[center][h3]A r s a n n a[/h3]
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The mirror fell to the floor, shattering loudly. The old maid yelped at the noise, as her husband reflexively reeled back from the mysterious waif clutching his arm. The doctor and young man quickly found their way to the young lady's side and gently lowered her back into the cot they had assembled. Each of those present carried a pensive, worried expression as they looked to Arsanna. She was clearly unsettled in some way or another, and while they had not expected her to be totally coherent upon reawakening, they were clearly struggling with the possibility that they could be dealing with a madwoman.

[color=lightgray]"You're safe, my dear."[/color] The doctor spoke, taking a seat at the young woman's bedside. His white robes and bushy, grey moustache were a comforting sight to the ill and infirm, but it was not his expertise to deal with the mentally misaligned. Worry creased his brow, and he chewed on his clay pipe anxiously. [color=lightgray]"You are in the temple of Arsanna's Rest. You had nearly drowned in the oasis, until these people found you."[/color] He gestured to the small crowd behind him; an elderly farmer and his wife, and a surly young man with a sword at his hip. [color=lightgray]"Now, if you can, tell me your name. Where are you from? Where are you going? Speak slowly, there is no rush."[/color]

[hider=GM Note]Awakening from the dead is a shocking experience, but so is pulling a strange woman out of an oasis. The people of the plains can be kind, but they are also pragmatic. Faced with an unhinged woman that insists that she is a hero of legend, they may react... poorly.[/hider]


[center][h3]D a e n[/h3]
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The inky cloak of night spread out over the land, casting the snow-covered landscape into a collage of black and grey. Mountains stood like shadowy phantoms against the backdrop of the clouded sky. Breaks in cloud cover showed only the murky void beyond, bereft of stars. Even if a storm had grown to cover the shame of the dying world, nothing could hide this painful truth from Daen for long. The Truthseeker looked out on a world in its final days of life; he had stepped out of one tomb and into a greater one.

This was one harsh, heartbreaking truth among many. This had always been the blessing of Saevus, a curse in equal measures. Daen had always stood open and vulnerable, exposed to knowledge as cold and cutting as the wintry winds that battered his naked flesh at that very moment. However, in the face of such dark and terrible truth, it was upon him to act. Just as it had always been. A trio of horses, presumably those of the plunderers, were tied but a few yards away, one with a small cart hitched to it. The few crates the horse pulled were most probably supplies for the brigands' journey, or storage for their loot. They stood complacently, shaking snow from their manes and tails. One noticed Daen, and stared at him with its big, watery eyes.

The men were still below Daen, screaming but alive. The fire was a short-term distraction; just as the mage had not been skilled enough to kill the Truthseeker, he most likely wasn't skilled enough to kill himself or his cohort. They would not be preoccupied for much longer, and would now be fueled by revenge, rather than mere greed. Once again, Daen remembered, it was upon him to act.

[hider=GM Note]Well, you knocked one graverobber out, but the other two are on fire and pretty pissed. You've got free reign of their horses for now, but I wouldn't spend too much time pontificating.[/hider]

[center][h3]K i ' i r a[/h3]
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The pirates seemed unmoved by the demands and posturing of the pyromancer, standing shoulder to shoulder with their weapons at hand. One moved to fire his crossbow at Ki'ira, but a quick shout from the young lady among them halted him. Though she bore no signs of rank or other status among the pirates, the woman commanded some sort of authority over them. Still keeping an eye on the stranger in their midst, she moved closer to the crew and discussed the present matter in their strange tongue. Though the language was alien to Ki'ira, she could hear their frustration and anxiety in their rushed and chattering tone.

Their discussion seemed to end quickly. One of the larger men cursed in his native tongue and spat on the sand, before moving to one of the crates that lay scattered about. Prying it apart with only his bare hands and the strength of his bronzed, muscular body, he retrieved a dusty bottle of some manner of dark, pungent swill. With another disparaging utterance, he tossed the liquor to Ki'ira, and returned to barking orders at the crew. The gathered men returned to the task of loading the ship, though with quicker and more concentrated effort.

The young woman, barefoot on the sand and clad in a man's blouse and breeches, approached to sit cross-legged by Ki'ira. Though she was clearly on edge, she made her best effort to appear unfettered by the stranger's interruption of their operation. [color=lightgray]"It is a lovely forest. Wasteful to burn, no?"[/color] She fussed with the sleeve of her salt-stained blouse, rolling it up and then back down again indecisively. She was nervous about [i]something[/i], that was certain. [color=lightgray]"I am called Arue. What are you called?"[/color]

[hider=GM Note]Deflection? Stalling? Never heard of them; sisters?[/hider]

[center][h3]E r e b u s[/h3]
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Ronan smiled, weary but envigored by victory. [color=lightgray]"Of course, my lord. The way to Kolantis is long, but there is no greater honor for a simple groundwalker to accompany our king on his journey."[/color]

Preparations were made quickly, and the two departed before nightfall. The jagged mountains of the Dragon's Spine gave way to the forests and riverlands as they journeyed southward. However, the curse that befell the mountain folk was far from theirs alone. Just as Ronan had said, Ansus itself was cursed. The land seemed starved and desolate, as though rotting from the inside. Rivers ran dry to dusty trenches, and many fields were naught but dirt and the yellowed bones of dead cattle. For every hamlet of peasants the king and his guide passed, they passed three more devoid of all life and habitation.

The nights were worse, though. Game for hunting and eating and clean water for drinking became quickly scarce on their journey, and despite many detours made to fulfill either need, there were many nights spent awake in tormenting hunger and thirst. Erebus was made weary and irritable by his mortal needs, but endured with steely will. Ronan, however, quickly grew haggard. Though as hearty as any of the dragonkin could be, he was still a man on in his years, and became withered and weakened. Even so, he pressed on. Each night Ronan wondered if he would awake the next morning, but he was determined that the damnable void of the starless sky would not be the last thing that he saw.

Some days into their harrowing journey, the duo of commoner and king found a passable stream from which to fill their waterskins. Ronan knelt at the riverbank, washing the dust from his face and hands between gulps of clean, cool water. Erebus waded a fair ways downstream, looking for any fish to impale upon his claws. However, his sharp vision caught onto a commotion half a mile away. A milling village down the river had a large gathering of some sort cropping up. While it was difficult to determine the finer details, Erebus could see enough. A man in robes, likely some sort of priest, waving a torch about. He stood next to a pile of timber, a human form atop it, and a crowd of farmers gathered around. From what Erebus knew of funeral pyres, though, the body was usually laid atop the kindling, not bound to it. This was not a funeral; it was an execution.

Curiosity gained the better of Erebus, and he wandered closer to the village to better discern the details of this public burning. What he discovered made his eyes shoot wide with shock and fury. This wasn't a criminal or heretic they were about to burn alive. It was a child. A girl, no older than eight or nine, was bound to a wooden pillar with a great pile of kindling gathered at her feet. Her green dress was dirtied and torn, and her bare feet were pricked and cut by the timber she was forced to stand on. Erebus looked even closer, and noticed that the child seemed greatly ill; her eyes were dark and withdrawn, she coughed and shivered incessantly, and great discolorations of purple and blue spread across her otherwise sickly-pale skin.

The torch-bearer shouted fanatically, the words of his speech Erebus could only make out as he drew closer. [color=lightgray]"And so we cast ye, foul demon, back to the infinite hells of Merkstave! With sword and scythe, fire and iron we scour ye from our home, damned by every man present a hundred times!"[/color] He seemed as gaunt and malnourished as the rest of the crowd, but with eyes alive with conviction. His face was covered in tattooed runes and scriptures, and in his free hand he wielded a staff whose crook was carved in the shape of a heron's head. [color=lightgray]"By the name of Sigarda Lifewarder, and in the name of Lotti Verdicloak, I sentence ye to fiery damnation!"[/color] With that, the priest began the ominous procession to the pyre, torch held aloft proudly. The girl about to be burned seemed delirious with fever, utterly unaware of what was happening around her. As the priest closed in, a woman in the crowd broke down onto her knees, sobbing wildly.

The priest was but five steps from setting the child ablaze, and Erebus was still a quarter-mile from the village. Even so, to clear such a distance in time to save the child would be a trivial matter to the Uncrowned. This was not his business, really; what arcane rites villages carried out in desperation were their own business. This was, however, a grim and disturbing act to witness, and it carried grave portent for villages that fared worse than this one.

[hider=GM Note]Terrified village is about to burn alive a child they think is possessed by a demon. Truth is, she's actually just very sick. Up to you if you want to intervene, and how.[/hider]

[center][h3]E l o w e n[/h3]
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Seeking guidance from the artifact left behind by her god, Elowen looked into Novissah's tome, and the tome looked back into her. The White Knight's mind was flooded with visions of a world quickly growing dark. A great maw, like a hole in reality, tore up and out from the earth. The purest darkness, the void made manifest, spilled forth from it. Demons crawled out of the hellish portal, their numbers innumerable, surging forth to reave and rape in the world of men. However, that was not the greatest evil of which this vision told. She could not see it, but Elowen knew it was there. A malevolence inconceivable by mortals, something not of this world, nor any world. Something not meant to exist, but brought to bear all the same. It was the death of all things; men, gods and worlds alike. Utterly inhuman, but intimately personal. It knows you're there, Elowen, watching. It knows what you're afraid of, and it knows you aren't strong enough to stop it.

The book snapped shut, breaking Elowen from her nightmarish vision. Whatever she had seen before paled in comparison to this. Now she understood what the tome was meant to show her; whatever had come before, it was nothing compared to what was to come. Worst of all, she alone, as she had been for as long as she could remember, would not be enough. She would need allies, and fast. Luckily for her, the Starsword was destined to gain comrades unlike those that the world had ever seen before. Well, truthfully, they had been seen before perhaps once. And with one final gift from her fallen god, she now she knew where to find them.

[hider=GM Note]Tossing the ball back in your court. The book will let you track down any player character of your choice; pick a partner. Though I'd recommend against picking someone that hasn't posted in a while.[/hider]