fuyumi's voice had taken a silken quality to it as she stepped closer ot His Magnificence. "We have brought with us a small fortune in gold and steel silk of the finest quality that we wished to present to our lord Justinian in tribute, but clearly it would fall to you to utilize this tribute to the greatest effect. Perhaps" Fuyumi lowered her voice slightly, leaning in even slower to His Magnificence, "we should not bother our lord with this small matter and instead just leave the tribute in your most capable hands. Does that not sound reasonable to you?"

An expression of mixed outrage, distress, and shock spread across Meirong's face as she listened to the exchange between her sister and His Magnificence. She had expected many things, but certainly not this.

"Is Justinian not a generous and just god?" Meirong demanded, her voice raised in volume to the point of being just short of a shout. His Magnificence looked unfazed, but the handsome seneschal uttered a quiet chuckle.

"Is this the sort of behavior to be expected from such a god? What would he think if he were to look in on this conversation? Would he be pleased to see one servent of his denied the opportunity to seek an end to the suffering of his faithful?"

"Tributes and bribes should not be needed or even be brought into consideration when going to see such a benevolent, compassionate deity," She shot Fuyumi a scowl before turning her attention back to His Magnificence.

"My people need this" She said. "Our people need this" Her voice momentarily dropped to that of a whisper. "Are we not brothers and sisters of the faith joined together in our worship of the Lord? Does the deaths of thousands of our brothers and sisters mean so little merely because they occur in far off lands?"

"Please tell me" She beseeched "what must I do so that I may have the opportunity to implore our Lord to help me end the pain and suffering of his loyal subjects? I would endure any trial, any personal suffering, for just one chance to speak to Him."

His Obvious Magnificence nodded towards the seneschal who had accompanied them in. The young man was tall and handsome, with a white smile and a shock of slightly unruly black hair. He wore a simple white garment, somewhere between a doublet and a robe.

"I am Justinian, princess," he said, gently, in flawless Otnemarcasan, "And I apologize for the pomp and ceremony and my friend's obstreperous facade. I had to see, you realize, what sort of people I was dealing with. Some things are hidden, even to a god, without being tested."

He bowed slightly, smirking slightly at Fuyumi, before stooping to one knee so he was eye to eye with Meirong.

"How can I heal the pain of your people?"

"My Lord!" Meirong whispered, falling to her hands and knees, bowing till her forehead touched the floor. Fuyumi followed her younger sister's example, the slightest amount of reluctence showing through. Meirong could sense a sort of tension in her sister. It was not something she could quantify, but in some way she swore she could feel the presence of a tiger in or around her sister, staring Justinian down. And then it was gone, along with the tension in her sister's body.

Soraro Mountains, North Dominion
Present Day
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ah, so this is what it feels like then.”

-Final words of the Divine King

Two years of walking the treacherous and cold paths of these mountains, two years of making a companion of silence alone, but Jucan had finally arrived. Before him flanked on all sides by snow capped and impassive giants stood solitary and raging mount Garsavus rising from the black stone and molten sea. Streams of liquified rock flowed from the summit where a fantastic display of sulphurous blue fire whipped about in the wind like some ancient reptile. Making his way forward on a narrow strip of volcanic rock with every breath drawing only burningly acrid air Jucan knew what he had sought for so long was close.

Ahead was a monolithic black gate set deep into the mountain base. With every step the construction grew larger still and by the time Jucan had arrived it towered higher than any building he had seen. What great fear must the ancients have had to craft such gates and take such measures. How telling that even with that knowledge he was here, times had grown dark indeed.

The black ground below held subtle grooves that painted an intricate pattern of circles and lines ending in a final depressed semi circle the size of a bowl set mere feet from the doors seam. He drew an ancient flint knife and with a grimace cut a scarlet line across his hand. Holding it over the depression he let the blood fall into the bowl and fill the grooves. Jucan alone held the power to open this ancient gate, to cast this horrid spell. His ancestors had done all they could to chain what lay within and he undid their work in moments, such was the power of the first kings blood.

A sinister red glow came from the gate as the blood finished its job and the spell did its work. The ground seemed to rumble as invisible barriers set long ago by archaic gods broke. The rumbling grew and a terrible shrieking seemed to come from every direction at once, though Jucan knew the source was his own mind. After gruelling minutes the spell reached its end and with a blast of hot air and a horrible scraping the great gates opened, revealing their unprecedented thickness and the fear their architects had held.

At first there was only a foreboding darkness beyond but with a flick of his hand blood fell across the inner floor and within great and high mounted lanterns came alight. With a quick bandage Jucan sealed the wound and made his way in. The lanterns red light revealed a single vast square chamber with a pyramid of stairs leading up to a darkly iridescent crystal the size of a man making a deceptively ornate centre piece. The odd reflections of colour contrasted with dreary nature of the room, it was such a beautiful thing to hold such an unimaginable horror. Regardless he forged ahead and with each step he ascended on the pyramid he seemed to feel heavier. Was it some ancient magic? Or was it merely the guilt of what he was to do, he had not the answer to that.

Reaching the apex of the pyramid he came to look directly into the dark crystal. Deeper than the iridescent reflections he saw something ancient and disquieting, it had been waiting for him. Jucan reached deep within his robe and withdrew the great hammer of Arvadul, the chain binder who had crafted this prison. He hefted it high and as it sailed toward the crystal whatever being existed there seemed to smile.

Crash, a million pale pieces of quartz blew across the hall, some cutting Jucans face. What remained was the darkness. Whatever it was it seemed to speak to him without words, projecting the thoughts into his own mind and speaking softly, “Your line has finally come to free me, tell me descendant of Yerhan, how many years has that taken?”

He tucked the large hammer away once more and spoke aloud, “Near two millenniums have passed.”

For a moment the darkness seemed to waver, whether struck by the news or merely considering its implications he did not know, regardless the same soft voice continued in his head, “So very long... What could have motivated you to free me, I wonder? What horror is so terrible you sully the work of countless generations?”

Jucan felt the shame of the comment, but he did not show it. Now was not the time for weakness. Resolute he stated, “A darkness has come over the land. It has infected the dreams of men and driven them to evil, every day it grows and threatens to consume man and god alike. To the horrors I have seen in its wake you hold no candle.”

It seemed to consider that for a time and once more his head spoke foreign thoughts, “So what would you do to stop this darkness? What would you have me do?”

In truth he was not sure, but he still spoke out, “I, you, would stop it. No matter the cost and no matter the lives that must be sacrificed.”

The voice in his head chuckled, then it merely stated, “Even if the cost was yourself?”

“Yes.” Jucan knew what was coming.

The darkness rushed him, and then he felt it, gripping every part of his mind and boring into his memories like some insidious insect. It was over in a moment and Jucan felt it, in every vessel and every nerve, something unimaginable lurking just beneath his skin. It spoke to him again, but this time the voice was not soft, it was harsh and commanding, “The pact is made. Cherish what freedom I give you and remember that you were the one who traded it away. Now, we leave this wretched place.”

He didn't question, he knew he would have been able to stop it anyway. A simple turn and he was descending the pyramid. What came next would be horrible, but he knew the price was small if the horror he harboured in his own flesh was still capable of what it had accomplished all those years ago. Yes, the Great Warlord, progenitor of his clan and founder of the Dominion, had made a deal much like this. The empire that resulted still stood.

Jucan had learned all the secrets from that time, how the massacre of the Jonites was the price the spirit had demanded then, how it had fed off the deaths in every battle from that point on. How many souls had it consumed? Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard the screaming and knew the answer.

In response to his thoughts the beast within him commented, “Yes, but they are only what I saved. Soon they will be a choir beyond counting and once more the singing can start.”

Jucan almost wished he hadn't decided on this path, but a mere memory of his childhood and the doubts were gone. No matter the horrors he wrought and no matter the humanity he surrendered the mere fact was that he might have a role in ending the plague now, that was enough.

A man had entered the tomb, a monster had emerged from it.

It was everything he had hoped for.

Yobugwo, Hokksulgug

The sour fragrance of the sea lingered over Yobugwo's streets. The coastal city sat comfortably within reach of both the Dominion, Othnemarcasan and Shogunate harbors. Most ships that sail from Yobugwo were destined for one of these locations, shipping goods back and forth to meet the demands of Hokksulgug's taste. Because of its value, the city was generally in good condition and well-off monetarily.Yogubwo was known to most as a popular gathering place; where you could stumble across a diverse array of individuals, be they wealthy merchants, seamen for hire, adventurers; anyone looking to turn a profit or take a chance at whatever opportunities the city might have for them.

A number of military vessels operated out of Yobugwo’s port, and a fort stood nearby. Other noteworthy landmarks included a great shrine to Daejuguo, a patron of good fortune and guardian figure, the famous Kabugya Theater, and Yobugwo Coliseum. The streets were heavy with stores and merchant stands, taverns and guild houses. Many manners of indulgence could be found here, if one knew where to look. There was one such section of Yobugwo nicknamed the vice district. Its establishments offered a wide range of diversions from mundane, day-to-day concerns. While all were comparable in terms of the services offered, some cater to specific inhibitions or had been made famous by their cast of employees. Many such locations also acted as places of worship for minor deities of the Pantheon that promoted such pleasureseeking.

On a normal day the tavern known lovingly by its patrons as “The Laughing Harpy” would have been completely overshadowed by these other locations of interest. The Laughing Harpy, situated a mere ten minute walk from the harbor, wasn’t known for its vices. It wasn’t known for being a center of worship to any gods. It most certainly wasn’t known for selling high quality beer, wine, tea, or any other beverage. What it was known for was its diverse crowd of patrons. Local sailors and fishermen, odd men from the Isoterox Shogunate, worshippers of Yuwan from the Antian Dominion, and Ithicist merchants from the northern sections of the Otnemarcasan Empire. All of these people had seen fit to spend their coins made of gold and silver from a plethora of countries in the Laughing Harpy. And yet this still didn’t make the Laughing Harpy all that interesting, as this was a common occurrence in any tavern one might find in Yobugwo.

What made the Laughing Harpy so interesting as of late was whispers, rumors, of one specific patron. “They say you can find adventure, if you seek the foreign warrior in the Laughing Harpy.” They would say. “Adventure, wealth, fame, all for the taking. You just need to speak to *him*. He who seeks the brave to aid him in ending the Sibytte pirates.”

The rumors would always point to the same man. A young Otnemarcasan of obviously fine upbringing. His clothes, those of his homeland, were made of the finest silk, though if this silk was “normal” or of the steel silk variety none could say. A short sword, called a jian, was always near at hand. Before him was spread a variety of maps of varying quality. Some showed just the coastlines of the Otnemarcasan Empire. Others the entire region. Others yet were more detailed around the southern Otnemarcasan borders. The young man would peer at the maps, taking a sip from his cup of tea, as he waited. Soon, he knew, they would come.

Seung Choi's ears had caught wind of these rumors, and the timing could not have been more convinient. The prospect of bringing the fight to the Sibyttes, of putting down worthy adversaries in Soyeori's name was a notion that he'd been entertaining for some time now. Choi, a young, wayward noble - although quite the fighter - had figured this Otnemarcasan stranger as the gateway to glory he had been lusting after.

The nobleman dipped his head inside the portal of the Laughing Harpy, scouting it for the foreigner all the rumors had been abuzz about. He was identified easily by the pattern of his garb, the bright, fine silks a contrast to the exposed flesh and dour attire of the establishment's usual customers. Choi's own clothing was not all that different from the foreigners, as befitting his social stature, although it was colored a deep maroon and embroidered with curved patterns which resembled stylized bovine horns, a traditional Hokksulgugae style. A large portion of his head was shaven, as was a popular trend, with what hair remained swept back into a thin tail.

Upon his entry, the closest bar patrons begrudgingly acknowledged his social presence, giving him a customary nod and a few feet of space. Choi drew himself past the commoners and straight to the table where the Othnemarcasan sat, falling into the chair across him.

"You've made quite a name for yourself these few days," the noble mused. "You can't walk two streets without someone talking about the 'foreigner at the Harpy.'" He looked the outsider up and down, an expectant look creeping over his face.

“And yet Ling found seat before him empty for many nights” The Otnemarcasan responded, his grasp of the Hokksulgugae language obviously far from perfect. He gave Choi a deep nod of his head in greeting. It was perhaps not the most respectful way of meeting a fellow noble, but then again they weren’t exactly in the finest tavern in town. “Ling had begun to fear idea not inspired by fox Lady Narai. Fear no longer” He gestured at Choi, perhaps something had been lost in translation.

“Kau Ling” He pointed a thumb at himself “Ling is son of warrior. You are…” His voice trailed off, expectation heavy in his tone.

"Seung Choi." The Hokksulgugae found himself smirking at Ling's wording, and attemped to pass it off as a friendly gesture. He inclined his head, returning the foreigner's quasi-formal greeting. "It's probably the case that many Hokksulgugae are wary of submitting command to... one who is not the same," he put simply. "However, I'm willing to overlook such trivial things." Choi traced a finger over one of the maps laid across the table, tapping it on the Othnemarcasan peninsula. "Had I not heard the rumors, I'd assume you're just trying to get back home. But they say you have other plans for the Empire."

"Home easy" Ling said, pointing at a location in the far North. His finger lingered for a moment before tracing along the coastline, halting only after it touched a city almost directly across the sea from Yobugwa. The words Astraea was written in small words. "Not so easy" He tapped the word Astraea twice. He seemed to search for a word for a moment, muttering "Joutei" a few times before shrugging. "Clan head. Sibytte ships belong. You understand?"

Choi nodded, studying the map. "You want to get back at the Sibyttes," he murmured, more to himself than to Ling. This was perfect; a venue straight to Sibytte territory, and that meant Choi could pay tribute to Soyeori in a more proper manner.
"I will come," the noble declared, eyes back on the Otnemarcasan. "But we're going to need a solid plan to take on the Sibyttes alone."

"Direct path dangerous" Ling said, nodding. "Must be quick and cunning like Fox Lady." He pointed at Yobugwa, tracing a line from the port city to the southern border of the Otnemarcasan Empire. "Long" He commented, "But sneaky like fox. Then," He traced a line from the border to Astraea "Ferocious like tiger."

At that moment the doors of the tavern slammed open with a hideous creaking. In stepped a monster of a man whose face lay mostly shrouded by a heavy hood. Covered in intricate armour adorned by a multitude of Yuwanist symbols and wearing a large yet well crafted sword anyone familiar with rumours in the old Somnus would know him. Petarch Kyrun, the one man crusade. Eyeing the tavern owner until they averted their gaze he cast down the hood and revealed a bald head and short face adorned only with a thin moustache. After giving the whole of the establishment a judging glare he shook his head and made his way directly to Ling and Choi's table. After pulling a chair out and falling into it the man spoke in fluent if not harshly accented Otnemarcasan, “I have heard of a man who would fight the heathens of Otnemarcas and end their cowardly piracy. So tell me, are you this man and if so, may I join in?”

Another foreigner? The entrace of the newcomer had drawn the attention of just about everyone in the establishment; no Hokksulgugae grows that tall. Choi turned his head as the man sat down, sizing him up. He'd seen those symbols adorning the stanger's armor before - Yuwanist, were they? That meant he was more than likely from the Dominion. Even with the peace between Hokksulgug and its former parent-state, it wasn't terribly common for the southerners to be seen in the peninsula, save from coming and going on trade vessels, and certianly not dressed for battle.

Ling looked at the newcomer, a raised eyebrow the only response given. "[I seek to cut the head off the Siphonese snake]" He said at last, responding in Otnemarcasan. He relished the chance to speak his native tongue, so few outside of the empire could speak a truly proper language. "[The end of piracy in these waters will be but a side effect. I seek to inflict grevious wounds upon Clan Shan, one of the strongest Sibytte clan there is.]" He turned back to Choi, reverting back to broken Hokksulgugae as he said "King pay good for deed, no?"

Choi gave the Otnemarcasan a puzzled look, pointing at himself. "My king? I don't know if the Daekuang would necessarially approve of this without his consent, and even then, if he wanted..." Choi was cut off by the man at his side.

Petarch gave a great laugh and slammed his hand onto the table before speaking in Choi's touge, “For the respect they give you here I'd expect more than the uneducated drivel you spout boy! He means his own king, we're killing Sibyttes here, half his nation is going to praise us! Hah, this is going to be great fun after all, I knew this little trip was worth it.”

The jab from the Antian caused Choi to grimace, cursing himself for misunderstanding Ling's use of Hokksulgugae, and cursing the stranger for the insult. But the man had a point. With the assassination of this Sibytte leader, there would be less threat to the Ithicst trade routes.
Ignoring the matter for now, Choi turned back to Ling. "But we still need a ship. And crew. Unless you've got either already, I have resources we can draw on."

"Ling's ships are.... how you say? Pirated?" Ling shrugged. "Few men left, but Ling do not want. Small group of tigers go, yes? Not swarm of hungry locusts."

His head muddled from trying to understand Ling's concepts, Choi gave the Antian a weary look and said, "Why don't you work it out and tell me what he's saying?"

Petarch grumbled, “Eh fine”

With a turn to Ling he asked in his same Otnemarcasan, “Would you repeat that to me so I can tell this fool what you mean? His own ineptitude is slowing us down it seems.”

Choi crossed his arms as the Yuwanist spoke on his behalf. He had no idea what was being said, although didn't imagine it was positively reflective of his character.

"[It is unbecoming of you to call another a fool so readily, but I shall do as you ask.]" He responded in Otnemarcasan, shrugging before taking a sip from his drink. "[What we need is a small group of skilled warriors, not a small army. I seek to kill the third most powerful Sibytte in the land; he is prideful, overconfident. It probably has never occured to him that his end would come from a few. We will sneak into his territory and slay him in his own stronghold; if all goes well his men will have no idea what has occured until after we have had our exit."

Petarch's smile only grew as he heard Ling explain, to hurt the heathens this badly? He would do it gladly. After Ling finished he turned to Choi and translated, “The man says we don't need an army, he wants to get rid of the pirates boss and preferably do so without having to fight the entirety of the mans palace guards. As for the ships I figure he already explained clear enough, they got hit by the pirates. So yes, I think your ship would be of use.”

"Fine, then, we'll use my vessel," Choi offered. "But let us be clear on this - while you're on my ship, I expect to be given proper command and respect due a captain, and nobleman of Hokksulgug." He cleared his throat before continuing, "I have it docked in the marina. I can have my slaves, a small crew and necessary goods onboard as soon as you're ready."

"Ling shall be like winters are to Moudora" Ling said, bowing his head to Choi.

Petarch merely gave an understanding grunt.

Today the streets of Curlow were bursting with color and pride as the Charlinites crowded the city with celebration on the anniversary of Charlins unification under King Roland all those years ago. The usual cobblestone roads and grey and white stone buildings were instead painted with color by blue banners and golden emblems of the horn of Roland. Everywhere one looked there was a smiling Charlinite, dressed up as a warrior of old, or setting up further decorations, such as lanterns and depictions of Rolands famous charge against the final war lords that kept the land separate.

Charlin horses were paraded down the crowded avenues with much pomp and splendor as crimson confetti was thrown everywhere, their final destination being the great Curlow marketplace. The usual stands and shacks of the outdoor market had been replaced with souvenir booths or moved all together to allow stages to be erected for bands to play, and even for actors to relive the feats of Roland in front of the myriad of patriots.

Traditional food was being passed out, nearly freely, from the local delicatessens that dotted the perimeter of the marketplace, giving the atmosphere not only a cheery and upbeat feel, but also the strong aroma of fine meats, ales, and cheeses. Many mouths salivated at the hearty smells of the marketplace and many hearts beat twice in joy for all of Charlin and it’s accomplishments today, the day of Roland.

Under the guise of the crowd and robes of the common folk, Wilxham and Edvin smiled and cheered with the rest of Charlin. Edvin was reluctant to join Wilxham into sneaking off to one of the Monodominic’s favorite days in Charlin, but after much persuasion and even a bruise or two, with a smile on his face, he conceded to going with the monk.

It was his first time out of the monastery since his strange abduction and oddly enough he found the option to escape his new found friend and report to the Paladins to be not only very plausible considering the large amount of Paladin supervision that peppered the crowd, but also undesirable.

Despite his relatively new desire to stay with the monodominics he still couldn’t shake the small sickening feeling of his Paladin duty that still clung tightly to him, and it caused him to lose his usual ferocious appetite. His blue eyes darted from sandwich, to sausage, to hunk of cheese with anxiety and hunger, causing his stomach to curl and groan while his mind scolded him for not partaking in the fine foods.

Wilxham on the other hand had no problem taking handfuls of cheddar and sliced meats and introducing the mess to his face with the gusto of a small child
“Nothing,” Wilxham said between munches, “absolutely nothing beats the Curlow delicatessens, nothing!”

Edvins stomach rumbled and groaned despite his nausea, causing the young master to wince at Wilxham, his eyes nearly pleading Wilxham to stop reminding him of food.

The monk however remained oblivious and simply shrugged, continuing his delicious quest. Wilxhams eyes darted around his surroundings, studying the vigilant paladins that could be found here and there. They were eating and conversing like any other, but Wilxham knew they were still paladins, and this in turn caused his own stomach to give up.

He looked down with want at a small sandwich he had just snagged from a fat butcher who was promoting his own restaurant. With a groan he shoved it into his pocket, hoping little stray threads wouldn’t invade his snack for later.

“These paladins are real appetite killers,” Wilxham groaned to his silent partner.

“Tell me about it,” Edvin whined, his mind lost in memories of his time as a paladin.

Before Wilxham could reply with his brow all furrowed in curiosity he accidently stepped on a foot that protruded from a crowd of people.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Wilxham said politely as he faced his victim.

An old face greeted the apology, the face of Benoroux. He simply flashed his white and yellow smile and replied in his rusty seaside voice, “No problem, on such a glorious day it is hardly sane to complain about a little stomping.”

“Too true,” the usually isolated monk replied, eyeing the shorter man who stood next to Benoroux, a man who clearly was not a Charlinite. As a monk stuck on a mountain, this definitely proved a valuable chance for the monk to do a little social studies on the move, a chance the ever wondering Wilxham would never pass up.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Wilxham started, his innate curiosity peaked “but who is your friend?”

Edvin stood by Wilxham with his arms naturally crossed, and his posture almost like a paladin in salute. He squinted his blue eye as he studied the man, “Somnus?”

Stephan smiled as best he could but given an unfortunate experience with one particular dock worker in Lrev any pointed question of his nationality was met with more than a little trepidation. Looking up at Wilxham as he did most people in Charlin Stephan replied a tad nervously, “Well no actually, I’m from Dominion.”

“Oh,” both Wilxham and Edvin said together, with the monk sounding a lot more excited than the rather unpleasant paladin grunt from Edvin. Wilxham shot the youth a questioning look. Surely it was his first time in public for a long while, but the young master was definitely acting different than his usual accepting self.

“Freg,” was all the monk whispered into Edvins ear, as if reminding him of a few chapters from the youths book. Edvin simply kept a stone set expression, his paladin feelings dueling his new found monodominic heart inside him.

With the duel indecisive, Edvins body simply fell back to it’s previous ploy of rumbles and growls. Benoroux chuckled, “sounds like your friend here could use something to eat!”

Wilxham returned the laugh with his own hearty chuckle and slammed Edvins back, “he sure could!”

The youth gave a weak smile as Wilxham and Benoroux continued to chat happily and turned his attention to Stephan, his kinder side forcing him to make up for his earlier rudeness, “speaking of food, how do you like Charlinite cuisine?”

Pleasantly surprised by the lack of a suspicious glare Stephan responded more confidently, “It’s interesting, though I have only had a small amount in truth. Benoroux and I are visiting from Lrev and, like all port cities, there is usually food from closer to home available. Not that I dislike what I have tried of your cuisine of course, just that a memory of home can be a good thing regardless of the source.”

“Memories of home can sometimes delude the path to the future,” Edvin parroted a passage from Freg, speaking to himself more than Stephan.

“Well,” Edvin said, snapping out of his trance, “try the Verdak sausage.”

As Edvin started offering Stephan some more foods to try, a band that presided over a close by stage began to play it’s next song. It was a Charlinite classic, with heavy drums and flutes, as the immediate crowd slapped and cheered to the very familiar beat.

A few children began to dance around the conversing group, and as one small boy clumsily slipped on a stray fruit rind he quickly shot his hands out to grab whatever was closest to stop the fall. Unfortunately what was closest was Wilxhams robes, and as his robes were torn off him he froze in the consequences.

A paladin began to shout as Wilxhams bare back was revealed and the three wisps of wind that were tattooed to his back became evidence of his affiliation.

“Monodominic!”

Swords began to shriek out of their scabbards as the paladins began to approached the group. Wilxham looked at Edvin, who in turn looked at Stephan, “try the sausage!”

With those few words the pair of monodominics burst through the surrounding crowds and began a hasty retreat. A handful of paladins bit at their heels as they followed the two down the streets. Edvin pushed over a cart to halt the advance of his chasers and Wilxham apologized profusely to all the old women he passed by who saw him sprinting in his undergarments.

“Sorry!”

The pair leaped over a group of kids playing games with colored stones, their mothers scoffing at Wilxham.

“Wilxham!”

Edvin yelled as a stray chicken flew into his face, knocked out of a cage by the running monk.

“Sorry ma’am!”

Willxham shoved himself between two rather large women.

“You naked oaf listen to me!”

Edvin fumed as one of the large woman slapped him as he passed.

“Excuse me miss!”

A stray hand slapped Wilxhams butt as he passed a group of young women and a rash of red conquered his face along with a smug smile. Edvin cried out again, “Wilxham, the alley!”

The two cut a sharp right and sprinted straight into a dark alley. As they panted and pumped their legs they eventually came across a dark and towering end to the alley, a dead end. The two stopped and fell to their knees, they began panting heavily between laughs.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Wilxham roared, his laugh bouncing off the walls.

“Me either,” laughed Edvin, “ chased by…”

His expression drooped, “paladins.”

Wilxham put up his hand as if to correct Edvin but was interrupted by a foreign laugh separate of their own. The two quickly leapt to their feet and turned around. There blocking the way back out of the alley stood a single paladin, sword drawn. The paladin spoke with authority, “you two are under arrest!”

Edvin approached with his hands up, “Surely you can’t be serious.”

A stray beam of light pierced the darkness and found Edvins face, revealing it to the paladin. A looks of disbelief grew on the paladins face and his blade lowered a little, “Master Edvin?”

“Aye.”

“We thought you were dead,” the paladin studied Edvin and Wilxham, “if what my eyes are telling me is true, you were better off that way.”

The words stung Edvin and his face contorted with emotion, “paladin, step aside, that’s an order.”

“Apologies,” the paladin spat, “I’m afraid I don’t help traitors.”

Edvin slowly walked towards the man in disbelief, his eyes wide in shock, “I am Master Paladin Edvin! Stand aside!”

The paladins blade rose again, threatening Edvin, the man spoke plainly, “You are under arrest.”

Edvin’s face was red as he screamed at the paladin, “I am Master Paladin Edvin! I am Master Paladin Edvin!”

“You are under arre-”

Wilxham silenced the paladin with a swift knock over the head with a loose brick procured from the alley buildings, “You are Edvin, and we are going home.”

The indecently dressed monk practically dragged Edvin out of the alley by the arm as the young master kept jerking back to the unconscious paladin, trying to conjure up the words to say to the man, and trying to conjure the words to say to himself.

The world has changed.. Skies seem darker, The lands feel drained. Was this the true end of days? Strange that a mere two-hundred years ago, A Justinian would’ve been looked upon with fear and anger, but now it was just another day for the majority of the Dominion. An ambassador was welcomed into the borders, Escorted through the peaceful lands and even offered food at the small towns on the way to the city of Laona

Upon reaching the massive city gates, it seemed as if day and night, the attitude here was of confusion and fear. One may find it odd that the borders seemed far calmer than the safety of a city fortress hundreds of miles away. As the Ambassador made his way through the city streets, women would hurry their children indoors while men looked on with awe. For many, this was the first time seeing such a creature and furthermore, knowing it was a herald from one of the strongest Justinian nations in existence. The Charlinite found the paranoia of the city in comparison to the quaint and humble villages of the border to be rather unsettling, even bizarre, however he could muster some understanding.

As the Charlinite reached the senate building itself, palace guards made their way to the man and directed him up the stairs. Ahead though, a figure appeared to greet the Charlin. King Tetan himself had moved to meet the foreigner. Perhaps for the best as the senate could be rather aggressive at times.

Once the Charlinite cleared the stairs Tetan made his way up to him and motioned for the guards to keep their distance. How many years had it been since last a Justinian ambassador walked these streets? In some ways Tetan himself was intimidated, the foreigner towered over him. Regardless he greeted him with a warm smile and spoke, “Welcome to Laona emissary. Please accept my apologies for the people, you cut an imposing figure most have only heard that a rare few northmen can match, not to mention the fact that some old wounds linger. In any case please accept my welcome, if you would there are some things about the Senate best to discuss before entering the chambers.”

“It is understandable,” the deep voiced Charlinite reassured the king, “before we continue, my name is Yorrux Tallfist Helmsix. What would you like to discuss?”

Tetan motioned for them to walk together and spoke, “Ah, and as you know I am Tetan Serin. Yorrux, the senate is perhaps unlike what you would expect from a court or the like. I wish for you to be prepared as I know of your peoples emphasis on honor. While as a collective I have never known them hasty or foolish, as individuals they are often rude, derisive, and it would be stunning if an insult did not escape one's mouth. Please understand what you hear on the senate floor is not the actions of an individual, but the machinations of a greater mind, one which we have entrusted the laws of this land. What is said much be treated as such.”

“You have my word,” Yorrux said. It wasn’t his first mission as a diplomat and certainly won’t be his last. Throughout his years as the voice of Charlin he had learned to adapt to the customs of the hosting country, even sometimes against his own honorable comfort, but he knew he did it for the greater cause.

“And I am sure you will keep it. Now please follow me, the senate awaits.” Tetan started walking towards the large doors that opened to the Senate floor, he hoped things would go as well as they had so far.

From the outside of the doors, Tetan and Yorrux could already hear the bickering inside. Everything from medication, taxes, even the number of concubines one has could be easily overheard. When the doors opened, the room became eerily quiet as all eyes turned to the king and ambassador. “What.. is that.?” one said aloud.

Sharod moved forward and took center stage. “On behalf of the senate, I am Sharod Kephage, the speaker.” The senators were all standing at this point but with sharod making a single motion, they all began to sit. “I.. We are sorry for the.. lack of a proper welcome. However, with current events of this world, I hope you understand that the last thing these people expect is to see a Jus..” He paused began looking around, in his mind he knew announcing his faith right off the bat would be disastrous. “To see an Ambassador from a nation so foreign to us.”

Sharod motioned to a chair near the kings throne that, to many would be comfortable but in all reality, would be far too small for a large Charlinite. Regardless of this, it was an attempt at being hospitable. “King Tetan, As per custom, you have our floor.” before taking his own place in the front row of the senators.

Tetan spoke simply, “Our guest is here from a long ways and his customs are foreign. Please show the respect he is due regardless of your personal feelings as we continue on with the session, that is all.”

“Thank you King Tetan, for your hospitality,” Yorrux spoke plainly with a face of stone.

“I bring my agenda,” The ambassador cut to the point in well practiced Dominion tongue, “unless there is any protocol to be touched, would I be too loud spoken to begin.”

Sharod spoke up, “You’re fine.” and then turned to the crowd. “I present.. Yorr. Yor. hmm” He turned back to the Charlinite, “Just go ahead.” With that, Sharod stepped aside and the crowd looked to Yorrux, eagerly awaiting what a Charlinite had to say.

“First on my list is the ever present friction between Justinians and the Yuwanists,” Yorrux began calmly, “I would hope on this day it ends here, with a special alliance between the Eastern powers and the Dominion. There are many threats to us both, Ghuls, the plague, fanatical regimes forming in the anarchal somnus. Today I say, let us join our efforts to suppress these troubles with our combined might.”

Yorrux cleared his throat, “What is offered is continual peace between nations in return for military might when called for against ghuls, plague outbreaks, and rogue states. Nothing more is asked, just that the Dominion stay clear of the Somnus Imperium until it can be pacified, or it becomes such a large threat our combined force will be needed. The Paladins of Krax of Charlin offer in addition to Eastern alliance: training in containing the plague to stunt its growth in the west as well as the east.”

The group began whispering and after a moment, an older senator stood up and smiled a bit. “I am sorry to say but we cannot “stay clear” of the Somnus.. They constantly assault our borders and we will continue a campaign to end that threat. They are our biggest enemy and you expect us to just.” He laughed a bit, “Sit back and hope that foreigners a world away will solve it?”

The ambassador nodded, “and you speak for every man here?”

The old man nodded, “Indeed, I hear no one arguing.” He started walking towards the center of the room. “You see, The Dominion has been putting up with the ‘Somnus’ for decades.. they attack our walls, storm our gates and we are to just sit back.. It was them who nearly destroyed the balance of this world. Their split could’ve destroyed all we knew had the Dominion not held strong.”

The crowd nodded in approval, some even standing and clapping a bit. “We aren’t going to stop fighting these people until they either submit or be destroyed. They have long hated us, even before Justinian himself led them in to our lands two centuries ago. There will never be an Idle Dominion so long as the Somnus exists as it does now.” The Conviction in his voice was shining bright and the other senators were basking in it, clear defiance but if the Charlinite had ever studied Dominion history, he would note that the Senator is right, they wouldn’t ever stop fighting an enemy that had haunted them for so long.

The Charlinite silently contemplated the senators, and after pulling on his long black beard he spoke with curiosity, “I wonder, does the Dominion seek everlasting peace with the East?”

The senator just shook his head, “We have seeked peace since the Dominion first split, When Yuwans grace crossed our borders we had tried to secure peace. But what happened? First.. The somnus, under command of the Red gods attacked us.. Then.. under command of Ju-” Sharod moved in quickly and motioned for the Senator to sit down.

“Senator, Times have changed, Some of that faith aren’t as blinded as the Somnus are. Please respect our guest.” The senator nodded and sat down. Sharod turned to the Charlinite, “However, you must understand… Yes, we do wish peace with the east but we will not sit idly by while a rampant Somnus still threatens our borders. Our military has long stood guard and in some areas have made gains against a foe that will stop at nothing to see not only the Dominion defeated, but everything that Yuwan represents. Their war isn’t about land.. It’s about the worst weapon of all, Faith.”

The quiet Charlinite folded his hands on his lap and looked over the crowd of old politicians, his voice uplifted,”Then let us consider tactful alternatives”

“Rather,” The man began, “than the Dominion staying clear, you may do what you will as always, uninterrupted.”

“However, the East will not support these actions, but neither will they argue if you enter a pact, a pact of peace, and a pact of war against common enemies.”

Sharod turned to the crowd. “Well?”. The Senate was quiet but many started to raise their hands. “Well, You may not understand our customs, Yorrux We are ready to listen to your actual proposal, It is beneficial to all to have a united front against threats as powerful as the Plague or threats so plentiful as the Ghul.” He stepped aside, ready for actual laid out terms.

“Here are the terms and conditions of a joint alliance,” Yorrux began, “ The Eastern Entente will cooperate in an alliance with the Dominion, which entails safe passages for citizens, and open trade restricted to foodstuffs, luxury and raw commodities. Also, it entails the continuation of the Justinian - Yuwanist armistice that both groups of the pact currently follow, which includes pacifism towards each other and the usual cease fire terms, void if provoked into battle by a breaking party under the influence of either governments. Provocation includes raids, offenses, and black operations, against the opposite government, it’s soil, or it’s lawful citizens. The alliance is also void if a government supports a country or insurrection that directly harms the other government in the alliance. Direct harm is identified as helping any force that is invading, resisting, or provoking the allied country in any way. ”

“The second proposal’s, or the military supports terms and definition are as follows,” the ambassador cleared his throat with a loud cough before proceeding,” proposal two or otherwise the military support joint force agreement between the Eastern Entente and the Dominion would include the obligation of military support in the case of defense against a common enemy or offense against a common threatening enemy. A common enemy would be defined at the time by the two governments but as for now all known common enemies that would be signed as plausible terms for military support are the plague, cultist insurrections, and Ghuls. This military support joint force agreement does not include the obligation to protect each other from invading countries or retaliating countries that are not deemed a common enemy now or at the time of the offense. This military support joint force agreement also does not guarantee help in an offense if the victim of the offense is not deemed a common enemy. However, failure to uphold the defense or assistance of the other government in the joint force agreement during episodes of attacks and defenses against a sworn common enemy voids the joint force contract and puts the alliance contract on strain of dissolvement.”

The Senate floor burst into a heated debate. It was clear at this point that the senate was going to stay divided on the issue as the majority of the noise seemed to be anti Justinian. Some of the older senators stood at the sidelines, staring at the mess on the floor. They knew this would only end bad if they couldn't come to a consensus.

Sharod had to make a move as it had went from discussion to insults, “Everyone, quiet down!” but no one listened, more so, no one heard him. “Quiet down!” he shouted to no avail. “Damnit,” he muttered before yelling at the top of his lungs, “Quiet! Sit down!.” Somehow, the command pierced the debate. “Finally.”

“It’s time to put this to vote.” he said. “Everyone take time to review the proposal, to yourself.” At that point, Sharod walked to a large box on the floor and withdrew a bag of colored rocks with an equal number of red and blue stones.. “Everyone, pass these around. we will vote once they have been distributed.”

It didn’t take long before the senate had passed out the stones. “All right, we have the first part of the proposal but before they could begin to vote, another senator stood up, “I have a question, How would we honor such an alliance with such a large distance between our nations? And even more so, to even reach your nations, it would involve either moving through the Somnus remnants which could be seen as an invasion or moving through the plague lands which, as you know, is completely unacceptable.” The senators turned towards Yorrux.

Yorrux grunted, a little insulted at the question, “Ports of course, the long sea distance will increase and stimulate such an alliance’s economic bonus. Besides, Charlin itself is undergoing a border quarantine, whereas port is the only way in, and the only sensible option in this day and age. Open interaction is only a positive reinforcement to a great relationship, despite any proposed distances.”

Many of the senators nodded at the answer but many did think about how long it would take to send or receive reinforcements if a war were to break out. Weeks at best. Regardless of this, the group began to vote. Each one cast their vote by putting one of their colored rocks in a bucket. After a few minutes passed, the votes were in. “Well, it seems by a pretty fair majority, the Senate agrees to those terms regarding the first proposal. We will now vote on the second.”

The second vote didn't take much longer and like the first one, it was a success for the Charlinite ambassador. As the group turned in the rest of their rocks and sat quietly. Sharod moved to the center of the stage, “We have reached a consensus but as you all know, the King has an opportunity to force a new vote if he does not approve our decision.” He then turned to Tetan, “Do you object to those terms or our decision?”

Tetan smiled, “Nay I do not object, as usual I bow to the will of the senate. Both decisions have passed.”


..

As the falling sun painted the Heavens in a deep orange with its fiery glow, and turned the land into a black mass, a lonely silhouette stood on the horizon. A rider with a feathered armour and great white antlers on its head, sitting on a steed the colour of the coming night, with a long halberd in hand, it faced dark plains and mountains as far as the eye could see, and a mighty host waiting at the foot of the tallest spire.

The rider remained still and silent, eyes beholding the holy land and the foe that now held it in its clutches. Below, the great host growled, drums beating and horns blowing, and grew thicker, an endless forest of spears and banners.

Another rider appeared, and many more followed, until they seemed to stretch from one corner of the horizon to the next, hundreds upon hundreds of black figures before the dying light. The sound of the hooves of their horses was soft, and there were no horns nor drums to signal their arrival.

The foremost rider's hair fell over their shoulders as they removed their helm, bordeaux streaked with grey, and beneath the hair was the face of a pale woman, the marks of a long life in her features. Her lips were thin and stiff, unsmiling, but her golden eyes were bright with tears.

"Look, brother..." She whispered to the knight beside her, whose eyes were as golden as hers, and as filled with tears as hers. "At last."

The knight took a deep breath, then sighed. "Myezneva."

The eldest daughter and youngest son of King Koryan held each other's armoured hand, and gazed into each other's eyes. Nothing more was said between them, but the silence was not eternal.

"They outnumber us, Your Majesty." Said a knight in green and silver armour with a broken antler. "We cannot hope to break them."

The Queen did not frown, nor did she look at the man. Instead, she led her stallion sideways, along the line of knights, and kept her eyes on her foe. "How many, brother?"

"They must be at least three hundred thousand strong, and with great machines of war, if the tales are to be believed. There may be even more lurking behind the Night Spire. The Nertessians are fond of large numbers." Prince Vamorev answered as he followed her. "Little to no cavalry, though."

"We should wait for the rest of our host to arrive, Your Majesty. Otherwise, we'll be throwing our lives away." The green and silver knight whispered, joining them. "A couple thousand knights cannot rout a host so large."

The Queen turned her eyes towards her men, her Knights of Nezmenia, with their black armour and halberds. They were like statues, their feathers and banners rippling in the wind the only motion, their horses the only ones making any noise. After so long, after losing so many of their comrades, they were still unflinching, even in the face of this foe. They were ready to fight and die... and so was she. They had all waited long enough for this day.

"Grand Marshall, I want your Knights Stellar to cut through their left flank!" She commanded as she turned to the green and silver knight, her voice strong and unwavering despite the tears. "Do not stop until you've reached the foot of the Night Spire!"

Despite his earlier protests, the knight did not hesitate when he responded with a shout, trotting back towards his men. "Yes, Your Majesty!"

She then turned to a tall rider dressed in black silk and scales. He was a young man, with black hair and black eyes, though his knights were old and hardened. "Vizhal, you and your knight-enchanters will burn your way into their right flank, where their machines of war will most likely be! I want to see your fires reach as far as the eye can see and light up the Heavens!"

Vizhal, the Raven Prince, gave her a broad, mischievous grin. "We will be happy to oblige, Your Majesty!"

"All other orders will form a second line behind my knights, and charge with me! To the Night Spire! To Myezneva!" Her command was responded with the roaring assent of a dozen commanders, and now her stallion was trotting back the center, to her knights, to her brother and niece.

"Vamorev, you and your best knights will be at the front. I want you to carve us a path through their center." She whispered to her brother, her hand once again on his. "Whatever happens, remember that I love you, and that you need not prove anything to me. I know you will make our clan proud."

"You do realise that this is an impatient fool's notion, do you not? It is very likely we will all find ourselves dwelling in the Heavens before the Moonrise if we charge now."

There was no scorn in her brother's voice, nor in his eyes. There was, however, a spark of playfulness, and she adored him all the more for it.

"I have been patient and careful for too many seasons, brother." She answered. "Besides, as much as I try to run from it, I will always be a Vikentiy, and us Vikentiy are all impatient fools at heart."

Sister and brother smiled at one another, and then they parted, the Queen putting her helmet back on. Now, there was only one thing left to do. So, with a pull on her reins, the Queen moved to face her niece, sitting proud and straight on her white mare, a cape with the Moon and stars hanging from her shoulders. She was not a little girl anymore, with a wooden stick for a sword and tales of chivalry in her heart, but a woman grown.

"Vikara, you will carry my banner and ride with me." The Queen said, still smiling, and received a small nod in return. The princess took the banner that was offered, the Owl of Nezmenia looking majestic before the blackness, and moved to stand beside her Queen.

The time had come. Night would soon fall, and the wait would come to an end.

"Hear me! Hear me, Moonlanders!" She shouted at her knights and pointed her halberd at the Night Spire, at Myezneva. "Behold, behind the hordes of the infidels, our home! A land blessed by the Moon, stolen by these foul peoples, tainted by their evil gods! Many springs and autumns ago, I asked you to follow me to this land, and reclaim it for our people! We all made countless sacrifices to come here! We lost people we loved! We gave up our dreams and our lives!"

Her knights were silent, but she knew they listened, and as she swiftly led her horse down the length of the line, her halberd held high, her banner flying behind her in her niece's grip, she felt her very spirit fluttering within her.

"Now, I ask you to ride with me one more time, but not in my father's name, or my own! Nay, I ask you to ride for your Moonlandish siblings, scattered and aimless for so long! For too long! I ask you to ride for the lands lost! For the clans lost! For our broken thrones and our butchered gods! If our people are destined to fade from this world, then let us fade united, as a storm of steel and blood!"

The Queen turned, and galloped her way to the other end of the line.

"So ride, Moonlanders! Ride now! Ride now! Ride before the Moonrise! Ride for Nezmenia! Ride for the broken Moon!"

She stopped then and, as the knights before her could see how tears ran down her cheeks, and how her shoulders shook, she raised her halberd higher than ever before. Wordlessly, she turned to the black mass that awaited below, but her halberd remained high.

The Queen roared, fierce and powerful.

"Death!"

Before she was done, thunder cracked and the earth shook, for all knights there gathered roared with her.

"DEATH!"

She smiled, halfway between a madness and euphoria.

"Death!"

Once again, her knights responded in unison.

"DEATH!"

Her throat hurt, and her tears barely let her see, but she spoke once more. This time, her knights did not even wait to retort.

"DEATH!" Less than thirty thousand Moonlanders roared from behind the black and white baners of Clan Vikentiy, but so mighty was their cry that they could have been a hundred thousand. The very air seemed to tremble, and many began to wave their spears, their halberds and their banners.

"Children of the Moon, charge!"

The Queen swung her halberd down, and horns and drums sounded as her stallion began to gallop down the slope, towards their foe. Soon, the sound of thousands of hooves joined the music of the drums and horns, and the Queen was not alone for long in her charge.

Grey feathers and grey cloaks fluttered in the wind, like they had when Nezmenia still stood, as her brother and a thousand Knights of Nezmenia pushed forward. They galloped in silence, their motions deliberate, disciplined, and their postures stiff. They would not flinch when they faced the pikes and arrows of the Nertessians and the Adnerians.

Before long, the Knights of Nezmenia were close enough to see the faces of their foes, and the first Nertessian arrows flew. Dozens fell, but none faltered. Those that were carrying jars of starfire threw them at the humans, and soon there was a wall of white fire where archers and pikemen had been. Those with bows and arrows loosed them, and more humans fell. The rest continued to gallop, their lances and halberds ready for slaughter.

The Moonlandish charge did not break, even as thousands of arrows rained down upon them, and as the knights neared the front lines of the Adnerian and Nertessian infantry, a panicked quivering seemed to take ahold of them. The sight of those tall antlered men coming towards them, their sound like an earthquake, like a storm, broke the spirits of many.

And then the Knights of Nezmenia crashed into the wavering pikes, and for every one of them that fell ten more lived and galloped through, trampling on everything in their path, driving their weapons through leather and scale and plate alike. Like an arrow, they pierced through their foes, and the Queen and her niece followed, stabbing and cutting through all that came near them. To their left, the Knights Stellar of Methya were fighting bravely, though they advanced little, and lost many. To their right, the Raven Prince's knight-enchanters were burning their way towards the great machines of war of the Adnerians, their starfire cleansing the land of the worshippers of the Red Pantheon.

As the Heavens darkened, the land became brighter with starfire and common fire alike, and the battle continued. Thousands of humans had fled the carnage, but many more remained. Many knights climbed down from their horses, swords and shields in hand. Arrows flew back and forth, and the knight-enchanters did their best to bring down the Adnerian machines of war, many of their own burnt alive or crushed by the monstrosities.

By the time the Moon rose at last, the fighting had come to an end. The Nertessians had fled to the Moon's Throat, and the Adnerians had lost their king and run, never to return again.

There were no cries of joy, nor beating of drums, nor blowing of horns, to signal the end of the battle. There was no grand, loud celebration of their victory. That was not the way of Moonlanders. Rather, the survivors held one another in silence, or cared for the wounded and the dead.

The Queen, for her part, only stared at the Heavens, at the Moon and the stars, and at the great white castle that stood between them. Covered in sweat, blood and dirt, with her halberd broken, she stared... and smiled.



Far away from the cacophony of life beyond the walls, colourful carps were swimming beneath the surface of turquoise waters, lilies and lotuses drifting with the gentle breeze, leaving behind their small ripples. Time stood still in the Constellatory Gardens of Myezneva, the soft wind their only music, the perfume of the flowers and the trees their only scent, the pavilions and galleries their castles and palaces. The Southern Simariy had crafted all of it with scholarly precision, following the teachings of ancient artists, hiding the vulgar and including the splendid. It was majestic from every angle, by turns soothing and inspiring, and perfect for painting.

The boy's hold on the Queen's hand was as gentle and steady as the breeze that passed through the leaves of the trees to caress her face. He seemed to fear a tighter grip would break her long, bony fingers. A sweet sentiment, truly, but the Queen was not so feeble yet. She could still walk, even if her ankles hurt somewhat. Her mind was still sound, and her senses had not lost their sharpness. She was, after all, Queen Myara's daughter, and Queen Myara had been no weakling even near the end of her days.

The canopy above was not as thick as it had been before, which meant that autumn could not be far away, and winter would follow soon after. Yet the sunlight that slipped past the intertwined branches was as bright and warm as it had been in the past turn of the Moon, and the flowers had yet to whither. The morning was perfect, and entirely theirs to relish.

Her grandson's brush slowly glided over the fine paper before them, clearly trying his best to be patient, to take his time as he tried to follow the graceful movements of the carps with his golden eyes, the eyes of their clan, the eyes of the Owls of Nezmenia. The Queen held the paper still for him, and her smile was sincere as she saw fins and scales appear before her eyes. Her grandson was talented with the brush.

They were sitting on the edge of the pond, dressed in fine green silk and cloth of gold, their feet inches away from the water's surface.

It was all the Queen could have asked for, truly, that her last days on this world were spent like this, in these beautiful gardens, with her sweet grandson to keep her company, and to learn from her. After a whole life spent riding to battle with her halberd in hand, she seldom felt like riding anymore, or even walking. These days, just sitting, and letting her senses be soothed by the gardens, was enough.

"Your mother tells me you have been avoiding your fencing lessons." The Queen whispered softly, breaking the silence. The boy stilled for a moment, the eye of one of the carps left incomplete.

"I'm sorry, grandmother." He muttered, pouting. His brush drooped, and his small self seemed to shrink.

The Queen squeezed his hand affectionately, and quickly pressed a small, reassuring kiss on her grandson's long hair, bordeaux like her own had once been. "I am not upset with you, sweet child. It is alright if you do not enjoy swords. It is a fool's notion to think that all boys must be enamored with such things."

The Crown Prince bit his lip. "The Marquis of Kruventh says boys should not paint with anything but blood and steel."

That made the Queen scoff quite loudly.

"Of course he says such nonsense. Before he grew his antlers, his father beat him bloody for painting flowers with me in his leisure time." The Queen said, looking into his eyes. "Your grandfather always dreamed of having a son who would grow to become the greatest knight who ever lived. He made our Marku train from dawn until dusk, and never let me teach him to paint, or read him the works of scholars. He wanted a warrior, valiant and proud... and he got what he wanted, in the end."

Radu was silent as he held her gaze.

"Your grandfather was an oaf, and he raised your uncle to be an oaf as well. Strong oafs, yes, and very brave too, but they were oafs still, and both died young. Were you to heed that pathetic marquis, you would find the same end. I loved them both, and I had to bury them both. Sweet child, I don't want you to become like them. I don't want you to be an knightly oaf. I want you to live long, and rule wisely, and let others fight your battles."

She let go of her grandson's hand to take the brush from his faltering hold, and firmly pressed the handle against his palm.

"And I want you to paint with this brush."

Her grandson smiled and nodded, the painting resumed, and silence reigned in the gardens once more.

After a dozen more strokes of the brush, the painting was finished, and the boy's small hand was tugging at her sleeve. The Queen gazed at the finished work, losing herself in the details. They had spent the better part of the morning in its creation. It was a treat the two royals had given themselves, as a reward for the many days they had not shared before, the boy being tutored by the male courtiers while the Queen was forced to feast with their wives.

She had seldom had time to contemplate art in her youth, and there had not been many peaceful strolls through gardens during the crusades. Now that she did not need to wear armour and hold a halberd any longer, she could appreciate the delights of courtly life, even if she found courtiers and their customs insufferable.

"Well, how about we take a stroll now, Radu?" The Queen said, taking the brush from the boy's hand before standing up. "I would like to hear what you've learned since the last time we spoke."

The Crown Prince nodded enthusiastically and stood up swiftly, his hand holding hers again, and he smiled as he dragged her towards another section of the gardens, where the trees were sparser and the world beyond Myezneva could be seen. He did not speak at first, but hummed a lively tune instead. The paper, now forgotten, was left by the pond.

He began to speak as they walked the length of the beautiful balustrade, their eyes barely lingering on the plains and mountains of the highlands, or the dark clouds that were forming far away to the north, where the Terstrian Riverlands lied.

"Demibor Bazhoriy says that the Paladins of Krax are burning Moonlandish newborns as sacrifices. His father wants to go to war with them."

The Queen let out another scoff.

"Ah, yes, Eliabor Bazhoriy. That puffy little man whined like a babe when I agreed to the armistice with Charlin, and he even had the gall to suggest that age had robbed me of my wits. You would do well to pay no heed to that warmonger's ramblings when you sit on my throne, Radu. He is not even a half-decent commander, and his so-called knights were useless when the time came to march to the holy land."

"But is it true, grandmother? Do the Paladins really burn newborns?" Radu enquired.

"I find that very unlikely, but they would not be the first order to violate their own code of honour. Even the Knights of Nezmenia did it once or twice, and the Dream Plague has made monsters out of better people."

They passed under an archway and into a tree tunnel, the leaves still a vibrant green, before the Queen spoke again.

"Did you hear of King Yaroval's death?"

The boy gave a small nod.

"Vikara told me Axohaan returned and killed him and took over Kadulum."

The Crown Prince's golden eyes looked down at the marble floor, forlorn. He had grown somewhat fond of Yaroval when the young king had visited Myezneva, during his pilgrimage to the Moon's Throat. He had been the typical Moonlandish king, in the Queen's eyes: always plentiful in bravery, but often lacking in good sense. Nevertheless, he had always been friendly towards Clan Vikentiy, and his death meant the loss of a much needed ally in Kadulum.

The Queen gave the boy's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "The Ghûls claim as much, though I have never met an honest Ghûl. I would not be too fearful... nor shed a tear for King Yaroval. He was a good man, and the Moon will welcome him to dwell in the Heavens."

She resumed their walking, stepping into a pavilion where a feast would soon be held for the women of the court. The Queen did not look forward to that, at least not the entirety of it. It would be pleasant to see her daughter again, however.

"Were you King of the Moonlanders, what would you do if the tales of Axohaan's return happened to be true?" She asked as she sat on a marble seat, pain already following her every step.

"Send Leirkev to defeat him. A Simariy killed Axohaan once." The boy answered without a moment's pause, sitting beside her.

"Hmm..." The Queen mused. "Well, us Vikentiy descend from the Owl Goddess, yet you don't see us grow feathers and fly. And I would argue that the same principle applies to the Simariy. Still, I suppose it is not an entirely foolish notion."

Radu frowned. "But you would have to send an entire army with him to defeat the Ghûls, and you would have to go through Charlin or Karkarth to get there, or go by ship."

His grandmother gave him a lopsided smirk.

"Not necessarily, child. The Ghûls have few friends in this world, and no small amount of countries would be happy to lend their strength to their eradication. And there is something to be said about the last descendant of the Grand Simariy going on an epic quest to defeat one of Yuwan's greatest foes. I would join that quest in the blink of an eye if my dear stallion was still alive, and I am half dead."

She let out a sigh and leaned back, the sunlight making the white of her antlers almost blindingly bright. Her grandson soon joined her, his eyes closed. He seemed deep in thought, but still serene, just the way she wanted him to be.

"What is on your mind, Radu?" She enquired, head leaning towards his.

His lips parted, but no sound came at first. When it did, it came as a muttering.

"A lot." He smiled, and giggled a bit. "My mother said in her letter that she was bringing a girl she wanted me to meet. She's the daughter of the Prince of Letozora."

The Queen groaned, rolling her eyes at the Heavens.

"Your mother never learned the value of subtlety. I know the prince and his daughter. The man is very kind-hearted and intelligent, so he would make a fine grandfather. But his daughter is, sadly, unpalatable in every way. She will drive you mad long before your wedding. If I were you, I would plant a moonflower with his son. He's comely, he likes the same silly poems you do, and I have been told that he has a lovely singing voice."

Radu blushed at the last part, prompting a giggle from his grandmother. "Now, anything else on your mind, other than your future bride and paramour?"

"Umm..." He was still blushing, but his voice was not embarrassed, but afraid. "What will happen if the Dream Plague comes here? What if there's Afflicted?"

The Queen placed a soothing hand on the top of his head, stroking his hair. "Never fear, for I am the Owl, and owls are clever creatures. Besides, the plague will have to go through the Grand Inquisitor before it can get here, and given the wonders he did with Terstrians and Jahun-ka, he may well end up making the Dream Plague our ally."

The two shared a smile, the Queen and her heir. Soon after, the first courtiers entered the gardens, and the feast began.



The lips that were roughly pressed against his were soft to the touch, but the hands that were gripping his arms were not. Their calluses felt like rough stone on his skin. Everything about this person, truly, felt like rough stone. A huge ashen stone, heavy as it pushed him against the crumbling walls of Grinsterdov, overwhelming him.

The first drops of rain outside were amongst the sweetest sounds he had ever heard. He had always loved the rain, even as a child. The drops falling on his face, so cold at times that they stung, and his feet soaking up in puddles of rainwater. There had never been any shortage of rain in Badrev.

He sighed into the other's mouth, and shivered under his touch. When those lips slid down his face, towards his neck, and parted, teeth scraping against his throat, the sighs turned to gasps.

"Mine." The ashen creature growled, then bit hard, though not enough to draw blood. Not yet.

No. Mine. He thought, his white hands reaching for the horns that rose from the top of the creature's head, amidst thick black hair. His hands were not covered in calluses, but they were scarred. Had been that way for the longest of times.

The raindrops were becoming plentiful and heavier, but beyond the body pressed against his, he could see that the light of the morning could still escape the clouds and bathe the gardens of Grinsterdov, making the grass and stone glimmer. Gardens born from destruction, these were. Yielding had not spared the castle from the horrors of war, but merely delayed it instead. By making it his seat, he had brought the wrath of Terstria upon the castle, and this part of the castle had taken the brunt of their violence.

He often thought about rebuilding. He owed the people of Grinsterdov as much. But it was so beautiful, so perfect in its imperfection. He would have gladly spent every day and every night here, simply gazing at every detail...

"Stop thinking." Came another growl, followed by more kisses, more biting, and more caresses from those coarse hands.

"Sorry."

A hand pulled on his long black hair.

"Stop talking."

He smiled at that, and pressed his whole self against the other's. They lost themselves in one another then, not a single word more spoken between them. They knew what the other needed too well. Soon, his hands were being held over his head by their wrists, and his neck was surrounded by long, thick fingers. The other's lips never left his as those fingers squeezed softly, and he felt a fluttering in his chest as the other's own chest rumbled.

"Harder." He whispered softly between kisses.

"Of course." The other whispered back, gazing into his bright green eyes with unadulterated love and lust. It was almost as intoxicating to him as the words spoken, but less so than the pressure on his throat as those fingers closed again. It was harder than before, though it lasted only a moment. He gasped when it was over, and kissed the other hard, in a clash of lips and teeth.

The rainfall muffled the symphony of gasps, moans and growls that surged from within the ruins, like it had many times before. Such was one of the Moon's many blessings for the secret lovers who had planted a moonflower under its light.

By the time the rain ceased, leaving in its wake large pudles of muddy water, soaked grass and slippery stone, Moonlander and Jahun-ka lied breathless in each other's arms, their eyes still burning with utter adoration, the lust long sated. They kissed again, though the gesture was now chaste in nature, and a pale hand found itself gently holding an ashen chin, thumb gently stroking the scars on its skin.

"It's folly." Said Khavor as the Grand Inquisitor's lips kissed his chin.

"It's necessary." The Moonlander beneath him retorted, the look in his eyes admitting no further discussion. Not that such a thing had ever stopped the Jahun-ka.

"But folly nonetheless." The massive man with the ashen skin insisted, hands on either side of the smaller man's head. "The Plaguelands are not like the woods or the riverlands. It's not Terstrian knights you will be facing, but something worse. You know this."

Leirkev sighed, the hints of a pout on his lips. "What sort of Grand Inquisitor would I be if I refused to deal with those ungodly abominations? If I let thousands of Moonlanders die alone in the middle of Somnus?"

"A sensible one. A live one." Khavor's face was but inches away from Leirkev's, the worry in his expression undeniable. "It is not your duty to save all Moonlanders."

"Well, if you don't want to come with me, you can stay here and protect our castle." The Moonlander snapped at him, sitting up. The green fire in his eyes was growing fiercer. He would not relent.

Khavor's hand reached for his cheek, holding it tenderly. "I'd rather protect you."

Leirkev's expression did not improve. "I'm not a helpless maiden, Khavor."

"But if you don't return..."

The Moonlander did not let him finish. "You will probably march into the Plaguelands on your own and kill everything in your path until you find me, like a good Jahun-ka."

The two stared at one another in silence, motionless, until Khavor's lips parted again, and delved in for a long, deep kiss.

"Damn you." He said with his hand buried in Leirkev's hair. "If I didn't love you..."

"I would not be here." Leirkev smiled up at him. "I would not survive without you."

You would not survive without me. He thought as the Jahun-ka returned his smile.

Outside the crumbling walls of Grinsterdov, rain fell once again.

Soraro Valley, North Dominion
Present Day
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The water dripped slowly from the stone ceiling and set the pace of Jacuns steps. He moved further into the darkness and the stale air, knowing that what he, and the beast within, needed was only paces further inside. A small candle light illuminated the grey walls and spiked ceiling and as he finally entered the caves chamber, nothing caught his eye.

It was all gone.

The ancient possessions of the Divine King had been kept in this pathetically small cave set into the side of an unnamed mountain, he knew that for fact. It was as distant from proper civilization as you could be, even more it had been protected by the magic of the ancients so that its contents could never see light again. Regardless, someone had found it and whoever they were they had broken the magic. Then they had taken all of it.

The voice commented almost smugly, “not all of it, and that is something they will regret.”

To Jucans surprise his eyes moved of their own accord, focusing on a tiny point no human should have been able to see, it was a miniscule twinkle from the candle's light set in the caves muddy floor. After he dug it out he saw what it was, a tiny jewel likely fallen from one of the ancient weapons that once rested here. He questioned skeptically, “how does this help us?”

“My crafts are not so simply stolen,” the voice was blunt, “no matter how much, even the smallest fragment, if I have that I can locate the whole. Whoever has laid hands on my possessions will suffer for it.”

Jucan pocketed the gem carefully, “Even so, we lack the power you said we would need.”

“There exists other ways to gain that power, at least for a time.” The voice was clear on its meaning. Jucan knew the spirits power, he knew what fuelled it. He also knew how the artifacts had been forged, how so many had suffered such unending hell to make them.

He responded coldly, “There is no other way then,” reassuring himself he muttered, “no matter the cost.” Surprisingly, the Spirit didn't care to comment on that.

Grimly he donned a dark hood and exited the cave into the light of day. Far below the mountain and down the valley thin wisps of smoke rose and a village marked on precious few maps awaited him. The Spirit was full of anticipation, and Jucan could feel the bloodlust infecting his veins. Two thousand years without a soul to consume, he would not be allowed to spare one, but he had known that was the price.

Snow crunched under his feet and eventually transitioned into muddy trail. Each step brought him closer and soon he didn't know whether the hunger he felt was the spirit's or his own, perhaps that was not a distinction so easily made. As the village came into view he found himself smiling, wearing a face that was not his. The figures out among the buildings were going about their business and a few guards leaned lazily upon a small stone tower, the voice spoke coldly, “Them first.”

Jacun felt it then, his muscles tensing and his legs moving in an unnatural gallop more akin to a predator than a man as he bounded forward. He moved faster and faster and as he entered the village they were all staring at him, the guards had only begun to stand.

They were all so slow, before the first guard even knew it a dagger Jacun didn't remember drawing was buried into his neck. The second wasn't so easy, even with inhuman speed pitted against them they managed to parry the first lunge, side stepping Jacun was behind them before they knew it. The slash was swift and the remaining guard tumbled to the ground. Jacun had known killing but this... It was too easy, it was too terrible. It was too fun.

The villagers were all frozen in shock, not one ran. He didn't care. The first of them fell only moments before the last, before he knew it Jacun was dripping with blood, but he- no the spirit, it wanted more. Those who had been within their houses had only begun to look out, some barricaded the doors and others ran.

The runners came first. Each step of his seemed to match ten of theirs, at first he just killed them, but by the time three had fallen it had become too easy. The next one he tripped, he let them scramble and dig their nails into the dirt only to end it with a step and a sickening crunch as their head collapsed in. The others all met similar ends, tripped, knocked over, he let them scramble first. No that... The spirit didn't care how they died did it? Yes, that was him.

He only walked back, every family huddled in their homes and watched him approach, helpless to stop him. He felt it then, the power that had been missing. He moved to the town smith, only to find it empty. That didn't matter, reaching into the still burning coals Jucan grabbed a handful without feeling. In his hands they burned brighter and brighter as he moved back to the town centre. When the light became near white from each coal he threw them, one by one, onto every thatch roof.

The families inside screamed, pleaded for their own lives, their children's lives. It was no use, their desperate attempts to stave off death, the barricades, had doomed them. The fires grew and he felt them burn as he walked away. Jacun was wearing another smile now and he feared it was his own.

With a burning town fading in the distance the voice asked amused, “Do you really think you just did this for your cause?”

Jacun didn't have an answer for that and he kept walking, it wasn't the first time he had killed and he remembered how horrible it was. Why didn't he feel any of that now?

Had he even felt it then?

Mother, Great Mother, who feeds us well. Gather us up in your many arms...

Only surviving fragment of the Sleeper's Hymns of Uwe the Perverse, Charlinite heretic burned amid all his writings in Year of the Law 225



-



- Part 3 -

The wizard and Arctos emerged from the shadowed gloom of a narrow alley, blinking into the sunlight of Victory Square.

In front of them, the white walls of Dormire Palace rose straight and unblemished from the tangle of ruins at their base, like cliffs rising from waste pit.

They had encountered no more child-things on their way, and had only once caught sight of an Afflicted- an old woman, naked, with eye-aching scars and sigils etched into her graying flesh. She had been wandering the remains of a row house, muttering and weeping and scratching at her sores. She glanced up at the pair of travelers as they had passed, but made no move to follow them. Her eyes had been gouged and her lips chewed away, giving her an endless, gruesome grin.

Arctos shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image and clear his mind for the task at hand.

The Imperial Library sat at the far side of Victory Square, a large rectangular building of grey-white stone little damaged by the firestorms that had ravaged the rest of the city. Its great bronze doors hung crooked from their hinges, framing the darkness of the interior like jaws.

The wizard drew his sword and took the lead, striding quickly across the empty square past dead fountains filled with standing water, brown and stagnant, and the broken statues of Justinian's Great Companions.

Lord Septimus, Ucario the Southron, Agatha Warrior-Queen, Artys of the Ashlands. Great leaders of men, warriors and saints. Empowered by the blessing of their earthly god, they had swept across Avara with fire and steel, laying waste to the devil worshippers of the heartlands and fending off the hordes of vile moonlanders and sorcerers from the South. Now their likenesses lay scorched and shattered in the ruins of the city they had built in honor of their god. Nothing more than silent, still witnesses to a Drathan wizard's mad errand.

Arctos followed the southron, one hand on the pommel of his own weapon. The blackness of the library's interior yawned before him, and he and the southron paused at the entrance.

Inside, little could be made out in the gloom. Dust motes danced on shafts of light poking in from the doorway and from sloppily boarded windows. Books lay everywhere; books and scrolls, loose sheaves of paper and...bodies.

The wizard went first, scimitar held loosely in his hand. Arctos followed.

The pair stalked through the shambles of the lobby, once-proud banners rotting on the walls, and into the shadowy confines of the stacks, reeking of dust and mildewed paper. What light there was came from the wizard's sword, which did not glow, exactly, but did seem to reflect back the low ambient light more brightly.

"How do you know where it is?" Arctos murmured.

"It whispers," said the wizard, giving no further explanation.

They walked in silence, sliding between shelves piled high with codices and scrolls, slipping on torn pages and rotted parchment.

Slowly, Arctos realized that he could hear something. A distant insectile buzzing or chittering. His sword hand tightened on the pommel of his weapon.

The wizard paused between shelves, and Arctos could see by the pale light of his sword that he was frowning.

"Somethings-" the southron began, and the stack of books in front of him overturned, sending both men stumbling backwards in a shower of books and dust.

The buzzing suddenly became deafening. The wizard held up his sword and Arctos caught a glimpse of something huge in the darkness, something with too many eyes, all black.

"Don't look at it!" shouted the southron, and his sword flashed a brilliant white, practically blinding Arctos, who was fumbling backwards on hands and knees in a panic. There was an noise like a cannon firing, and another brilliant flash of white. Arctos could make out a great shadow rearing in the gloom of the library, something with dripping mouth parts and too many legs. Great heroes of men...the size of it...

The wizard was shouting something in a foreign tongue at the top of his lungs, what Arctos dimly realized was a spell. He could see blood and teeth pouring like vomit from the southron's mouth as he shouted. There was another ear-shattering bang and Arctos' world went dark.

-

When he came too he was already running, the wizard's hand latched to his upper arm, pushing him forward.

"OUT! GET OUT!" the southron shouted.

Arctos ran, glancing sidelong at his companion. He'd lost his scimitar, but had a heavy book clutched under one arm. He was covered in his own blood, which poured from his nose and eyes and the corners of his mouth, and dribbled stickily down his chin.

The entrance to the library was a square of daylight in the black, and Arctos made for it will all his power, feet sliding on books and the dried husks of old corpses. Behind him, the Thing chittered and clicked and buzzed, it sounded- it sounded almost playful. He could feel it gaining on them.

They burst out into the daylight of Victory Square and kept running, and it took them a moment to realize they were surrounded by the children.

Hundreds of them, filling the ruined windows and doorways of the buildings around the Square, all of them smiling, all of them facing the Library.

The wizard urged him on and Arctos kept running- drawing his sword for the first time in this nightmare.

The children began to chant, something in Old Somnian that Arctos could only half understand, something about milk and love and tender kisses.

They sprinted through a clutch of children at the edge of the Square. They giggled and grasped at them as they ran by, but made no real effort to stop them. All of their attention seemed fixed on the Library...or what was emerging from it.

There was a loud crash, what Arctos assumed was the front of the Library collapsing as whatever they had found within it emerged. He glanced back, curiosity mastering his fear, and caught a glimpse of great, segmented legs unfolding from the ruined shell of the building, like a spider emerging from its hole, and vast shimmering (wings?)

The wizard hit him, hard, and Arctos spun around, sword clattering to the ground.

"Get up and run," hissed the southron, helping him regain his balance. He was ghost white and his voice shook, "And don't you dare fucking look back."

-

The Plaguelands

They sat by the edge of a stream, catching their breath. The wizard was shaking as he washed the blood from his mouth and hands. Arctos was propped against a tree, eyes half closed, sword clutched in a death grip across his lap.

Between them on the grass lay the Book. Thick, black and old. Leather bound and held closed by a thick buckle and small iron lock.

Arctos didn't look at it. He watched his companion and wondered if the man was dying.

"What-" Arctos began.

"Don't speak of it."

"They were singing, the children were singing. Did you-"

"A hymn. They were singing to their mother."

Arctos shuddered.

"Your flask," said the wizard, and Arctos offered it. The other man downed it in a single gulp, and that seemed to steady him a bit. "We need to get out of here, make for the south."

"Aye," Arctos said, staggering to his feet. He was tired, more tired than he had ever been. But strangely elated. He could not believe he was still alive.

"We should be dead," said the wizard, nodding as he scooped up his Book, "We should be dead or worse. But I am very skilled in the Art. That alone saved us."

The two men shouldered their packs and began the long journey South, out of the Plaguelands and away from the Silent City and whatever lived there.

"What's in the book?" Arctos asked.

"Answers," said the wizard, "I hope."

The once festive streets of Curlow began to dissipate as the crowds of celebrators return to their homes and jobs as the sky grew a pinkish hue and the sun began to set. The sounds of bands and cheering slowly transformed into independent strumming of idle musicians who have yet to evacuate the stage and the soft muttering of those walking away back to their business. Under soft breaths some people joked and laughed about the indecent monk and his flight from the paladins. Concerned words asked if he was arrested while others claim he got away with his accomplice.

Among the loose bands of people walking to their business Stephan and Benoroux casually walked the cobblestone roads on their way uptown to the palace that glorified the capital of Charlin with its tall spires and extravagantly designed architecture that shouted the greatness of the old golden age of Roland.

Benoroux was kicking a stone along with himself with his hands deep in his tailored pockets as the pair trodden past friends smiling and the hard workers of Curlow closing shop and dusting off their calloused hands.

“Stephan,” Benoroux said as he focused on his tumbling stone, striking it with the inside of his boot “How did you like your first festival of Roland?”

Looking toward the waning sun Stephan replied, “I did enjoy it, in some ways it reminded me of the festivals back in Ka’lae. Funny to see how even across the continent, in a land that had been lauded as the enemy only a few short decades ago, things can be so familiar.”

He scratched his head and looked down before continuing, “makes me wonder why we even fought back then. That aside though, who was that man the paladins chased off?”

Stephan had a feeling he knew though, at least why the man was chased if not who he was.

Benoroux sighed, “Yuwanists are forced to be tolerated, Dryadicism is welcomed, The Red Gods are questionable and often better gone, but then there is the Monodominics.”

“See, that man was a Monodominic, a native religion of central Charlin, but one that doesn’t recognize any of the gods, one that does not recognize Justinian as a supreme deity, so they are hunted by the Paladins as heretics, but for reasons other than simple persecution,” Benoroux paused, clearly he was at odds with this policy, “I hate to say this, but it may be a little harder for someone not very familiar with our culture to understand why. I’m not questioning your intelligence of course.”

Stephan just nodded, “Some things just are then. I don’t know your people Benoroux and I won’t pretend I have any right to pass judgement. Whatever the reason these Monodominics are hunted I am sure some think it the right thing, and others think it wrong. One side just has a few more members. It’s always that way really. I remember before the plague, back in the Dominion the Senate had declared the Justinians not fighting us were to be tolerated. Of course that didn't mean they went out of their way to protect them, and the other side happened to be a bit larger. I was only ten when I saw my first dead man, hanging by a tree with a sign stuck to them.” Stephan seemed unsettled at the memory but he continued, “it’s always that way.”

“A sad world,” Benoroux said understandingly, “The part that is saddening is not the state of the world, but rather the fact that it needn’t ever be in that state.”

Stephan had little to that to say and merely nodded again.

Benoroux kicked the stone out of reach, clearly done with his idle game, “the Monodominics are more than just a religious sect, they are a heart, a heart that feeds these lands with hope and valor since time immemorial, and the Paladins know this, and they want it.”

“The Paladins may be the heroes of the people in this new day and age, but they want it all. They want to be the heart like the Monodominics are, they want to know where the Monastery is, the Monastery that had legitimized every Charlin king since Roland. They want that power that such an ancient order holds, the power to unite all the lands like Roland. They want the artifacts to pretend that they are Roland and his mighty riders of yore. They want to be Charlin, not just the Paladins of Krax.”

Benoroux crumped his old face as if perturbed by the idea, “whether that is a noble goal or not, I don’t know. The Paladins are not malicious as a whole, but..”

The old man trailed off as his mind flurried with the images of the stories of Roland of the Monodominics and myths of old, “they are not Roland.”

Stephan sighed, “I understand the sentiment somewhat. How many in the Dominion still try to regain a power long lost to them? I used to think like that too, another war and we’d be sure to win, the Somnus lands would be ours once more. People get tangled up in old glories don’t they? In these times it seems everyone wants to be some lost hero or to possess a power that was never theirs to have.”

The old boyar nodded, “Yes,” he said softly, “Lost.”
Up in the mountains of Roland the sun was now lost under the black horizon. The owls were hooting along with the few and far in between whinnys of some sleepless horses. The white stoned Monastery took on a dark blue hue under the guise of night save for the areas where soft orange light poured out from lonely lanterns and soaked the immediate area with their glow.

The usual emerald grasses that carpeted the serene grove and fields of the tree surrounded sanctuary were alight with small golden fireflies that blinked their way across the fields, giving life to the sleeping arena. The indecent Wilxham and Edvin rushed through the grasses with a tired vigor. As their bare calloused feet padded across the tiles of the courtyard they huffed and stared blankly at the doors to the altar room, they knew they needn’t run anymore, but it didn’t hurt to get dressed as soon as possible.

Wilxham slammed into the wooden door as he caught the brass knob of the portal, safely launching himself inside the altar room. A few seconds after, Edvin trailed in behind him. The youth came to a rough and sudden stop, nearly falling over as his shin slammed into a low backless pew.

Edvin bit his lower lip in pain, suppressing a shout at the expense of waking up the entire monastery. He shook his head as if physically forgetting the sharp sting in his leg. Edvin scanned the dimly lit room. Only a few candles that refused to burn out gave the room it’s ambient glow. The glow illuminated the room just enough to illustrate the rows of old pews that sat facing an elevated step that supported a mundane white column podium. On top the podium held up by brass claws was the horn of Roland. The horn looked new despite its ancient origins and was made of a light wood that looked freshly cut with steel bands constricting it into its cavalry horn shape.

The youth couldn’t resist the alluring aura the horn gave off and slowly walked towards it, ignorant to Wilxhams disappearance. As Edvin approached the altar, he noticed the grooves in the wall behind it. In these grooves stacks of old books sat idle, with ancient writings covering their yellowed sheepskin pages. Edvin stepped up onto the elevated platform and pressed himself against the podium as he scanned past the horn, not wanting to walk behind the podium for some unknown reason.

He strained his eyes trying to make out the words but the insufficient light forced him to concede to investing his gaze into the horn. Now that he was close enough to even smell the sap of the horn he could make out the surface details of the wood. The horn beared an unending pattern of ancient symbols so small and burnt into the wood that it caused Edvin to squint as he tried to read the old monodominic writing without success.

The former paladin ran his fingertips lightly across the marks, feeling the bumps and soft grain of the wood. Eventually he fell into thought. All he could hear since he left Curlow was the accusations of the paladin that tried to arrest him. The shouting was still ringing in his ears, how could that fool turn on him?

He thought about how he got here, how his new friend was the very man who stunted his mission. A mission he put his honor into, sworn in front of Marc Galenon no less. Galenon, the name that surpassed Roland. Here under his fingertips is the very item that stole him from his honor, what the Monodominics stole from him.

Edvins fingertips wrapped around the horn as if trying to choke it as he clenched his teeth. He was a traitor. He had failed, and for what? He is Master Paladin Edvin, no… he was .

The paladins words stung him, he was no longer a paladin, he was no longer welcome in Charlin. Edvin was confused, and it was all this damn horns fault. As he lifted the horn off it’s claws he grinded his teeth and his face began to redden when suddenly a familiar voice rang behind him.

“Hey Edvin, I found a new robe- What in the whispers name are you doing,” the newly black robed Wilxham hissed in surprise.

The youth spun around, horn in hand. Wilxham inhaled deeply as he studied the enraged face of Edvin in the dim light, watery eyes reflecting the candle light. The monk held up a sympathetic palm as if trying to magically make Edvin calm. Wilxham spoke softly, eager to keep everyone else asleep, “Edvin, what are you doing?”

“I am a paladin,” Edvin growled between his teeth, “these tricks won’t hold me anymore.”

“You are more than a paladin, Edvin.”

Edvin lifted the horn high above his head and Wilxham scrambled over to the youth to intercept him. His bare feet scuffled against the cold stone tile floors as he lunged for the horn. Edvin was quick however and juked the monk, spinning behind the altar where the vague outline of a scabbard nailed to it nearly snagged his loose robes.

“Edvin, please,” Wilxham whispered, “the paladins would sooner see you dead than welcome you back, to them you are a traitor, but to me you are family!”

Edvin ground his teeth as his throat rumbled with a scream, “you are liar!”

His yell echoed and bounced across the entire room and cut the silence of the monastery with its shaking rage. He shouted at the monk, who seemingly was shoved back by the words by every syllable, “you tricked me into this life, stole my honor, and tried to keep me preoccupied with some false book, as if I were a child.”

“No, please, Edvin, you don’t understand, you are a monodominic, it was foreseen in your blood by Freg, you belong here.”

By this time swarms of monks began bursting in through the door, each with a concerned look on their tired faces as Edvin threatened to smash the horn. The monks began shouting concerns and questions at Edvin. The youths eyes panicked as he was surrounded and as they darted back and forth he saw the glint of metal hidden in a hollow of the podium where the scabbard was held. With a quick lunge he grabbed the hilt of the metal and drew the sword out of the scabbard that was nailed to the podium with a screaming shriek of unearthly metal. The sword was light like a gentle breeze, but felt heavy at the same time. It was simple looking, with a round plain pommel and straight cross guards perpendicular to the long tapered blade. The blade bore the same unending marks that the horn did, except these ones glowed a lively blue as Edvin held the sword tight in his hand.

Edvin felt a rush as he held the sword in one hand and the horn in the other. As he let out a bellowing cry every monk stood silent, and gave up trying to subdue the young man. Edvin swung the blade a few times in the air, the sword whistling with each stroke. The panicked eyes of Edvin turned to curiosity as he took in the sudden surprise of all the monks.

Wilxham stuttered incoherently with large eyes not believing what he was witnessing. An old hand was laid on the monks shoulder as the abbot walked past him.

The old abbot walked up to the startled Edvin, his eyes squinting with age. Edvin stood with his mouth agape, completely dumbfounded at the strange reactions.

“My King,” the abbot croaked before falling to his knees before Edvins feet. Like a wave subsiding from the altar, every monk fell to their knees before the pink faced Edvin.

A single muttering was offered from Wilxham, “only the blood of Roland may wield his blade.”

“The paladins don’t want you Edvin of the Monodominics, but Charlin does.”

The large sprawing building was filled with action. The sounds of music and chatter drifted through the corridors and rooms. Many smells regaled the senses, fogging the mind and stimulating the imagination. Most of the rooms were lined with cushions and couches, low tables that held strange drinks, and they were nearly all filled with revelers of various kinds.

A light fog choked the atmosphere with sweet scents and fruity tastes as one man sat by one of the low tables, a clear foreigner to the viceful lands of Aeieal. His face was young and shaven, and his hair was brown and slicked back as a smile erupted on his face inbetween sips of a strange orange beverage. Silver skinned woman chitter and chatted into his ears as he sipped away, not knowing exactly what to say to their advances.

A soft mellow song was being played somewhere out of sight as small bumps against the bottom of the table and soft giggling interupted the melody, each bump making the strangers smile stretch further across his pleased face.

A few of the women hissed at him, asking him questions of his home land and why he was there. All he could manage was soft yelping statements as he looked into their eyes, "I'm... well.. ha... this is some great... whew."

He lifted his glass, "great drink, great drink."

There was a another bump and a hysterical laugh under the table with soft mumbles agreeing about great drinks and making slurping sounds.

The man bit down on the lip of his glass and slurped his drink in unison to the sounds underneath the table, trying to growl a response to the women while shifting in his seat, "wha... wha... you?"

One of the girls, the one who his eyes had been fixed on as he spoke took the incoherent question as an invitation to sit and slipped onto the cushions beside him. The cloth wrappings that passed as clothing were particularly scanty and the man could feel the warmth of silver skin brushing against his leg. Golden eyes set in a beautiful face of flawless silver stared into his as she smiled and spoke.

"I'm Laevesi." The woman leaned closer to the man as her smile grew wider. "And you are?"

The man's face looked as though he had to think what his name was as the giggles grew louder before answering almost in a rush, "Johnson! My name is Johnson."

He secretly wiped his hand that had been under the table against the bottom of his black tunic and blinked twice at the silver woman, his voice was still slightly shuddering as he spoke through a smile "so what brings you here?"

A hand emerged from below the table and stole his hand back under the table. Johnson shook his head and kept staring at Laevesi, silently reiterating his question.

The woman's smile only widened as the man struggled to find his words and shuddered when he finally did reply, a charming, musical laugh slipping from her lips as the hand reached up. "There is always a party here." The girl said, stating the obvious, though something about how she said it made it sound more profound.

She leaned over again, lips moving close to his ear before she spoke a second time, the musical voice sounding right beside him as her leg brushed his again. "And there are new people to meet."

The man smiled and caught the womans full lips on his, but pulled back cautiously when he felt her sharp teeth on his tongue. He looked at her curiously, and of course he knew where he was and how the locals were, but it was something else to experience it in person. Soon however his mind was awash with the hypnoitc scents of the room and sweet sounds of the giggles and words that filled his ears. As if finishing his caution off for good, there was another small bump under the table, causing the man to shift slightly in his seat and forget all about worrying.

Laevesi had let the man pull away, still smiling as her tongue slipped along her lips before returning to her mouth. "There is no need to worry." She said softly as the man shifted in his seat. "Just enjoy yourself." The vaelie woman leaned in again and this time it was her who caught the man's lips with her own, shifting slightly as her body pressed against his from the side.

The man was mesmerized by the soft pulsing of the womans lips. His body shifted into hers, summoning a small dissapointed grumble from under the table as he held her into him, smiling at the corners of his pressed lips at the feeling of her warm wriggling body. He was forced to close his eyes at the sensation as a begruding bump pounded the table next to him and his lips were stolen by Laevesi.

The vaelie woman slipped again, sliding so that she now sat on his lap, her body still pressed against his. Her slender hands ran up and down his sides as her lips continued to press firmly against his, until she pulled away for a moment. She smiled at the dazed man, for a second a flash of another emotion showing through. "You asked me why I am here." She pressed her lips to his again and then pulled away teasingly. "Now tell me why you are?"

"I was just out to get a bite to eat," the man said idly, focusing on the moving lips of the woman and silky skin of her body that denied the thin cloth she was draped in, "when I saw the party."

As if to reward him the woman moved atop his lap and pressed her lips to his once more, this time her tongue teasing at his for just a moment before she pulled away. "And what brought you to Aeieal?" Laevesi asked softly as she licked at her lips and took a deep breath before lacing her arms together behind her head and stretching out.

Johnson would have scoffed at the quetion if his mind wasn't so busy thinking about what was going on. His background was shady at best and his reasoning for hiding out in Aeieal was sinful at best.

He wrapped his arms around the woman tight, pulling her in real close, he flashed a smile, "to enjoy the view."


The woman's musical laugh sounded again as the man cracked his joke. "And," She paused for a second her lips shaping a smile once more, this time one that radiated illicit appeal. "How is that view?" She moved again, her hips moving on his lap as she tossed her head, her golden hair flaring out enchantingly before settling as a curtain around her face.

"Satisfactory."

A soft yank pulled on his ankle from under the table and he rolled his eyes slightly, "perhaps we can talk in a more private place?"

Johnson gliding his fingertips up and down the sides of the woman as he awaited her response, his eyes darting back and forth from the exit and her golden eyes.

The woman did not object as the man's fingertips roamed up her sides, the silver skin hot where it was revealed by the cloth wrappings. "Do you have one in mind?" Laevesi asked, glancing briefly down at the table and giggling herself. "It's my turn now." She said in that direction and a sigh of disappointment sounded.

"Your place?"
----

This building was none too grand. A single story one next to a market that seemed to have closed down for the night. There was a faint smell not unlike burning meat and another with the iron scent of blood that revealed just what kind of market Laevesi's house was located by.
The first room was mostly bare, save for a set of straw pads upon the floor likely for the household thrulls who managed the place. The walls held enclaves where candles sat, their glows casting faint light across the room as the Vaelie and her 'admirer' entered.

Johnson eyed the place carefully, his left eye failing to recognize most details in the faint light. His bad left eye granted him the name one eyed Johnson, and the occasional one eyed snake, as a reference to his slick ways. He turned to the silver skinned beauty and flashed a rougish smile, "don't tell me a beautiful woman like you sleeps on hay?"

"No" She said with another of those musical laughs before walking past the straw pads and slipping through a curtain at the other side of the room. "Those are for the thrulls. I live back here." Her hand sliped back through the curtain and crooked in a come hither gesture.
The next room would likely seem much more like what he would expect. A set of thick rugs covered the floor, an elegant table with a set of chairs stood to one side, and on the other end of the room was a large bed covered in blankets and pillows that were made from a fabric that would at first be difficult to identify.

The man walked through the light curtains and quickly scanned the room. However his eyes betrayed any details to be seen and instead studied the curves of Laevesi's body with lustful intent. What cloth there was to cover her silver body was wrapped tightly exactly in the right places and loosly hung off her body in the others.


The Vaelie caught his gaze and her golden eyes gleamed in the light as she moved over to the bed and a crooked her finger again at him. "This private enough for you?" Laevesi called in her musical voice as she laid herself down upon it and gestured again.

Johnson silently nodded as he slowly crept onto the bed and crawled above her. A pearly smile dominated his face and a few stray hairs broke free and collapsed onto his forehead as he looked down at the Vaelie.

He leaned in and softly kissed the womans red lips, tasting traces of that strange orange drink on her, or perhaps from himself when he was kissing her earlier. He dropped one hand to her side and gently rose her body against his as he dipping in, their tongues dancing with each other.

The woman returned the kiss, her tongue welcoming his as her mouth stayed open wide, keeping the sharp teeth from spooking him like they had before. As he lifted up her body she squirmed, pressing against him and her hands moved as well, carressing his sides. If he was paying attention he might notice from closer up what the fabric of the blankets and pillows really was, at first it looked almost like thin leather, but in fact was far more macabre.

The two entwined in each others arms as they rolled, their lips never parting, and soon the two found their way under the seemingly leather like blankets...

Several pleasant hours later the silver skinned woman nudged the man beside her awake with a smile still on her face. "You never did tell me," she whispered, moving beheath the sheets. "Why you were really in Aeieal."

Johnson held the woman close as they laid under the thin blankets warmy pressed up against each other, legs entwined. His smile was gone at the question and what little honesty he could muster sparkled in his right eye as he spoke smoothly, "I'm a criminal."

"This was the easiest place to shake my tail, and a place I always wanted to visit. What I had done, well I'm sure you don't want or need to know that," He looked into the womans golden eyes.

"I'd like to tell you I'm sorry for my crimes, but as far as being a liar goes, I'll be honest about that, and that I don't."

The woman's smile only grew wider as he poured out his confession to her and the slightly different expression showed on her face once again. "So no one will miss you." Her words were soft and musical, likely not sinking it right away as she pressed her lips to his again. This time her hands move again, spines sliding out from her wrists and stabbing before injecting a potent paralytic into his blood as she kissed him.

Johnson was instantly paralyzed into a shocked expression as he laid there stiff, his paralyzed lips still feeling the pulse of the womans. A spark of horror spiked his heart and mind as his heart tried to quicken it's beat but failed when compared to the power of the poison.
As his body stiffened against her the woman untangled herself from his grip, ceasing the kiss and still smiling that mocking, hungry smile as she pulled free and slipped from the bed. In the dim light of the room little was visible as she slipped through another curtain and was lost from sight.
It was a few minutes later that she walked back into the room carrying a lantern. In the warm yellow light her skin and hair both shone brightly and the new, intricate series of wrappings this time only of silver and gold covered most of her body. "You humans." Her voice was still beautiful and musical, but now a bit harsh as well. "Always so quick to believe, always so easy to fool."

She drew closer to the bed, leaning down to gently run her fingers over the paralyzed man's face. "You came to our lands with threats and fire. With numbers beyond any we had ever seen. You imperfect spawn of the first failure, and yet you sought to conquer, to rule. But you were so easily fooled, you thought we changed to suit your wills."

The woman laughed then and her voice now sounded much less beautiful, much more predatory. Her skin and hair also seemed different, a bloody tint lurking beneath the gold and silver, slowly starting to rise up. With a single hand and strength that she did not look like she should posses Laevesi rolled him and lifted him up within the blanket, carrying him from the room and through the curtain she had disappeared behind.

This next room was different than either the thrull's quarters or the bedchamber he had seen so far. Here stood an alter in the center of the room, to the right of it was a great fireplace in which a blaze had been kindled, and where a suspiciously large spit stretched across. To the left of the alter were racks, upon which a myriad of different blades and other cooking utensils waited. Carved into the top of the alter were two faces, beautiful and terrible all at once, one male and one female, Vael and Vaela.

The Vaelie woman placed Johnson's paralyzed form down upon the alter and she walked away, moving over to the rack on which the blades could be found. The red tint in her silver skin and hair had grown more pronounced when she returned.

"As the perfect it is our duty." She began with the airs of someone reciting. "To bring the imperfect salvation." Laevesi leaned down and pressed her lips to the paralyzed man's again before she spoke. "Mother Vaela, to you we dedicate this consumation. May you allow this imperfect entry." Again she leaned downwards but this time instead of a kiss she bit, sharp teeth ripping away the man's lips before she pulled back and chewed, eventually swallowing as blood dripped down her silver skin. "Father Vael to you we dedicate this flesh. May you allow it to be purified."

Johnson was drifting back and forth from absolute horror and pain to a torment caused delirium. His mind was slipping from sanity as he laid frozen in terror, poison burning through his viens. He only wished he could close his eyes.

Next the woman raised her hands, both of which held long knives and spoke again. "As it was before the failure, when all was perfect, so shall it be once more." Then she lowered her hands and with gentle motions that nonetheless produced sounds of pain, she cut strips of flesh away from the man's arms, pealing away chunks of forearm.

But before the man could faint or bleed out she drew a metal rod from the fire and moved it over the wounds, cauterizing them so that the blood would no longer flow. Then with obvious Relish she lifted the strips of raw flesh and with blood dripping down onto her skin and hair rapidly consumed them. The reddish tint to her skin and hair had become more pronounced, now warring with the natural silver and gold.

Her eyes fixed on the tormented human's as she smiled, showing bloodstained teeth, and something about her eyes was different. It was as if something vast and ancient now lurked within them along with the woman's own mind. "Mother Vaela to you we offer the first cuts of the imperfect that you may judge its worthiness."

Again the blades descended, slicing strips of flesh away, this time from the thighs instead of the arms. And again she cauterized the wounds with the scorching metal. She devoured these pieces of flesh as she had the first two and with a smile that grew ever more predatory she looked down at the pitiful human and spoke again. "Father Vael to you we offer the second cuts that you may judge its worthiness."

For a moment the woman stood still after she had spoken and the red coloration spread, leaving little of the silver and gold left. "WE ACCEPT." A pair of voices spoke as one through the woman's mouth, one male and one female, but both somehow linked.

As the voices faded the red vanished and Laevesi took the blades up once more. She put them on either side of the human's neck, and with a quick motion cut across it with both, putting an end to his misery. Then in the small hours of the morning she began to cook.