A rather large group of knights has been called in to report to Meridian, as an a rather important assignment awaited them. That's all they knew when they received the letter. Why they were chosen over someone else was not known, but they were expect back in HQ - back where they once were just little whelps going through extremely tough training. Except for the Wonder Child, if the rumors are true.

...

Arriving upon the designated briefing room, the knights started to mingle, as they waited for everyone else to show up. As expected, The Wonder Child along several others of her class were there - completely green. There was no commanding officer there yet, which was a surprise - they're never late.

A few minutes later a ruckus starts. One of the older, more experienced knights started to get rowdy. "This little whelp is our commanding officer? Seriously?" he started raising his voice. "Out of all people who have the experience to lead, they give it to the fucking whelp who got through training solely because of her father's money?!" He gets louder and louder. Alicia doesn't seem to be even concerned about him. "What kind of commander you can be when you will cry the second you stub your toe? Incompetent idiots like you get people killed!". The man is now fuming, and the crowd is watching the show. And then - a sort of loud, slapping sound. The man falls downs, stunned. The side of Alicia's hand is where the man's neck was seconds before.

(PER>=6 Your character managed to notice Alicia strike the man.)
(PER<6 Alicia's strike was too fast for your character to notice and they are rather confused/amazed.)

"I am a temporary commander. Our commander is currently busy and will arrive to reinforce us tomorrow. Until then, you follow my orders." explained Alicia, unfazed by the fact that she nearly knocked the man out or by his attitude. "Now then, let's begin the briefing." It seemed that all the seats in the room were taken - everyone was here. Having some trouble to move, the man quietly got into his seat.

As they were explained, an unknown group of magi has been attacking various remote knight outposts. Those outposts, barely into their construction phase are crucial into Altea's expansion plans, as outposts serve as a place to stage patrols from, a place for merchants to rest and stay safe for the night, as well as allowing easier construction around the area. Their job would be to locate and dismantle a bandit camp along an important route, and secure it until supplies arrive to build an outpost. Reinforcements will also arrive to assist them, as an attack is extremely likely.

"That is all. We ride out in three hours. Make any preparations you need and gather in the stables." Simple and clear. As Alicia leaves the room, it leaves the rest twenty or so knights to socialize or do anything else they want.

---

There is a rumor going in the Undercity and even beyond, that some man is looking for daring adventurers for an extremely risky but a well paying job. Whether it is wanderlust, curiosity or greed that drives them, they are to gather in some remote roadside inn, far away from any roads the Lumies use.

...

There are surprisingly little people gathering here. Aside from other adventurers who came here for the same reason, there is no else but the barkeep. He claims the inn was reserved for today, and that their potential employer will come soon. But aside from that, everything is on the house. Many empty seats - must be only the truly desperate or crazy to come here. It might as well been some kind of trap or a prank. It was just a rumor, after all.

Some times passes, and suddenly, with a sort of high pitched whistling sound, they appeared. 4 people, all of them cloaked, hiding their faces. But there was no mistake - they were all powerful mages. There was some sort of air around, an air of power, and it could definitely be felt.

(INT>=5 Your character remembers that this is known as an aura, and feels a little bit smarter for that.)
(INT<5 Your character is confused by the change in the atmosphere.)

"No more waiting. Those who were interested already came." one of them spoke, seemingly their leader. "Your task is as simple as it is dangerous." The man pulls out some sort of key out of his pocket.

Suddenly, it started to glow blue, as a ball of energy appeared above the man. Out of that ball of blue energy, a scroll slowly emerged. Unfurling it on the table, it was clear the scroll was a map. A very old map.

"Weisstraugh. This is your destination." He points on the map. "All you need to do is to reach it. The journey will be perilous. No one has went that far inland for nearly three hundred years. And I need people to find it for me." The man activates the key again, and now dozens of jingling pouches descended down on the table. "Each of you will get one of those. Consider this an advance payment. Succeed and you will receive three times this amount." Understandably, this man now had EVERYONE's attention.

A woman stepped forward from the other three standing in the back. Her attire, as well as the dual daggers sheathed behind her back just screamed "Undercity Assassin". "I trust you will lead those people to success, Misala. After all, your services are... very expensive." The man emphasized the "very expensive" part. The woman just nodded, grabbed the map and headed towards the group of people. "Now then. Grab your money and let's make a plan. We've got plenty of time for that and introductions."

Wendy snatched one of the pouches and counted out the money inside."Well, should be enough to last for a while," she thought. Then she put the pouch in her pocket and looked over the map, ready for everyone else to get on with this meeting. "Does he recognize me?" She wondered to herself. "I could recognize the feeling of his aura anywhere, not exactly sure how but I can. I'm not the only one he rescued from that infernal city though. The faces probably blur with him. But I'll never forget him. I came here hoping to have a chance at becoming his apprentice. Maybe after finding this Weisstraugh place, then an opportunity will arise."

Then she looked at the others and she looked at herself and sighed. "If I make it." Really, she wasn't sure exactly how she had made it here. She had carved herself a few rough arrows, but hadn't really been all that successful with hunting and mostly subsided on the few berries and other plants she found that she knew were edible. Her stomach growled a bit, really her money might be first spent getting a proper meal from the tavern. Everyone else definitely looked more capable of holding their own in a fight. And it seemed as of now that either she would look like an fool during their travels or she would get herself killed. "But there is no where else really for me to go, so I might as well go with them. Besides, maybe one of the others would be willing to teach me some real weapon skills or how to better wield my magic." But as the meeting hadn't gotten along yet, tomorrow was tomorrow, and her stomach rumbled again, the golden-haired girl ordered meat stew from the proprietor and had to force herself to eat it slowly.

Damian Baringer

Luminous Knights

---

Damian watched along in silence throught the display before and the briefing after, all the while gauging his new found 'commander'. He knew of her, of course, but there was a world of difference between knowing of someone and knowing them. Still, she didn't offer much to the troops, simply cutting to the chase and immediately leaving. 'Poor report, quick to violence, and famous at that... She's got her work cut out for her,' the man's thoughts echoed in his own mind as his head shook, a mix of embarrassment and disappointment.

"You heard her. Might as well take your time while you've got it. Wouldn't want to show up late, and get knocked on your ass by the 'child'," Damian called out to the group behind him as he made his way from the room, making it a point to glance over his shoulder to the man that had been struck for his foolish antics. Damian had made it a point to know every member of the Knights of whom he served with, recalling several from the room before. No doubt some would be hesitant to even show, being new to the horrors of combat. It would be up to the senior soldiers- like himself- to guide and protect them, and try to ensure they're not returned to their families as corpses.

Though given time to prepare, Damian would waste none returning to his quarters and prepping his supplies for travel. Calling upon a squire of the order to assist him in dawning his plate armor, the man remained stoic and silent as the leather straps were tightened and the metal plates were fastened to him. Once fully adorned, the Knight would retrieve his blade and make his way to the stables.

Though several horses wore the armor of their order, Damian could tell his beast from a mile away. Though most horses would make themselves at home int their stalls, Blitzer remained vigilant at the front of it's quarters- awaiting it's master. This noble beast of burden had served the house Baringer for many years, even Damian's late father. In fact, this was the same horse his father died upon, making a permanent bond between the rider and his mount. Opening the gate to the stall, Damian walked inside and made is way to the riding equipment waiting on a post near the entrance. Fastening the saddle, bridle, bags and securing the barding, all aspects of his mount would be inspected to ensure the beast was as safe as it's rider. Once everything seemed up to par, Damian would mount the steed and make his way outside, awaiting the others.

Fredric realized that this was the end. That last firebolt had blown off most of his plate armor, and knocked him on his back and into the charred remains of the rest of his squad. Racked with pain, he struggled to get up. Six of the seven men that made up the ring of mages around where he stood were now walking closer. The mages then picked him off of the ground and started shoving him around. Back and forth he was pushed, kicked, shoved and spat on until his inner fire reignited. He was managed to secure the stable footing that allowed him cast smite on the closest thug, killing him in a flash of light.

Before the five other men could move in for the kill a voice bellowed. “Wait! This one still has some fight in him!” The rest of the mages took three steps back as their leader, Mob boss of the ChaHorrnets, stepped into the ring.

“I want this lumie for myself! His friends didn't even last five minutes.”

“You filthy, power hungry, vile monsters all deserve to be purged!”

“You still think you can even lay a finger on me? Then go right ahead! I want to see if you'll bleed out or if I cauterized your wounds trying to cook you alive”

A mage then threw him his blued and scorched billhook. After a short bit of fumbling, Fredric sluggishly slashed at the boss with his pole-arm. The mob boss jumped, ducked, and sidestepped every sweep, cleave, and thrust.

“You're going to have to do better than that! Oh this is fun!”

Enraged even further with this taunt, He gripped his pole-arm firmly and swung it over his head and at his opponent's skull. The strain of this ripped apart his back's charred flesh in a sickening pop. The boss dodges and counters with two slashes to Fredric's face, severing his mouth's tendons and causing his jaw to hang limp.

The pain set Fredric over the edge and overwhelmed him with righteous fury. He went berserk, throwing aside his billhook and brandishing his scourge and war-hammer. With a cry of anguish he charged the laughing mobster. Even though Fredric put every ounce of energy he had into the flurry of blows, they were all easily dodged and deflected by his opponent's sword. The boss then struck with his emblazoned hand right at Fredric's now ripped hauberk, burning a hole through his rent gambeson and through his abdominal flesh, exposing the muscle underneath.

In a final struggle for his life, Fredric imbues his own hands and abdomen with Luminosity, cancelling out the magic. With the magic nullified, he pushes the cretin's hand way from his flesh, and tackles the boss unto the muddy street. “I'm done playing with an insect like you!” bellowed the mobster. Fredric is easily thrown off and is sent sailing into the ashes of his slain friends. “You lumies need to learn to respect your betters!” The boss easily pins Fredric to the ground. He then starts shoving and smearing the ashes into Fredric's eyes, nose, and unhinged maw. The burning is excruciating as the ash is shoved down his throat and fills his lungs. Unable to even move anymore, his body goes limp. The mobster gets up and tries to dust himself off. “Put him in the carriage, I have plans for him. I'm going to send a message to everyone in this forsaken town.”

Nala Rand

Independent

Slick moss coated the cobblestone walls of a dungeon deep beneath the Undercity, the crude architecture fashioned by the hands of men. Within, the dungeon’s air hung dank and dusty; doom clung to its darkness. Screams echoed down the aisle, and the stench of blood and flame permeated the atmosphere like a thick cloak.

A woman, her linen dress white against the shadows, hovered at the entrance of a cell, torchlight creeping in from behind her, being swallowed by the closing door as she stepped into the room.

Her steely gaze flickered.

There was no light in the cell except what emanated from the body of a Luminous Knight. His body was stretched long, for the wrists of the man were clad in iron cuffs, gripped by chains that slid up and down as he sought footing. The chains clattered as they scraped through a loop on the ceiling, their length measured and induced by their ending place, a crank wheel bolted to the wall. His toes swung and scraped against the floor, for he was bound in such a way that air would enter his lungs only in shallow breaths, his transient toes his only support. Ragged gasps and muffled groans whistled through his open mouth. Only it was not lips that were spread wide.

His jaw hung by a thread. The exposed teeth oozed with dry blood and pus. The molten swelling of a flame spell’s embrace set upon his side, crawled in a winding motion up his arm, while his skinless abdomen weeped scarlet, the flesh exposed so that as he breathed, the winding and tightening of each thread of muscle could be clearly seen.

“About time you showed up,” said Bertwall, standing up with a groan as he stretched. The torturer’s whip was on the floor beside him. It had yet to be cleaned for the day, so dried blood caked the glass and stone-perforated leather straps into one gooey bundle. The man’s black face held no compassion nor contempt as he stood and drew the dagger from his belt. In the casual walk of a man at his daily business, he crossed the room and, with one hand braced against his prisoner’s shoulder, he stabbed the blade hilt-deep into the man’s shoulder, drawing it out swiftly, with fresh blood and an agonized scream to follow.

“He’s in rather bad shape, but the boss wants him pristine come the dawn.” Bertwall’s face was empty, his tone monotonous. “You best fix him up good.”

There was a threat laden in his words, therefore Nala nodded, the motion slow.

He passed her by, lighting the torch as he left. Other business to attend to, his stride said. Other prisoners to torture, no doubt. The CharHornets were filling up their cells, and the few torturers around had their schedules full. For what purpose these captives were intended, Nala did not care to know; she kept her head down, and her thoughts low. She did not think herself capable of handling a worse burden, one of knowing the end of her actions. Her heart was already black with offense.

The lit torch seemed to grow brighter as the knight’s luminosity ebbed. His head began to dip, and bob, but just as it seemed as though the poison had claimed him, he snapped it back up, fire in his eyes, the left side of his face clenching, shaking, furious. He strained against his bonds, a feral yell thinning the last thread that held his jaw in place. Nala jumped back, catching her breath. Pensive, she inched towards the door, ready to bolt if his luminosity flared in kind. But she need not have done this; the futility of his display was soon made known. The demands of his body overtook him, and his eyes turned glassy, the lids falling, until he collapsed completely; the fearsome glow died out.

The collar rested heavy around her neck as she approached him. Her fingers pressed against it and she wondered briefly whether her father would have demanded she oppose the boss and slay the knight, or at least refuse to heal him.

Father is dead. Cease such imaginings.

She cranked the knight down to crumple against the stone floor, and once she had laid him prone, Nala coated her hands with magic, and ran them over his wounds. Careful, knowing fingers traced over his exposed flesh, and coated the interior with mana. His blood she commanded to recede, the skin to cover, and soon the edges of his wounded abdomen began to thread inward.

The skin had stretched nearly halfway across when the world went black. She snapped her eyes open to find that she had collapsed, and fallen over the body. Silently chastising herself for such sloppiness, Nala raised herself up, supporting hand slipping to smear across the knight’s pinched and welted burns. Blood leaked, her hands now smeared with it.

She wiped them on her dress and continued her labor.

Blinking the fatigue away, Nala took a pinch of herbal remedy from her pouch, and coated what remained of his abdominal laceration with it. She focused on the jaw next, as facial tissue would be the first to scar. Blood welled up as she pressed the jaw against the cheekbones, and willed the muscle to knit. The flesh around his beard remained a thick scarlet line. Her hands were shaking now. She continued on, because the sky was turning orange. For the thick, braided welts that covered his back and left arm, she had little mana to spare. The innermost muscle she patched up, and wrapped the rest of his injuries in bandages and ointment.

With a heavy sigh, she fell back on her heels. The work was sloppy, but it would have to do.