“What?” came a voice. “Wh-what? Who is there?” came a fairly gruff, aggressive voice, framed with a slight hint of worry. “Who is that?” it seemed to ask another person.

“I don’t know,” came a muffled female voice. “Go and check! What if it is him?”

“Gods I hope so,” exclaimed the male voice.

After the sound of heavy approaching footsteps, the door flung open in front of Altim, Daither at his side, hiding somewhat behind the legend, tightly gripping his tunic.
The man who opened the door stood blankly for a second, his mind taking a moment to process exactly what he was seeing. His dark eyes seemed to tick like a clockwork machine driving cogs, and his thick, voluptuous lips quivered as he began to realise what was happening.

“Daither!” he shouted! “Gods, you’re okay! We have been worried sick!”

Before the boy or Altim could even begin to respond, the man was already ecstatic.

“Martha! Martha, it’s Daither!” he called back into the small house, and the female voice responded almost immediately.

“Oh Gods!” she cried, her voice somewhat muffled by her distance. This was immediately followed by the sound of running footsteps and sure enough she was at the door before long, practically in tears. “Where have you been?” she demanded. “We have been so worried!”

Daither looked at the man he had come to know as Mitlamai, finding an unexpected and newfound strength in the short time they had shared together –a strength that was surely the work of somebody imbued with the very wisdom of the Gods themselves. The boy stepped in front of Altim, finding the courage to let loose his tunic. He breathed in deep, puffing his chest as a sign of strength, and without hesitation made his feelings very clear.

“Ma,” he said. “Pa, I don’t wanna’ be a soldier.”

“Daither… look-“ said the father in response. “All the boys in the village are going to become soldiers. I was a soldier. My father was a soldier. That is just how it works around here. You would be making your mother and I very proud,”

Daither looked to Altim for strength, finding it in his deep, mystical eyes.

“But Pa!” he pleaded. “If you were worried sick from me runnin’ away into the forest, why would you want me to be sent off ta’ fight?”
The boy’s father had no response. He just looked at his wife with an expression of defeat and understanding. He had a point. Both parents knew it.

“Remember this,” said the boy, mimicking perfectly the words he had heard before. “Altim's wisdom wasn’t realised through sub-subservience. He pursued ‘is dream without putting enmity between ‘imself and ‘is elders. I wanna’ tell stories, and I wanna’ sing!”

He looked up to Altim and smiled. “Ma, Pa, this is Mitlamai,” he continued, gesturing to Altim. “He saved me in the forest!”

The father looked Altim up and down and nodded.

“Go inside, Daither. Him and I need to have a chat,”

Daither looked to Altim once more, and hurried inside. His eyes told of all the thanks he could give for his help.
The father stepped from the confines of his home and shut the door softly behind him. He came close to Altim, close enough that he would have almost been able to feel the breath upon his neck.

“Mitlamai, is it?” he asked softly. “You seem like… well, an interesting type. A travelling bard?” The father continued to look Altim up and down. “You seem like the trustworthy type. I don’t know why, but I like you. You must be blessed by the Gods or somethin’.”

The father finally stepped away, giving Altim some breathing room.

“Ya’ know, i’ve heard rumours that the Great Fire up in the Bastion has gone out. Put out by a great wind, I heard. The God Guard legion is going crazy trying to figure out how it could have been put out like that after sixty thousand years,” he shook his head.
“Look, point is, the guards are all goin’ loopy trying to figure out a way to fix it. For the first time in forever they’re distracted. And you know, i’ve heard some serious stories about the kind of things in there. You could live like a King for the rest of your life off of some of the artifacts in there.
Anyway, to the point. Me and a few of the boys where thinkin’ that maybe we could get in there, take a few of the treasures for ourselves. We could finally get out of this village. We could get into the city and we’d never have to work again. I’m thinkin’ maybe you want in on it, eh? A cut of the profits? Because we need somebody to distract the guards and, for some reason, I trust you. I think they will too.”





The monastery was not as Pricia would have remembered it. What was once verdant and alive was now little more than crumbled, dilapidated ruins of its former glory. As with a lot of things from her lifetime, time had taken its toll. But that was to be expected; far more disturbing things lay within the puzzled disrepair of stone and vine. Within was little more than an unnatural umbra, a darkness so completely encompassing that not even the brightest of lights would have been able to illuminate the path against the inky, sticky blackness. Footsteps would fall, and even their echo would be consumed by shadow in a way that should not have been possible. This was not shadow of the corporeal world, but something else entirely.

Deep within the ruins, once where a great fire used to burn in honour of Goethia was now a carbonised stain upon the uneven rock floor. Above was the gently swaying body of the Priest who tended the flame. Once proud and dedicated to his goddess, but now hung from the creaking monastery ceiling by a wiry thin rope that had frayed and crusted from years of decay. Whether he inflicted such a fate upon himself was unclear. Perhaps he was driven to madness? Or perhaps he simply needed to flee from a foe that could not be outrun.

The central chamber of the monastery, whilst remaining relatively unchanged from how Pricia would have remembered it, was illuminated solely by a single shaft of thin light trickling through a minuscule crack in the natural rock formation that supported the old carved structure. At the far end of the room was a chest embroiled with silver, with beautiful carvings upon its wooden surface of heroic acts and depictions of the unyielding force of nature. Beyond that were two pathways, both winding and seemingly impossibly thin. Too small for any human to fit through… But not too small for a follower of Goethia bearing the Mark of the Wild…

But such thoughts would have to wait. A sound could be heard deep from one of the pathways. It was like the sound of bones grinding on bones, and a ghostly murmuring accompanied it. From the darkness emerged two creatures, tall and spindly. In the shadow they would be hard to make out, but as they raised themselves to full height after squeezing through the tiny crawlspaces, it became apparent what made itself known. Two skeletal creatures, with skulls deformed to look like they were grinning with evil delight, began to prowl, circling the room. Empty eyes locked upon a creature of the flesh that had entered the monastery after so many years of silence.
Bearing armaments of jagged bone, they snarled and squealed. Somehow.

It was time for them to bloody their weapons once more.





Nothing.

There was nothing beyond the small hill. Save for the cold remains of a camp that had been abandoned days ago and more hills rolling into the horizon, and a thick line of trees sprawling into the distance in every other direction. Ki’ira had followed the map perfectly; to the letter, in fact. But there was nothing: A few torn down tents and a few empty barrels exempt. But there certainly was nothing to drink. The rain had truly begun to settle in, and the thick must of petrichor had filled the air for some time. The heavy pitter patter of droplets upon the ground had become almost deafening, undoubtedly so for one whose hearing was as honed as Ki’ira’s. Her newfound clothes were to become sodden and waterlogged in no time at all, though it would hardly matter for one who could conjure flames at will. It was a grim, depressing situation, and would be for anybody stricken by such.
In the distance, thunder had begun to crack, and distant bolts of lighting illuminated the horizon in scintillating waves through the thick far-fog that had washed in from the ocean, like streams of fireflies weaving through smoke.

For a moment, through a brief interlude in the thunderous roaring, Ki’ira would have been able to discern a sound in the distance; one that sounded distinctly… human.
From the treeline emerged a host of robed figures, hooded and acting with purpose. They seemed to be more capable than the bandits Ki’ira had relieved of their clothes some days prior; as they wielded not knives but masterfully crafted bows with savage arrows knocked. Beneath their dulled green cloaks was the timeless crest of the royal family upon chainmail and padded leather. They were men of the King.

“Halt!” one shouted at her, struggling to make his voice heard above the storm.

There would have been ten rangers at a glance, all armed, and all with their weapons ready to fire upon their target should any sudden moves be made.

“By order of the King, you are to relinquish whatever arms you may be carrying and submit. You have been charged with theft and intimidation!”





The morning suns would rise in a few hours. Despite the heavy storms that were wracking the heartlands, it was still summer and the days were still long. However, the morning would only bring unrest for the hamlet which had been visited by the Mortifier that night; for one of the village’s own was found upon the outskirts, entirely eviscerated, and being feasted upon by a pack of hungering wolves. The body was near unrecognisable, and the amount of blood staining the ground was remarkable for the handiwork of even a wolf pack.
The man’s family shed their tears for the loss, but thought nothing of it beyond a freak accident of the night. They suspected nothing…

The city of Ghora was still a night’s trek away for Volkimir, who would have been able to see the settlement in the basin of the valley he would be travelling down. The city lights were an astonishing sight from afar for anybody with the luck to venture into the wilderness beyond it to catch such a legendary glimpse. The city was contained within a large palisade to keep out the wolves and the bandits, but otherwise did not have many other defences with the exception of lightly manned guard towers at regular intervals across the palisade so that a watch could be kept through the night. The city itself, however, was a wonder of taverns and brothels and dirt roads that criss-crossed one another. It was the perfect city for one to blend and get their bearings…

But the road toward the city was still long, and while Volkimir undoubtedly did not fear the hunger of wildlife, extra patrols of guards had come back and forth between Ghora and the hamlet the past night in response to the aggressive nature of the wolf attack the night before.





Who was the captain to argue? It was actually rather ingenious. Using the unshattered hellstones against their enemy? It was becoming more and more obvious to the captain why Ellarian was revered so, even if he detected that the legendary soldier perhaps was not pleased with his newfound role of hero. It took mere minutes for him to inspire the men, something that the captain was not capable of doing after just the first day of the siege; the men were just too weary; too broken. But Ellarian inspired something deep within them, and their newfound energy was almost palpable in the air.
It didn’t take the captain long to instruct the work detail to gather all the hellstones that had been laying upon the walls for days on end like ticking time bombs. The captain did not know what Ellarian was planning, but he had a fairly good idea.

The afternoon sunlight soon began to fade as the two suns began to fall into the horizon. The light from the Rings of the World instead took prominence, changing the sands from a blazing yellow to a mystical blueish white; like magical snow littering the dunes. It was almost an entirely different world. The sand cats had gone silent, and were replaced by the beckoning war-howls of the sub-men below who were preparing themselves for another night’s slaughter. Campfires sprung into being all along the war host, and the clamour of crude iron blades could be faintly heard amongst the barbaric screams and bloodthirsty taunts.
The seven hundred men that Ellarian had rallied were already assembled by the main gate. Some of the men were visibly shaken, but others were enthused by the presence of Ellarian, whom the captain met beside the battle group. Behind the captain trotted up three fortress workers, each carrying a full sack of the hellish white stones.

“Good evening, my l- sir,” he bowed ever so slightly, before remembering that Ellarian expressed a slight discontentedness at such behaviour. “We managed to recover about seventy hellstones from the walls. Gods I hope your plan works,” he exclaimed, as the distinct sound of charging feet could be heard through the thick stone walls, matched with a battle cry that was decidedly different from the one that had been wailed for the last hour.

“The assault has begun…”

“Well this was a total waste of time...” Ki'ira said as she found the place marked on the map. She expected something to be here, but this was pretty much useless. If it was a bandit camp, she was going to walk away in quite the better position that right now even if it was a town, there was bound to be at least someone who can answer some of her questions. And the storm was picking up once more... this deafening sound was so irritating. It was part of the blessing of her mother... What else can you expect from a trickster anyways?

As she was busy pondering where to head to now, suddenly she managed to discern a sound that was clearly not the raindrops! Her head tilted as a host of soldiers quickly appeared from the forest, pointing arrows at her. They wore a crest, she vaguely recognized to whom this crest was, but soliders with a crest usually meant royal ones... such a pain to deal with.

At the order to halt in place, her eyebrow rose a little...” * sigh* Seriously? I'm kind of already standing in place...” She said, feeling old.” Since when do people not even know the meaning of their own words...” Ki'ira said quite out loud with a grin on her face, clearly making fun of the whole situation. True enough she wore no armor, had only a knife for a weapon, but it still was such an amusing situation. The soldiers seemed to not like her response here, but they still didn't fire.” Whoa... such a royal subjects~” She whistled in addition.

“Hmmm...” She said at their orders to give up and be arrested. Sure enough she could probably break away free at any time and having someone to guide her in the direction of the nearest town was going to be a good thing. She may even get a meal or two if she just complied and went with them. The man who shouted at her was just about to shout again, but he was interrupted by her.” No need to repeat yourself! In Vinsha's sake, my ears already hurt from that rain, I don't want to hear you shout on top of that. I will now discard my weapons, so no need to fire at me alright?” She said, and received a nod from the solider. Then she quickly pulled the small knife she got from the bandits earlier.” Is this small knife for food considered weapon?” She asked with straight face and the man just quickly muttered an annoyed ”YES!” So she threw the knife on the ground, then she pulled one sharpened stick she made earlier and asked him the same question and the reply was the same. This continued for a few more sticks, before the man exploded.” That's enough! Stop messing with us! YES ALL SHARP POINTY STICKS YOU HAVE ARE CONSIDERED WEAPONS! DROP THEM ALL ON THE GROUND!” He shouted in anger, which made Ki'ira only grin victoriously as she quickly threw the last few spikes on the ground. She even threw the spare set of clothing she had on the ground.” Now do be gentle mister soldier~” She whistled as the man approached to place a pair of big metal handcuffs on her hands.” Ohhh how kinky...” She said with a giggle in the man's face, before he quickly turned his face away from her. This was a blast to play with people!” Now follow us obediently and you will not be harmed.” The man stated and made a gesture for her to walk in front, so the archers will be behind her and shoot her if she tries to run away.

“So, excuse me mister royal soldier, but what am I arrested for exactly? I'm pretty sure I haven't been robbing anyone in the last few days, to deserve this treatment.” She asked, her voice still as carefree as earlier. She knew very well who probably was responsible for this, she was going to have a long talk with those two if she ever found them again, but she didn't consider taking their stuff a theft, after all they did try to rob her first.” Also where are we going? Is it far? Will I get something to eat? Something to drink? A warm bed? Is something going on with the gods?” She quickly threw in a bunch of questions with the most important being the last one being the most important one. If the man tried to reply to all of her question in order fast, there was a pretty big chance he will reply to the last one before thinking. 'Fast talk for the win~' She thought in her mind.

Morning found Harald Silvertongue on the long, winding road to Kalig. For centuries the inhabitants of the region had tried to weaken the grip the forest held over the lands, but the ancient trees cared little for the plans of men and villages remained hidden in a sea of green.

Gone was the performer’s smile that Harald had worn the previous night, the ale had left his blood, long since replaced by bitterness. The cold wind that swept between the trees left the old man feeling the age in his bones; he was weary, and he was tired of spending his life retelling old myths, wandering from forsaken village to village in search of coin.

Lost in his own thoughts, the old bard stumbled, falling unceremoniously over what seemed a most perfectly placed rock. The resounding sounds of a bird followed, the loud repetitions of caw-caw echoed from a nearby tree and Harald knew, he just knew that the crow was laughing at him. Roaring as he rose to his feet, he threw the empty bottle of spirits he had held in his hands towards the offending avian and with eyes glaring at the sky he shouted in rage, "Funny is it!? Seeing an old man stumble!? Reduced to begging for table scraps from some peasant bastards, too dumb to see your ineptitude, too naïve to realize how little it is that you really care!?"

Spitting on the ground with disgust, Harald continued madly screaming, "Why don’t you answer!? Strike me down, punish me for my blaspheming, if you can! No, no, you bastards, you false gods, you can’t even manage that, can you?"

Almost sobbing, still seething with rage, and tasting his betrayal the shoulders of the old man slumped wearily as he cast his eyes to the ground, "You’ve left me, just like everyone else. Cursed me to wander and tell these foolish tales."

Composing himself Harald readjusted the ruff that he wore around his neck and sighing loudly he returned his monocle to its proper place in front of his right eye. Spinning his cane in his hand, he tried to summon what little joy he could. With thoughts of food and drink, he took one step forward and then another, trying to forget the weariness in his heart. Kalig had coin and coin was good enough for now.

Letting out a silent nod at the Captain's words, Ellarian continued to stroke his beard while staring at the moon. "Crush them into powder," he said off handedly as he watched the celestial body slowly rise into the air. If he remembered correctly...then that meant...A blood curdling screech jolted him from his concentration as thouseands of feet began to thunder outside the walls. "Now is the time men!" he shouted, rallying the soldiers with a single clang of his shield on the flagstones. "Sir, yes sir!" was the unanimous response as they rushed off to their assigned positions. Having spent the last hour or so briefing them on the basics of his plan, he trusted that they would do their jobs. Turning back to the captain, who looked proudly upon his men, Ellarian cleared his throat, gaining his attention. "I want all these stones crushed within the hour," he said as he began striding towards the wall tops himself, "is that understood?'
"Y-yes sir!" he said with a nod, before turning back to the work detail. "You heard him, prepare the mills!"

Joining the men at the top of the Northern wall, Ellarian was just in time to see the first sub-human wretch crest the wall, screaming his incomprehensible gibberish and brandishing a crude blade of bolted iron. To their credit, the shieldbearer assigned to that position reacted quickly, slamming his shield into his malformed face and sending him falling to his death. The spear meanwhile was busy stabbing at the ones still scaling the walls, spitting some on the point while sending others tumbling to their demise. "Remember that you need not slay them on the walls," Ellarian shouted as he patrolled the wall, keeping an eye on all sections. The main concentration of the enemy seemed to be on the eastern flank. That would be his next destination. "Remove their hands and they will die just as readily!" They had height working for them at least in this case, and a tumbling corpse was as useful as dropping a stone down on the people below anyway. As an enemy grabbed the rim of a shield, Ellarion shoved past the spearman and grabbed its wrist. It was a disgusting little waif, with a wrist covered in ochre and teeth filed down into points. Glaring down at it, Ellarion tightened his grip. With a sound akin to shattering glass, the sub-human's arm snapped and it let out a piercing scream for a split second, releasing the shield, before its head was dashed against the merlon with horrifying force. Contemptuously, Ellarian cast the corpse downwards where it knocked another screaming off of the wall. "You're doing well men! Just 20 more minutes!" he shouted. The men didn't know what he meant, but the prospect of victory within such a short deadline was so tempting that they went at their enemy with renewed vigour.

One of those infernal hellstones crashed against the eastern wall, scattering that damnable powder all over six men who began to scream as their flesh began to rapidly sear and redden while one man was thrown clear of the wall by a particularly large shard. "You three! Drag these men to the infirmary!" Ellarian shouted as he entered the section, "You and you! positions facing me!" Without question, the men obeyed, three of them dragging the six suffering soldiers away while the other two turned away from their positions on the wall and faced him, unsure of what they were to do "And you, call three soldiers from the west and north walls to replace these men!" A cannibal crested the wall as he finished giving orders. With a brutal punch, Ellarian send him spiralling into the crowd below with a broken jaw. In the same movement, he grabbed another by the scruff of its neck and dragged it up. He considered the creature in front of him for a second. Gaunt, pale and bald apart from a single long braid on his head, the creature hissed violently and fought to free itself, but to no avail. Instead, Ellarian reeled back his arm and hurled him hard against one of the shields, leaving a visceral smear across its silver surface as its skull shattered. "Sir!" one of the soldiers shouted. Raising his shield Ellarian parried a clumsy sword strike and sent his assailant reeling with a savage headbutt. As it fought to clear its head, Ellarian kicked it off of the wall and into the waiting mob below. "Focus on your own duties! It is only 15 more minutes" he bellowed as a particularly large sub-human crested the wall, "I will deal with this one personally."

It was a disgusting beast to be sure. Brutishly tall and muscled, it was covered with layers of ochre and carried a large, rusty cleaver in its ham-like fist. Its eyes were bloodshot and unfocussed, probably as a result of some sort of drug, and a fetish of bones was strung around two poles jutting from its back, between which hung a scrap of decorated flesh. "I'm about sure you're the ugliest thing I've ever seen," Ellarian remarked as he flexed his shoulder. In return, he received a blast of rancid, hot breath and spittle as it roared, beginning a charge. Taking the charge head on, Ellarian raised his shield in time to intercept the cleaver which rang heavily off of his shield and numbed his arm. Pitting sinew against sinew, the soldier suddenly swivelled his hip and delivered a punch in the same motion, sending a gauntleted fist into the creature's face even as the cleaver bit heavily into the granite wall. Roaring in pain, it stumbled back where it received a spear to the back as a soldier saw an opportunity. "Stand back!" Ellarian warned a fraction of a second too late. In its rage, the beast grabbed the offending soldier and smashed it against the Merlon twice before flinging him into the darkness. A roar of victory was cut off prematurely as it felt a sharp sucking pain in its hip. "You'll pay for that one!" Ellarian shouted as he drew back, letting the thick brackish blood drip from spear wound. Clutched in his hand was the spear the lad had stabbed into the creature before his untimely demise.

As if remembering the initial cause of its rage, the creature turned around and charged towards Ellarion again who, surprisingly, charged towards it as well. As the last second, he knelt down and braced his shield against a gap in the stones. As he felt the weight of the beast on the shield, he shifted his weight behind him and catapulted it over him where it slammed bodily onto the wall walk, snapping its primitive banner. Without a single break in his motion, Ellarion leapt atop him and drove the spear through its back, prompting a howl of agony. As its back muscles squirmed, Ellarion raised his shield up and slammed it back down onto the spear, driving it deeper into its thick flesh like a hammer and nail. Another strike saw the spear disappear halfway into its body. A final onemade the tip erupt out the other side in a shower if intestines. Spitting in contempt, Ellarion stepped off to the cheers of his comrades. "Tis too early to celebrate lads," he shouted as he surveyed the situation again. The other fronts were holding strong and, after seeing the death of their champion, the eastern wall assailants were beginning to falter. It was time to drive the point home. As he was about to take another step, he felt something tug on his leg. Looking down, he saw that the creature was stull alive as it tried to pull him back. "You're tough, I'll give you that," he said grudgingly as he kicked it in the face and turned it onto its back. Pressing a sabaton onto its chest, Ellarion raised his shield and stared down. "This time its the end." Like a guillotine, the shield fell.

A faint breeze ruffled Ellarion's beard. "It comes earlier than I expected..." he mused as the captain ran up to join him, who started as he stared at the grisly trophy clutched in his right arm. Still dripping from the rough cut, the beast's head was hanging by its hair from Ellarian's hand, sinew dragging out behind it. "You bear news, captain?" he asked as he saw a group of men bring a boiling pot of oil up the stairs and pour it over the edge. Screams of rage and pain echoed through the night as flesh sizzled, accompanied by its rank stench. Gulping, the Captain presented a barrel of white powder. "As per your orders, sir, the hellstones were milled and crushed to a powder," he said, "we have taken the liberty of distributing two barrels per wall." For the first time since their meeting, a small smile crested Ellarian's scarred lips. This man may have potential yet. "Tell me captain...what happens an hour after the Rings appear in this desert?" he asked somewhat rhetorically. There was a moment of pause as the Captain considered this, broken only by the sounds of conflict as the men held their attacks off. "The chill sets in?" he hazarded. Ellarian nodded. "And what does the chill require to spread its icy touch?" A brazier lit in the captain's mind. "Wind." Ellarian nodded again. "Give the orders."

As a sudden chill descended on the area, barrels were hoisted over the wall, emptying their contents over the edge. Those directly below screamed and hissed as the hellstone powder scorched their bodies and organs. "All soldiers, retreat to the mess hall!" Ellarian ordered, "well done today!"
"But there remains sub-humans to slay!" protested a soldier.
"Not any time soon, soldier, not until the dawn. That I will promise you." As if to punctuate that, the screaming grew more intense, accompanied by a strong breeze. "Now get indoors before it rises over the wall." There was no more argument as all the men began to trudge away, too tired and exhausted to offer much in the way of protest. Simply the promise of rest was tempting enough for them to stop fighting. Covering his nose and mouth with the tattered banner, Ellarian looked over the edge, ignoring the stinging sensation in his eyes. It was a swirling mass of grey and white. But more importantly, it was a sea of agony as the hellstone powder was tossed about by the wind into the sub-human ranks. Raising his arm, he brought up the severed head, now covered in a fine dusting of hellpowder. It radiated hatred, menace, power...but most importantly, it radiated heat. He had a theory, one which could possibly offer the Empire a new weapon for their wars...though it was a horrible thought. Amidst the swirling mists of powder, he spotted a shock of let black, bubbling oil. With a single well aimed toss, he sent the head tumbling into the mist, where it landed into the oil. With a sudden crack, the oil burst into flames. Ellarian turned away and began to descend the stairs.. Actually...it would be better if no-one knew about this...There was cruelty enough in war.

Altim smiled at the remark. Aye, he was blessed by Faerthus, but the father had no knowledge of that. The legend thought to himself and wondered if he should tell the man the truth. Altim listened while the man described all the details of his plans for the theft, and he felt in his heart the moral obligation to intervene. Altim reasoned that although the plan made easy ground to reobtain his equipment, the plan was not righteous or wise. A crack in the father's facade showed the error in his ways, and Altim desired to reconcile that vice. "The gods have been slain," Altim said. "The flame has died because the gods have." The truth was painful and hurt to say, but he had to come to terms with it. His old quest of myth and legend was over, and the new quest to restore order and protect mankind had begun. "But even in the absence of the gods, do not lose hope, and do not lose sight of what is righteous and good." Altim pointed at the door. "For the sake of your family, do what is right. You do not want your boy to follow the path of a thief. Greed and opulence is for fools. If you choose to tread that evil path built by mankind, you will never come back. I won't help you in the deed, for Faerthus has blessed me." He tipped his head and mumbled in Cynderian again as he had with the priest. The mark of wisdom, a tree surrounded by rays of light, burned itself into the ground between Altim and the man. With that, Altim turned his back on the man and started in the direction of the temple.

The chest itself was larger than most of its kind; many of which were used to contain the treasures of monasteries and castles and fortresses alike. But this, this was different, and Pricia would have been able to sense the anomaly in its presence. A devoted servant of Goethia was not to be denied aid, even long past the death of her celestial queen.
Running her fingers along the edge of the sealed, old oaken box would reveal to Pricia the great craftsmanship involved in creating such an object. Each carved figure was smoothed and sanded to an almost unnatural shine for a material as old as it was. Even the lock seemed to be complex and intricate, so much so that it was doubtful that even a master thief would have been able to decipher the complex mechanism within.
Despite the apparent complexity, the lock popped apart as Pricia leaned in to lift the heavy lid, as if by magic.
The inside of the chest was less exquisite than that of the exterior, instead of masterful carvings and inscriptions in a long lost tongue, it was simple wooden planks, row upon row. Nobody would marvel upon the inside of a chest when treasures would fill it.

In the bottom of the rather deep container were two things neatly placed side by side: an old sheet of parchment with inked scribbles almost entirely across its surface, and a dark, polished wooden stave with a complex arrangement of golden rings upon its head… The Staff of Nature’s Breath; something undoubtedly familiar to the young warrior legend.

The parchment was curious, and it spoke of the tale of a man not known by legend, but now lost to the world:

My name is Khavo the Grey, and I am a priest of Goethia, long standing servant of Her verdancy, follower and preacher of Her teachings, and keeper of Her monastery. I have spent my life dedicated to honouring the Queen of the Wilds; I was raised to be a man of the Gods, and it was she that showed me my path where others would not. Two decades I had spent spreading the word of my Queen’s eternal and bountiful kindness, and five decades have I spent in search of this artifact, carried by Goethia’s chosen herself; a holy weapon by any standard; touched by Pricia, the Beast of the Forest. I have been honoured to be a part of Goethia’s grand plan, and regret not my sacrifices in the interests of finding the staff: I have given much to procure it once more for Goethia; much worldly coin have I spent, and raise a family have I not. But the fire now grows dim, and darkness collects around me. My time upon Ansus is at an end, and I must give myself to the Merkstave before madness consumes me; before the whispering beyond the wall comes for me. This is my last account, the summation of my life. I pray that this staff at least remains in its rightful place for all time to come, for the world grows dark and cold, and my time is at an end. In honour of Goethia, I commend myself to her embrace. I hope that I have made her proud.





The apparent captain of the group of King’s Rangers was resolute in his goal to divulge as little info as possible to the fox-eared woman. When she asked where they were going, he simply replied ”The Capital,” and when she had asked if it was far, he did not even answer, rather giving a simple gesture of the hand that maybe meant it was a moderate distance from where they had found her. He even broke her a piece of bread and allowed her a pigskin of water upon her insistence on food and drink. But when she asked about the Gods… he did not say a word. He refused to even acknowledge the question. Perhaps such a response could have been interpreted to mean something far more sinister than the captain had intended.

The group marched Ki’ira for what must have felt like days upon days, through rain and shine, bitter winds, and mushy dirt underfoot. They crossed through puzzled forests that lacked any notion of a trail, and through rough, muddy waters. They passed outcrops of rocks and navigated through caves that were as dark as the deepest of nights. And all around, the world could be seen faltering like flames. The trees seemed to be lacking, canopies less full than they had once been. Trunks were withered and blacking against all logic, and the sunlight was chill at best; not bringing the warmth that it promised.

Before long, the Capital loomed on the horizon. The grand city of Kolantis sprawled in all directions almost as far as the eyes could see; nestled between the great Kolantic Mountains and the Sea of Khosis. The city spread from the seat of power carved into the mountain ridges all the way to the coastline, where a bustling port existed. Ships and boats of all shapes and sizes had been moored at the docks, and great lights kept all parts of the city illuminated through the night. Daylight had faded by the time the party had travelled down the long road toward the main gate: one of the few entrances through the thick mountain-stone walls. The gate guards, upon seeing the insignia of the King upon the rangers, immediately stood at ease and let the group pass into the confines of the city.

It was impressive by the standards of any other city in Ansus, despite the slightly squalorous conditions of the city limits: the rangers guided Ki’ira through the slums, past the open sewers and intimidating stares of embittered residents. Many peasants stopped in their tracks to stare down the rangers and the strange, fox-eared woman they held captive, though none made any attempt at instigating violence as they often did when presented with soldiers or nobles passing through their turf.
They had hurriedly left the city limits, and came unto the city proper within the hour; the buildings were clean and well constructed of stone and wood, and a dizzying array of alleyways crossed almost nonsensically through streets and roads which bustled with the clamour of daily life. Despite the night falling upon them, the city was lively and active. Merchants still hustled and struggled to sell wares from the markets, and hard-working men and women carried crates of supplies and food across the streets, dodging nobles riding on horseback and guards who perhaps relied a little too much on their authority. It would have been a marvellous sight for anybody of times past, for the city had only become the metropolis it was currently in the last few centuries.

Onward they pressed, deeper into the heart of the city. The captain pointed out to Ki’ira a particularly large building, one that dominated all others around, dwarfing them in its shadow. That was their destination; though the captain would not tell her the nature of the building.
As they approached, the city fell noticeably more silent than it had been in other areas. Here was much less of a bustling crowd, instead the clear, polished plaza was home only to nobles sauntering along, quietly conversing with one another in their trademarked, smug fashion. Approaching the columns of the gargantuan structure, the captain led Ki’ira inside.

Within was just as one would have expected: large, empty, echoing. Tiled floors polished and gleaming, columns lining the walls; supporting an elaborately crafted roof decorated with paintings from famous artists from years past. In the centre of the hall stood two knights, decorated even more elaborately than the rangers were. Gilded golden suits of steel plate covered them from head to toe, and beautiful forged steel blades dangled at their sides.

“My Lords,” exclaimed the ranger captain as they approached the Knights. “We have brought you the fugitive,”

The captain unclipped Ki’ira’s shackles and shoved her forward slightly, whilst stepping back himself as to put distance between himself, Ki’ira, and the Knights.

One of the Knights looked her up and down, and then looked her in the eyes through his heavy, full-covering helm.

“What is your name?” he demanded.





Once he had made his way back into the safety of the fortress, and away from the bloodied walls, Ellarian was greeted by more than resounding cheers from the garrison of the fortress. Hearty hugs were exchanged between the soldiers, and grateful nods and thankful handshakes were given to the hero of the hour for his display of incredible valour in the field of battle. Without his guidance, the fortress surely would have fallen; but his tactical mind had won the day. The host of sub-men had been so badly stricken by the hellstone powder that they fully retreated into the wild lands beyond, leaving naught but bodies of their fallen and run down camps behind.

The captain approached Ellarian some minutes following his return from the walls, still in absolute astonishment at the ease with which the sub-men champion had been slain and made an example of. It was clear now to the captain why this mountain of a man that stood before him was so revered for so many years.

“Ellarian,” he said softly, not wanting to call the attention of all the soldiers who now looked up to him. “We must talk.”
With that, the captain led Ellarian through the passages of the fortress to the war-room, where the celebrations of the men could barely be heard. There was enough quiet there that the two could discuss matters in relative privacy, and without risking others overhearing them.

“When you awakened, it was decided that… That word of your return be sent to the Capital. A messenger bird was dispatched to Kolantis informing them of your appearance. At first we thought that it would be seen as, well, little more than a hoax, but one of the work details just informed me that we have had a response,”

The captain didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the fact sink in for Ellarian.

“The King humbly requests your presence at the Royal Palace in Kolantis. I think he wishes to speak with you personally.”





Norco Khan’s voice echoes through the valley for a moment, like the sound of thunder bouncing between mountains. But once it had subsided into the snow, silence reigned once more as his kin bore their weapons, slowly and cautiously moving into the shadow…

”Yes!” interjected the ‘Chief’, ”We will have your head!” he said, mimicking Norco’s inflection almost perfectly. It was as though he were trying to be like him…

The rest of the group looked back at him with some semblance of frustration, clearly growing agitated of his ruthless compensation for the presence of the Wolf King, before turning back to crawl into the shadow of the cave.

There was an unusually high pitched screech, and from the cave a beast lashed forward. With a snout encrusted with what seemed to be crystals of ice, and thick, cold vapour spewing from nostrils, a dragon attempted to bite one of the men in half. The sudden attack was met with each man jumping backwards as fast as possible, before looking to each other in confusion once the fearsome jaw had retreated back into the darkness.

“It- it’s so small,” said the youngest among them.

”No… No,” started one of the elder hunters. ”Hatchlings! Hatchlings!” he screamed, inciting each man to immediately disperse and seek cover, as another high pitched screech was met with the deafening roar of a much deeper one, and a shadow carried on a gust of freezing wind swept overhead.

The mother dragon, upon hearing the distress call of its young, swooped from high above the clouds. The beast was enormous, at least a hundred feet long, and bearing massive wings that served to blot the cold sun from overhead. It appeared far more fearsome than the hatchling, and was far more adept at killing. It immediately landed with a sizeable thud, directly atop the youngest hunter, who, following a scream of agony as his entire chest was shattered under the weight, was ripped apart with a single strike from the powerful jaws of the dragon.

The rest of the hunters roared and wailed, not understanding why one so young must be lost so suddenly, before a misty cone of frostfire was unleashed upon another two hunters who had tried to seek asylum behind a particularly large rock some distance away. Their cover served them no purpose, however, and both men’s blood turned to ice in their veins. Their skin drained into a ghostly blue hue, and they died before they could even exclaim about the unimaginable pain they had surely felt in those moments of death.

The dragon let loose mighty battlecry to the sky, before turning its attention to the Wolf King, who stood undeterred, in the face of such a fearsome foe…





The boy’s father’s eyes opened wider than they had ever done so before, as this strange, wise man had turned and burned a symbol into the ground with little more than a thought. That kind of power… did not come around often, if at all, and was reserved for tales and myths of legendary heroes past. And he had said that Faerthus had blessed him…? Such a collection of facts sounded familiar to the man.
A bard. Wise and noble. Magical. Blessed of Faerthus…?

”Oh my- oh. Oh shit,” he exclaimed as his brain finally made sense of what he was seeing. ”Al- Altim..?” he asked, though Altim was too far now for him to hear; so the man just stood there in shock, staring along the path, shaking slightly with astonishment.

Deep down, he knew Altim was right. And given the knowledge of the man’s true identity, he knew he could not go against his advice and continue with his plan. He quickly gathered up his soon-to-be accomplices and explained to them what had happened, and explained to them why they could not go through with such a scheme. They were unconvinced, but deterred.

But through the ruckus and the confusion, Daither, the man’s child, had once more slipped from the confines of his home. This time, however, he ran not in fear, but in pursuit of a man who had influenced him so. Silently, he bolted along the beaten pathway, the same direction in which Altim had gone.

---

A few hours were all that were needed for Altim to reach the Bastion by foot, for he was not far, and it could be seen for miles upon miles, all around. As he drew closer, the bastion seemed to grow taller, stretching into the sky like a great stone finger scratching the clouds. The years did not seem to belittle the bastion as they did with other buildings in Ansus; it was just as beautiful as any could remember. It was most exquisite and beautiful, a true gift from Humans to Gods. A work so grand that nothing of its ilk would be built again in Ansus for over sixty thousand years. But despite outward appearances, the bastion was not entirely as it was in past millennia, for the Great Fire in the highest chamber was now dark, and failed to radiate its famous glow across the Heartlands.

As Altim would approach the clearing, the God Guards who stood eternal watch over the bastion brought themselves to arms, readying themselves in case of an assailant.

”Traveller!” one cried, making his voice heard from the distance. The two guards began to move closer to Altim, cautiously, but at pace. ”What is your purpose here?”

"The gods knew before they fell."

The guards exchanged bemused, skeptical glances, and they pressed Altim further with their questions. The first one advised, "Do not move from where you stand! If you lack proper permission, you will be forbidden entry! Now, state your business."

Fearlessly but not rashly, Altim approached the guards and left ten yards between him and them. "I have come for the other voice for the song that Faerthus composed. Listen to that voice as the wind carries it." Altim cast before him from thin air a glowing, white light that formed the same shape as the Mark of Faerthus. It lingered in the air where the guards could see it for a brief moment before fading, and it served to prove his identity. "I am Altim, blessed by Faerthus."

The guards' eyes widened, and they backed away a few feet with trepidation. They spoke to each other in hushed deliberation while they contemplated the meaning of Altim's actions, while they considered the truth of Altim's statements. "How do we know that he is not lying?"

The other guard stared at the first incredulously at the question as though the first guard had denied the immediately obvious. The second urged the first, "Fool, he cannot be anyone else! No mere mortal can do such a thing, none but gods and legends. The mark belongs to the god Faerthus, and Altim, one such legend blessed by Faerthus, is capable of such a feat!"

"I cannot disagree. But I remain skeptical. We must make sure that this is Altim, and not a different legend or wizard or mage of sorts."

"We shall let him inside. One of us should accompany him, in case he speaks lies," the second guard said quietly to the first. They nodded in agreement, and the second guard called out to Altim. "Very well! You may enter. I will show you inside." The first guard and second guard led Altim on the path to the Bastion's entrance, and the first guard returned to his post while the other showed him inside.

“You are so not fun.” Ki'ira said when the man didn't follow up the way she questioned him. She was quite curious about what must have had happened to her to be brought back from the dead and her eternal rest of all things. Some would have said this was a perfect chance to right wrongs and do thing that you regretted not doing in life, but that was not the case of this calamity. She lived, fought and finally died content with her life, she had no regrets and if given the chance she would have done the exact same things that led to her death.” Thank you about the food and water though! I swear, I'm feeling so hungry that it's almost like I was sleeping for years.” She said with a smile, as she began eating the bread and drinking some water.” Haaaa... that's better~”

As the men led her forwards to who knows where, Ki'ira began noticing things be wrong all around their path. Everything was... less that it should have been.. .that it had been before she was killed. It almost seemed like the whole world was slowly losing it's life. This was strange and the woman was 100% sure, this was not how things were back before her death. Something was very wrong with everything... A knot appeared in her stomach, she remembered what her mother used to tell her and her sisters – “Nothing is eternal, so it's better to have fun while you can!” That was what the Fox Goddess often used to convey to her children, but why was the world seemingly dying like that? The fox eared woman had no idea, but had the feeling she will eventually find out.

“Now this I remember.” Ki'ira said when she saw the capital and it's location.” It's quite bigger than what I remember though~” She whistled and got a few confused stares from the rangers who held her prisoner. She was almost disturbed at the state of this once beautiful city. In the past it looked like a beautiful creature, who's elegance could not be denied. Now it looked like an sick old washed up cow, which was struggling to live under it's own weight. Too many people and too little infrastructure to keep up with the frankly insane number of residents as the slums made clear.

Ahh there it was, finally their destination. Ki'ira herself hadn't really approached this place in the past, well cause she was a wanted 'criminal' from nearly every country in this side of the continent back then, but she had a way of keeping out of sight when not in battle. This building was beautiful alright, probably good enough to be considered a work of art on it's own, even when not counting all the artworks that decorated it. She wondered where the knights were supposed to be... and there they were~ finally in all their shining glory, it really brought a smile on her face, considering it took an entire combined legion of the best knights from multiple countries to take her down. She loved making fun of knights in shiny armors.

Ki'ira stretched her arms when she was finally free from the shackles. It felt good, she smiled as the knight asked her name, but it was not a friendly smile. It was an amused one, one that seemingly had fun of the situation. She was hailed as calamity for her destructive powers, but in the forest of her mother, she learned the art of illusion like her sisters as well, she lacked in comparison to the rest, but it was enough for pranks and tricks. She before she even started talking, she began weaving the illusion around the rangers behind her. It was a relatively weak and distant ones, like whispers from the edge of their awareness. Then she started talking to the knights.” I have many names, mister knight in shining armor.” Ki'ira said with a giggle.” My birth parent's called me Clarice, the soldiers who killed them called me 'monster', the one I consider my real mother named me Ki'ira Infera, my sisters called me the youngest of the Daughters of Vinsha, and finally and most importantly of all my enemies called me the Walking Calamity of the battlefields!” Ki'ira shouted proudly, her illusions flaring up around the rangers behind her, causing them to turn to their sides in surprise as they caught a glimpse of flashes and whispers at the edge of their sight and hearing. The foxy lady quickly jumped to the side, making a dash around the confused rangers and straight to the exit.” Well, thank you for leading me to here! I will be heading to the Great Bastion now, I know the way to there from here~ All of you have a nice day and I will appreciate it if you all try to catch me, but do keep in mind I'm not going to go quietly!" She happily shouted and waved her hand in a goodbye! Then she dashed once again towards the more crowded parts of the city. The game was on~

Ellarian blankly stared at the captain as he leaned back against the wall. He wanted to spit. Royalty was never a good thing. Fattened up by soft lands and thinking with a cushioned brain, most kings that he had seen had no right to be called rulers. Even in his time the king had been of the cowardly stock, hiding within the safe confines of his palace while he sent legions of men to their deaths. The campaign to the north had been ill advised and portents and omens aplenty had warned them of the folly. And yet the king had driven them on. The vague memory tainted the hard earned victory with bitter hatred. Apparently even now, a coward was on the throne as he recalled the Captain's earlier comments. "You said that the King had refused previous calls for reinforcements?" Ellarian asked calmly as he fixed the Captain with his stony gaze. Like deer caught in the torchlight, the Captain simply stood stock still before nodding. "The king believed our claims a hoax and unsubstantiated..." he admitted quietly. "Did he ever check?" Ellarian prompted. The Captain remained silent. "I will ride out as soon as the wind dies down," he declared as he walked away, before stopping in the doorway. "Captain...what is your name?" he asked as an afterthought, looking back. Startled, the Captain saluted as he cleared his throat. "Mellyrn, Sir," he said proudly, "Captain Albury Mellyrn."
"Mellryn...you have potential," Ellarian said before turning away, "do not squander it always under the reign of a fool."

Borrowing a horse from the stables, a strong draft stallion that could hold his weight without collapsing, Ellarian began trotting towards the exit. The wind had died down by now and though the outside of the fort was covered with the hellpowder, the inside remained uncompromised. With nothing but the armor, shield, map and banner, Ellarian prepared to begin his journey. Hopefully the capital remained in the same direction as it had all those cycles ago. Music echoed throughout the halls as the liquor rations were doubled and the men celebrated their hard earned win. Ellarian couldn't blame them. From what he had heard they had been under siege for days, weeks even, with no relief in sight. As he gently tugged the reins of his horse, he began musing to himself. Was it this dire in other areas of the Empire? What had befallen it so badly that they could not afford to send a small detachment of soldiers away to check a vital fort?

As he approached the door, he was met by Captain Mellyrn and a small unit of cavalry. "Sir," he greeted, holding out a hand in greeting. Dismounting with a loud clang, Ellarian approached and grasped it firmly before banging it onto his chest, which the Captain reciprocated. It was an old warriors salute, mostly fallen out of use but the veterans often used this to distinguish each other. And it was only reserved for those who had earned their trust. "I have prepared a small squad of soldiers to guide you on your journey to the capital," he said, somewhat melancholically as they released their arms. Ellarian shook his head. "No, keep your men," he replied as he pet his horse, "you are in dire enough straits without losing more troops. This horse and a map are enough aid for my journey." The captain motioned to argue, but caught his tongue. Even if it had only been for a day, he knew that his stubbornness was near legendary in proportion. Bowing his head, he allowed Ellarian to pass. "We will meet again, Captain," the hero said as he passed, "on my word as a soldier."

The first beams of dawn rose threateningly over the horizon, for which Volkimir found himself in the woodlands without shelter. Even so, there was no panic in him; he had been in similar predicaments countless times before. One did not survive as a damned Child of Night for thousands of years without knowledge of how to survive daybreak. With the few minutes that morning twilight afforded him, Volkimir dug out a crude burrow under the roots of one of the Shadowlands' many ancient trees with his bare hands. In the cramped shelter of wood and earth Volkimir hid himself from the following day, curled up like a badger or some other manner of burrowing beast. Sleep was a luxury to which vampires were deprived, and so Volkimir spent the long summer day in quiet contemplation and meditation. He had no new information to work on, but was at the very least able to come to better terms with the nature of his return. Volkimir realized that he had most likely indeed died, and then been resurrected. This revelation brought new questions, particularly regarding what force could induce such a seemingly-flawless return from the dead, even in the depths of a forgotten tomb.

Dusk returned to the valley, and as Volkimir emerged from his shelter, he could see the faint glow of streetlamps through the thicket of trees. Civilization, at last. He was no longer sticky with blood from his previous night's meal, but in its place was a distinct coating of dirt and mud. Earth was stuck in his hair and to what remained of his clothes, and while he no longer resembled some kind of murderous demon, he instead appeared to be an equally-crazed wildman. The roads were to be avoided if he wished to escape unwanted attention. Volkimir continued through the woodlands, keeping the road in sight to his flank to ensure that he was still progressing toward the city. Perhaps a passing patrolman or two caught sight of him as he ran through the thicket, but not for more than a moment as he vanished as quickly as he had appeared. Only a ghost; nothing more than a memory.

The city was soon in sight. There had been a windmill in this valley, last Volkimir could remember. Some man "Iora" and his sons, perhaps, but that was of little relevance. It was not the largest city Volkimir had ever seen, as he had laid eyes on true marvels of civilization and human achievement in his travels. Even so, it was likely the largest settlement around for leagues, and it would do for now. Again, Volkimir dared not risk the attention of any of the guards or villagers, and would have to enter with stealth. Volkimir was not used to this level of caution, but he was ill-prepared to work without it at this time. The patrol surrounding the city walls and through the fields and villages stacked up against the city was light enough to avoid with ease. Volkimir flitted between shadows like a whisper; he did not know a man alive that could catch him if he had the will not to be caught. Before long, the city walls themselves were his only obstacle. Volkimir grasped at the sheer stone, pulling himself up at times with the strength of his body, and sometimes merely gliding on the cool breeze of night. He would pause to avoid notice by the passing guard, but otherwise continued his ascent unperturbed.

Before long, the vampire had mounted the palisades themselves, and found himself on solid footing. Unfortunately, he had found company here. A lone guard, likely patrolling the walls for intruders exactly like Volkimir, stood nearby, clearly stunned by the man's sudden appearance. He gasped and gaped at the vampire, but by the time Volkimir had bothered to notice him, the man had collected his wits enough to point his spear at the intruder.

"H-halt! Lay down your weapon and s-surrender! The city of Ghora tolerates no trespassers!" The guard did his best to sound commanding, but could not avoid the shiver in his voice, nor find the strength in him to shout loud enough to alert his comrades.

Volkimir looked the man up and down, obviously not threatened by the spear, and an inquisitive expression worked its way to his face. Killing this man would go over poorly; a farmer was different from a city guard in how much attention their death garnered. Even so, he wished to avoid his presence to be widely known until he had a better grasp of what the world was like. Volkimir had the perfect idea, and a cruel smile spread across his face as he pondered it. With the touch of his dark magic, Volkimir closed off the thick arteries in the guard's neck. Any vampire worth the ivory in their fangs knew the flow of blood through the human body; its directions, intensity and choke points. These were lethal cutoff points, and the man would soon fall unconscious if Volkimir did not release his grip on his throat. The guard choked and sputtered, dropping his spear to grab at the invisible vice on his neck.

This next performance would be key. The golden glow of Volkimir's eyes intensified, and his face narrowed and twisted to resemble some horrid beast of night. His frame became hulking and distorted, fingers lengthening to claws and the silhouette of wings growing up behind him. In black and ancient tongues best forgotten by men, he whispered secrets of oblivion and prophecies of doom. These were parlor tricks; simple, minor transformations of his own flesh through sangromancy. However, the slowly-fading guard would see Volkimir as the most horrific demon. Undoubtedly he would hallucinate the sight even further beyond what it truly was, given the lack of blood-flow to his brain. What Volkimir needed was to appear as comically horrific and unbelievable as possible. Once the guard awakened, his visions of terror would not be believed by his superiors, and Volkimir's very presence would be dismissed as a drunken hallucination.

The guard finally passed out, and Volkimir allowed his blood to resume its natural flow. Now that he had dealt with that little issue, he could return to the task at hand. Volkimir leaped from the top of the palisade, drifting down into the darkened streets below on wings of night. He quickly settled into a particularly dark and dank space between two blighted buildings, and allowed himself a relaxed sigh. It seemed the hard part was over. This city would give him its secrets, whether it was willing or not. Much like a river, the filth of cities such as these always flowed downward, and rats would collect where the dirt and grime pooled and coalesced. Volkimir would have no trouble finding what he needed there; all he had to do was follow the smell of blood.

Ki'ira quickly made her way through the rich districts and made her way into the lower districts, with it's overpopulation, misery and rotting down taverns and brothels. Ohh how much fun it was to dash like this once again. She had put on a simple hood from the clothes she was wearing and keeping her ears as closely as possible to her head, with the hood it almost looked like she didn't have them on. Making her way through the crowds, she quickly found a brothel that seemed somewhat better than the other buildings. The women in the front were barely clothed and men entered and left pretty much all the time.

Making her way to the door, she was stopped by the guard in the front.” Halt, a peasant like you with no money and such ripped clothes has no business here. Only money can get you in... hehehe...” The ugly big monkey of a man said. It seemed his eyesight wasn't really on part as his ugliness. He seemed to have decided she was a man or perhaps a poor peasant boy, trying to get to become a man.” Heh..., you sure you still won't let me enter?” She said, quickly pulling the two sides of her shirt, revealing her chest to the man. For her pleasant surprise earlier, she had found that her body was brought back to a point before her death with at least a few years, as her body barely had any scars from those she got near the end of her life.” I wana work here, that a problem?” She asked, slightly pulling her hood up so he can see her beautiful face. The man quickly began smiling in a very disgusting kind of way, but eventually let her in and brought her to the owner of this gaudy place. Ki'ira estimated she had some time before all the guards managed to get their orders and they managed to find this place. What she needed were better clothes~

“Hmm and what do we have here?” The man who owned the brothel asked, gesturing her to get close.” Why not take off those rags and let me see the merchandise you offer?” At that question the calamity smiled, as she quickly undressed and took off her hood, giving the man quite the surprise at her ears. He seemed smitten by her exotic nature, she supposed, because he lost the ability to talk and only was focused on her figure and ears.” Who are you exactly?” He asked, as she closed and leaned on him. The man tried to take a step back to get some distance from the foxy lady, but she just stepped too and eventually they found themselves pressed at the wall.” You see, I'm being chased down by some sunshines~ I mean knights. They will come here to search for me soon, but I decided to get a new set of clothes first. You see, I can pretty much burn this place down to the ground.” She whispered, running a finger on his cheek.” But I don't really want to. I like it, now that I think about it. It's about having fun and enjoyment and I like those~ So what do you say about this, I will let you experience something you've never have and will never again do so until your death. In return you supply me with a set of suitable clothing and pay me for my services towards you?” She said, whispering in his ear. The smitten man at first didn't react, but eventually returned to his business state of mind and only agreed if she really shows him a thing no one else can.” You'd better not regret this~” She whispered, wrapping her hands around his neck, and quickly touched their foreheads. From this close and this focused, her illusions were going to be pretty darn effective. It was part of the reason why no man who fell in love with a daughter of Vinsha, never could stop her leave. They just overwhelmed their senses, some made illusions of fear, other of confusion, well she just made him see an illusion of his own death. The man's knees lost strength and he crumbled on the floor.

While the man was taking his time recovering from the shock of well what felt to die, she quickly ran through his room, fining herself a set of clothing, probably one that belonged to one of the many women who worked here. A short skirt and a loose linen vest... she threw away the trinkets. If nothing else, it wasn't some rags even though it made her look like one of the women who worked here. It still looked better than the bandit's rags and certainly were more comfortable~” Search this place! She couldn't have gone too far!” She heard someone shout as there was quite the commotion going on downstairs.” Well this didn't take long... They are faster than I expected. Well it seems I will be leaving only with the clothes~ keep the pay.” She whistled, as she jumped from the window, using a drain pipe, to slow her fall.” There she is! That's her!” She heard someone call and took only a glance to realize it was a band of grunts.” Yes that's me!!!” She shouted happily, waving at them as she ran, her skirt waving at the wind.

“There she is!!! After her!!!” She heard more shouting as a second band of grunts cornered her in a dead end.” Surrender!” One of them demanded, but she simply blew them a kiss, and jumped from the nearby wall, taking hold of the edge of a window. As she quickly climbed up, she found a very old woman who was desperately trying to light up some kind of a fireplace.” Excuse me madam, I'm just passing through...” Ki'ira said to the woman's surprise and she headed to the window heading in the other side of the blocked street.” Ohh let me help you with that.” She finally said, throwing a small ball of fire, which light up the fireplace right away. Afterwards she jumped out the window and quickly began running back towards the inner districts. She knew exactly where she planned to end up. She probably couldn't really leave the town now~ She was going to have them run around chasing her as long as she found it amusing~

“Stop damn you! You cannot escape! Why don't you just surrender!?” One of the soldiers shouted, trying to chase her down, but she was way too fast on her feet and too good at climbing because she wore no armor to weight her down.” Not a chance~ I'm a daughter of Vinsha, only our mother can command us~ For the rest of you cuties, you will need to either catch me or propose me something better than the fun I'm having right now!” She shouted as she once again was climbing a dead end wall.

“Ohhh... how much for this?” She suddenly stopped running when she passed by a small stand where there was an old woman, selling roasted sausages.” It looks tasty...” The fox woman was eyeing the meat, but suddenly she heard the stomping of the soldiers and quickly fled again. If those sunshines had any brains, they may have been able to figure what she wants at the moment, considering how much she was annoying the rangers who brought her here with demands for good and better food and drinks~ Well until they figured it out, they were going to have to continue chasing her around.

Volkimir was being followed. Poorly. Though it took far more than the common cat's paw to actually sneak up on him, Volkimir could tell that this man was far from a professional. His footsteps were so loud that he was surprised that the entire city block didn't hear him. He was jittery, likely from a combination of narcotics, lack of sleep and skin-borne parasites, and his breathing was noisy and erratic. Listening more closely, the man's heartbeat was so frantic that Volkimir wouldn't be surprised if it burst then and there. However, the man did not keel over and die, as much as Volkimir hoped he would. Instead, the man called out to him.

The ancient vampire turned to face the vagrant, painfully slowly to make the man as aware as possible of the mistake he just made. Volkimir fingered the hilt of his blade as he approached the man. There could be no witnesses, and he needed to shut this fool up before he awoke the entire city with his inane shouting. Even so, he needed to take his time to ensure that his death looked to be nothing more than a typical victim of night. However, the man then mentioned a band of thieves, and bringing Volkimir to meet their leader. This had possibilities.

Volkimir stopped to mull over his options. A "band" of thieves was hardly something useful to him; he was most likely stealthier and more lethal than all of them combined. If they were so impoverished to hide in the sewers, pardon, the sub-sewers, they had no resources that would be to his distinct benefit. However, this leader intrigued him. Any man that could command a group of scoundrels such as these (if this specimen before him was anything to go by), likely had some sort of leverage over them. Money, contacts, or at the very least, information. All resources that Volkimir had found himself in dire need of upon rising from the dead. It would be a simple matter to gain leverage over such a man, Volkimir thought as he eyed Elbrus' glimmering edge, as men with power over others typically valued their lives.

The "thief" (as it were) sat uncomfortably, staring wide-eyed at Volkimir as he sweated and fidgeted. Volkimir eyed him coolly, looking down the bridge of his nose at him. "Do I look to be a thief to you?" Volkimir asked, quietly but clear. His voice was that of a temple bell ringing a death knell: pure, bold and somewhat familiar, but with an ominous, hollow quality that was perceived by the soul.

"Oh no, eh, sir!" The man seemed relieved that Volkimir had not immediately killed him, but was wisely unsure if he was completely safe from the vampire's ire. "You... You don't look like any man I done ever seen." Something overtook the man. His gaze met Volkimir's, drawn to the vampire's eyes like a moth to flame. He seemed hypnotized, and started to ramble. "I done seen thieves and murderers and pimps and pirates, and I swear I seen a king once. You don't look like any of them."

"Oh?" Volkimir stepped closer, within striking distance, but the man was too entranced to step away. Vampires past a certain age could have this effect on humans, something like an unnatural charisma. Volkimir believed that the sin burned into a vampire's soul attracted those that could be easily swayed to temptation, such as this poor fool. "What do I look like?"

The man answered without hesitating, "Death, sir."

Volkimir smiled, fangs lit up the same distant torch that made his blade shimmer like starlight. "You're not wrong. Show me to your master, I will follow." This seemed to break the spell on the man, whose entire body slackened with relief. However, this was short-lived, as Volkimir pounced on him faster than his eyes could perceive. He gripped the thief by the back of his head with his off hand, and held his sword in the man's face with his other. The malevolent blade was placed in the considerable gap between the man's front teeth, and a trickle of blood ran down into his mouth where Elbrus ever-so-slightly cut into his upper lip. "If this is a trap, I will flay your body and rend your soul." The man was suddenly weeping, daring not to struggle against Volkimir's far superior strength. "Keep ten paces ahead, do not look back for me, and do not speak unless spoken to, or if you must convey vital information." Volkimir's curt demands were punctuated with a cruel smile. "Do we have an understanding?"

The man attempted to say something resembling an affirmation, and Volkimir released him, thrusting him away. The man staggered, falling onto his knees as he held his bleeding face and whimpered. He looked up at the vampire with terrified eyes, and Volkimir stared down at him without an iota of expression beyond contempt and disgust. True to his (assumed) word, though, the man picked himself up silently, and stalked off into the night. Volkimir followed behind, silent as a shadow. The journey through the streets was not particularly long, which suited the vampire, as sunrise was not far off. The man must have been returning to his hideaway when they crossed paths. They descended into a maintenance tunnel, and proceeded through the pitch-black sewers on narrow walkways. Volkimir could see perfectly, but he assumed that the man was very familiar with the route to be able to navigate the sewers by memory. That, or he he was getting around by sense of smell. The stench was abominable, covering even the putrid stink of the louse-covered thief. A steep stairwell led into the sub-sewers, and shortly thereafter the man stopped at a grate that had been covered by rotting boards.

He looked in Volkimir's direction upon stopping, but Volkimir was willing to forgive this slight, as they had apparently arrived at their destination. The thief knocked a particular pattern into the boards, which Volkimir believed that he was able to sufficiently memorize (though another observation for confirmation would be useful). A muffled voice sounded from the other side of the mouldy boards: "Right, who's out there?"

"It's Kay!" The thief shouted back, before looking to Volkimir and adding, "I brought someone new!"

"You daft git!" The other voice sounded a touch upset. "Get in here so I can belt ya!"

Numerous locks sounded from the other side of the boards, whereupon the assembly swung outward. A thick door was disguised by the boards, as Volkimir suspected, and from within he could hear voices and see firelight. He followed the man, "Kay," into the lair, ducking his head to avoid knocking it against the doorframe. Motion in the hideaway ceased, all the men inside freezing at the sight of Volkimir. The scene was almost picturesque, as though he had stepped into a still-life. The den of thieves resembled a musty facsimile of an inn or tavern, with its filthy rug and rotten wooden furniture. A few low-burning torches lit the cramped accommodations, and by its light a few men played billiards in one corner and cards in another. Cigars dropped from the mouths of slack-jawed thugs as they stared at the vampire, and others stooped protectively over their tankards of foul-smelling swill. A few other doors led out of the common area, presumably to sleeping quarters, vaults or other entrances.

"Wot's this, then, Kay?" The doorman, judging by his voice, asked as he shut and latched the door back. He was an older man, grey of hair with one eye and a thick, drooping moustache. "Who's the bloody spook you let into our 'eadquarters?" He looked Volkimir up and down with his remaining eye. This man had not seen what Kay had seen; he was merely made suspicious by Volkimir's dirt-caked clothes and body, and his flawless, ebony sword.

"This is, eh... Well, I never got his name." Kay stuttered, suddenly embarrassed by the attention put on him.

"My name is not important." Volkimir announced, the commanding tone of his voice startling the other thieves. "I was told that I would meet with your leader."

"Ah! Right! Boss done told me to find fresh blood for the gang." Kay's slither of confidence returned as he remembered what he was doing with Volkimir. "Listen, he'll tell you." The thief bounded up to one of the identical wooden doors, and rapped on it loudly. "Mister Locke! It's Kay! Brought someone here to see you, I did!" He looked back at the rest of the group, saying, "Boss'll figure this whole deal out right quick."

The various lowlifes present mumbled their assent to this plan of action, but kept their eyes on Volkimir and their hands on their daggers. Volkimir dug the point of his sword into the rotten brickwork and leaned on Elbrus like a staff, staring boredly at the door from which this "boss" was to emerge. This was getting rather tiresome, and he greatly wished to speak with someone who had read a book at some point at their life. At the very least, he would settle for someone that had all of their teeth in their mouth.

Altim followed the guard up the steps in an ascent that he hadn't made since he last walked the earth, perhaps earlier. Except that this time, the Bastion of Light was truly lifeless, and the only solace was the worldly glow of the two stars that had illuminated the land of Ansus for ages. The inscriptions that covered the walls of the Bastion had remained as in tact as they alwas had, but something about them felt empty and lacking. As if some great treasure had been stolen from the shrine to the gods, Faerthus's chosen and the guard scaled the tower at the quickest pace they could achieve, the guard taking a hasty lead over Altim. Time had taken no toll on the monolith, but a malicious force had; its fires were cold, only ash and soot from the fallout, the day when the gods died.

The space became more cramped but also comforting as the pair took their course up the steps. When they reached the top, the packed atmosphere opened into an open landing before the grand door to the Chamber. The guard pushed through the door and bowed, and Altim, unknowingly, raised a brow in curiosity as he laid his warm, amber eyes on the room. His violin, next to an inscription in his honor, and a rock of a person, who knelt in front of the remnants of the ancient flame. The images on the ceiling and wall gave the bard the answer, and he quickly prostrated himself before Ansur, the Forefather. With splendor and awe, Altim exclaimed: "Blessed! I am humbled to kneel before the Patriarch of Ansus."

Ansur, however, did not expect the door to be flung open with such wild abandon, but was not visibly startled by the sudden onset of words by a voice unfamiliar. Slowly, he turned, meeting the gaze of the one who had found his way to the upper levels of the Bastion of Light.
As Ansur looked upon he who had thrown himself to prostration before him like a devout follower of some clandestine cult, he noticed that this newcomer's eyes were much similar to his own. Ansur thought little of it, but slowly and purposefully began striding towards him.

"The afterglow of the Gods burns in you. Kneel not, for I suspect you have come with purpose."

He, after some deliberation, rested his hand for a very brief moment upon the new arrival's forehead; as if it were some traditional symbol of respect from times long past.

"What is your name?"

Altim felt the muscles in his legs go weak as Ansur approached, and although Ansur's presence was a softening one, the chosen of Faerthus was paralyzed in the presence of such an honored legend. Ansur had urged Altim to his feet, and the chosen of Faerthus did so obediently and humbly. The hand on his forehead expelled all anxieties, and Altim rose with more dignity, sans trembling fear. "I am Altim of Cynderia, chosen of Faerthus, he who united the West." Altim bowed again, but this time less out of subservience and more out of courtesy. "I never dreamed of meeting you, noble Ansur. The people have sung your praises for ages."

Ansur nodded ever so slightly, not wanting to come across as controlling, unapproachable, or less humble than he truly was. But the notion of his own heorism came as a surprise to the Forefather.

"I am sorry I do not know you by name; it has been many years since I walked the land. But I am honoured to be in your presence. His holy light flares in your eyes; the shimmer of wisdom is still alight in your soul."

Ansur stepped back as Altim rose to his feet. He allowed the Chosen of Faerthus some space to rise to his full height, but all the while, Ansur's eyes were fixated on those of Altim's.

"I understand that this may be a little more than odd for you, as I have my suspicions that you, too, do not belong to this time and place. Were you also pulled from beyond life? For a reason that has yet to reveal itself?"

Ansur barely gave Altim a chance to reply before he turned himself back to the central pyre, excusing the guard while he moved. The stuttering man obeyed, and left with a single bow and no sound.

"Altim, Chosen of Faerthus. I am filled with regret that we did not have a chance to meet upon better circumstances, but for all the times I have spoken with the Gods, not a single one will answer anymore."

He ran his hand across the old, skeletal remains of the pyre's contruction: a grand pyramid of wood, dusted with the ashen remains of sixty-thousand years of fire. It was crusted over with the residue of time and decay, and felt as though it could snap with a single touch.

"The Gods are gone, and the fires have all been extinguished. Once where the heavens were is now simply a whispering darkness devoid of stars. I fear that the Gods did not simply cease to be," he said in the most grave tone he could muster. "I fear that they were killed."

"This is true. One by one," Altim paused and met Ansur at the pyre. "Their lights were extinguished. I am troubled. In my life, it was Faerthus's Wisdom that led me to the right path, but this terrible happening has me lost." He put his hand on Ansur's shoulder before taking his hand off and walking to his violin. Altim gently took it in his deft hands, the bow in his nimble fingers, and he played a solemn, grieving dirge on his beloved instrument. As he played, water appeared from thin air and, glowing, matched the inscriptions on the walls of the corridor; the spectacle venerated the gods and lamented their end, and the holy inscriptions glowed in return. When he finished playing, Altim returned his violin to its normal position on his back, the water evaporated instantly like mere illusion, and the glow faded into the dim light of the Chamber.

Ansur watched with awe at the display of magical serenity by Altim, and was overcome with a sense of pride about the achievments of his kin and their descendants. The fact that they could develop such power for the sake of peace, wisdom, and unity was beyond merely comforting, rather inspiring.

"There are others like us, Chosen of Faerthus. Others who have been called from beyond the veil of life. I fear the death of the Gods, and I fear the task that awaits us, but most of all I fear the Starless beast that surely now descends upon Ansus. With no Gods to protect us, we are surely the last line of defence. We must find the others, and we must find them fast, for a shadow gathers upon the horizon."

Ansur gestured for Altim to follow him to the small window at the far end of the chamber, through which the last light of day was filtering through in transient spears of dusty incandesence. He pointed a careful finger into the sprawling landscape beyond the Bastion, where one could see the capital, Kolantis, vaguely in the distance. Its shilouette stood stark against the sunset, yet the sunset itself was crowned by an unnatural shadow gathering like a hurricane. It was darker than night, yet wispy and ethereal, and the last sunlight scintillated through its body like a firefly through the fog.

"Altim... the world is dying. The end is upon us. We must find whoever else has been raised from times past, and we must make our stand."

"Whatever miracle has been granted, we must use it wisely," Altim resolved as he observed the suns' setting and eyed the capital, remote from the Bastion. "Shall we embark for Kolantis?"

"That we should, friend," Ansur started. "I only hope we can make it before it is too late. The shadow grows quickly."

The desert wind was scorching and arid on Ellarian's face as his horse laboured through the sands. He licked his dry, cracked lips as another dust devil kicked up some sand in a vain attempt to skin him alive, succeeding only in filling his mighty beard with enough material to mortar a small house. The deserts were harsher than when he had last walked this earth. Doyles and small desert creatures had thrived among the semi-arid environment, but now there remained only the constant dull yellow and orange of sand along with the occassional sun bleached white of bone. Tying his banner around his face as a makeshift muffler, the revived hero gently nudged his mount forwards as he squinted his eyes again. The flaying sands and harsh sunlight forced him to almost close his eyes as he checked the position of the sun against the horizon. It would be dark soon. And the desert was not a place one wanted to travel at night, especially not with the infamous northern sandstorms on the horizon. Kicking his heels into his horse's flank, he urged it forwards just a little bit faster.

A thin layer of frost had formed on his armour as he leaned on his horse's hip, gently running his gauntleted hand through his wild mane. The two had found shelter underneath a rocky outcropping which shielded them from the worst of the howling wind and flying sand. He had started a modest fire in the little cave which illuminated the rough sandstone walls and provided some measure of comfort. At a simple whinny from his companion, Ellarian poured some more of his canteen's contents into the horse's bowl which it lapped up greedily. As its head came to rest on his shoulder, Ellarian found himself staring deeply into the flames, as if afixed in a trance. He could feel a piercing gaze from within the sandstorm outside, but he shook it off as a hallucination born from his long journey. There was nothing in this desolate land but carrion birds and corpses picked clean over decades....and yet he could not shake the standard soldier's superstition of an old witch who followed like misfortune on a baggage train. As his gauntlet brushed against the small sack of salvaged hellpowder, Ellarian wondered if such a strange substance would work on non-humans... Sitting up, he stoked the flames with what little firewood he had left; there was no sense worrying about what wasn't there. He still had a long journey ahead of him. He had not the energy to waste on these pointless thoughts.

At the crack of dawn, Ellarian set off again, at first leading his horse over the newly formed dunes before mounting up and starting off on a canter. At first it was as dull and bland as ever, the unchanging landscape broken only by an occassional dune. Likewise the silence was suffocating, broken only by the occassional screech of a carrion bird floating overhead. He paid it no mind as they continued to circle overhead; he didn't plan on being a meal any time soon. Though he tried to banish depressing thoughts from his mind, he could not help but wonder if he was going the right way, after all, all these sand dunes looked the same. He looked towards the heavens once more, seeking Ansur's guidance. Discerning no new information, he settled it with a sigh and sat back into his saddle. If he was to die again, what would become of him? Was he now immortal? Would he never be able to return to that silent contemplative space again? These thoughts continued to nag at him even as a flash of green and brown caught his eye.

An oasis? And in so remote a location? The hackles on the back of Ellarian's neck rose up in suspicion. As a soldier of the north, he was no stranger to mirages and their like, but this particular oasis looked rather convincing, though it was most probably just wishful thinking. Nevertheless...Gently tugging at his horse's reins, he clicked his tongue and lightly dug his heels into its flanks, sending to towards the oasis at a trot. Speculation was all well and good, but mirage or not, it was the best way to top up his dwindling supplies. Not to mention the sirens call of a hot meal, a soft bed...and possible a soft woman to accompany it was too great to pass up.

As he had suspected, it had not been a mirage. Leaving his horse tied up outside, Ellarian calmed the beast as it tried to tear itself away from the post. He knew how it felt. There was something subtly wrong here, but he could not quite put his finger on it. "Calm, boy," he hushed as he stroked its snout, "you've brought me this far, and that means I owe you. Have faith." With that, the horse settled for nodding its head and worrying at the ground with its hoof. Looking up to the sign hanging above the building, he read the Laughing Monk off of it. An odd name to be sure, and one that was vaguely familiar. Gingerly pushing open the door, Ellarian did a quick check of the area. Silent as an army's chapel. "Hello?" he hazarded as he stepped under the doorframe, entering the tavern proper. It was pleasant enough, though the musty smell of age and dust masked anything else. Polished wooden chairs and tables were placed uniformly around a common area, while an upholstered seat took up a corner around a seldom used fireplace. The bar counter was clean and stocked with several wooden barrels, shining glasses placed underneath. "Yes?" came a soft, female voice as a pretty, young thing bounced down the stairs leading to what was probably an inn, "is that a customer?"
"Aye," Ellarian replied as he undid his muffler, "I require lodging, a meal and something to forget me troubles. Although she at first affixed him with a wondrous stare, it soon burst into unbridled joy. "Yes! Yes of course!" she shouted, before running back upstairs, "father! Father a customer is here!"

Occupying a rickety old seat, Ellarian sat patiently, staring into space before a mug and steaming hot plate of something was placed in front of him. It smelled off. Not quite enough to be inedible, but enough that he could tell that it was not fresh. Or that there was something VERY unusual in it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ale wench lick her lips, ever so slightly. "Please, try the pork," she prompted, in an attempt to start his meal. Taking another deep breath, he felt the scent invade his lungs. Gently pushing his seat back, Ellarian stood up and slowly walked towards the girl. Towering over her, he stared directly into her eyes. "W-what is it?" she asked, shaking visibly. Without warning, the soldier delivered a brutal cross straight into her face with enough force to send her crashing through the wooden wall and into the sand. Taking a washcloth from the counter as he began to calmly walk towards the gaping hole in the wall, Ellarian began to wipe his fist of blood. "So...care to reveal to me your true form?" he asked reasonable, despite his previous action. Like a heat haze, the tavern behind him began to shimmer and waver, the illusion disappearing to reveal a run down old shack.

Ki'ira had the time of her life... second life? Whatever, she had a blast, running away from those soldiers. Their reactions were just so amusing each time she almost let them catch her, before slipping away yet again. Eventually with time the chasers numbers lessened as she guessed they just couldn't have the entire city guard chase after her forever. They still had to uphold the public order and what not. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter really. The fox eared woman already sensed it. The unnatural winds and the darkness that was descending on this city. Even from her position she could hear the powerful waves clashing into the harbor... something bad was coming to this place! A smile appeared on her face, as she jumped quickly climbed on top of a building, looking at the darkness that was swallowing them. A thought appeared in the back of her mind, this was maybe the reason why she was pulled away from her eternal and well deserved( by her own opinion) rest.

As the demonic horn was blown and everything around her, down on the streets filled with the chaos of the simple people, trying to run away from the unknown horror they felt, the calamity stood on top of that building still! Her ears hurt from the grotesque sound and the deafening noise of the wind and the not really too distant waves, but she did not move. She stood there in that place like a cliff waiting for the inevitable wave to crash into her.

And then they appeared, from the corners of the awareness, the edges of the back streets, the places no one really looked at, poured a wave of people in dark robes and grotesque weapons. Slaughtering everything in their path, to their still unknown target. Perhaps their target was the decimation of every living being in the city, who knew at this point, but it certainly looked like killing as many people as they can was a target of theirs too.

From their movement it became clear they were heading towards the inner city, towards the heart of this capital. Ki'ira stood there, on her building in their path, soon they were going to be at her feet. A wide grin appeared on her face, as the brave sunshines(knights) fell easily against the tide of grotesque weapons. The chant of those robed figures was already ringing in her ears and it was annoying her. Who were they to deny her enjoyment of this moment! She finally got a playground and those bastards destroyed her chance! As they finally neared her building, another set of knights clashed with the enemies, losing their lives pretty much instantly against the overpowering tide of destruction headed their way. From her vintage point, she could see a few civilians trying to escape, but the robed figures were already behind them and in a dozen seconds, they would just be the next blood pool on the streets. The fox eared woman grinned once again, she jumped from the house, gathering her powers between her hands. As she jumped, she unleashed a powerful fire wave between the civilians and the swarming bastards in robes who were annoying her with that annoying chant. Using the recoil of the intense fire wave, she landed easily without a scratch and turned towards the enemies who appeared to not really be too much bothered passing by the flames.” Good... You there, run as fast as you can...” She said, to the people she just bought some time to and then turned back to her foes.” Well not much point holding back in this case! Here is a gift from me and it's name is... STARFURY!” She shouted, raising her arms in the air, as a great ball of flames appeared above her. The fire strength was well above anything normal fires can produce, but that wasn't all. The next moment a ring of 4 smaller flaming spheres appeared around the big one, then another one and another. In total 1 giant flaming sphere and 12 smaller ones, was what she finally threw at the wave of robed figures headed her way and she smiled at it... she enjoyed battle! That's was why she opened with one of her strongest attacks! " Let's see how long you can continue this annoying chant! HAHAHHAA!!"