Kanros and the remaining Silent Six had traveled for a few days to reach the camp of the Wrolfin, and were greeted in with open arms.

Kanros had sped up their travel along the way by teleporting them every now and often when they needed to hurry and his comrades helped him make the journey faster by aiding him with his powers and using what skills they had to make their way to their destination.

The camp was not very large but it was a decent force of warriors and soldiers willing to put their lives on the line for the safety of their kingdom and the vengefulness that fuelled their battle rages.

Kanros was inspired to join the Wrolfin's forces by the remnants of the Silent Six who also convinced him to join Vowzra's Victors for their cause and now the Wokfrin's cause.

Throughout the years Kanros had learned many new powers and became more powerful, his eyes were opened when he had been ordered to bring a chief to Thulemiz who turned the man into an Undead wretch right before his very own eyes without any trial or any mercy and then Kanros truly understood what the lichens plans were for this realm and maybe soon for the world, soon Kanros thought maybe it might be time to move on from Sviebard and travel somewhere else and erect his own fortress but that would be much later.

Kanros lay on a small cot in a large tent which a table in the middle of the room holding his empty plate from when he had eaten his dinner not long ago.

He was wondering where he would get some more fitting armour and weapons which he lacked of and although the battle was close.

He stood up and wondered where his father has been all this time wondering if Vowzra was watching him think and wonder what lay ahead for him.

It was all daunting and Kanros had began to contemplate how he should use his abilities as a Demigod and start creating things because if he could gather enough of his strength to create something powerful it might help him in the long run.

But he sat in his cot wondering and theorizing what the battle would hold for him in the times to come.

Vestec flickered briefly into existence in front of Sapthah. "I'm disappointed. You're giving them time to prepare, not moving fast enough. You have undead who need no training, food, arms, or armor for my sake! And yet you give them time to prepare. That is a very, very, bad mistake. The longer you wait, the more likely they'll be ready to destroy whatever force you send against them. Especially since I'm taking all your remaining Victors. Have fun!" With that the God of Chaos disappeared and reappeared in front of the remaining Victors loyal to Thulemiz. "You're warriors. Conquerors! And yet here you stand, waiting for a cautious order that will never arrive. Here you stand, ready to fight against these 'Furies'. And for what? So this Vampire can sit idly on the throne of Sviebard? So you can surround him and protect him? No, my dear Fallen. You aren't going to waste your precious powers and time here. You're going to help the Garakains build an Empire the world has never seen. You're going to fight against the Serpent Men, the Brightguard, the Dragon Adepts, and the Dragons themselves. War is in your blood, and war is what you will get."

With that he took the remaining Victors loyal to Sapthah from their places on Sviebard, and deposited them before Viscardi. A few slight tweaks later, and they were loyal to the Garakain King and newly armored. "They are the Fallen. They are the Elite of your Elite. Use them well." With that, the god of Chaos disappeared, heading towards Mt. Vulcan. Viscardi looked at the Fallen, and then down at the message in his hands. It was written in Sakimi's neat script. The payment has been delivered. We will hold up our end of the bargain. The King of Garakai smiled.

Vestec bounced off of the barrier surrounding Mt. Vulcan. The Chaos God spent a moment gathering his wits as he stared at the invisible barrier, before giggling. "Well. That's just rude. You can't simply deny me access!" Stretching out a finger he used his own powers to tweak the barrier, allowing him entrance. Walking through and towards Mt. Vulcan, the God merely waved at the birds, steadily approaching the Arma Igna and his two wolf companions. It was interesting how much faith the Forge God put into his three door defenders. "Hello door greeter." Vestec greeted, before shouting throughout Mt. Vulcan. "Ferhgus my dear boy! Where are you?! We need to talk! Don't keep me waiting, I might get bored and start corrupting your door greeter and then your forges!"

Meanwhile, with Kanros and Vestec's avatar

Vestec's avatar appeared in front of the Demi-God of war. " Cassios is a good, loyal, man. He stands besides Thulemiz's empire, even when all the rest have decided to abandon it and him. And what about you, Child of Vowzra? What are you loyal too? Power? Money? Justice? Vengeance? Blood? War? I'm curious. First you side with someone as blatantly chaotic as Thulemiz, and then you change sides against him the second Reyjis and the rest decide too.I It is most odd a decision, especially for someone who is as dedicated to war as you.

Kanros wasn't surprised he had drawn the attention of the God of Chaos, he sat up and looked at the God, with a solemn look on his face.

"I know little of Cassios and his loyalties but I know my own loyalties, although lately I have been questioning my own loyalties"

He paused and stood up and looked at Vestec.

"I joined Thulemiz to overthrow lalu and almost prevailed against the idiot but then Thulemiz decided to raise the warlord, I knew this would have been a bad idea but I couldn't stop him, I followed him to Sviebard in hope that we would rest and return to lalu's empire to take him on again!

He was annoyed at his luck, how things had turned out to work in the oppositions favor.

Kanros continued speaking.

"But I was disappointed the Lich decided to conquest Sviebard, and use me as a measly henchmen to fetch things for him, although he taught me some things he treated me as a mere minion,"

He walked over to the table and slamed his fist onto it, remembering when the Lich sent him to get a tribal chief and before his very eyes turned the man into an Undead aberration.

"I am no minion I am a warrior of cause and a champion of war,I am loyal to justice and the perfection of war!

He took a deep breath and looked at Vestec who stood listening to him.

"But now I wonder if this cause is noble, for I joined Thulemiz and now his forces come marching and I feel as though this will only end in failure on my part!"

He scratched his beard and paced.

"I have answered your question, now I truly wonder why you have appeared before me Vestec is it because you are interested in my view point or are you here for your own reasons?"

He asked Vestec.

Quay wasn't one for over protection or too much security, unfortunately, after assassination of his father the last king, security has been increased tenfold. Just to get to the kings room, one must go through a series a ornate passage ways, guarded with Soul Woven wards and guards. Despite all that, Quay wasn't surprised to wake up to a ghastly figure hanging over him.

The King slowly sat up and listened attentively to the black ghosts request. It still didn't surprise Quay, he even expected this to happen, once he heard of skirmishes between the undead and Uri guards. Even Quay could feel this ghosts unusual connection to the River of Souls, his power different for theirs, yet similar, it was his sight into the River that allowed him to see the ghost in the first place.

"Both of us, draw from the River of Souls, yet we use its power in different fashions, we are two sides of the same coin." Quay said resting his head on his fist.

"The Lantern, blesses us with our ability, and it would seem that it would strengthen yours, I cannot give it to my you without putting this Kingdom a risk, but what if I propose a deal?" Quay said staring right at the ghost, his eyes hard, he was determined to give his Kingdom his best, that meant even in the face of death.

In his ghostly form, the Lich had been completely undetectable to the guards, hiding his presence completely and teleporting right into the king's room from far above. In his long years he had made time to learn the skills of the Silent Six, and they were already proving to be most useful indeed. He had learnt a great deal more with Arguis of course, but even those things that he had mastered long before ascending to the god remained useful.

'I shall listen to thee,' he said to Quay, 'for thine creator has been good to me,' and with that, the Lich waited on the king of Duisis to speak.

Quay nodded approvingly, grateful that the ghost was kind enough to listen, but this also gave Quay some information about any more of the ghosts intentions. He was willing to make a deal for the Soul Lantern, which meant he wasn't hostile, he could be described as calculating and ambitious. This also gave him information about the ghosts were abouts, such as his apparent meeting with the god of Knowledge. Quay gave a mental prayer, thanking the god for his seemingly inherent kindness.

"This Lantern strengthens our connection to the Astral Home, which allows us to use the magic. I'm dont know to much about the Necromancy, but any being could make the assumption that it is closely related to Soul Manipulation." Quay replied, choosing his words carefully.

"I purpose we share the gift, allowing us to keep our sacred magic, and you to strengthen your own. We can work out a location, a guarded no man's land, in between our two lands, this way, we both have our eyes on it, and our powers. Is this deal to your liking?"

The Lich waved an ethereal hand dismissively.
'It is of no great concern to me how I am to access the artifact, so long as I do. I am not unkind and therefore accept this proposal, for thine ability appears most interesting. It may be useful for my future...observations. However, I am interested in knowing how it is that the artifact is used. Reading books on it is not enough, thou must show me.'

Quay nodded in satisfaction, grateful for the ghosts show of kindness, it impressed him in a way. The demi-gods as they were called were kind and understanding, as if they understood them from their stand point, as if they were human or Uri before. Unfortunately, this was food for thought for another time. Quay rolled off the bed and led the ghost to a wall with two swords crossing. He slowly bent the handle of the blade in an unnatural way better it gave, and the stone wall slid away, only to reveal a long passageway. As Quay walked through the hallway, small copper blocks turned on, illuminating that passageway. The long hallway eventually led to a set of stairs before a huge dark room was before them. On a pedestal in the middle of the room, the Lantern glowed an eerie blue light. Quay motioned for the ghost to follow him as he walked up to the pedestal.
"Place your hand on the pedestal, and allow your soul to flow into the River of Souls. It will be a quick process, but in the end, it will give you access to an untold amount of Souls, and energy. " Quay instructed the ghost.

Without further ado, the Great Lich Lord drifted towards the artifact and placed its ethereal left hand upon it. Immediately it felt itself sucked into the endless world of souls beyond the artifact, and for a few moments it saw that world. While the Lich could feel no such thing as pleasure or joy - emotion had long died within its long deceased form - there was a certain satisfaction that it had reached this point. Long had it studied the ways of death with the Knowledgeable One, indeed, it had studied far more than that, and this artifact had been one of the things that had truly fascinated the Lich. To have it now within its undead grasp, access to the infinite world of souls...there was nothing quite so satisfying. No, nothing so satisfying as a goal achieved.

As it began to withdraw, the Lich noted that something was not as it should have been. It could not lift its hand from the artifact, and the world of souls it could see seemed to suddenly turn upon it, as if it had suddenly detected a hostile presence. The fury of more souls than even the Lich could detect was immediately upon it, and it undead form gave off a shriek akin to that of a banshee. As soon as the Lich let off the shriek, its hand was released and it soared away from the artifact, though it could no longer feel anything from its left shoulder to the tips of the fingers of the hand. It knew full well that it had been dealt a heavy wound to its soul.

'It woudl appear...' the Lich murmured, 'that thine artifact has rejected me,' there was something almost sad and dejected about the way he spoke. And indeed, if the Great Lich could feel sadness, that would have been what it felt there and then. To think that the place of greatest purity, the realm of souls, and this artifact which was an access point to that realm would both reject him.
'I am not tainted,' he whispered, 'I am not impure...I am the emobodiment of the purity of death, and I shall not be denied!' with that, he turned away from the artifact, rippling with necromantic energies, and disappeared into nothingness, leaving Quay alone in the great dark room.

Quay watched as the ghost placed his hand on the Lantern, his face expressionless, deadpan even. He could feel, even see the ghosts soul in the River, its necromatic energies distinguishable from the aray of light. At that moment he realized that the Astral Home would reject such an evil presence, and just as he has predicted, the ghost screamed in pain. Quay made a move to help the ghost but it quickly composed himself, whispering to himself before screaming defiantly and disappearing. Quay was speechless, but remained deadpan. At the moment, the only thoughts that ran through his mind was the fact that he would have to move the Lantern, the deal had never been formally agreed upon. The ghost would be back. That was a certainty...

Roxan ran a thumb along the right horn on Raktavira's head. "I would like to show you the village where I grew up-the people who have feared me and my role in the Great Circle. I would show them how to understand how death is to be welcomed, even though it is not wished for." She looked at him with an almost unreadable look in her mismatched eyes. The gold had become a deep sunset orange, and the silver was now a steel blue-silver. "And I would show you Ulhar Island, where Dragons and humans form unbreakable bonds." She stroked Raktavira's long muzzle.

From beneath its new helmet, Escre paused in its raptured examination of the fortress among the stars and turned its gaze to regard Roxan. After a moment it resonated, "We are a long way from Galbar, but it can be done. I may enter the Spirit World from anywhere and return to my position by exiting, and I may take passengers alongside."

Escre span around and reached out for a door that had appeared in space. It was aged wood, and the stone that ringed it cracked and weathered. The Great Spirit pulled open the door and stepped through into the Spirit World, beckoning the demigod to follow. Once both were within, it gently closed the door, and opened the book kept on its person. Fluttering as if in a sudden, mad wind, the papers constituting its wings swooped into the tome, and as Escre slammed shut the book, it sat down against a nearby wall as if to fall asleep. The gorgeous sunlight abetted sleep rather than hindering it, and the breeze when it blew was soporific. Around the Great Spirit floated mortal souls, and as it began to slumber, its body dissolved.

It reappeared in the Astral Home, back on Galbar. Roxan soon followed, pushing through the veil of sleep atop Raktavira and emerging from the blood-red core of the planet. A second later Escre had reformed its wings, and the two made haste, though Escre found the time to speak. "Welcome death? I think not. It is the desire to refute death that enables life to have its purpose. Though I may be misunderstanding you...you might be referring to helping people understand how death is not to be overly feared. Regardless, lead me to this village."

"That I am, Escre. I have been feared so much by everyone, that I want to show them that death is nothing to fear. Why should you," she said as Raktavira flew to Garakai. "When you know that your soul will simply go to the Astral Home, where it belongs once more? I may not know if anything happens after that, but I see no reason to fear it." she paused, allowing herself a small smile. "After all, I've escorted many souls, and many of them have had fairly decent lives."

Raktavira pulled his torso up, banking forwards in the middle of the town, where it was widest. The townspeople gaped, screamed and headed for cover as Raktavira settled onto all fours, and bowed so Roxan could slide off. Stay here, Rak, Roxan mind spoke. [color=seagreen][i]I don't want them to have any reason to hurt you.[i][/color] Raktavira nosed her gently and lay down with his head resting on his forelegs. She turned to Escre. "Follow me, please." She led him around the village, pointing out the people she had known in her childhood and early youth. One of the few boys who had talked to her most often came forwards with a small girl on his hip. Roxan smiled and reached for the little girl with her gloved hands.

Escre watched the action of compassion wordlessly. By now it understood such things fairly well, but if it was to ever truly comprehend and gain an appreciation for good emotions, much first-hand observance was needed. The Great Spirit didn't dare reach out and touch any of them; if a demigod without insulating gloves could kill via touch, Escre had no clue how its own godly being might affect them.

Behind her was Escre, robed and armored, carrying a book but bereft of wings. It was wondering what Ull'yang and Eroneus were up to; they'd been rather inactive as of late compared to Roxan. Surely it was nothing to be concerned about, now that Escre had a better grasp of the notion of worry.

A woman who looked remarkably like Roxan-but without the black fingernails and all-answered the door. Her eyes widened with shock and disbelief. Roxan gave a faint smile. "M'ma," she said it so quietly it was almost shy sounding. Ryva looked at her daughter, assessing. "Roxan, why are you here?" Roxan gestured towards the dragon in the square.

"I wanted to see you once more, m'ma," she said, taking Ryva's hand into her gloved one. "For I know you are nearly there, to the Astral Home. And I wanted to tell you that I forgive you for all those things you've said and done to me while deep into your cup." Ryva smiled faintly. For though Roxan had been a strange and powerful girl, she had loved her in her own way. "I cannot take back all of that, Roxan," she said. "But I will rest easy kowing my daughter did not hate me." She paused. "Now get, go do whatever Demi-gods do." Roxan laughed as her mother closed the door and turned to Escre.

"That moment was a long time in coming," she said."What say you to going back? I believe I've showed you all that I can." she paused, then said, "My friend already and father already knew of my home situation when I was a small girl, but I've needed to show someone else for a long time."

After waiting for a moment, Escre nodded. "Very well. We will return to the stars. I will catalog this experience as an important one, though I do not yet fully understand it."

Roxan smiled and bowed slightly. "Thank you, Escre."

Introduction

Garinths came about long before humans existed on Orabakh. Their exact date of creation is questionable, though it is quite possible that they came into existence along with the continent itself. Created by Vowzra, he sought to correct the deficiencies of Mankind and create a species which would inherit Galbar and, eventually, drive humans to extinction. This would be done, Vowzra believes, through a mixture of garinths being in every way more capable than humans and thus naturally able to out-compete them when it comes to survival, gathering food, building up nations and so on. Moreover, garinths are capable of breeding with humans and were created in such a manner as to appear more attractive and viable partners to humans than others, thus ensuring that where a garinth and human are competing over a human partner, it is the garinth, in the majority of cases, that will emerge the victor.

Before discussing garinth society and their growth over time, it is rather important to note their physical appearance and attributes. A garinth's appearance would differ depending on its race. Orangus garinths are generally rather large and very intelligent. While strong and fast, fighting is not their forte and they are much more at home running the day to day lives of their fellow apes. The garinthian bureaucracy and governmental system was created largely due to the wit of orangus garinths.
The largest and most powerful of the garinths are the gorus garinths whose huge size, strength and speed are simply unmatched. While certainly not lacking in intelligience, gorus garinths are generally not found in any professions outside the military, their physical traits seen as overwhelmingly more useful than anything their intelligence could provide elsewhere. Their strength also comes in useful in construction work and other heavy-duty tasks.
The most populace of the garinths are the chimpus garinths. A fairly well-balanced race, they are very strong and fast, and are well-known for their agility flexibility, as well as their wit and intelligence. The average garinth is by far more intelligent and physically more powerful than the average human.

Unlike humans, and many other Galbarian species, the vast majority of garinths are incapable of using magic. However, they are very resistant to magics which meddle with their minds and innards, and telekinesis is ineffective against them. There are among them those who are capable of using magic, and these tend to be rather proficient magickers. They are, however, rare and far between, making up 0.1% of the total population at any one point.

Their population has grown tremendously and has stabilised at seventy thousand for the last decade, though there are expectations that the population will invariably increase with time.



Garinth Society

Family relationships are vital to garinths. They initially lived in extended family groups of as many as twenty to one hundred and twenty individuals, and initially had a fission-fusion social organisation, in that they break off into smaller interchangeable groups and periodically come together. It was pretty much the hunter-gatherer lifestyle of early human communities. However, they very quickly traversed this period and began to form far larger 'tribal' patriarchal social organisations. Each tribe was led by the garinth who displayed the best attributes and generally ruled so long as he could prove he remained dominant. Should he be defeated by another in a test of strength, and later both strength and wit, he would have to forfeit leadership of the tribe. As time developed, however, tribal leadership became a thing arrived at via consensus of all those males over the age of one hundred, and leaders were chosen for life.

Garinths, as with humans, reach sexual maturity in their early teens. Females typically give birth once every five years, usually to one baby, meaning that initialy population growth was extremely slow. However, over time, this ensured a rather stable and predictable upward trend in population growth; growth which became faster the greater the population grew. Infant garinths are reared by their mothers and have very close relationships with siblings, grandparents and extended family, who often share in their care. Infants are extremely important to garinth society. If a mother is injured or dies, others will take on the role.

Mothers and sons typically have lifelong bonds, as do all members of the family and tribe. This bond is also shared on the inter-tribal level between all apes, and their sense garinthness over-rides all internal disputes, wars and tribalism when it comes to it. Because garinth females have babies only once every five or six years, mothers are able to nurture and teach their children intimately. Babies are not weaned until they are about three years old, and remain close to their mothers for the first decade of their lives.

If a garinth mother falls ill, older siblings, family or other females in the tribe will tend to the sick mother’s child. Young garinths have been known to die of grief when their mother dies, so great is the bond. In most situations, however, the young fare well in the care of older siblings, family and the tribe.

While fathers and mothers do not form monogamous bonds for life, the males in a group play with the children and protect them. Whether or not they are biological fathers, males in the group play important roles in the lives of the young, particularly due to the patriarchal society structure.

Garinths live, eat, hunt, and play communally in their tribes, and it is not uncommon for young from different tribes to meet up and form their own play groups, or even hunting parties. Garinths tend to warn each other of danger and inform each other of good hunting grounds, and their inter-tribal relations tend to remain ever friendly, even where a tribal war is raging. Garinths make it a law not to kill the young or females or the old and not to cause pain and suffering to settlements where other garinths dwell. Battles are fought outside settlements, in the forestlands of Garinthia and up in the trees.

Garinths learn from each other and are extremely quick at doing so. They have developed their own language and writing methods, and had created spears long before they developed into a more tribal society. Knowledge is passed down orally from generation to generation, taking advantage of their tremendous capability to learn things by heart. The average garinth would be able to recite tomes of oral traditions passed down from parents, grandparents and great grandparents, and beyond, all who would still be alive due to their average life-span stretching to two hundred years, and possibly to three hundred. Females are able to reproduce from the age of fourteen to around two hundred and fifty, when menopause usually occurs. Males, are capable of reproducing from the age of thirteen until their death.

Touching and grooming are extremely important for garinths. Garinths will present their backs, a sign of trust, to someone with whom they feel safe, seek to bond with or otherwise be in relationship with. Some groom slowly and methodically. Some sort through the other’s hair, probing, picking and stroking. Others groom frenetically. But the root of the behavior is the same: a means to deep bonding. These tactile rituals calm tensions and foster relationships. Garinths embrace each other as a greeting or for comfort or consolation and are generally extremely caring, committed, sensitive, loyal, altruistic, affectionate, witty and intelligent. They are also territorial (both on the inter-tribal level and on the national level, treating infringement on garinth hunting grounds as an affront to them all), and can be dishonest, manipulative, unfair and violent.

For garinths, sexual contact fulfills many social needs. It is used for pleasure, for avoiding conflict, for reconciliation, for appeasing, for bonding, and many other things. Views can differ depending on the individual, and there have been some garinths who have even entered exclusive, monogamous relationships, or dabbled in homosexual relations.

Garinths hunt for for food communally, forming tribal hunting groups of males. It is not unusual for one tribe to give other tribes any surplus food. Garinths also have an understanding of forest agriculture and nurture many trees. Thanks to them, the majority of trees in their forest home are fruitful and provide all manner of fruit - apples, mangoes, oranges, bananas, avocados, papayas, lemons and others. While omnivorous, their biological make means they are capable of extracting a great amount of energy from all foods they consume, meaning that even huge populations can live off very small amounts of food.

Garinths acknowledge and respect a hierarchy within their tribes. The tribal chief is the highest authority within the tribe, along with the tribal council of fifteen. Males over the age of two hundred are greatly respected, then those over the age of one hundred and fifty, then those over the age of one hundred and then those over the age of fifty, while those below the age of fifty are considered juveniles and have no great authority. Females have their own hierarchy, very similar to that of males, though they are generally subservient to males. Things become more complex in the case of a particularly old and revered female and younger males, and it is not uncommon for women who are high within the female hierarchy to establish themselves as authorities in the male hierarchy also.

On the inter-tribal level, the tribal chiefs and elders form what is known as The Garinth Council every five years and elect a new High Chief, who acts as something of a king for his time in power. A High Chief can be elected an infinite number of times and is considered the absolute, highest authority during his time. He dwells in his own settlement and has an advisory body made up of members of all the tribes, as well as an inter-tribal force - something of a personal army which is obliged to follow his every command. He manages tribal wars and can act as a mediator where necessary, and also acts as a uniting force (though he is not vital for this) where garinths as a whole is threatened.



Garinth Religion

Garinths have had no interaction with the gods at all, and their creator, Vowzra, did not make himself known to them. They do, however, have superstitions and beliefs, largely inspired by their forest home and culture.

Given their patriarchal society, it is only natural that their religion is also rather patriarchal and places men above women in all ways. Even their creation story displays this, which goes as follows:



As Hazik was the first, and as Hazikti was created of his tears and the soil, it is ingrained in garinth thought that males are pure garinths while females are lesser beings, created from tears and soil. Males, on the other hand, were created from the Great Tree of Life and are thus directly linked to the Spirit of the Great Tree of Life, the ultimate deity in the garinth religion.
Garinths believe that males, upon their death, will be reunited with the Great Tree and live in eternal bliss, while women must earn their place beside the Great Tree and will have the honour of dwelling ever as the servants and maids of the Great Tree, should they lead a good life.

Worship of the Great Tree consists of watering, honouring and protecting all trees in the garinth forests, and all forests and trees in general. Cutting down trees is considered taboo, unless there is a dire need to do so and it is for the good of the community, though at least one tree must be planted in place of the one cut down, though planting three in place of the one is the norm.

Garinths have not developed a religious class of priests and the such, though there are among them those referred to as 'Shamans', 'Spirit Walkers', or, most commonly, 'Masho'El', those who walk with God. Masho'El generally isolate themselves from society and live their lives in meditation and have in fact been granted a 'magic' (though that is a rather inaccurate description of this capability) which allows them to reach out to spirits within the Astral Home and communicate with them, as well as travel the streams of Time in a similar fashion to Vowzra, though on a far lesser level. Strangely enough, despite the patriarchy, females are permitted to become Masho'El, and find the ultimate liberation from the hierarchy and power over males in so doing.

Though they live this spartan, solitary life, Masho'El do engage in sexual activity like all other garinths. Their children are generally revered and tend to follow in the footsteps of their Masho'El parent.

This is the religion of garinths, and it is prevalent among them all.





Over the years the god of Time had not been idle, for he had been hard at work creating that which he knew to be missing in the world - other than the garinths, whom he had made into the most perfect beings possessing free will and creativity. With their intelligence and strength, their unity and dedication to one another, he knew that they would one day spread all over Galbar and eventually force humanity into extinction. Or perhaps they would not...

Seeing how souls travelled to the Astral Home upon death, where they would eventually be sent to the world of the living, Vowzra could not help but feel that there was a great injustice in that. To think that the soul of the criminal, the killer, the burglar and the oppressor should, at the end of all things, find itself beside the soul of the faithful worshipper, the meditator, the doer of good, the sage and the oppressed. Were the gods so unjust as to allow that to be? There had to be order in the world. There had to be balance. The one who did good was to be rewarded, and the one who did evil was most certainly worthy of punishment.

With that, Vowzra set about creating four personal planes of existence, though only one of them could be truly be called a 'personal' plane. This one was known simply as the Celestial Plains. Here would the souls of those who did good find their rest. They would feel no pain here and no grief, no evil would taint the world and they would live eternally, with no sickness or ailment.
The Celestial Plains were not as any other normal world, for they did not remain the same. Indeed, they were shaped by the collective imaginations and desires of those who dwelled therein. Protected by the god of Time, there would the good souls dwell.

Then did Vowzra create the Three Planes of Hell. These were not personal planes, but rather, they were gateways into separate dimensions altogether. The Plains of the Hells of Time were a plane which allowed the Hells of Time, or The Warp, to leak in. Its horrors and its creatures seeped in, its madness and sickening terror became manifest, and there would the souls of the evil-doers go.
The Plains of the Hells of Flame were a plane allowing the Demon Realms to make themselves manifest within, with all their decadence and degradation. There would the souls of the evil-doers go.
The Plains of the Hells of Death were a plane unlike the others. There was no madness or decadence here; no degradation or sickness; there was only the absolute calm and coldness of death. Perhaps it was, in a way, perfect. Perhaps it was the ultimate horror. There would the souls of those who dabbled with the dead go.

In the Three Planes of Hell, there dwelled many strange creatures, some more horrifying and more monstrous than others. In the Plains of the Hells of Time, there dwelled creatures whose very presence could drive even gods to madness. Indeed, they had about them the characteristics of gods - perhaps they were gods. Gods cursed to damnation within those hells, cursed to eternal madness, living as husks of their formers selves. There were also other creatures, strange beings with many tentacles, like squids which swim the clouds and voids of The Warp. They had about them a screech to imbue within all things terror, and a gaze to drive all things to madness, and a presence to cause all things to wither and die or grow young once more. There were many strange and truly hellish things. Of the Three Planes of Hell, there was none more strange and more lethal to gods and men alike than that.

As for the Plains of the Hells of Flame, therein dwelled all kinds of demons. From the smallest imp to the greatest of the Lords of Hell, from Legions (a great amount of demons who came together as one) to incubi and succubi. Demons were extremely powerful beings, and the Seven Demon Lords of Hell were considered gods, or anti-gods, while the Demon-King of Hell, Akropis, was on the level of Arch-Gods. For one reason or another, these creatures could not enter the Universe without prior summoning, though it would require a most powerful - and foolish - summoner to bring forth a Demon Lord, or even the Demon-King.

And in the Plains of the Hells of Death there dwelled all the undead terrors imaginable to the necromantic mind, and all those imaginable to a being far greater than the necromantic mind. Vowzra could not put his finger on it, but there was a great presence, a mighty presence within those Hells, one as great as that of Akropis or the crazed gods of the Plains of the Hells of Time.

As for those who were neither good nor evil, it was decreed that they would continue on to the Astral Home to be reincarnated and live their lives again. Perhaps then they would be of the doers of good or the doers of evil, and thus seal their eternal Fate.

Zera, the Ram of Time, sat waiting for the souls of the dead. Seeing into their life and into their actions, it judged them all and weighed their deeds on the Scales of Time, which knew all and weighed with Justice and Truth. The evil would not find in death an escape, and the good would not find their goodness unrewarded. Thus was the ultimate order and balance. Thus was the ultimate justice.

'Let them say what they will, but let them not say that I was unjust.'

Accidental post. Please Ignore.

Ferghus had been experimenting with some of the soul gems Astarte had given him when he felt an all-too-familiar power breach his protective field. Ferghus was not expecting anything good to come of this, but who knows, maybe there was the slim chance he was wrong. Returning all his metal guardians around Mt. Vulcan into his forge, Ferghus himself appeared in front of Vestec via flaming pillar. Ferghus crossed his arms and greeted coldly, "Vestec. How unexpected. To what do I owe this... pleasure? Have you come to actually pay that debt you owe me?"

"Nothing like that, my dear forgemaster. I'm still waiting for you to do something because I refuse too. Unless you not doing anything is your answer to me not paying your debt? Clever, I must say! Regardless, I come here to ask you to add something to a book." Vestec summoned the Morello Nomicon to his hands. "I'm not sure if you were aware this existed, but it's a book of spells and boosts that Arguis created. He gave it to dear old Aztoc, the mortal who prayed to you a short time ago. Aztoc is dead, but I took the book, tweaked it's boosts, and added a few spells of my own. I was wondering if you would like to add a few spells, boosts, what have you, of your own to it? I'm going to visit all the remaining Gods and ask for them to do the same." Vestec held up a forestalling hand.

"Before you immediately say no, I'm not going to just give it to one of my followers. There will be a tournament. Each God will be asked to create an arena of their choosing, and they will all be connected. I'll then summon all the Heroes, Demi-Gods, Aspiring Champions, Ruthless Mercenaries, anyone with the guts really, to this Gauntlet. They have one simple goal: beat everyone else to the prize of this book. They have to survive the arenas themselves to, obviously. The winner gets the most powerful artifact known to mortals. No one is favored. If one God makes it easy on their followers in their particular arena, the next or previous Gods can easily make it easy on their followers in their arena, assuring that no one has but one purposely easy trip to the goal." Vestec giggled, almost clapping his hands with glee. The white symbols on his palms, the only thing forever the same color on his body, flashed.

"What do you say, Ferghus?"

Ferghus gave this matter quite some thought. He was certainly not expecting something like this. A tournament for a book of spells created by gods. His initial impulse was to say no. He didn't feel like this would involve any sort of profit for him. However, he held his tongue from refusing. The more he thought about it, the more that it felt appealing. Ferghus could come up with several different ways to get some profit out of this. Battle and conflict were great ways for a forge master like Ferghus to do just that. The only sad thing about this was that Ferghus never spent any time trying to make any Heroes or Demigods, or anything of the sort. Of course, there was Rejys and Robbie, but they had their own jobs to do. Ferghus then made up his mind.

"Alright, Vestec, you got yourself a deal," Ferghus said. "This sounds a bit too interesting for me to just leave alone. Let me see that book." Ferghus then extended his hand to Vestec, palm upward.

Vestec giggled in joy. "Nice to see we have a deal." The Morello Nomicon floated over to Ferghus, landing in the Forge God's palm.

Upon possession, Ferghus opened the book and began flipping through it, skimming over what exactly was in this book. Most of it could prove useful at some point in time, but it seemed more like a waste of time and effort if he tried to use this book. Then again, this was something meant for a mortal to have, so it shouldn't be all that surprising. Ferghus placed a hand on an empty page, and small trails of fire traveled down his arm into the book. Instead of burning the book, which normal fire would've done, the fire instead burned inscriptions onto the page, as well as a few more pages afterward. To Ferghus, they were pretty basic enchantments and spells, but for mortals, they would prove to have powerful and terrifying effects. Once the deed was done, Ferghus closed the book and handed it back to Vestec. "There, that's my addition to this book of yours," Ferghus said. "I'll be looking forward to this tournament of yours." Ferghus then grew stern and added, "Next time, however, don't just barge through my barrier and grant yourself access."

"I'm the god of Chaos, Ferghus. Barging through things is what I do. Besides, you wouldn't have heard me yelling if I had yelled from the barrier." Vestec's colors coalesced into a smirk, before returning to their normal chaotic mess. The God took the Morello Nomicon, giving a slight bow of gratitude to the Forge God. "See you when you have to start creating your arena!" With that, he was gone.

The Avatar snorted. "Nobility and justice often have no place in war. The perfection of war? That requires a certain...ruthless barbarism that nobility and justice would abhor. You can't be loyal to both, Child of Vowzra. You can either be a noble, just, hero, or a perfect, unstoppable, warlord. These remaining Victors and the Furies don't want a perfect warlord, Kanros. They want a noble champion. Someone who can be claimed by all to be a 'good man'. But that's not in your blood, is it? Your blood doesn't throb with the gavels of justice, heat up at the sight of nobility. No, your blood pulses to the drums of war, boils at the sight of whomever dares oppose you. Learn who you are very quickly, Warlord. Lest someone else make that decision for you, and turn you on a path that they think is right for you." The avatar turned, and began to head towards the exit of the room. "If you hear screaming and fighting, the Furies found me and wanted to try and kill me. They don't like chaos spawn, you see. If you need anything from me, just give a quick prayer and I'll respond." The avatar's lips quirked into a smirk. "I have no favorites, after all."

@Rtron

"You are correct on both subjects Vestec and I will send you a quick prayer now maybe"

He walked over to the God of Chaos and kneeled before him with one arm underneath his head and his other arm behind his back.

And then he began to pray with his slow rumbling voice.

"Oh Vestec you are one of many places and many things because that is the eternal dream of your followers to travel aimlessly and explore everything and spread chaos everywhere for good or for bad and for better or worse you inspire your followers to live their lives on the edge to fight for what they uphold in their spirit and today I pray to you because I want to fight for what I believe in and what I uphold not for purity or for sin but for the good I believe in because I too am a chaotic spirit and I although not as chaotic as you,"

Kanros took a breath because he needed to quickly take a breather, then continued.

I am too a chaotic being for War is always chaotic but there are always variations I uphold the good of war not the evil tyranny of war but to fight for freedom and the right to do what I want!

He stopped to catch his breath once again and to think of what next to say then continued so he may finish his prayer.

"I pray to you because I require strength and great weaponry for the battle to come because I require weaponry to replace my lost ones and the strength I need to prevail in this battle, I pray to you oh mighty God of Chaos in your name I pray amen!"

With finishing he stood up to his feet so he may look around and see if the God was happy or not.

Deep within a forest, the birds chirped and sang their joyous songs. Sunlight danced through the leaves and gleamed off the beads of morning dew. That little detached world semed thrumming with life, yet there was one figure as silent and as still as a cold stone.

The demigod simply stared into the meandering waters of a creek for hours on end, for time was of little significance to him now. After a long time of meditation---even through a heavy rain that eventually came---he at last broke his statuesque stillness. One of Ialu's hands, great and brawny from his younger days as a warrior, picked up a tiny pebble. Suddenly overwhelmed by the anger and denial that he had been fighting so hard to bury, he effortlessly crushed the rock between two fingers and violently hurled its broken shards into the water. Seemingly frustrated at how pathetic a splash the pieces made, even with such unimaginable strength in the arms of the one that flung them, Ialu reached out with his Wi and leveled a dozen nearby trees.

The forest creatures that had darted about near Ialu now fled with a wild terror in their eyes, and the birds' beautiful songs ceased as they all fluttered away or were crushed as the trees that they perched within were suddenly uprooted and thrown to the ground. His spontaneous need for destruction sated, Ialu stood to his feet and found a soft bed of leaves. He waved a hand and a flash of golden light shined out before the comatose body of an old friend appeared from thin air. As a demigod of greed, Ialu found that he could simply hoard objects (or people) within his very thoughts to make them appear whenever he desired them.

That had allowed Ialu to prolong the life of his comatose friend: Ryak was now an incredibly old man and his health had been failing, yet by enveloping the man within his mind and removing him from the physical world, Ialu could help to prolong his friend's life. Unfortunately, defying time and reverting the Ryak's aging process was not within his realm...he would only be able to suspend Ryak in an indefinite state of worthless and painful torpor. It wasn't worth it.

His meditation done and his pent up anger unleashed, the demigod could now say that he was finally at peace. He simply stared at the barely breathing husk. There was nothing more that he could do now, save prolong Ryak's suffering. It was time to leave him. The demigod turned and prepared to fly away and return to hiding. Ironically the god of emotions was rather heartless: this was amongst the only times in his memory that he had felt such a thing as 'sadness'. Pride, envy, greed, and anger were his elements. He commanded them and felt at home with those; this 'sadness' was disorientating and confusing, almost crippling.

Suddenly, the very ground shook. For moments, nothing but the roar of falling trees and panicking animals could be heard. And then it all fell silent. No trees had fallen, and the animals were acting normally.

Astarte walked out of nearby shrubbery. Her aura wasn't that of a goddess this time, and she was wincing and straightening and cleaning her current battle dress. It was Astarte's avatar. As she used her magic to repair a broken plate, she perked up not unlike a frightened deer. Then she turned to see Ialu and for a fraction of a second, she smiled. She was quick to cover the smile up with a scowl, though.

"Oh there you are, Ialu the Demigod of Insults and the Master of Oversized Lizards." She rolled her eyes, but afterward, she chuckled. "Are you sad, Ialu? Who'd have imagined the demigod had human feelings?"

A rather surprised and yet equally irritated Ialu turned to see what had just stumbled upon him. Even after so many years, he still recognized her. While what he had once said was out of spite in the moment and he held no true grudge, he still held Vestec in poor regards and that included astarte by extension.

"I see now that I was foolish," he stated almost regretfully, as if he were about to apologize. But of course he was too proud for that. "...foolish for not concealing my presence more throughly as I have been of late. Why have you come to disturb me?"

As he spoke he positioned between Astarte and the limp body of Ryak, who was fading closer to oblivion by the second.

"Me? Come to disturb you? I've been here for hours practicing with this new body," Astarte said with a huff before setting her gaze on the limp body, "is that one of your followers? He seems to be near death." She raised an eyebrow.

"Once he was a great warrior and a close friend. Yet time has weathered him and yes, he nears death. I cannot defy time and restore his youth, only prolong his suffering, and so I must sit and watch as he fades away and becomes nothing. It is more infuriating and humbling than any pathetic curse your Vestec could inflict!" Clearly the demigod was becoming angry and distraught, but it was directed more at his predicament than at Astarte.

"Hmm..." Astarte put a finger against her lips. "And I assume you want to go against Nature?" Astarte pointed at herself with a grin, "I happen to do that a lot! I just want a few things in exchange for Ryak's health and youth and immortality and whatever."

His eyes narrowed. As tempting as it was to just leave right now, he doubted that he'd be able to evade a goddess. Bah, the least that he could do was indulge her. "And what 'few things' would you ask that the Lord of Greed depart with?"

"Easy, I want your shirt, a taste of your soul and Ryak to be bonded to my Hero, Kuro, until Kuro deems it fit." Astarte said as she floated up to Ialu and curiously felt his shirt. Texture, shape, scent, she took it all in before looking Ialu in the eye, a dangerous grin showing on her face for a split second.

"My soul is not some wine to be tasted, he spat without a second thought. He nearly said that a life bound to another was one hardly worth living, but what did he know? Maybe bondage was better than...the nothingness of death. He waved a hand and there was a great flash if light on the air. A massive pile of gold and jewels fell from the flash above and almost landed on top of Astarte. Ialu had of late discovered that his power over avarice allowed him to transmute mundane objects into gold and the like, and so he hoarded stored an absurd amount of the stuff in the unreachable depths of his mind, just as he had stored Ryak. It was useful to be able to bribe someone with a mountain of gold at a moment's notice. [color=Gold][b]"You can have all of those gold and jewels instead,"[b][color=Gold] the demigod offered.

Astarte teleported out of the way of the falling mountain of gold. It was a shame Ialu would not let her have a taste of him. 'Oh well, at least I can have hie shirt.' She shrugged to herself.

"At least I get your shirt and friend, right? I've no interest in gold or jewels."

Indifferently he gestured back at the heap of wealth. It shimmered and then melted away into a golden vapor that rushed to his hand and was absorbed into the demigod's flesh. In a second the pile of gold and jewels was all gone.

"My shirt is worthless and Ryak is surely better off bound to your 'Kuro' than dead. You have a deal. Without another word, he ripped off his shirt (literally) and threw the balled up thing to Astarte.

Astarte chuckled at the exaggerated gesture, catching the shirt and snapping her fingers. Ryak convulsed and for a moment, he was still like a corpse. Then he breathed once more, and with each breath one could see the vigor and youth returning to his body. Astarte's crown jewel dimmed for the duration of the divine magic, but went back to its normal brightness once the spell wore off.

Ryak was now a man in his late thirties. He sported long, unkempt body hair and a single new addition... A tattoo, on the inner side of his left wrist. It was a crescent moon with a cross in the middle. An Astartian Mark.

"Done." Astarte grinned.

Quickly Ryak began to shudder, his eyes opened, and he soon bore a hilariously bewildered expression on his face. He felt strange, he was in a forest, and before him was the crazy goddess that he had heard about and the demigod that he had served decades ago. Ialu took a moment to explain to Ryak the bargain that had been made for his renewed youth as well as the costs.

When that was done, Ryak asked, "So now we give our thanks, smash her skull in, and leave without paying her?"

"No. Such days are in the past, as my father warned me against attracting the ire of the gods. I move slowly and carefully now, and only in the shadows. But now, I must leave. Something demands my attention..."

Ryak eyes widened at the mention of Ialu's father. So the Mighty One was real, then. At least he had been given an explanation as to why the demigod hadn't shown himself to the world in almost half a century.

In any case, Ialu was already invoking some sort of strange magic to teleport away and leave Ryak to Astarte. He hoped that he hadn't made some sort of grave mistake.

As Ialu left, Astarte stared at Ryak for a long moment, a smile forming on her face.

Vestec's Avatar

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The Avatar raised an eyebrow at the Demi-God's display, and then shrugged. "That'll do." With a gesture, it created at set of armor and a mace for the warlord. "There. Have fun. They can resist mortal made blades, most of them at any rate, and beat through most of them too. Also, the mace can be used to cause explosions of about thirty feet around you when you slam it into the ground. But don't try to test them against a work of Ferghus. He's the actual Forge God and his weapons will sheer through them with ease, and his armor will resist quite the beating before you can even get through to him. Be careful, Warlord. Arrogance has killed many a man. Try not to add yourself to that list." With that, the avatar was gone.

Tyke was Grandmaster of the Zealots, Prophet to Ialu, and ruler over all these lands. The Cimex bugs having overran nearly all of northern Arguilla, his demesne was the only human civilization of any worth on this continent. To rule over every man within a thousand leagues inspired the sort of awe and power that words could not describe, and yet he scorned luxury in favor of living an austere life. He followed in his god's footsteps by ruling as the first man to charge on the battlefield and the last to surrender himself to sloth. Though Ialu had not been seen in living memory, tales of the mighty warlord persisted and Tyke knew them all. He followed the demigod's every teaching and example with a fervor that was contagious, and that was how he rose to the position of Prophet and Grandmaster.

In any case, though Tyke was now aging he remained as disciplined as he had ever been. He ruled from the Mountain's Crown, a fortress that peaked Arguilla's highest mountain and served as the headquarters of the Zealots, yet he was hardly solitary or distant from his people. Looking down upon the world below every morn kept him in touch with reality, and reflecting on his situation kept his mind sharp and his discipline unwavering. Before the first glimpse of sun he rose and walked to the battlements of his grand fortress to meditate.

Early in the morning 'twas when a caravan made the trying trek up the mountain paths to the Mountain's Crown. As high as it was, the bastion was not hidden by clouds. Those things were far below, and so it was with crystal clarity that Tyke's sharp eyes saw the caravan making the climb.

Domesticated pack alpacas carried loads of supplies, the burden doing nothing to hinder the surefooted animals as they almost effortlessly negotiated the craggy little paths. The ones driving the animals were hardy mountaineers that made a living of this and kept up, yet lagging behind all was some some sort of strange courier. It would seem that he had underestimated the mountain and now found himself with hardly a puff of air in his lungs as he could only keep climbing lest he be separated.

At midday the caravan arrived laden with cheese, fresh meats, fish, honeyed bread, and all sorts of other supplies from the rich valleys below. While the grateful soldiers took the shipment into their stores, the strange courier demanded to see Ialu. This drew a fair few laughs: from his manner of speaking and dress as well as his ignorance about how the demigod hadn't been seen in decades, it was clear that he was a foreigner. When he was eventually brought before the Prophet, the wisened Tyke recognized the man as native to the Brightwood of Orabahk. The journey would have taken him across half the world, which might explain his stubborn persistence and refusal to leave upon being scoffed at and told that Ialu was gone.

In fact, all of that only seemed to make the messenger more determined. With no shortage of spirit, he had a few choice words to say when he was finally given an opportunity to confront the Prophet, "Ialu was known to be an ally to our patron and lord, Sauranath! Our realm is invaded by the devil-spawn that hail from this land called 'New Garakai', a land that you seem familiar with for I saw their merchant ships in our harbor! If you truly worship Ialu, you would send men to aid us in our time of need for we are your ancient allies and the Garakains worship the Execrable Chaos that hated Ia-"

Tyke at last grew tired of the messenger and interrupted, "Do not presume to tell me what our Master would will, for I am his ordained Prophet. Our forces are mighty indeed and long to feel the thrill of battle that is sung in the songs of their grandfathers, and yet we march only under Ialu's orders."

The messenger's face turned a deep shade of red, though not from embarassment or cold. Frothing with anger, he spat out, "Preposterous! What is this place? Your men tell me that Ialu has not been seen in decades and that you are not hiding him somewhere, and yet you must have his direct orders to so much as answer your ally's call to arms? You are ruler of this land, and can do as you will! Do not lie and refuse us your hand under some pretext of needing divine orders!"

"You are right; I do rule and I can indeed do whatever would please myself or Mighty Ialu. Your crude mannerism makes me want to have you flung off this bluff and sent crashing down the stony slopes to your own doom, and yet I see that you only speak out of passion...the passion gives you strength and bravery that most men would lack. It is admirable and Ialu would be merciful and forgive such words spoken in your circumstance, and so I will too. Go back to Brightwood and tell them that we can neither send Ialu nor offer our swords, and speak not another wroth word to me or I shall make good on my threats."

With that menacing warning, Tyke turned and left for his afternoon prayer at the small shrine inside his room. His thoughts always strayed to the same place: where was his lord? Was he unworthy of the title Prophet? The demigod surely heard his prayers, surely was alive and not vanquished from this plane as some claimed, and yet his voice had never once rang out in the Prophet's head...was Tyke's faith in youth not so unshakable, he might have grown to question the demigod's very existence in these later years of his.

After spending the remainder of the day overseeing the training of a new wave of recruits to the Zealots, he spent a short while in the courtyard honing his own mastery of the Wi. Then, late in the night he returned to his chambers and wrote orders and memoirs and prayers until he at last surrendered to exhaustion and went to sleep. He usually worked himself into such fatigue that his nights were dreamless and utterly peaceful, but this slumber was not so.

In his sleep a strange presence filled Tyke's mind, and he felt elation: his heart sensed that this was Ialu, at last come to speak! He was disappointed, for no words rang out. His god's presence merely existed juxtaposed to his own, and the two examined one another for a few fleeting moments. Though he had expected to receive some sort of instructon, that never happened; instead, he simply awoke the next morning with some sort of new-found knowledge and purpose having been spawned in his mind. Led by a raw urging, he ventured down into the dark depths in the bowels of the fortress.

Sure enough, he found what he was looking for. The earth itself had warped and shifted under the influence of some divine power, and a narrow and hidden passageway existed where before there had only been a bleak wall of cold stone. The way was long and winding. Down and down it went for what seemed like an eternity, as if it went from the fortress at the top down to the very bottom of the mountain and then deeper. Were it not for the divine inspiration and great purpose that carried his every step, he might have long ago lost faith and turned back, but at last he arrived at the passage's end.

He was in a small antechamber with the very air itself stiflingly hard to breathe. It was as if the entire weight of the mountain above was bearing down upon this room and crushing any within, and that very well might have been the case. Or it could have just been the unmistakable presence of Ialu's energy, for the demigod's presence had been said to take its toll on nearby mortals.

While the winding passage had been black as night, this antechamber was dimly lit by some glow from a much larger cavity in the back of this cavern. Within that chamber was a great pool of water that shimmered, hissed, and writhed with energy. Sparing not a second thoughts, Tyke removed his clothing and stepped his feet into it.

The result was a horrific surprise as he skin flushed and his entire being was wracked with unimaginable agony. It was as if the fluid was consuming his flesh, bone, and very soul. Yet he could not step out. With all his willpower he stepped in further, up to his knees. Before he knew it, he was submerged to his hips. Then he slipped on a wet rock underfoot and his entire body fell into the tortuous pool.

Like a stone he rested on the bottom of the pool every increasingly hellish agony for one full day and night, the liquid somehow sustaining his life even as his body felt like it was being torn apart and rebuilt and he gasped for lack of air. After bellowing breathless screams and drowning with lungs full of the horrific stuff for what seemed like an eternity, his strength and willpower returned. The pain was still there, but he was able to clamber out of the pool and collapse on the stone floor. That gave him peace and spared him the pain's gradual worsening, yet it offered no cure for what had already been wrought.

Somehow he knew that the burning, aching, and blistering pain that lit up his every morsel of flesh would never fade. Barely able to think, he rested on the cold stone of the cave and simply suffered his fate. Eventually his endurance was rewarded to some degree...the pain was not numbed, but his reaction to it was. He was becoming...used to it.

When the time came that he was strong enough to stand, he made the trek back up the passageway and into the Mountain Crown far above. Merely coming down had been exhausting, but the return climbing back up was nothing to him now. Fatigue, hesitation, and weakness had all been burned out of his body with pain being the only thing left to fill in the empty void. In any case, questions were raised as to where he had vanished for a few days but they were dismissed soon enough. He told no others at first, so that he could test his abilities.

His strength, fortitude, speed, and magical ability had all been increased tenfold and within him he had a trace of the primal rage that had saturated the Well of Strength, as he had named the holy pool. In any case, that trace of wrath inside of him could be called at will and sent him into a wild rage so violent that even the air around him was wreathed in an aura of fire and anger.

After perhaps a week he revealed what had truly transpired and demonstrated his new-found abilities to some of the others. They were quick to ignore his warnings of the pain (He had struggled to even put into words the cost that they would pay for their powers if they bathed in that tortuous pool) and go down to the Well of Strength to empower themselves in kind.

In the end the Prophet supposed that this was befitting of a holy order. The pain that they endured would remind them of their place and show their Master that they were truly devoted, while the great power and discipline that they were granted would allow them to better carry out Ialu's will. A wave of zeal swept through the order's greatest and trickled all the way down to the lowliest recruits and even the citizenry, though none were ever told of the Well until it was their time to witness its powers. It was best kept secret, lest other deities or their followers grow jealous and try to extinguish its light. And who knew what other hateful foes waited beyond their mountain fortress? Who knew where the mountain winds blew...

As it were, the cold mountain winds blew across the Arguillian continent, carrying the bitter mountain air to forest and desert alike, and Cimexes perked up and shivered at the odd cold driving through their newly conquered forest and desert homes. It picked up the aroma of the forests and dry heat of the desert and continued on, crossing the ocean and carrying along with it the salt air as well.

On its journey, it passed the peninsula of the Carebians. A people who had emerged from the bowels of the desert and erupted outwards towards the open seas. Their origins were a mystery, though words composed by Arguis speak of Vowzrian intervention and creation. A tribal people, their new life by the sea and trade with one another as well as the Erstakhians led to a rapid peiod of urbanisation. Where once cities like Zafil and Caraxa had merely been tribal settlements, they were now sprawling city-states. While their tribalism had most certainly not disappeared - particularly in cities like the militaristic Nax - it had most certainly been hollowed out and tribal ties had lost their once over-riding significance.

Over the years, the Carebians had often warred among themselves, ever attempting to unite their shattered people under the hegemony of one city state or another. Alliances and confederations were formed and dissolved and reformed, but all they reaped was the blood of their people and all they gained were hatreds for one one another which were passed down the generations and recycled as new hatreds and new wars. Rightly could they call their land Carebian land, for its earth contained more of their spilt blood than did the living.

They built their civilisation, and though it was built upon the blood and bones of their own, rightly could they take pride in it, for they birthed many philosophers and thinkers, and many leaders and warriors, and they developed themselves even as they drove the spear and blade into the sides of their brethren. In Zafil, the most populous of the city states, there developed from their tribalistic council of elders a form of communal government system, known in the Carebian tongue as Vappyklovi (literally: rule of the commune, communal rule - vappykmi vlovi', democracy).
The landed elite - of all genders - gathered every ten years and elected a Getis (leader) from among themselves, who ran the city state for ten years. Taking after the Vappyklovic City State of Zarfil, both Caraxa and Sarkosh took on Vappyklovi, thus forming the Western League, more commonly known as the Vappyklovic League.

The militaristic Nax could not be more different. An absolute monarchy, it had a rather strict hierarchy, recognising only those who survived their grueling military training as citizens, or Naxiates. Other Naxans were either slaves, merchants or foreigners who were tolerated but treated with suspician at all times. Further to the north, Myanese was a fairly straight-forward monarchy with an ever-scheming aristocratic class. It often sided with the Naxans when war struck, fearing that otherwise the poisonous ideology of Vappyklovi would reach them.

The south of the peninsula did not have any city states as large as the north, but it had various smaller cities, villages and towns which were slowly, but surely, growing and taking after their northern counter-parts.

In the past months the greatest of Ialu's Zealots had all subjected themselves to their god's trial by bathing in the Well of Strength. Many succumbed to madness inflicted by the pain or were too frail and unworthy to survive, and those simply melted in the hissing waters. Yet most of the Zealots seemed to have the strength to endure, and when they emerged they did so with terrifying new powers just as the Prophet had. Though the pain was endless, so too was their discipline and resolve.

Where before there had been mere Zealots, now there were Immortal Warriors. The Holy Order was granted unfathomable powers and a great blessing with the gift of that well, and so they swore to guard it all costs. Its very existence was secret (even from the lesser ranked amongst the Order) and the path down to that chamber was hidden and trapped. A great change came about in those that were blessed, beyond their superhuman strength, enhanced magic, new-found discipline, and (though they did not yet realize it) the agelessness that had been bestowed upon them to preserve their youth and strength.

The most startling change was in their very mannerisms. All of the Zealots were fanatical to say the least, but for those that had plunged themselves into the well their loyalty was to a degree unimaginable for any being of free will. Bathing in the Well of Strength once was a great and worthy sacrifice, but drinking from it afterwards was even more heroic of a feat.

With each new instance of exposure to the writhing waters the pain grew doubly, but the powers that accompanied the pain also grew. It became a matter of willpower and time: those who were able to master their bodies or simply endure long enough to grow used to the suffering would be able to renew their sacrifice by making it as unbearable as it had been the very first time. Each such renewal was another great victory. Within three months Tyke had drank from the Well of Strength six times. The best of the others had only drank again from it once, and even then it had killed those who were unprepared for it. The Prophet was truly exceptional.

Though not for lack of him reaching out, Tyke never did speak with Ialu in one of his dreams after that first time. That was what had driven him to drink six times to prove himself and his loyalty, but after enduring the pain a total of seven times it became clear to the Prophet that simply howling in pain was not enough. Of course it wasn't! What use was dedication if it yielded no results? He would need to think for himself and be proactive, glorifying Ialu on his own initiative without being ordered or even expecting reward.

To that end he decided to do what his forefather and the demigod himself could not: establish a foothold in Orabahk. He would not simply go out and colonize like the old Strong Tribe and their men had done, for that had ended in folly and they had all vanished, probably having died ignoble deaths out in the wilderness. No, he would not sow the seeds of labor and build a new civilization, he would reap the efforts of lesser men and conquer one that already existed. In doing so he would be able to prove the strength of the Zealots and the Immortals, and bloody this new generation of soldiers that longed for battle. They were green as grass since there hadn't been a good war in five decades, yet that only made them even more hungry for glory. They didn't want to be a generation forgotten like that of their fathers. It would be easy for the prestigious and elderly Tyke to convince the younger ones to go out and conquer.

And so it was. Within a few weeks, the preparations had been made. The Zealots already possessed an impressive navy; they did their fair share of trading, and they had always maintained that fleet to carry their people away to greener lands should the Cimex ever break their strength and drive mankind from Arguilla altogether. In any case, the fleet was more than big enough to carry an invasion force of some 1,500 Zealots. The other 500 remained in Arguilla to maintain order and guard the realm from the Cimex, though with any luck the bugs would never smell weakness in the first place. The rest of the world would most likely never even hear about the Zealots' sudden invasion until they had already conquered a great swathe of land and carved out a new realm.

Guided by hired navigators and maps drawn by their own merchants, the Zealots' great fleet sailed to the realm of the Carebians. Fortune favored them, for when the wind blew their cogs to coast they were hailed by a sandy beach and not some rocky fjord. Without hesitation, the entire army disembarked right there with all their supplies, and then the fleet returned to Arguilla never to return. The Zealots would carry word of their victory back on the ships of those that they conquered, and for supplies their army was not so numerous that it couldn't simply live off the land or loot what was required.

Their landing went rather unnoticed as they had landed in Carebia's southern peripheries, far from any major settlements. There was the odd fishing settlement dotted here or there with anything from one hundred to four hundred townspeople, but other than that the next major settlement was more than a thousand miles along the coast, the small city state of Piyack with just over fifteen hundred citizens. It was part of the growing Southern League which had come about not a decade earlier, under the leadership of the large city state of Viros, whose population had risen from a mere three thousand to nine thousand since the league's formation, nearly half of the south's entire population. Rather militaristic, it depended on the income from other Southern League states, while the entirety of the southern force was fortified in the coastal city.

As it were, a few fishermen had spotted the strange fleet landing and had quickly made for port, spreading the word that a strange force had landed - and they had not looked all that friendly. Worried by this, the town's chief sent their fastest ship up to Viros with the news. It would take a good two days before it got there, but with the news of the landing, they would be able to better prepare for it and approach these strangers.
The chief had considered sending some kind of diplomat to greet them, but he came to the conclusion that if the strangers had wished to communicate, they would have sent their own diplomatic entourage to Viros or other city states. They would certainly not have landed here where there were no major settlements. Indeed, the more he thought about it the more he worried about their intentions, and so decided to send a few riders to scout them out and work out their numbers.

Just as the Carebites sought to scout out the forces of their foes, Tyke had several of his best men do the same. He knew of the existence of great cities, but given the poor navigation abilites of his people and their equally poor maps, he was not so certain where these cities even were in relation to where the army had landed.

In any case, the Arguillans had long thought this 'Orabahk' to be some backwater wilderness frontier, but this notion was quickly dispelled when they heard tales of great cities with monuments built of gleaming white stone and tens of thousands of people. It would seem that it was the Arguillans who lived in some inhospitable frontier, a tiny pocket of civilization surrounded by a sea of Cimex and Uri. Learning the truth of their sorry state only made them lust for plunder and conquest even more; their wives and brothers might die, but their glory would be eternal were they to carve out a great kingdom in this rich new land, ripe for the picking!

Small squadrons of the Zealot's greatest warriors were dispatched to scout. The vast majority were scattered across the countryside, occupying a few fishing villages near their first landing. What pitiful resistance the local militias could muster was squashed and many of the villagers were forced out of their own homes if not outright killed.

There were only a few hundred soldiers that could be garrisoned in each village, but that was more than enough to suppress a sudden revolt and hold the area until it was time to move on. While dividing his forces surely left him more vulnerable, Tyke knew that it would be some time before any real threat could arise to challenge his sudden invasion force. In the mean time, if the locals did not realize just how many villages he had occupied, they would be grossly underestimating their enemy's numbers.

News reached Viros eventually and a small contingent of soldiers was sent down, a fleet of some five hundred men. Much faster than any fishing ship, they had arrived after a few days of sailing, only for the fisherman who had come bearing the message to tell them that someting was very wrong. No fishing ships were going to and fro and the village had about it a most terrifying and ominous aura. He warned the captain, and the man seemed to have some wit, and so heeded the fisherman's warning.
'We will stay away from the village for now and send in a small force when night falls,' and with that, the small fleet anchored a good distance from the village, further up along the coast, and a good distance out to sea. When night finally set, the captain took a single ship and sailed down.
'If we are not back within the next three hours, know that the village has been occupied and sail back to Viros. Tell them to send a bigger force to deal with whatever threat there is,' and with that, he sailed down and anchored the ship some distance from the town before getting into the rowing boats with a good hundred men and making slowly and silent for the village.

The vessels slowly made for the small fishing village's docks, before docking the boats. Immediately, the men began disembarking and forming up further up, their spears at the ready, staring into the darkness. The captain came up behind them, spear in hand, and whispered for the men to move forward. It took a while as the order made its way around, but soon enought they were moving cautiously into the village, pausing every now and then to listen and see if they had been detected, or if there were indeed hostiles in the village.

Even in the black of night, the occasional gleam of moonlight revealed the wispy columns of smoke drifting up from every chimney. As the scouts drew closer, they would notice a great deal of people in makeshift tents outside or simply beneath blankets. Men, women, and children alike were huddling together for warmth in the cold dirt roads while their invaders slept cozily inside the fishers' huts. There was the occasional cluster of men keeping watch to ensure that they all didn't have their throats slit in the night, but by and large the watch was lazy. It was rather obvious that they didn't care so much if the locals ran off in the night. There was nowhere to run within the next dozen miles, and even if they did find refuge it would only be a matter of time before their new haven was conquered. The Zealots had great plans to take all of the fabled city-states and claim these foreigners' wealth in the name of their god.

Though the night was dark and the moon only offered little light, the captain saw enough to understand the situation. It was now a matter of deciding whether to take action or to withdraw. The watch did not seem all too alert and could probably be surprised, but he did not know how many hostiles there were or how powerful they were. Any mistake could prove fatal, and the lives of his men were his responsibility.
So too, were the lives of those villagers. Time was of the essence, and he knew that the longer he stood hesitating, the more likely it was that his forces and he would be detected. Biting his lip and cursing quietly, he signaled with his spear and the men began a very slow withdrawal, back to the dock and boats. It was a foolish commander who drove his men into the unknown, and Servius Manicus was anything but a foolish commander. Certainly, those back home feared him and purposefully kept him as a lowly captain, but he was not just another of their decadent, corpulent and glory-seeking commanders. To hell with glory if all it brought was decadence and more fat than should ever be seen on a self-respecting man.

He would withdraw and scout out the enemy for a while longer, and in the meanwhile he would send for reinforcements and deliver a blow certain to meet with success. That was the way of the intelligent commander, and more importantly, that was the way of the victorious. Now, it was just a matter of getting out of this huge predicament undetected...

Much to his surprise, they were soon back at the docks and the men got back into the boats and began rowing away. Servius wondered if perhaps he had over-estimated whatever enemy had taken over the village. Certainly any foe who was so lax could not be of any great danger...
Nevertheless, he knew that he had made the correct decision. He needed to be more certain of what he was facing, and that would take some time and careful scouting. Once he was back with his main fleet, he immediately sent one of the ships back, requesting another thousand men at the least. With that, he brought the fisherman to him and questioned him on the lay out of the village and the surrounding terrain. Being a fisherman, there was very little he could tell Servius, but he was able to tell him of the various other fishing settlements in the area. There were not that many, just another five with populations similar to that of the fisherman's own village.

'Do you think they would have met a fate similar to your own?' the captain asked, but the fisherman could not be sure. Servius nodded before getting on to the main reason he had called for the fisherman.
'I understand you are afraid, but I have a task for you,' the captain smiled kindly at the older man, who gulped and nodded, clearly afraid but willing neverthless.
'I would like you to sneak back into your village and join the mass of townspeople left out on the streets. Try to get what information you can from them, and keep a watch on the invaders. If you can somehow gain their trust, do so and gather what information about them that you can. Can you do that for me?' Servius looked at the fisherman, attempting to work out whether the man was up to the task or not.
'W-why can't one of your men do it?' he asked, at which Servius smiled.
'Believe me, I would not hesitate to send one of my men, or personally do it, if such was viable. But we require a man who knows the town and is familiar with it. A local, to be brief. No one can do this but you,' the fisherman clearly did not seem too happy about this, and the captain assured him that it was nothing he had to do if he did not wish to, though it would most certainly be helpful.
'I think...' the fisherman seemed lost in thought and unable to say much.
'Do you have a family, Aegeus?' the captain asked, to which the fisherman nodded, rater miserably.
'I'm guessing they're back there, eh?' once more Aegeus nodded.
'I can't make you any promises my friend, but I will do all in my power to unite you with them, sooner rather than later,' Servius smiled slightly, a small, sad smile. Aegeus nodded, though he was clearly gladdened by the words, they remained naught but words and could not bring his family to him.
'You may go,' Servius told him, before the captain turned to the makeshift map he had managed to draw of the village and the surrounding area from Aegeus' description.



Meanwhile, Arguillan scouts and raiders prowled the countryside like beastly predators. Normally soldiers were the type of hunter whose prey walked on two legs, but in this case, their eyes were upon a caravan of hooves pack animals that trodded down the dusky path, the animals driven by wandering merchants with a few outriders on the lookout for bandits. Of course, Ialu's faithful were no mere bandits hiding in the hills. A few bodyguards would not stop them from feeding off the fat of this land.

Skumr was a stout and fierce soldier, disciplined and also trusted enough to have been told of the Well of Strength. He was closer than he thought to being promoted to Immortal, seeing as he had built something of a reputation and caught the eye of more men than he had realized. Perhaps that was why he had been chosen to lead this scouting party.

As the merchants that they had been tracking drew within sight of his platoon, so too did the raiders find themselves spotted by the caravan guards. With a loud cry, Skumr sent his horse galloping and his men did the same on their stolen steeds. About a half dozen mounted guards fanned out from alongside the caravan to meet them, a few others stayed with the merchants, while another two showed their true colors and fled the opposite way. While the skirmish looked even with the two opposing forces about the same size, there was no fight. Only slaughter.

The Zealots reached out towards the fast approaching riders with their Wi and began indiscriminately lashing out. Both the riders and their innocent horses found themselves mutilated from afar without warning by the powers of those that they had foolishly charged out to meet.

The merchants had already been fleeing, but their retreat only became more frantic and wild upon seeing what had happened to their protectors. Having no intention of putting up chase for a good hour, Skumr reached out with the ethereal fingers of his Wi and clutched a nearby stone. He brought it into the air and swung it in a great circle once, twice, and then finally sent it hurling on the third revolution. Though it had been intended more as a warning shot, the stone seemed to fly with a will of its own and veered dangerously close to one of the merchants. He spat, cursing his poor (or ironically, good) aim. He wanted a nice and easy surrender; perhaps the Zealots were weaker than their predecessors, for the order now frowned somewhat upon excessive violence. Better to rule the conquered through respect or simple fear as opposed to unimaginable cruelty.

In any case, there was little point in killing the merchants or the remaining guards. Leaving them alive would let them spread tales of terror and panic, weakening the enemy's resolve. So Skumr gestured for his men to circle at a safe distance and use their magic to sling a hail of stones just barely in front of the fleeing caravan. It didn't take long to send the message and break the peddlers' resolve. Most sane men would decide that surrendering and losing their goods was a better choice than some suicidal attempt at fighting back or fleeing, and these were no exception.

After relieving the caravan of the burden of all its fine goods (there was much food and drink that would be useful additions to the army's limited supplies, and the pack animals would be useful as well) Skumr left the travelers' terrified leader with a parting gift: a sack full of severed heads, fresh off the necks of a small band of soldiers they had spotted on the road earlier that morning. Then with a few sharp kicks, the merchants were sent scurrying back to the nearest town to tell their tale. Terror and death out in the countryside would be a fine way to herald the arrival of this land's new rulers.

With that Skumr's warband turned around and rode hard back for the villages where the rest of their countrymen were garrisoned, stolen supplies in tow. The other parties came back as well, and within a few days Tyke's scouts had managed to learn the layout of the surrounding lands as well as some information on the regional powers. There was also the somewhat alarming report that the enemy's response had been stronger and swifter than expected; already an army was mustering and preparing to make its way to one of the villages. While the Prophet had expected a bit more time and perhaps a diplomatic envoy before these foreigners sought to repay blood with blood, he supposed that waging a terror campaign in the countryside would have destroyed that hope of peace for them. So of course they sought to make a quick strike and end this incursion before it could begin to gain momentum.

Fortunately, this was just what Tyke wanted...while those guarding Aegeus' village - Orna - had purposefully allowed a few peasants to escape in the night. Those refugees would then go on to bring the attention of the local warlords, and so the Zealots would have the enemy come to them instead of the other way around.

Still, Tyke was fairly confident that these 'Carebites' didn't realize the extent of land that he had already taken, or if they did know that he held several villages, they at least wouldn't know just how large a force he had and how effective they were. So just like the Mighty Ialu had always done, the Prophet would be sure to exploit the feelings of doubt that clouded his enemy's mind: that misinformation, that uncertainty, the element of surprise.

Tyke knew not whether the incoming army would come by land or by sea, but he had a good inkling of where they would come attack first... Orna was the closest, and with any luck, it would also be the only one that they knew to have been taken. Still, he would have to be careful about his next move.

With the local militias already crushed and the threat of utter annihilation, he expected no uprisings from these peaceful little hamlets. Still, he would need to set up some form of governing body to oversee the settlements so that they wouldn't simply slip out of his grasp the moment that the army moved on. He withdrew most of his forces from all the villages save Orna, leaving a skeletal force of only a few men in each one. The men that he left behind were installed as chieftains as a reward for good service. They would also ensure that the locals were converted and that the order's will would remain enforced.

As the scattered companies moved to regroup, they also detached dozens of small parties to patrol the area. With most of the soldiers gone, some of the braver folk might try to flee. Those patrols would remain to ensure a quiet and orderly land...all this sneaking about and ambushing would be worthless if the peasants could roam freely and keep the enemy informed as to the Zealots' movements.

Once he had rallied the greater part of his force, they quickly marched out by night so as to avoid being seen. By the time dawn's first rays came over the rolling bluffs just outside Orna, the hillsides were teeming with soldiers. They made their camps a fair ways from the village, out of sight from the settlement, yet at the same time close enough to be there within a blink. That greater portion of the army would lurk in waiting, while the garrison that was stationed in Orna had remained there and would go on as normal. Watchmen would ensure that any of the locals that strayed too close to the hills wouldn't come back; if all went according to plan, neither the villagers nor the incoming army would ever realize that there were more than a thousand men within just a few miles. Well, at least they wouldn't know until it was too late.

Several small bands were sent out to find the enemy army and track its progress. Perhaps there would be a better place to prepare an ambush than at the gates of Orna...in any case, those roving scouts would also screen the encampment from enemy spies. Tyke had perhaps two and a half hundred men in Orna, that many more scouting the surroundings or patrolling the lands he had taken, and then a full thousand encamped in the hills. He also saw about finally organizing a watch in Orna to prevent further escape attempts; the enemy would find their stream of information in the form of refugees to be quite suddenly cut off. Fairly confident in his position, all he could do now would be to wait. Until he had reports coming in from those that he had sent to find and track the enemy army or he found himself sallying out to defend the village from a sea attack, there was nothing to do but wait. He hated the waiting...

Aegeus had gone to the captain a few days later and told him of his decision. Servius had been somewhat surprised that Aegeus was even considering it, but the fisherman would not tell him the reasoning behind the decision to do as Servius asked. He had immediately set sail in a small fishing boat, taking a fishing rod and net along with him. Arriving at Orna, he had begun docking when a movement further up caught his attention. When he looked, he found a woman crawling towards him on the ground, muttering something to herself. He ran towards her and helped her to her feet, recognising her as Mariae, one of the chief's daughters.
'Please,' she begged, tears welling up in her eyes, 'get me out of here,' Aegeus had never thought to see such a strong woman cry, and all he could so was get her in the boat and begin rowing away. At first he thought to take her back to the captain, but after mulling it over in his mind, he decided to go to the next town instead. There were probably no invaders there and she would be safe for a while.

Even as he sailed away, he could see some of the villagers who had managed to escape making for the forest. He would have liked to help, but the small boat could only carry so many people. He continued onwards, throwing his net once he came to good fishing waters and spending the best part of the day bringing the net in and throwing it out again. He spoke to Mariae a bit, asking her about his wife and children. She assured him they were fine, as far as she could remember, but she was not in a state to tell him much more than that and he let her sleep. Towards late afternoon, he began rowing again, heading for the neighbouring village of Istr.
Istr was smaller than Orna. In fact, Orna had been the largest village in the area - which was probably the reason it had been targetted first. While Orna's population had been at a good four hundred (who knew what it was at now), Istr's population was no more than one hundred, along with Caryth and Klem, while Raenr which was the farthest away had a population of two hundred or so.

Coming into Istr's dock, he noted that it was slightly more alive that Orna. Indeed, Orna's dock had been deserted, patrols did not even pass it by - probably the reason behind Mariae ability to escape in that direction. The security there was indeed very lax...he would have to note that and tell Servius when he returned.
'Fish! Fish! Fresh fish! Finest fresh fish! Finest fish! Freshest fish!' he waved a single fish around as he shouted, calling all to come and survey his wares. He was quite an attraction and people rushed towards him.
'Thank goodness! We thought we'd starve if someone didn't come soon!' one of them said, which Aegeus thought odd.
'Why? Where are your fishing boats, eh?' he asked. The man shook his head sadly before speaking.
'I have no idea where they came from. Just attacked from out of the blue an' destroyed our fleets. Most of them left suddenly though, dunno where to, and they left three to guard the town,' Aegeus' eyes widened at this. So Orna had not been the only village attacked...
'How many were they, those ones who attacked you?' Aegeus asked, 'what did they look like? Were they Carebian?'

The man shook his head in the negative.
'No, definitely no Carebs, didn't speak like us. Couldn't understand a word they said, but they shouted a lot. Had weird armour too, nothing I've ever seen. There were more of them than us, that's for sure, 'undreds came,' Aegeus gave the man a few fish once he had heard enough. It seemed that they had been rather kind to the Istrians, allowing them to continue living in their own homes, but cracking down on their ability to leave the village by land or sea. The fact that these invaders spoke a foreign tongue also meant that spying on them and learning their intentions became doubly difficult. This meant that they had not only attacked Orna, but Istr also. He had to report back to Servius immediately, for he did not believe he could get much more by remaining in Istr or going to Orna.

'Fish! Fresh Fish! Come one and all. Free fresh fish for all!' Aegeus' voice would ring out clear in the late afternoon air, attracting the attention of most of the hungry villagers.

The arrival of a fisherman drew attention from more than just a few hungry villagers, though. Three men had been left by Tyke to manage this village, and so they strutted through the streets by day casting a menacing glance towards any that showed so much as a hint of disrespect. The language barrier was formidable, but through gestures and what few words they had caught onto the Zealots managed to communicate with the locals.

Still, there was one language that was known to every man and every beast beneath the sky: blood. Already two rabble rousers had been executed, butchered in the streets by the new rulers of the town. Expecting little more than a third troublemaker, a brute by the name of Gorm heard shouting and a commotion and made his way to the docks. What few people didn't see him and hurriedly step out of his way were forcefully knocked aside. At last Gorm made his way through the crowd, and he stood before Aegeus. What was this fish peddler up to? Gorm didn't recognize this one's face, and he hadn't allowed any fishing boats to sail out earlier in the day!

Angrily, the armored warior advanced closer to Aegeus. His armor was menacing as was his helmet, the thing concealing his face and leaving whatever cruel visage he had to one's imagination. Rattling at his side was a scabbard, within which was a blade wrought by the smiths of Brightwood.

Gulping, Aegeus let go of the fish he was holding and raised his hands in a clear sign of surrender.
'J-just giving the people some fish,' he stuttered, before stepping out of the boat and bowing before the great warrior in respect, 'they are very hungry m-my lord, they live on the fish of the sea. It is our way,' he looked up before gesturing towards the boat and the fish within it, very much as a worshipper would present his god with a great sacrifice or offering. He wondered whether he would understand. Unlike in Orna, it seemed that the invaders had something more orderly going on here. Surely they intended to rule, and surely he would understand that the ruled required to live, and to live they required food.

Without another word, Gorm walked up to the suspicious fishmonger and began rummaging through the heaps of fish. Seemingly satisfied that there weren't piles of weapons or something of the like hidden there, he decided to let this one live. His new workers had to be fed, after all. He outstretched a hand and suddenly the fish were alive again, wriggling wildly. At least, that's what it looked like in the moment before they began to hover in the air, lifted out of the boat by Wi, and then float over to the ground and plop down still once more. Aegeus' eyes visibly widened at the display. He had heard of people in far off lands who were capable of great feats, just like this, of lands where huge reptiles flew and the dead walked the earth. He had never thought to see it with his own eyes however, and no small amount of terror was apparant on him.

With all the fish safely out of the boat, Gorm now looked to the villagers. They were confused and putting a fair deal of distance between themselves and the fish now. Frustrated at their stupidity, he gestured towards the heaps of fish, and quickly the villagers got the point and began to take some for themselves. Then he looked towards the boat. This would not do; the other boats had been burned. Until this country was firmly within the grasp of Ialu's faithful, there could be no travelers or sailors going about. Reaching out with his Wi, he lifted the entire little fishing boat out of the water, flipped it upside down, and threw it out into the sea. A few quick blasts of telekinetic energy poked holes in the hull, rendering it useless.

Having understood hardly more than a word or two when Aegeus had earlier tried to speak to him, Gorm knew that attemtping to communicate was probably futile. Still, he tried. In a thick accent, he spoke in the Carebs' tongue, "No...no...no going in..."

Not knowing the word for 'boat' or 'sailing', he simply pointed towards the wreckage.

Aegeus looked after the wreckage, very clearly crestfallen. He forced a smile and nodded in understanding.
'Y-yes. It's alright,' he picked up his fishing rod, which had been levitated from the boat along with the fish, 'this'll do, and I guess I can just...walk,' he bowed once more in respect to the huge warrior before beginning to walk off, Mariae following him. He would have to find a place for her to stay and then work out how to get back to the fleet. He looked behind himself, wondering if the huge warrior would attempt to stop him or want anything more from him. He wondered how they would feed the people here, this was no agricultural land and the sea was the greatest source of food.

Gorm had followed Aegeus for a time, but then eventually retired for rest. The three Zealots that had stayed in Istr took turns going around the village so that there was almost always one of them present. They still didn't quite trust these strange people, and were admittedly more than a little bit leery at having to try to keeping them in line with so few resources. Besides themselves, they only had a few opportunistic snitches and lapdogs amongst the population that had gladly thrown themselves into service of their conquerors in hopes of moving up the ladder.

It was not too difficult to find a kind old couple with whom Mariae was willing to stay, and with that, he whistled a little tune to himself and began making for the open road.
'Hey!' came a whispered shout, 'where do you think you're waltzing off to eh?' Aegeus turned around to find an old woman marching towards him, supported by a cane.
'Well, was just about to leave. Boat's been sunk, so I've no option but to walk...' Aegeus said simply.
'WALK?!' she half roared, 'what kind of idiot are you, eh? You think they'll let you just walk out, hmm?' Aegeus blinked a few times and thought this through. The old woman had a point, why would the villagers all remain in this hell-hole if they could just leave? He should have realised that.
'Anyone who tries to leave gets it,' she whispered, 'and no one has ever left,' with that dark warning, she walked off, leaving Aegeus in his little predicament.

Scratching his head, the fisherman-turned-spy decided that it was about time he started acting more like a spy and less like a fisherman. Throwing his fishing rod away he marched off down the road, before he thought better of it and came back for the rod. He could do many things in life, but his fishing rod was really quite important. A spy could still be a fisherman, right? Yes, yes he could. Clever him.

Sticking to the walls and hugging the darkness, Aegeus slowly crept through the streets. He had to stop every now and then when a villager walked by - Aegeus thought a few gave him a weird look, but that was probably just his imagination. Once he had arrived at the final huts before the small wooden walls and gates, he got to the ground and looked around. For a good hour he lay there, silent as could be, until the huge figure of Gorm - or perhaps another of his companions, Aegeus really couldn't tell - walked by.

He waited until the warrior had walked away and disappeared before crawling forward on all fours towards the closed gate. Once there, he stood up against the gate and froze, allowing himself to review the situation. He could not hear any guards - their armour gave off an unmistakable racket - and he thought it would be safe to escape. With utmost care he lifted the bar and laid the wooden plank on the ground. He stayed close to the ground and looked around once more, wondering if he had been seen yet. Even if he had, there was no going back now. He pushed the gate and it slid open slightly, and he slid out through the crack, closing it behind him.

'Now, what to do, what to do,' he muttered to himself. His basic instinct told him to run. It did not matter where, just run. And he almost did. But then he told himself to put the fisherman in him to sleep and let the spy think. A normal man would just run, would he not? That would be expected. He looked left and right and smiled to himself. How clever was he? Too clever.
'You're too clever Aegeus,' he sniggered to himself before hugging the wall and walking alongside it. Yes, he would stick to the wall and once he got to the water, he would stay in the water. His swimming ability, like many Carebians, but most of all fisherman like himself, was one of his fortes. He would make use of it. Just as he had not been spotted when he sailed up and down in his boat, no one would expect a man to be swimming or walking along the shore. Was he not clever? Yes, yes he was! Smiling to himself, he continued his escape.

For the rest of the night, Aegeus swam in the shallows. The tide came and went with him, but his years of experience carried him through. When he grew tired, he crawled back onto the shore and lay there for a while, watching. Always watching. It was important to be alert, important to be conscious of everything. Just like a fish. If a fish wanted to avoid the fisherman, it had to see what other fish could not. There was more to the worm hanging in the water than a stroke of good luck, the fish which survives saw the trap. There was much to be learnt from a fish which saw.

When dusk arrived, he slipped into a cave further up from the sandy beach, in the cliff which was slowly beginning to form, and would keep going for miles yet. He spent the day there, sleeping away his tiredness and ignoring his hunger. He awoke in the late afternoon and was starving. There were plenty of crabs along the beach, however, and a few of those would sate him. The great thing was that he did not need to cook it, and thus no fire or smoke would attract attention. Raw crab could be surprisingly good. When night dawned, he continued his journey.

It took another night of swimming before the cliffs beyond the sand gave way to forest, and Orna appeared on the horizon. As dawn arrived, Aegeus slipped into the safety of the forest. No, it was not safe. That was the foolish fish thinking, that was the fisherman. Who knew what creatures and hostiles stalked the forest even now. He made for the nearest tree and listened very carefully. Birds chirruped and the forest was awakening to greet a new day. Staying low, he peeked from behind the tree and deeper into the woods. It was very important that he saw what other fish could not. Only like that would he survive.

With his eyes peeled, he moved from tree to tree, listening and looking and ever searching for a place which was definitely safe to remain. He eventually came to a thick bit of undergrowth which was rather difficult to manouevre and buried himself into it. Fighting a fair bit to get deep in, he eventually settled down and allowed himself to rest.
When he awoke, he was surprised that no one had found him. He listened for a while, wondering if there was anybody out beyond the undergrowth, but heard nothing. Eventually he got to his feet and looked about himself in the quickly dimming light and made his way back out of the forest, as carefully as he entered it. It was more difficult to see in the slowly settling darkness, but that also meant that he could hide more easily. As night fell, he crawled back to the shore and into the welcoming arms of the sea. The last he thought before he got back into the drill of the past few nights was just how clever he was. So very clever.



Aegeus ripped into the salted meats and chugged down the water offered him. He had not realised just how hungry he had been these past few days. The captain had been surprisingly sensitive to the fisherman's state. Rather than questioning him immediately on what he had discovered, he had ordered the men to take him below and feed him until he was full. Servius left him for the night and returned to his cabin to rest and think. The fools in Viros were being slow in sending reinforcements. His messenger had returned with a letter a few days back, stating that they would take some time to process his request for additional troops. The messenger also brought back the news that the invaders had begun raiding traders and caravans in the region, causing the authorities in Viros to dub them as a mere bandit threat. Servius did not think them to be mere bandits. The state of the fisherman alone proved that.

Aegeus was in the cabin first thing in the morning, before the sun had fully risen, and narrated to Servius his entire ordeal.
'At first I thought that they'd conquered both Orna and Istr, but the more I thought on it - and I thought long on my journey back - the more I realised that I was mistaken. I don't have any proof, but I think...I think they've taken all the villages along the coast, from Orna to Raenr. Certainly a huge amount of troops in Orna, compared with Istr. Mariae said a few hundred at the least. Istr had only three,' Servius surveyed the man before him. Compared to the fisherman he had sent out only a week back, this was a very changed man.

'You have done well, Aegeus. I will send you back up to Viros and I will tell them to honour you and give you a good home. You have served we-'
'Wait, what? That's all? You're sending me away?' the man was wide-eyed and clearly hostile to the idea of going back to Viros, 'y-you can't!' Servius looked at him in surprise.
'Why, what do you mean?' he asked.
'I...I'm a spy now, no? I mean, I'm a fisherman too, but I'm a spy as well. I'm very good, I promise! Keep me here, I don't want to go to Viros,' at these words, Servius could not help but smile. He had certainly grown, and he would grow far more in the coming weeks and months.
'Very well. Agent Aegeus, you are relieved of all duties for the time being and can go enjoy some free time,' at that, the fisherman-turned-spy smiled and nodded feverishly and thanked the captain before leaving. Perhaps he would come in rather useful after all.
'Oh, and captain, I forgot to say. But they destroyed my boat,' Servius looked up at Aegeus.
'No, you told me about that,' Servius assured him.
'No captain, they destroyed it with magick. They are magick-users,' Servius was visibly shocked. That he had not expected at all. With that, Aegeus left and Servius let that critical piece of information sink in.

Aegeus had confirmed Servius' suspicians all along, though he had never anticipated magick. He was now certain that the entire southern coast had been compromised. These invaders were certainly not 'mere bandits' as the authorities up in Viros thought them to be. Servius had faced bandits before, and they certainly did not conquer towns - that was far too expensive and required more manpower than mere bandits could muster. And mere bandits did not use magick. The Virosians were underestimating the threat, and had left him waiting on them for the past week. At the least they continued to send supplies down, though Servius would not have been surprised if they suddenly 'forgot' about that.

Turning back to the matter at hand, he began planning. It was clear that the invaders still had troops in Orna. Aegeus had guessed that there were a few hundred, and he had seen for himself how lax they were. Beyond that was the largely unprotected Istr and the other villages further down the coast. He would sail his forces down and land in Istr. From there he would send scouts to the other villages, and particularly Orna - there had to be a reason it was so heavily garrisoned compared to the others. With the plan clear in his mind, he could not help but wonder if Aegeus' information remained true. It had been true a week back, but would it be true now? A good commander did not take foolish risks. But war was all risk. Risk and luck.
He sent for his commanders and told them to prepare to sail at dusk, emphasising that stealth was of the essence. No fires, and sound was to be kept to a minimum.

Putting some more distance between them and the shore, they sailed down under the cover of darkness, sails reefed to ensure that what little light the moon shone down upon them did not reveal them. There distance from the shore was such that even if the moon did reveal them, one would not think them more than a few far off merchants or sea creatures.

Meanwhile, Tyke had been growing restless. He had received no word on enemy troop movements, yet this hardly boded well...he suspected some form of sneakery. Unless they cared about these lands so little that they decided to not even put up a fight? He began to second guess the wisdom of concentrating so much manpower in the north, when there was an untold expanse of land in the west. Perhaps they would take a long route so as to avoid detection and then emerge from the wilderness?

With each day the situation in the villages within his grasp grew more secure and the new chieftains' reign more solid. True, travel and trade were currently restricted, but these small hamlets had been mostly self sufficient anyways. The peasants weren't being treated to cruelty of too much excess, so they seemed willing enough to accept the change in leadership. At least for now. No doubt they would prefer the stability and legitimacy of their former government if given an option, but for all they knew, this marauding force of invaders had already conquered another twenty villages in the time since they had marched on.

So with rebellion seeming incredibly unlikely and hardly any escape attempts happening now, the patrols within the local region were a waste of time and manpower. Tyke sent them further inland to the west, to scout out and chart those areas. Having men in that area would secure his last remaining blind side, or so Tyke thought. The Prophet was still unaware of Servius' 500 men aboard a fleet anchored some ways off the coast.

While all of this happened, the parties that pushed north into enemy territory were beginning to grow emboldened by their continued success and the pathetic lack of resistance. They were gradually straying further and further north. The merchants had mostly caught wind of the danger in the south and so now the caravans were drying up, which meant that the warbands were forced to go further and further north in search of supplies and wealth to loot and bring back.

It was a moonless night when Servius' men struck at Istr. The operation began with the landing one one hundred men, led personally by Servius. The men fanned about and slowly began advancing into the village as others disembarked. The gate would have to be captured to ensure that no one escaped, and any armed hostiles would have to be neutralised immediately. With a good twenty men, Servius led the vanguard and made quickly for the gate. Two other forces of fifty each mounted the walls and kept their eyes peeled for any external threats, while the rest of the force split into parties of twenty or so and fanned out within the small village. The priority was to ensure no one escaped.

Gorm stood vigil by the gate, just as he had done every night since discovering that the bar had mysteriously been left out of place when the morning came. It was a sure sign that somebody had escaped; Gorm had been quick to cover it up and had said nothing to the patrols that occasionally came to check up for fear of looking a fool, yet he would make sure that something like this did not happen again.

As he leaned with his back against the wall, he had a clear path of sight down the road that ran through the village, all the way to the docks. Tired as he was, his sight failed to pierce through the veil of darkness and observe the men rowing their landing boats right up the docks and entering the hamlet. But aging as he might be, he still wasn't blind enough to miss the massed formation of men as they charged down the street right for his gate.

At first he thought it to be a mob of angered citizens trying to fight their way out or simply revolt and kill all the three Zealots in the dead of night, but then in the faint starlight he saw the gleam of metal blades. These were no fishermen.

For a moment he was transfixed at utterly bewildered by how there were soldiers inside the village walls. He blinked once, then twice, and finally realizing that this was no dream, snapped to his senses. He darted to the side, into a narrow alley between a house and the wall, and then was nothing but another shadow in the night.

A minute later and he was suddenly at the house that he and the other two Zealots had claimed for their own. He silently entered through a back door and roused the other two. They frantically began to equip their armor, all the while barring the door and arguing amongst themselves in whispers. There were at least a dozen men out there that Gorm had seen, probably plenty more. The other villages needed to be warned, for sure, but at the same time they couldn't simply abandon this one without a fight. They would lose all of the respect and fear that they wielded over the villagers, and that was the only thing that allowed them to keep this place under control.

Servius stopped at the gate and looked to his left and right, expecting to find one of those three Aegeus had mentioned, if not even more. He looked up at the walls to find that the men had circled it and were now standing on guard. Some were looking over the wall and others were looking back into the village for any hint of hostiles.
'Man this gate and don't let a single soul in or out,' he commanded the twenty men he had come with before running to the nearest home and banging on the door.
'In the name of the Council, open up the door!' he roared. He had to shout it a few more times before a young man opened it. He had clearly not been asleep, his red face suggested that he had in fact been in the midst of...other activities.
'What in the world-?' he did not manage to finish his sentence for Servius pulled him out and looked him right in the eye.
'We have come for you citizen. The invaders have been ousted and you are saved. Tell me which of our homes they have stolen,' the villager was quite clearly terrified, both of Servius and the prospect of telling him where the Zealots were.

'N-no, they'll kill me,' he stuttered. Servius let him go and the man fell to his knees.
'Citizen, look here,' Servius' voice was far more gentle, and it had a rather sensitive authority to it, as though he understood very well what the man was experiencing. The young man looked up into Servius smiling face.
'I won't be letting them do anything to you while I yet draw breath,' gulping, the man blinked a few times and shook the fear from his head, 'now, show me the way.'

Having wasted enough time persuading the man, Servius followed him as he led him down some roads. The captain gathered a few parties around him, and by the time they arrived at the house in question he had amassed a good twenty men who promptly circled the house. Four men stood before the door, their long spears towards the closed door. Usually their spears were far longer, but seeing as this was not an open battle, Servius had ordered them to use the shorter spears. He wondered if asking them to surrender, given the language barrier, would do much good. He would have liked to take them alive, but something told him that would be too difficult.
'Come out!' he demanded, 'no weapons, no armour!' with that, he waited a few seconds for a response. If there was no response, he would have to act.

Whilst this had taken place, the dispute had been settled. At least two of them would have to flee; one would head north to bring the Prohpet news of this so that he could come with support, while the other would have to warn the other villages to the south. Granted, there was little that could be done by two or three men to stop an army even if they had a warning, but it was better than nothing. Gorm's two companions had managed to slip out the back door just before the house was circled. One managed to make it to the north wall and scale it without problems, while the other was seen a few minutes later and cut down a good two or three men before managing to make it out and begin fleeing. No doubt the sounds of the rather brief battle would have been heard even on the other side of this tiny village.

Gorm had remained inside the house. He did not like the idea of dying ignobly in some wretched hamlet, but then again, perhaps he would not die. Unlike the other two, he was one of the Immortal. Perhaps he had the strength within him to cleave a path through the streets and fight his way out, or perhaps he would meet with a swift end and be released from the agony that had wracked his every fiber since drinking from the Well of Strength.

While Servius and his men circled the house, he quickly and haphazardly erected a barricade of furniture and the like in front of the back door. Then he turned to the front door, the thing still barred. It would not be easy for them to force their way in (assuming they still thought that there was somebody inside the house, what with the sounds of fighting from elsewhere in the village) and once they did, they would have to walk through that entryway one by one and face the brute that was Gorm. It would be like slaughtering goats.

But then again, was not such a way cowardly? While Servius shouted from outside, Gorm was silent. He began to meditate and summon his Wi, contemplating whether to knock down that entire wall in a great blast of force and then charge out like some sort of wild demon.

There was no response. Servius frowned and wondered whether the three had escaped. It was a monument to their power that they managed to escape a village with five hundred soldiers running through it, with one hundred at the walls. It was more evidence that these were not mere bandits, but trained men. It was rather terrifying - was this the power magick gave people, or were these people special? He considered, for a few seconds, simply burning the house down. The thatch roof would quickly catch fire and burn down and they would quickly learn whether they had all escaped or whether some still remained. No, it was of no consequence. The mission had failed.

'Order the men to evacuate the citizens of this settlement, abort the mission,' Servius commanded one of the men. The man ran off, shouting for the people to prepare for evacuation. Servius would have liked for the mission to have been completed discreetly, and for a base to have been set up here, but that was not possible. He would simply have to press on.
As the evacuation of the village took place, he remained with a good eighteen men around the house. Five of them, Servius the sixth, had their shields up and their spears towards the main door while the others were in a similar stance surrounding the house. Wherever an attack should come from, if one was coming, they would be prepared.

Words that Gorm could not understand were barked out from outside. He listened in an attempt to discern what what meant, piecing together the tone of the one speaking and what few words he could understand, but it was futile. He was almost sure that they were going to come knocking down the door any moment now. A dozen thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant: knock down the wall and charge out, climb up to the rafters and push through the thatch ceiling, perhaps even pretend to surrender...

Bah, Gorm was many things, but at least he wasn't a coward. The very air itself right outside the house began to hum and reverberate with energy for a brief moment, and then there was an unstoppable force that tore through the house's front wall, washed over those right in front of it, recoiled off the house opposite the street, and finally ended with its dying breath something like the sound of thunder.

From out of the wreckage of the crumbling house, Gorm ran out bellowing like a madman with a sword and shield in hand.

The six men before the door were blown apart. Shields cracked and spears splintered, and their very armour exploded from the blow. A rain of blood and flesh settled on the shocked faces of the others, who had been left rather unscathed since the greatest force of the magickal strike had been forward rather than to the sides. Their shields deflected the debris, though some buried itself into the metal. It was not so much the debris that shocked the men into inaction, but the sight of their commander being torn apart before their very eyes, along with five other comrades. Never had they seen something so horrific and powerful.

The remaining twelve, shocked as they were, were spurred into action by the roar of one of them as he stepped forth, spearing towards the monster that had emerged from the ruins. Hearing him, the years of training kicked in and the others roared their fury - and fear - and stepped forth, spearing at the strange man, if man he was, and bringing their shields up to create an effective shield circle which would prevent him from moving, and also prevent any spear tips hitting the wrong target. They did not have magick, that was sure, but that was not going to stop them from fighting and dying with honour.

Momentum carried Gorm forward. Before the dust had settled, he was already in the street charging the nearest enemy. For whatever reason, all fear vanished in him. The hole left behind from its absense was filled with something more fiery and more potent. Rage. It seeped out of his very pores and into his blade, and the sword glowed like a dying coal. The blade itself thirsted for blood.

For all the skill and training that he possessed, he fought like a wild animal. He put every bit of muscle that he had had behind absolutely every swing of his sword, as if the thing was a butcher's cleaver. A few spears met with his shield and has their thrusts effortlessly stymied, but then all of a sudden Gorm found himself enclosed within a circle of spears.

There was nothing else for it but to break through. He used his Wi to put an inordinate amount of pressure on two of the men, enough to crush their heads like grapes, and then tried to escape through that gap in the circle while he still had a chance.

Yet again the strange man displayed his magick and two of their comrades fell to the ground, blood erupting from their helmets. Even as he tried to escape, the two to either side of the fallen stepped in to block his way and the circle of shields tightened around him. The spearmen raised their spear arms and began stabbing downward over their shields, while consistently tightening the circle and stabbing down.

One spear managed to find the back of Gorm's knee and pierce the weak point in his armor, inflicting a crippling wound. A brazen look in his eye, he fell to the ground but not before using magic to bring that one down with him. A quick thrust from the Zealot's glowing blade effortlessly pierced that soldier's armor. What followed next was a blood curdling and agonizing howl; that unholy weapon that Gorm radiated so much hatred that one could feel it in the air. To have it eat into your flesh and infest you with that sort of energy would be unimaginable.

Sensing proverbial blood in the water, the other spearmen advanced on their downed enemy. As the tips came to end him he hid his torso beneath his shield and then began to scythe at the ankles of those that came too close. It was futile; they simply backed up and began to jab at his arms, legs, face...there were too many of them to keep track of and he couldn't deflect, parry, or wriggle away from every blow. His armor of bone and scales began to crack as it repeatedly took stabs, and in some of the weak points the spears pierced their way through. A dozen tortuous wounds were inflicted upon them, but he hardly felt such things anymore.

Before the final spear thrust came to end him, he desperately summoned every last ounce of magic that he had and did nothing. He simply released it, and it manifested itself in its simplest form: telekinetic force. The magic transformed into energy and then burst outward. Without warning the Zealot's entire body was consumed in a suicidal explosion; it was a shame that he would never know if such a thing would inflict his vengeance upon those that ushered him into death.

As it were, those who had done so would live to know whether his vengeance was inflicted or not. Indeed, they would live to know that they had avenged many a comrade, and a most noble commander. The force of the blow landed upon their shields and sent them flying before his suicidal explosion. Unlike his earlier blow, this one was pure telekinesis and did not, of its own will, tear its victims to shreds. The force sent them into houses and some landed on the thatch roofs, only to fall through. Other than broken bones and cuts, the majority survived, though one of them was unfortunate enough to be propelled head first into the wall of a house, and his neck snapped almost immediately.

After a while, those who were better off got up and helped their more seriously injured comrades.
'T-that was quite something. A tale for t-the grandchildren,' one of them managed. The light-hearted comment brought no smiles however. As the village was evacuated of its citizens, the dead were also carried away. The six who had been blown apart were unrecognisable, and their body parts had to be wrapped up together. It was rather tragic, for they had lost a commander who had served with for years and had taught them the meaning of good leadership. There was none in Viros like him, and they all knew that Carebia was the worst for it, particularly with this monumental threat.

Once the settlement was evacuated of all its citizens, Istr was burnt to the ground and the fleet set sail for Viros. Captain Servius' mission had ended in failure, and with that mission his life, too, had come to an end. What little chance Viros had at nipping the Zealot plant in the bud had fizzled and ended in failure, and all of Carebia would soon pay the price...

In the darkness of the copse of trees, held back by his small fire, Fran of the Brightguard wrote in his journal. His armor was beaten and scarred, his sword covered in dried blood, and it was clear he hadn't been getting much sleep, if any. Still, his hand was steady as he wrote in the journal, occasionally glancing out into the darkness, as if waiting for something.

The servants of the Giggling Holocaust continue grow. You know of the Chaos Knights, Sorcerers, and Dragons, the Barbed Uri, the Dark Cimex, the Iron Legion, and the Dragon Riders that serve him. However, another group has emerged. They are far more subtle than the average servant of Chaos. Three of them were able to sneak into a border fortress and kill twenty Brightguard, a dozen Dragon adepts, a handful of other soldiers, and open the gates for a surprise raiding force. All in one night. They possess dark magics, able to bend shadows to their will, and super heat their blades to cut through any armor. They are not of Chaos, as Kogleri does not harm them. But they do serve our enemy. If you see a being in black armor with a silver mask that has a dash of red beneath it, I beg you, be cautious.

I suspect that they possess our same body enhancing magic, as they moved far faster than any mortal had a right too. Dancing, for that is the only way to describe their movements, through the chaos of the battle they struck like vipers. I had to admire their precision and speed, striking into a warrior's weak points and then disappearing before their victim could see who this new threat was. Many strong warriors fell to the soldier slaves of Garakai this way, distracted and weakened. They are mortal, however. I managed to trap one in dome of Kogleri, and once I matched my speed to his, it was over. The Kogleri dome eradicated all shadows, and they are not frontline fighters. Be wary, brothers and sisters. And be forever on your guard.

Fran ripped the page out and quickly buried it in front of a tree, leaving his journal open. With Kogleri, he engraved a symbol into all the nearby trees. There was only a slight difference between the one where the note was located and the others. A difference only a Brightguard would notice.

Fran looked up at the sound of a branch cracking under a foot. Now that he was noticing it, the darkness seemed to be pushing too closely to the fire to be natural. He grabbed his sword, eyes searching the darkness. Kolgeri flared into life around him, creating a protective shield. "You're growing sloppy!" He called out. For several long moments there was silence, and then an assassin stepped out of the darkness. Their glowing blue eyes, a part of the mask Fran suspected, studied him coldly. "I'm growing sloppy because you have no where left to run, little guard. Your energy will give out before long. Come now, face your death with the bravery you claim to have. Give one last charge against evil."

The Brightguard closed his eyes briefly, feeling the exhaustion that had been his constant companion for the past three days flood into him. By the Absent One he was tired. He knew he couldn't keep the shield up for long. That either his energy would give out, or his concentration would, and then the assassin would end his life. Fran muttered a soft prayer, under his breath. "God of Order, long absent from this world, hear my prayer. My homeland is under siege. Good men die by the hundreds, while the Forces of Chaos grow ever stronger. Orbakh is just another plaything for the Giggling Holocaust to ruin and then toss aside. The other Gods have abandoned us. Lord Saurnath no longer heeds his Adept's or his children's cries, and their blood soaks the ground. Silence only greets us when we pray to the others. Arguis cowers in his library. Ferghus huddles in his forge. Escre abandoned us long ago. Vowzra simply disappeared. Astarte is the Consort of Chaos. Vestec is allowed to play his games and cause untold death and devastation unchecked. We need someone to challenge the Chaotic One. Someone to stem the tide of Chaos. Absent One, return, I beg of you."

The Kogleri shield failed, and Fran stood. Before he could attack the assassin in front of him, he felt a brief burning pain in the back of his neck. And then he died. The two Crimson Tears looked at his corpse for a moment, one of them glancing at the journal before tossing it into the fire. As they left, the book was slowly consumed by flames. The Crimson Tear looked back one time, to make sure Fran was truly dead. The only thing that greeted him was the Brightguard's last true journal entry.

Where are all the Gods?

Meanwhile, with Vestec

The God of Chaos left Galbar, briefly. He shot into space and then started searching the galaxy. Escre couldn't have gone too far, especially with three Demi-Gods in tow. Within a few short moments(or so it seemed to the God of Chaos), Vestec managed to pin down where the Life God, his daughter, and the two others had gone. In a moment he was amongst them, colors flashing randomly. "Hello Dearie! Having fun? Escre! I have a brief request to make of you, now that I'm sure my daughter is perfectly fine, then I'll leave and you can just continue on your trip." He hefted up the Morello-Nomicon.

"This is a book Arguis made. Very powerful, by mortal standards, especially with my blessings, Ferghus's blessings, and Arguis's blessings in it. I ask that you add your own blessings to it. Before you say no, it's not so I can give it to one of my followers. There will be a tournament. Heroes, Demi-Gods, and aspiring mortals can join it to fight for the book. Each God can make an arena, and I'll add them all together. At the end of this divine gauntlet lays this book and all the power it wields. What do you say?"

It disturbed Escre to see that apparently Vestec could teleport himself to the Great Spirit's position instantaneously and at will, totally heedless of the immeasurable distance that lay between it and Galbar. Having had to travel those vast and empty realms manually, Escre did not like the fact that other gods could merely manifest where they pleased. Moreover, the devil evidently wanted Escre's help to orchestrate his latest entertainment. To this, Escre could not dredge up much to say. "No."

It resonated a message into the ears its demigod companions, provided they were still around to hear it. (Accept his offer and your journey is over.)

After the disappointment that Invidia and the pathetic remnants of the Sanguine Communion had been, Ialu was not in particularly light spirits. His strength alone would likely be enough to slay Viscardi a second time and perhaps even see to the downfall of the entire empire of New Garakai, yet he was not so keen to expend his own efforts and energy. He already felt drained now, for just as the Well of Strength had reinvigorated and empowered the Zealots, it creation had taken a toll on the demigod himself.

There was also the matter of secrecy. For some five or six decades now, Ialu had been in hiding. There was great power in simply vanishing from the thoughts of others, for if someone knew nothing of your very existence they could hardly see you as a threat or attempt to cause any harm. He could still count on one hand how many he had revealed himself to in the past months...he had appeared before Invidia in flesh and blood and indirectly before his so-called prophet Tyke, and there had been that unfortunate time where Astarte had stumbled upon him with Ryak. That had been a callous mistake, and one that he did not intend to repeat. That incident had served to remind him to be cautious once more, and so now he always masked his presence and traveled in the greatest secrecy. Perhaps word would abound of his continued activity, yet there would still be none who could claim to know his whereabouts or claims.

So working in the shadows and indirectly destroying Vestec's little toys seemed a good option, and to do that he would need allies. Sending his own followers was an enticing option of course, but he had not failed to note that they were already embarked upon their own little conquest at the behest of Tyke, without any orders from him. Still, they could hardly be blamed for following in his footsteps, taking what they pleased and subjugating their lessers. Sending his own men would be too direct and his involvement too obvious, anyways.

Fortunately, there was still one final ally that Ialu had: Sauranath. While he had been there to hear the Dragon God's sentencing and knew that Sauranath had been forced into the body of a mere mortal and doomed to live like that for more than a century, where the dragon god was and what he had done for so long were as much a mystery to Ialu as anyone else. So busy had the demigod been that he had hardly thought of the Dragon God in all these past years, but perhaps now was the time for that to change...

It was in that moment that it was decided. The instant that Ialu sought out Sauranath, the Sight's power manifested itself and a golden trail appeared. Avarice Incarnate followed that glowing path of light at a blinding speed, traveling to the bounds of the earth to reach the light's end.

At last, he came upon Sauranath.

*Sauranath had been awaiting Ialu. . . "Ialu. How interesting to finally see you. I am glad to see that you are here. I hope you haven't come as a Conquerer. I regret that I am no longer one of the most powerful among us, and am instead the lowest of the weak. A shame, but it's worth it to avoid the fate that I had foreseen. I can only hope that Invictus and Fate had honored my request and at the end of my mortal life, I shall be granted full power." He sighed. "I can see you appreciate my aid towards you. IS your curse removed and gone forever?"

"Rest assured that I come not as a conqueror, and that my curse was lifted. But let us not reminisce while this land bleeds and our common enemy yet breathes; yes, New Garakai is ruled over by the warlord known as Viscardi. I killed him once for petty reasons, but now it seems that I must do it again before he conquers or destabilizes the entire continent. While you are losing this war, I believe that it is not too late to win, especially now that you have my aid."

Ialu thought to himself for a moment, then spoke again, [color=Gold][b]"Tell me, Sauranath, do these people know who you are? Would they obey your commands?"[/color][/b]

"They would, but it is not my place to command them. If I am discovered and slain before the fruition of Invictus and Fate's promise to me, the fate of the universe would be compromised. I must be cautious and ever vigilant. However, I can rally the men at arms and provide counsel for the King of this land. The Serpent Men also fight for the Brightwood. They know that if the enemy spreads East then they are next in line for the slaughter."

[color=Gold]"Indeed, you have powerful allies. They know that were you to organize your forces and have a fair fight, their victories might not be so easily gained. That is why Viscardi prayed for Vestec to aid his forces in battle and enlisted those assassins known as the Crimson Tears to kill your generals and best men.

Vestec will not be easily handled, but at least he seems to have lost interest in personally destroying entire armies. These "Crimson Tears" that haunt your land, however, can be dealt with. The best assassins are slaughtered like deer when they are found, rooted out of their hiding holes, and surrounded by soldiers. Of course, the hard part is finding them, but perhaps I can help with that..."[/color=Gold]

Ialu concentrated upon calling his Sight to locate these assassins, recalling the memories of the tales he had heard of their deeds...without fail, after a short moment he could sense numerous paths leading in all directions, the various locations of the assassins that were operating in Brightwoods and its surrounding region. Of course, they were all scattered in remote and faroff places, the assassins having wisely chosen to spread themselves out and make their camps well away from anything of note...The demigod had better things to do than find each and every one of the miserable creatures, but true to his word, he would still help Sauranath.

With some exertion he grasped the ethereal golden light of the Sight that only his eyes could detect, and conjured from it several very real discs of blinding light. "As you may know, nothing can hide from me for I possess the ability to track anything that I can imagine. These Lenses of Sight are the physical manifestation of this power of mine. Each one of them has been attuned to the assassins that have been wreaking havoc in these lands, and any who gazes into a Lens will have the path illuminated to one of the wretches stalking these lands. Alas, this power is not meant for mortal eyes, and they will inevitably be struck blind by the brilliance of the light that is their guide. Still, they will be able to find the assassins before that fate befalls them.

So, you have the ear of the king and influence over military matters? Have each of these Lenses given to someone who will become a Tracker. It does not matter if they are the widowed wife or orphaned son of one of the assassins' victims, or simply a beggar forced into service. Have the Trackers each lead a band of soldiers to the location of their chosen assassin to kill it. Yes, this will blind them and perhaps the assassins will put up a good fight and kill soem of the soldiers you send, but the ends shall justify the means. with each week that passes every one of these assassins slays more and wreaks havoc, and the soldiers of New Garakai exploit this weakness. End the cycle.

Once the assassins are gone, I imagine that you will be able to mount a more effective defense. While you handle this, I will see to it that the snake's head is cut off. I may return soon requiring aid in this, or it may be years before we speak again. Either way, I bid you farewell."

The demigod handed the Lenses of Sight to Sauranath, slightly fatigued from their creation. He had felt plenty of exhaustion over these past few months, ever since he had created the Well of Strength. But in any case, such weakness would not hold him back. He turned and left Sauranath as quickly as he had came, leaving to plot just how he would go about slaying Viscardi and causing the entire nation of New Garakai to crumble. It was not lightly that he had not promised to cut the snake's head off, he would be very thorough about his enemy's destruction this time...



While he had his misgivings about dealing with yet another one of Vestec's spawn, supposedly Sakimi's only master was gold. She sounded like his sort of person, and with any luck she'd be reasonable to accept an offer even if it meant betraying her current employer.

While shadow magic and the like may have kept most Anju and Crimson Tears invisible and nigh impossible to track, such trifles posed no obstacle for Ialu's mystic Sight. In fact, this time it would be Sakimi who would be taken by surprise, meeting with some other stranger on his own terms.

Garbed in a similar fashion as he had been while in the presence of Invidia and Sauranath, he looked for the most part to be an ordinary human, albeit a most peculiar one. A few decades of time had allowed him to hone the ability to mask his presence somewhat, though of course there was always an odd glow of energy about him...it was just hard to identify.

Ialu, as he approached, was confronted by two men who were made out of pure metal. They stopped him in front of the stone walled, large, compound. Before they could ask him anything, and likely get killed, a soft female voice rang out from above them. "That's quite enough. Let him through. He and I have...business to discuss." Sakimi eyed Ialu for a moment longer, before lightly leaping back behind the stone wall and out of sight.

Ialu was let through into the compound, though a group of Legionaires made sure he didn't wander anywhere but towards Sakimi's office. As the group walked into her office, Sakimi was waiting, leaning slightly against her desk. With a wave of her hand, she sent Ialu's guards away. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Demi-god?"

It would seem that his disguise wasn't nearly so immaculate as he had thought. Hubris be damned; he would have to see about improving that talent of his. Noting that she merely leaned against her desk rather than sat, he found himself a chair and carelessly fell into it with his characteristic carelessness. Sensing no point in staying disguised when it was clear that Sakimi knew well and good who he was, he threw back the hood of his robes to reveal the shaded visage that had been hiding within. Avarice Incarnate had eyes of the the most brilliant gold imaginable, two brilliant orbs with a stare that was both painful and intoxicating.

Fortunately he hardly even looked at Sakimi. If anything, his wandering gaze painted him as bored. After allowing an impressionably long silence, he finally answered her little question, "You are going to betray Viscardi and slaughter his entire court. Of course, none of this is to be traced back to me, preferably not even you."

Already smelling her next question, he gave a look as if to say that of course the demigod of greed has gold and will pay you.

Sakimi picked up a report on her desk, beginning to read it as the silence dragged on. She wasn't about to waste time playing games with Ialu. It had the added bonus of distracting her from his eyes. However, as he began to talk she put the report down, looking at him. Her lips quirked into a slight smile at Ialu's demands, and subsequent look.

"It's hard to betray someone who doesn't have the contract to your entire Order. I assume you want to buy a contract to send some of the Crimson Tears to kill the court. The only questions I have are; How much are you willing to pay and how public do you want it to be?" She tilted her head, studying the God of Avarice.

For more than half a century, the last of Arguilla's men had toiled in the mines of their mountainous lands. All of them were Ialu's faithful, and the Zealots that ruled left him regular offerings of gold upon the grandst shrine in the Mountain Crown. A few pounds every now and then for such a long time had allowed the demigod to create quite the horde, although he had little practical use for it save manipulating mortals. He was wealthy beyond the wildest imagination of any mere king or rapacious and overly dignified assassin, so he could without a doubt afford any price that Sakimi asked. That, however, would be foolish of him. When she had more wealth than she could possibly use in a hundred lifetimes, what then? Someone loyal to only gold would become wildly unpredictable and hard to control once they had no more need for wealth, and so Ialu had good reason to withold any notion of generosity that he might have entertained.

But it would seem that some clarification was in order; he couldn't afford to have any aspect of his plan go awry. So he began to speak at length, "New Garakai will crumble: that is my decree. To that end, Viscardi must die. Any heir or remotely important member of his court must die. Anybody with the slightest chance of being able to maintain order and unity must die, and the bloodthirsty and greedy warlords must all live so that the realm splinters into a hundred petty states that attack and destroy one another. None of this is be be 'public'; pose as mere brigands striking in the night, use poison to sow suspicion and discord amongst the ruling class, make it look at if Vestec himself has decided to make this little kingdom descend into a chaotic bloodbath."

As soon as that tirade was over, he moved to adress the dreadful part about payment. He fully expected a long-winded negotiation, but he had little stomach for such things. "...that being said, I must wonder if you or your minions are capable of such a tall order. I will contract your entire order of assassins, and pay accoordingly. Two purses of silver for each of your lowest, ten pounds of gold for your five best, and as in for you..."

Ialu's burning eyes narrowed a bit and his brows furrowed in thought. He suddenly recalled having once or twice received a prayer from a voice that had sounded quite a bit like Sakimi's, though he couldn't remember what she had asked of him then. Bah, if the memories didn't return soon or Sakimi didn't name her own price, perhaps he would just offer her a hundred pounds of gold and a a fistful of every precious stone known to men.

Sakimi raised an eyebrow. "Not public at all then." Her other eyebrow raised as Ialu gave his incredibly low price. The Female Anju gave a light chuckle. "Ten pounds of gold for each of my lowest. Thirty pounds for my top fifteen and an additional fifty pounds for my top five. You're asking us to tear down one of the strongest empires in the world, go into the deadliest capital in the world, kill it's leader who has survived death once already, and ensure it's surviving warlords are strong enough to put up a fight but weak enough that no one of them will emerge as the next leader." Sakimi tapped a finger on a small stack of papers. A curosy glance would reveal that they were equipment, transportation, and other costs.

"That will require quite a large amount of manpower and equipment. Especially when we have to go into hiding when he discovers who tried to kill him, and sends his Dragon Riders. Our Iron Legion is capable of many things. Resisting dragon fire is not one of them. We're going to need gold, lots of it, to even get this operation under way. Not to mention, Viscardi already has employed a handful of my men to help him kill Brightwoods. We're not in the habit of ending contracts before they're filled, or betraying clients. Bad reputations give little gold." The Anju paused, tilting her head with a strange smile on her face.

"If you want me to get personally involved, that's at least three hundred pounds of gold. Those are my only terms, and they are non-negotiable. You can afford them, God of Avarice. Before you start ranting about how unfair they are, and how you're going to leave or kill me, may I remind you that you came to me for one simple reason. The Crimson Tears are perhaps the only, and certainly the best, assassin's guild out there. If you leave, and try to get someone else to do the assassinations, perhaps your Zealots, they'll mess up. Fail. Viscardi will contact us again, and we will systematically destroy your assassins. Of course, you could destroy us all now. That'd be a waste. Not to mention, prove to Vestec that you're still under his influence, eighty years later."

Scoffing more than once as she went on, he nonetheless allowed her to continue uninterrupted. Mildly bemused, he responded as if she were a pouting child, "You have already betrayed Viscardi utterly the moment that you agree to topple his entire little empire. And besides; your reputation need not suffer. Should you do your job properly and make this look like the result of infighting, rebels, and mere criminals, then your good name, if such a thing exists, will remain unbesmirched. So, you will terminate your little deal to kill the soldiers in Brightwoods, if only because your assassins in Brightwoods will be slain if they do not withdraw immediately.

((I'm assuming that Ialu will come to some arrangement with Sauranath about getting the assassins out of Brightwoods, hence the above line))

As in for your talk of 'dragon riders', spare me the nonsense. With less resources than you, I once raised an entire army of dragonslayers. I must question your abilities if you are so concerned about flying lizards being able to so easily hunt your 'Crimson Tears'. In any case, should they prove a nuisance I would extend a most generous offer of refuge for your entire order. I may need continual service, so prove yourself indispensible to me and I will keep your order alive and close, at least for the forseeable future."

Then he remembered himself. Out of a fold in his robe he found a small leather coinpurse. A few flciks of his fingers and a gold vapor manifested itself in the air, the beautiful wisps of smoke all finding their way into the open sack. A seemingly impossible amount of the smoke forced its way in, staining the brown leather to a glowing gold the same color of Ialu's eyes, and then the demigod pulled a cord and tightened the pouch closed. His power of hoarding gave him the rather useful ability to summon and compress such obscene amounts of his own wealth into more manageable forms. "Your payment in full. Upon opening, it will all burst out violently. Be sure to open it in a spacious room and back away, lest you find yourself crushed beneath your own prize. Needless to say, betray me or fail and I will come to take what is owed back to me, and perhaps then some."

Sakimi laughed gently. "Betrayed? Oh no. He never paid me to protect his empire. He only paid me to kill his enemies. Unless you're hunting my men yourself, I highly doubt Dragon Adepts, Snake Men, or Dragons will be able to find my men." She frowned as Ialu spoke about dragonslayers. "You've been long gone from this world, Ialu. Dragons are no longer simply killed. Some of them have Riders to protect them from normal assaulters. The Crimson Tears aren't soldiers, nor are we demi-gods. Regardless, we have a deal. We'll figure out how to slay Viscardi. It will take time though. No one gets into that city without permission, and breaking the law immediately revokes your permission to be in the city." She took the pouch, a gleam in her eyes. "Contract accepted."

"Reasoning and excuses faze me little," he shrugged. "Perhaps I will be the one slaying every assassin to be found in the Brightwoods. Best to not take any needless risks, no?" A moment passed and the demigod was gone, a sly grin his only parting gesture.

Sakimi waited a moment, then spoke into the silence. "All this gold is worth a mad demi-god for a client." She walked around her desk and quickly began writing down orders. There were empires to destroy, after all.