“On your knees!”

The grim command barked past the rushing screams of the crowd. The high sun dried the throat of Vrindle as his body was knocked forward by a shove. His dusty lungs coughed and his palms caught the ground. Blood stained eyes looking forward into the grey earth.

A shimmering trinket swung like a pendulum on a chain that surrounded his neck. Its scarlet orb pendant staring at his beaten features. A gloved hand reach under him to snatch the artifact, but a command rang in denial.

“Let the volcano see, leave its eye on its chosen.”

A hush fell over the once hollering crowd that surrounded the broken man at the sight of the decision. Vrindle’s ears stretched to hear somebody other than his own troubled breathing, but the voice of the volcano that had brought him here was long gone and only the distant chirp of a songbird sweetened his pained mind.

A swift black boot swung underneath Vrindle and cracked his ribs with a loud thwack. A hot breath was forced out between pained groans as the man’s lungs struggled raggedly. The eye swung and bumped his nose, propelled by the strike.

A rough hand slapped the back of Vrindle’s scalp, sending a feeling as though his eyes were about to pop out of his skull. The thick hand grabbed his hair and yanked back, sending Vrindle’s eyesight of the sight in front of him, and exposing his twitching throat to his enemies.

Many eyes watched him in makeshift stands, and the sun pulsed in the deserted blue sky. Dust kicked from the scorched summer earth and watered his eyes with a stinging dryness. His breaths felt like swallowing paper and coughing rocks, and his skin itched with such ferocity it felt like it was going to rip itself asunder out of a shrinking pain.

A thin blade as red as the blood of its previous victims came into view. The crowd seemed to shift in their seats with what could be interest or possibly sick anticipation. It’s edge was so thin that it could barely be seen as its magical blade shimmered a grim glow under the sun.

A loud boom shook the ground and the crowd panicked. The blade fell to the dusty earth and Vrindle collapsed onto his chest. Slowly he rolled onto his back, his ears screaming as they adjusted from another blast of sound.

A pillar of smoke rose to the blue sky as he heard the screams and shouts of people rushing around him when another blast launched a black orb into his vision, only to exit his sight and crash into a crumbling stone wall.

A friend's voice called out as the explosions continued.

“Vrindle! Get up!”

Boom.

The sounds of two armies clashing started to pollute the sulfur filled air as the friend continued to yell at the unresponsive Vrindle.

Feet shuffled and blades sang through the air while Vrindle slowly sucked in a rotten breath of acrid air.

“It’s over.” He coughed, just loud enough to be heard by the man who had slid out of his vision and by his side. Flecks of light danced in his fading vision as a calloused hand grabbed his own, blonde head came into view.

“Not yet.”

Vrindle groaned, and dark veins popped from his skin, spider webbing his neck, “it’s too late.”

“It can’t be.”

“We failed.”

“We couldn’t, not with such power.”

“We did.”

“You did.”

A hairy figure appeared by the side of the two friends. The beastly man’s short figure was wrinkled with smooth baby like skin and white bushy hair that fell from its scalp to cover its thin, angular body.

“Please, no.” The blonde begged.

“We failed,” Vrindle looked over at the Bannik, the hairy man.

“The razor of Shkaakk ravishes the land, the boom of Brimstone destroys our cities, the sinister blade of sting eats at my soul as we speak, and we are forsaken by the magic we released.”

“Not yet!” The blonde put a firm hand over Vrindle’s gasping mouth. Sharp eyes raised towards the Bannik.

“The book! We can still find to the book and fix all of this.”

“It’s too late.”

“But the book!”

“It’s time.”

“It can’t be,” The blonde argued.

“It is mad,” Vrindle whispered into the palm of the blonde.

“It is furious,” The Bannik agreed, “it yells. It is time to return.”

Slowly the Bannik reached over and grasped the small necklace around Vrindle’s neck, pulling it off from around his neck with his hairy fingers.

“But the book.” A sob echoed out as another blast shook the ground. Vrindle closed his eyes, and the world turned dark. Slowly his mind evaded the sounds of war outside his body and focused on the rough torrent of breaths that struggled out his nose. Anxiety tickled his heart as he clenched his fists with impatience.

Quickly the back of his eyelids flashed pink, a sharp burn tormented his body, heat and the terrible smell haunted his senses and stung him unmercifully. The screams faded behind the waves of air from flicking flames, and soon the cold darkness of death stole him from the fire.





Shafts of golden sunlight broke the thick emerald canopy. Sweet songs tickled the aged ears of a Bannik who sat in a cold little puddle. The ground was cool to the touch, and an earthy smell thickened the calm jungle air.

The beauty of the jungle floor flowers fell unknowing to the sitting Bannik as he kept his eyes closed, a small crooked smile on his resting face. On his open palms there lay a scar, burnt into his flesh in the shape of the necklace that is known as the eye of the volcano.

His tiny chest puffed with air as his nostrils flared and his mind remained stagnant in meditation. Little thought passed through his mind’s eye if any at all, and yet euphoria of purpose kept a happy flutter in his stomach as he awaited the voice of the master of the Bannik to grace his conscience.

His skin exposed where his long shaggy hair didn’t cover shivered and prickled with goosebumps suddenly. His smile twisted into a frown and he nodded with understanding. A mysterious voice echoed in his mind, and while beautiful to his thoughts, it’s message sent a chill up his elder spine.

A single eye opened wide, and a large red eye pulsed with dilation as the glow of the invading sun adjusted his vision.

“It has returned to be revealed.”

A cold whisper tickled his throat as he talked into his lap, his eyes on the brackish water he sat in. Slowly his knees popped from their once sedimentary position and he began his slow stroll back home. His legs moved with hesitation, his sense of eagerness to arrive back at the volcano homes of the other Bannik was diluted with the task he had received in his meditations; it was time to reveal the locations of the long coveted and destructive power of the artifacts once used to great devastation. It was time to bring upon all of the land of Illyria the power so deadly and so menacing, it was time to trust the mundane with divinity once more.

The volcano had willed it once again, and its first will was for the nations to know where the eye rests. The Bannik sighed, he must send out his brethren to the nations the news, for what the volcano wills, he does, as it always had been.

He did remember a time, a peaceful time. His fingers curled into a fist, the hair of his knuckles giving it a white fringe. Perhaps this time will be different; maybe this time will revive the days of peace.
He bit his lip, but through what door must the land of Illyrica pass to find the atrium of heaven. Was a destination even possible in this life? It wasn’t for him to decide.

In the Northeast of the Axasiri Khaganate. Lands of controlled by the Aunchini Great Clan and their tributaries

It was just after dark when Shesk Aglur-Byhar found his sister by the lake skipping pebbles in the water, still wearing armor and with that damned pixie hanging off on her hair messing with the small bones decorating her braids. The young Axasiri nobleman slowly approached his sister, taking care to make his presence known by stepping on sticks and stomping on the ground. His sister did not turn.

Only when he stopped by her side did Avsha turn to him with a silent nod as she threw one last stone towards the lake.

"So that's how you're dealing with the situation?" Shesk asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. "By scurrying off to sulk and brood in the edge of the camp?"

"She's not sulking you idiot!" The stupid pixie replied in its annoying high pitched voice. "Avsha Aglar-Byhar does not sulk! She plans and plots for two because her brother is too stupid to help!" Shesk glared at the inconvenient little pest and was about to give it a piece of his mind when his sister finally spoke.

"I suppose I should be jumping in joy then?" She asked mockingly. "To be so blatantly humiliated in front of the whole assembly of warriors..." She growled, face twisting into a snarl. "He insults me and our entire clan, and yet you not only do nothing to back me but also sides with them! Father's skin must be shaking back home."

"Don't be so dramatic sister." Shesk replied dismissively as he turned his head back towards the camp. "Did you truly expect to receive a command when the Khan's own grandson is with us? There was no doubt that Ghazan would receive a commanding position."

"And don't I also deserve a prestigious position? My own command directly under Khan Isbarag?" Avsha demanded in indignation. "Have I not proven myself against the Xasar? The pretender Azakrush? My Ayadhr's body was still warm when he called us to fight I marched without complaint. All I ask is for recognition and yet he decides to put me under the authority of a boy with a face barer than yours."

"Completely unfair!" The cursed pixie spoke up. "All Avsha asks is for rightful recognition! The Khan is a fool for not recognizing her worth!"

"It's not as bad as you make it." Shesk sighed, willing himself to ignore the tiny pest on his sister's shoulder, running a had through his brow he made his case calmly. "You speak as if the Khan spat upon you. But the armor you're wearing, wasn't it a personal gift from Isbarag himself? Didn't he give you the hand of one of his close kinsman to marry? It's not his fault Ayadhr fell from his horse you know."

Avsha grumbled something as he shifted on her feet, but Shesk knew enough of his sister to see that she had accepted his points. It wasn't that she was unfit to lead the clan. The Byhars had risen well among the tributaries of the Aunchini since she took over from their father. But his sister never truly managed to manage her temper, specially when she felt slighted or deprived of her "rights".

"You're not entirely wrong." His sister conceded and as far as Avsha was concerned, that was the closest he would ever get of a surrender. "But I still won't bend over for that boy." She half hissed.

"Nobody is asking you that." Shesk replied soothingly. "Besides, I know Ghazan. We rode, hunted and drunk together many times. And though he may lack the tattoos of a renowned leader and warrior, I can assure you that he's no entitled little shit. He will listen and give proper weight to your words." His sister merely raised a black eyebrow at him. "And once you prove your worth he will hold you in esteem. If not as a friend at least as a valued ally."

"But Avsha deserves better!" The irritating pixie whined. Only to be silenced by a grunt from Avsha.

"It's not like I can change things now." His sister sighed as she turned to him. "You better be right about this Ghazan, Little Goat." Avsha grunted.

"I'm sure, sister." Shesk replied confidently. "Just be your usual self on the battlefield and he will see your worth."

"Yes!" The damned pixie shouted. "Avsha is the bestest best there is!"

"Come with me then." She said as she took hold of his shoulder, dragging him back towards the camp. "Introduce your big sister to your good friend Ghazan."

"Are you planning to use your womanly wiles to ensnare the poor man?" Shesk joked as they walked back towards the noise, light and scents of the camp.

"Oh please, Little Goat." Avsha laughed. "He's barely older than you. This Ghazan would never be able to satisfy me." She then glanced conspiratorially towards him. "That's not to say I'm not looking for a man. It's been two years already and I'm not getting any younger. My bed is cold, a woman has needs and I gotta have at least one child or let you destroy everything I built."

"Speaking of marriage." Shesk replied, desperate to change the subject away from her sister's "needs" (he had heard and seen enough of it when she was married.) "Have you talked with Draga and Maur about their daughter? Api said that she just needed her parent's approval..."

"I've asked around and they said they would not give away their daughter to just anyone with a good name." Avsha replied. "Father really managed to piss off Draga and his clan during his days." She sighed. "If you're really serious about it then you better hope to distinguish yourself in this war, Little Goat."

"Of course I will." Shesk smiled back, ignoring the doubt in the back of his mind. "We will smash these Paleskin shits and I will ride to Draga's hut to give his daughter an entire set of skull cups!"

"Now that's the attitude I wanna see, Little Goat." His sister cheered. "Just don't get too cocky. You're the only one who knows how I like my massages. And I still need someone trustworthy to do the hard work when I get pregnant"

"And we can't have that can we?" Shesk asked in mock fear. "You would end up getting the entire clan outlawed without my invaluable services."

Karablagasun. Axasiri Khaganate

Anukyr Adhurzh, loyal priest of Babash Talek, bowed respectfully as he entered the side room occupied by Teush-Saraska, the High Priestess of the Karablagasun temple. Having been involved in the preparations for the coming enterprise since the beginning, the tall, red haired priestess gestured for him to move closer as she sat in a stool by the window.

"Your blessings, High Priestess." Anukyr intoned respectfully with a short bow. Teush took hold of his bowed head and murmured the usual blessings before letting it go.

"We are ready to start Anukyr." She finally declared. "My visions have been confirmed by word of the Bannik. Supplies are ready and our holy band is gathering."

"These are great news, revered high priestess." Anukyr smiled at her. "When shall it start?"

"As soon as you are ready to go." She replied. "Finish your preparations, my loyal priest. And depart the capital as soon as possible at the head of the band. The Khagan has set aside four of his most trusted companions to support us in this endeavor and the other chosen members will meet you on the way."

Anukyr fought the urge to grin too much at the announcement. He already suspected that the leadership of the band would fall to him, but the priest did not allow himself to count his victory too early. Though now it seemed that it was an unnecessary precaution.

"You do me a great honor by trusting me such task, revered high priestess." He spoke, giving another bow.

"I'm only exercising the will of the Red Goddess, Anukyr." She replied, tattooed face breaking into a warm smile. "The visions were more than clear enough for me to see that you were the one to be trusted with the leadership of this quest. Babash Talek smile upon our endeavors and if you and yours remain true to her and the Avestas we shall not fail." She then stood up, extending a hand to him. "But enough of that, come with me. The others will arrive soon for one last purification ceremony before departing."

Anukyr too her hand and followed the high priestess back to the main hall, where lesser red-clad acolytes and priests had already prepared the altar and shrine for the ceremony. Braziers with incense and cannabis were lit and caskets of haoma were laid near the altar. The Priest also knew that there was an animal, probably a horse, hidden behind one of the huge tapestries draped on the walls of the hall, depicting scenes from the War of Gods. When the ceremony reached its peak, the animal would be brought to the altar and sacrificed, the participants would drink its blood and share its heart for good luck in their coming mission.

As they waited near the altar, Anukyr ran one last mental check up of those who would be sent under his leadership. There would be, he knew for sure, the four warriors sent by the Khagan. Anwukhuar, another priest of Babash Talek, this one hailing from Bishgar and well known for his archery prowess. A trio of blue priests, whom he was only superficially familiar. And lastly Savahir-Oiur, a priestess of the god of merchants and close friend of his. Of these, only Savahir and the Khagan's warriors were in the city. The rest would join their march as they rode northwards into the lands of the Old Empire.

Overall, Anukyr was confident that this band would be able to accomplish their mission. To compensate their lack of numbers, his party would be have to ride light and fast to their destination. With any luck they would be able to present themselves as simple mercenaries or traders to avoid suspicion. Though he recognized that it would still be a hard task to accomplish even without taking in consideration the fact that others would surely try to seize the Goddess' Eye before them. In the end, he would simply have to have faith in the Red Goddess and trust Her final judgement, if She deemed him and his band worthy of gaining the Eye then they would get it.

The woman let out a long sigh as her eyes wandered lazily over the mural on the far wall. She knew she was making progress, but at times, such as currently, she felt like she would be more successful in scooping water out of a sinking ship with her bare hands. Even so she wouldn’t, couldn’t, give up so long as she drew breath.

The sound of a door opening drew her gaze away from the mural. Odd. She had made it clear that she was not to be disturbed. The woman sat up slightly straighter in her seat, assuming a more regal appearance as she looked towards the door and the individual who slipped through it, almost like a shadow. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she caught sight of the individual’s outfit.

“I have been expecting you for some time” The woman said, doing her best to keep her voice steady. “I have longed to speak to you.”

“I’m sure you have.” It was unclear whether the gruff voice was responding to a particular statement or both. “But you will find your honeyed words will fall on deaf ears this time, temptress.” The man placed a hand on the hilt of his sword as he approached. His clothes, fashioned from the pelt of a great bear, gave him the appearance of some primordial god.

“Surely you could spare a moment to speak with me Kau Sheng” The woman said. The man, Kau Sheng, seemed to hesitate as he approached the woman.

“Very well Empress Euphemia” He said as he came to a stop a few strides away from where she sat on her throne. “I shall bear witness to your final words.”

“I seek peace” The empress said after a moment. “There need be no more bloodshed.”

“You tempt us to put down our arms,” Sheng looked at the empress with wary eyes, “so that you can enslave us once more. You may fool some of my brothers, but I see you for what you are temptress.”

“My people have wronged yours, this I do not deny. You are angry and rightfully so, but do you really want our peoples to continue down their current path.” The empress paused. Even a blind man could see the anger in Sheng’s eyes, but she also caught a hint of hesitation. “What occurs right here and now will have resounding consequences for a millennium. Our children and grandchildren and our grandchildrens’ grandchildren will have to bear with these consequences. Would it not be better that we give them the gift of peace instead of the curse of war?” The empress slowly rose from her throne. “You and I together can bring this conflict to an end.” She took a step towards Sheng, reaching out to him. “Will you help me?” Sheng eyed the empress in silence. For a moment she allowed herself to believe that her words might reach him.

“No” Sheng finally replied. “I cannot risk trusting you for you are the lord of demons.” The empress allowed her arm to drop to her side, feeling as if someone had punched her in the gut.

“Why have you come to this place, alone, if not to seek peace.”

“Peace will be had, once you are gone.” Sheng’s reply caused the empress to raise an eyebrow.

“Ending wars is the job of armies and diplomats.” The empress commented. “The one who ends the life of the enemy’s leader is little more than an assassin.”

“Be that as it may” Sheng slowly drew his sword “I shall be heralded as the hero who brought you to an end, thus saving my people.”

“My Praetorian will not allow you to leave here alive” The empress said. She would not give this “hero” the satisfaction of seeing her shake in fear.”

“For some reason I knew you’d say that” Sheng said as he approached the “demon lord.”



The wanderer had traveled a long and hard journey. Many comrades and friends had left Ethea with the wanderer, comrades and friends that the wanderer had lost. The journey had led them over hills and plains. They had weathered terrible thunderstorms with little more than blankets for cover. Wolves are large felines had at times hunted them. The worst had been the nomadic inhabitants of the land. The wanderer had left Ethea with twenty others, yet any who saw the wanderer from a distance would fail to see any other person; assuming one didn’t count a dog as a person.

From a distance the wanderer looked like any nomadic. A cloak made from the pelts of wolves certainly hinted towards being a nomadic, but a closer inspection would reveal the cloak to be of much higher quality than one would expect. The cloak itself also made it difficult to distinguish exactly how large the wanderer actually was.

“Soon we can rest” an impossibly small voice drifted from under the cloak’s hood. “We just have to go a bit further.” The wanderer looked down at the dog and patted it on the head with a gloved hand. The dog, a breed of mastiff, looked like it was little more than a ball of fluff. A ball of fluff with teeth. A ball of fluff that wouldn’t hesitate to attack anything that threatened its master, whether that threat be a human, wolf, or tiger.

“Shall we look for a place to ford this river?” The wanderer observed the massive river that marked the tribe of Long Night’s southern border for a moment before walking along its bank towards the east. East was where the wanderer would hopefully find the help the Ethean Empire so desperately needed.

Fortress of the Ashbringer Clan

An Illyrican Raptor had raced across the now stripped landscape of the former Southern Jungles, atop the reptilian beast was a small, impsh Grogar, behind the creature was one of the bearded men of the Bannik. The Raptor had run up the dirt ramp leading up the now opened gates, and raced further in, towards the tall Citadel at the center of the fortress. The beast soon slowed its pace, stopping before the doors leading inside the Citadel.

The grogar and bannik had quickly hopped down the beast and rushed inside, the pair passing through the halls and corridors, the wall decorated with an assortment of weapons, pieces of armor, and disturbingly, the flayed flesh of previous victims of the Ashbringer's raids. The impish grogar flinches as the pair pass by it's brethren, looking at the creature with disdain. Before long, they finally reach their desired destination, the throne room of the Clan's Warlord, Lady Urtha, the Pale Witch. Flanking them as they approached was an intimidating cadre of the Witch's elite guard, grogar warriors clad in black clothing and plates of armor, their distinguishing feature was their unsettling masks, obscuring their faces.

The impish grogar moved ahead of the bannik, haulting before the steps leading to the throne, bowing before the Highborn. "M-m-my lady." he said, his grubby voice trembling. "T-t-the holy emissaries of Argun..."

"Enough of your groveling." She firmly commands with the voice fitting of someone of her status, elegant, yet authoritative. "Bring forth the Emissary." she commands, the Bannik approaching the steps, and climbing atop them as he grew closer to the Witch, until he was next to her throne, climbing up to her ear, and whispered to her, the words proved to give her reason to form a wide sinister grin. The bannik then climbed down, and walked away from the throne room, its quest done here.

Urtha soon stood up, stabbing the ground with her staff, sending echos throughout the corridors of her Citadel, small hordes of other gorgar answering her summons, among of which were several of her top lieutenants.

"Today is a glorious day my disciples!" She exclaimed with zealous glee. "The Holy Emissaries of Argun have graced their presence to us, and in doing so...have shared information of great importance!" She paused, stepping down the throne to the center of the crowd. "One of the most Sacred and Holy Artifacts has been found!" She shouted, followed by cheers and roars from her followers. "I will personally lead a crusade to acquire this artifact, and with it, have the blessing of Argun himself! Marshal those who will follow, now go! Gather all, by the mourn, we march to the North!"

Cyninggraf, The Weald
The howling of the wind and the buzzing of insects were the only sounds to be heard within the great grove of Cyninggraf. Not even a whisper came from the lone figure sitting at the base of massive, ancient oak near the heart of the grove. The figure was small and elderly woman, her face covered with deep wrinkles and her long, stringy hair without a hint of colour. She was missing several teeth, and one of her eyes was clouded with blindness. She wore nothing put a simple robe of coarse, brown cloth that bared her arms to show off the faded tattoos on her pale and veiny skin. She sat there, silently staring up into the branches of the great oak for several long minutes only breaking the silence once to utter a whispered prayer to the Woldmodor.

However, eventually the silence was broken by another figure quickly making his way through the expansive grove. Though the woman's hearing had long ago started to fade she could easily hear the newcomer making his way quickly towards her, as he made no attempt to hide his approach. It wasn't long before the man came into view of her one good eye. He was a massive man, tall and barrel chested, with more bright blonde hair than a Bannik. In addition the man was bare-chested, baring to the world a massive scar in the shape of a tree. The woman smiled when she saw him, "I am glad you could make it Ælfrige."

The man, Ælfrige, let out a deep laugh, "As though I could refuse you, Arch Priestess."

"You could have if you desired."

"Any true servant of the Gods would answer your summons," Ælfrige said, shrugging, "But I assume it is about the Eye, is it not?"

Though the Bannik had only just revealed the Eye's location, word had spread like a wildfire throughout Cyninggraf. And it had likely spread in the other settlements with a Bannik presence as well, though it was too soon for word to have spread by traveler yet. And at the mention of the Eye, the Arch Priestess's expression became serious, "Yes. It is indeed about the Eye, and its retrieval."

"So why do we meet out here? In the middle of the night?" Ælfrige asked, "Surely something as momentous as this would warrant the attention of the Palebane's regent."

The Archpriestess practically spit at the mention of the regent, "Princess Hild has decided that the Eye is not worth the effort necessary to retrieve the Eye. And she assures me that the High King concurs." Her tone made it very clear she didn't believe the latter statement in the slightest.

"Eh, it does not matter Arch Priestess. She cannot stop you from calling for your own foray into the east," Ælfrige said putting his arm on the elderly woman's shoulder, "And the other Arch Priestesses will be doing the same. But there is a reason you called me here, and not another."

The Arch Priestess nodded her head, "Of course. The expedition must someone in charge; it must have a leader. Someone of unshakeable will and indomitable faith."

Ælfrige smiled and laughed once more, "You do me too much credit, Arch Priestess."

The elderly priestess put a hand to Ælfrige's chest, atop the tree carved into his chest, "Tell me this, Ælfrige, how many out there have carved the symbol of our Mother onto their bodies? And without taking any herbs to numb their bodies first?"

"I am certain I am not the only one."

"You are the only one I am aware of. And you are a priest as well as the son of an Eorl. I can think of none more worthy to be the Sword of Eorþe, worthy to retrieve his Eye."

"If you are certain, then I shall be honoured to lead the charge," Ælfrige said, "Is there anything else you require of me?"

"Just one more thing," the Arch Priestess said, "I am old and the hour is late and so I desire nothing more than to sleep, but the sooner word is out the better."

"Go and rest your bones Arch Priestess," Ælfrige said, "I shall send the word, and we shall claim the Eye for the Weald and her people."

------

Princess Hild glanced out the window of the Council room up at the moon glowing high up in the sky. She was sitting at the head of the long table of the High King's Council, though the Council was not meeting and she was alone aside from another woman. Princess Hild was dressed in an expensive white gown, her chin balanced on a fist as she lazily moved her eyes back to the other figure in the room. High Priestess Mildburg was dressed in a plain robe identical to the Arch Priestess out in the grove, but she was considerably younger.

"So, who do you think she will pick?" Hild asked, barely a hint of emotion in her voice.

"Um, excuse me Princess?" Mildburg asked, the confusion plain on her face.

Hild sighed and began twirling a lock of bright red hair with her fingers. After a long and, for Mildburg, uncomfortable moment Hild spoke again. "That old crone. She practically threw a fit when I told her I didn't care about the Eye," she said, "I know she isn't going to just sit and do nothing. She's going to get someone to gather a group to go after it."

"Um, well, I'm not certain to be honest," Mildburg began.

"I think it'll be that Bearson fellow. Ælfrige I think his name was," Hild said, "You know the man, right?"

"Well, I mean who doesn't?" Mildburg said, "His father's a powerful Eorl, and I mean, I don't know of anyone else that huge."

"I don't know of anyone else crazy enough to carve a tree into their chests," Hild said, "But that old woman seems to like idiotic displays like that."

"I, well, I guess Ælfrige would be a good choice," Mildburg said, "Was there anything you wanted me to do my Princess?"

Hild stopped twirling her hair and shrugged, "Nothing more than the usual, Mildburg. Keep an eye on the crone."

Mildburg once again looked visibly confused, "So, um, why did you call me for a meeting in the middle of the night."

"I couldn't sleep, and I felt like it," Hild shrugged, "But honestly, I want you to keep a closer eye on her than usual. I feel things are going to get hellishly complicated soon. And I want to make sure I'm fully in the know. Are we clear, Mildburg?"

Mildburg nodded furiously, "Of course, my Princess. I'll tell you anything I hear."

"Good, now get to bed."

Mildburg just nodded again and made her way out of the Council room. Hild, however, didn't follow her. She was perfectly honest when she said she couldn't sleep, and her little talk with Mildburg hadn't changed that. Perhaps it was worry that was keeping her up, as she was worried. Her father condition wasn't getting any better and with his age any day could be her last day as Regent and without proper planning she'd lose almost all her power in the Weald. And the Bannik revealing the location of the Eye was an unforeseen complication; she didn't trust the hairy men or the volcano they served. True, it was the voice of the Earth itself but the Earth cared nothing for the Weald or for her. Which made it even more imperative that little Mildburg keep an even closer eye on her Arch Priest; if the priesthood was going to cause Hild any trouble, she'd very much like to see it coming first.

Axasiri Khaganate
The Grogar, for some centuries have been a lingering problem for the People of the Khaganate, suffering their raids, however, it was a manageable existence, the best of the Clans fighting off the paleskinned beasts. But their attacks have grew more fierce in recent years, and have worsened. The few Grogar Clans and Warbands persist in their campaign of terror, and march deep into the countryside, ravaging all that stood in their way, soon to incur the wrath of the Axasiri Great Clans.

--------------

Black smoke rises high up towards the blue skies, staining the serenity of the landscape as yet another village was pillaged and razed to the ground by the marauding Warbands of Grogar, the aftermath of their carnage was a terrible sight. Charred and severed corpses of the villagers littering the ground, grogar looting the dead, even fighting over who would be able to feast upon the charred flesh, just the way they like it.

Walking down the very center of the Village, a tall imposing Highborn Grogar, a well-muscled brute of a beast, his face obscured by a piece of cloth, Morg the Ghastly as they called him. He was flanked by two unusually large dark-scaled drake hounds.

The large gathering of Grogar warriors all turned their attention to their leader as they cheered on with unholy and beastly howls until he climbed atop a small mound of corpses. "I'd says that was a job well down, right boys?!?!?!" He screamed out gleefully in a graveling tone, quickly followed by cheers in unison. "That's what I wanna hear!" he said as jumped down. "This is it you bastards, the land is ours for the taking!" More cheers followed. "And it ain't just here! Soon they'll know Morg! They fear my name!" Morg proceeded to hop down the mound, approaching his soldiers. "Pack up! We're leaving for more spoils!"

The cold, dead of night was the time of day that across all of Illyrica mankind lay dormant, resting for the day ahead, when they would toil again under the light of the sun. The night, to them, was a time of danger. It was at night that the underlings of their societies arose, to ply their illicit trades in secret, and it was under the moon that they imagined their phantoms dwelled, when their beasts of the wild—of flesh or of myth—came out to claim their prey; but for the people of the continent's northern forests, whose image to the rest of the world was of barbarians with jagged teeth, of beasts of the night, the light of the moon was that to which man and woman awoke, to hunt and pray and feast under the all-seeing eye of midnight. For the Gau Senxi, night was day, and the devil lived in sunshine.

---

Ezitar was a woman with two identities, both of which granted her considerable prestige in some circles and considerable stigma in others, and neither of which was to her satisfaction. Her closest allies, and what little of her family yet drew breath, knew her as the second in line to the Handii, a former great tribe of the Gau Senxi, now disgraced and dissolved. Her name, and indeed her character, were not important to them; she was the backup should her older brother die without an heir, and no aspect of her life was half as important as her life itself.

To everyone else, including her closest friends, she was 'Ezitar', a name of her own design, whose meaning in the Senxi tongue, hunter, perfectly encapsulated her personality and her role in life. She was a strong-willed, exceptionally gifted Gerrari, a member of the all-female group of assassins that was tasked with defending the Gau Senxi against foreigners, the dwellers of the day. Her best friends, all other Gerrari, knew nothing of her family, or of the secret circle of Handii loyalists protecting her secret and keeping her alive. To them, as to all her fellow Gerrari, her life was not half as important as who she was in life: a servant of the Lunar Synod, her charge to defend the Gau Senxi rising above all else.

It had been her idea, when she was a young girl, living on the run with her brother and her family's allies, to join the Gerrari. The Handii loyalists had thought it incredibly foolish at first, sending the daughter of their dead chief to join the same army that had slain him. Some, though, her brother among them, had managed to convince the naysayers. Most saw it as an opportunity to get an inside eye on the Lunar Synod's activities, and a way to put the young princess, henceforth largely a burden, to some amount of use. Only her brother had supported her in the idea for the same reason she had put it forward. The Gerrari, and their training ground, the Hazitok, offered to Ezitar something she had never had before. Somewhere to call home. Somewhere where she belonged, and was useful, where she could sharpen her innate talents to a point. And above all, a chance to make friends. To meet other girls her age, and to have someone in the world who she could trust, not because of politics, but because of a real, human bond.

Ezitar's sharpened canines sunk into the neck of her captured prey, its hot, red blood leaving a crimson trail down its neck, glimmering against the light of the full moon. It was a long-standing custom for the Gerrari to sharpen their teeth; for most it was cosmetic, a way to induce fear in the enemy and act as a calling card for the rest of the Gerrari. Some, though, like Ezitar, liked to put it to practical use. Her struggling catch was a deer this time, not a traveler from the south unwisely attempting to see the sights in Gau Senxi lands. The travelers were both more frightened by and more vulnerable to a Gerrari's bite, but Ezitar took no quarrel with subjecting an animal to it as well. For the average Gerrari, men and beast were caught equally often. Not because foolish wanderers were especially common for the Gerrari to run into, but because they usually did not need to catch their own meals. The Gerrari were something like folk heroes among the Gau Senxi, defenders of all loyal followers of the Path of the Moon, and whenever a group of Gerrari women on patrol came upon a village, they were showered in offers of hot meals and free lodging. Ezitar, often to the dismay of her partners, never accepted. She despised having things handed to her, reminding her too much of her days with the Handii loyalists, being constantly sheltered from the world and given all that she needed. To offers of lodging, she replied much the same, insisting always that she would find her own little hideout to protect herself from the light of day. In truth, she often didn't.

Ezitar, like all her family and their supporters, were blasphemers, enemies of the Lunar Synod. They, and she, did not feel the need to shelter against the sun, in spite of the Synod's teachings. She would use the daylight hours, when the lands of the Gau Senxi were asleep and all was quiet, to hone her skills, and to gain more intimate knowledge of her surroundings. When she was with a partner she did not know, perhaps a new Gerrari, or one from a farther off tribe, she did not do this unless she was sure she would not be caught. But when patrolling with her friends, she was more brazen. Some of those closest to her even joined her in her daylight excursions, defying the most sacred of the Synod's teachings in spite of their role as the hand to its will. Such was the power of Ezitar's personality, the force of her character. She could convince most anyone to do most anything, and was nigh impossible to dissuade herself. Growing up, she'd been taught that all Handii were that way, but also warned of the consequences that can belie a woman too charismatic for her own good. The fate of her family, of her father and mother, was never too far from the front of her mind. Still, it did not dissuade her.

One sleepy day, when Ezitar's tiredness had compelled her to rest, but her stubbornness had forbidden it, she came across a peculiar sight, one entirely unfamiliar to her in spite of her years of experience as a walker of the woods. A humanoid beast, small and ugly, interrupted her training with its notably loud footsteps and repugnant stench. She had never seen such a beast before, but remembered it from her training at the Hazitok. It was a Bannik, one of the hellspawn that served the Lehenegun, the massive, smouldering death that resided somewhere far to the south. Baffled at what a creature would be doing here—this far north for one and in the lands of a people that would no doubt kill it on sight for another—Ezitar decided not to kill the being too quickly. Instead she captured it, quickly and silently climbing atop a tree along the creature's path and leaping down to pin it to the forest floor once it walked underneath her. With her teeth grazing gently along the beast's neck, she allowed it to squirm in surprise and terror for a short time, before whispering into its ear in Senxi, a tongue she could only hope the demon understood.

"What is your purpose in my people's land, servant of Lehenegun?" she rasped, threateningly.

"The eye, the eye!" the monster screamed in its disgusting tone, entirely too loudly for Ezitar to tolerate. She covered its mouth with her left hand, using her right to keep the beast (relatively) still.

Glaring down at the restrained creature, Ezitar spoke in a slightly more conciliatory tone, "Explain yourself, in a soft tone and in as few words as you can, and there is a possibility that I will allow you to flee back over the river without leaving a trail of blood as you run."

Thrashing all the more, the Bannik fought against Ezitar's grip, seeking to free itself and flee. The feeling of a cold, sharp metal blade against its exposed neck was enough to keep it still. "The Eye of the Volcano. It has been revealed, in Ethea! The empire lives, your cousins could not slay them, and they possess the key to become the next champion!"

Ezitar raised an eyebrow, suspicious of the monster's forthcoming response. Surely a servant of the Lehenegun, foremost of the creations of the Usurper, was not so easily intimidated. "You lie." the young Gerrari claimed, driving her blade just far enough against an unimportant part of the creature's neck to draw blood.

"Truth, it is truth! I am here, I was sent here, to tell it, to tell the truth! There will be a new champion! The eye is in—"

The creature's sentence ended as abruptly as its life did, not from the blade against its neck, which it had stared at so intently as it was interrogated, but from Ezitar's sharpened teeth. She had never tasted a Bannik before. It was slightly less revolting than she had anticipated, although the hairs were even more unpleasant than she'd imagined. As the beast's blood emptied and pooled on the forest floor, she was reminded of how happy she was that it was fashion for the Gerrari to be hairless. Men, and especially women, spent entirely too much time maintaining themselves in that way. It was much easier to cut it off and be done with it.

Looking south, the direction that the monster had been running from, Ezitar began to ponder. She believed the monster, it had no reason to lie, really, but she had no particular reason to abandon her entire life and go hunting for treasure in the lands of the day dwellers. With only slight disappointment, she holstered her dagger, turned her gaze north, and began to walk to the small encampment she had built for herself. She would sleep the rest of the day, and join her fellow Gerrari the next night to head back to Senxin. There she would reunite with her brother, and see what he had to say about her run-in with the Bannik. For now, she settled cozily into her furs and slept, dreaming of a monster as large as a city, bellowing smoke and fire, being fought by the armies of the moon. If the Smouldering Death was ready to name a new champion, it could very well be that the Lunar Synod was ready to take action against them. Only time would tell how the events set in motion today would impact Ezitar, and her people. And time did not yield to a sharp blade or a sharp tongue.

The Bannik stared intently at the shape so long ago burned into his hairy palm. It still seemed a beat red even past the hideous scarring. His lids slowly covered his bloodstained eyes and his wide nostrils flared as tendrils of silver mist snaked up into his nose.

Even in the natural baths and springs of the volcano’s rocky sides, the elder Bannik couldn’t find peace in his throbbing mind. A lengthy sigh escaped his wet lips and he sunk deeper into the crystal water of the hot spring.

He could feel it, the magic of the Volcano. Events were happening once more, and he could see every detail in his mind’s eye. His immortal task seemed never ending, and with the return of the artifacts, he could only picture the dangerous passages the land must undergo to reach the bliss of the other side.

He saw it in the lands of the Grogar, the lands of the Khaganate, and the lands of the Gua Senxi. He could feel his dispatched brethren being slaughtered thoughtlessly in the land of the confused, or the land of the diligent. He heard their wailing souls, and their bitter melancholy at the release of mortality, but further more he heard the shout of the volcano, and the vibration of its doings.

Umberal

The grand palace



The first thing one would see in this massive city is the lack of inhibition. Nearly nude men and women alike walk through the streets, stepping over the drunken bodies below. This was a festival of huge proportions. Massive walls guarded the palace' main hall but only from view as the sounds of loud banter flowed freely outside. Inside, glowing fires cooked meats of exotic nature, some even human carcasses. It didn't matter here one bit. Slaves were nothing more than servants and livestock to most.

At the head of the longest, grandest table sat Nina alone.
Her eyes shifted left to right and her best smile was forced upon the crowd. The compliments, 'oh I love your hair' or, 'we are so lucky to have you.' Brown-nosers.. Every one of them. The nearly sickening display of aggressive gratitude was dispatched by the sound of a bell. A single ring was enough to hush the hall. "Welcome Patriarch Golan, happy birthday!"

The crowd cheered as Golan appeared from the shadows upon a massive staircase. His form was covered by a thick black coat which had a tail akin to a wedding dress. Four young maidens were working hard to keep the coats tail under control. When he finally reached the head of the table, Golan's hand reached from the coat to touch Nina's shoulder. She turned to see his long red fingernails. "Oh.. Please not again."

Golan took his hand from her and removed his coat. As it fell from his body, the maidens hastily removed the coat but no one really noticed as Golan stood before them wearing nothing but a corset, flanked by a tight black pair of what would appear to be women's undergarments.

He spoke in a higher pitched tone , "Welcome!"

Nina brought her hands to her face, covering as much as possible. It was even more uncomfortable when she realized he was excited. She could've swore it was looking at her. He finally sat down and reached out to one of the shiny metal cups that dotted the table. Before he could even drink the food came out. Polished bronze plates were delivered to the tables and with a massive and awkwardly presented birth day chant, the feast began.

After the food was eaten, festivities began in the form of dance. Bin refrained but Golan couldn't resist. As he stepped onto the floor, people began to clap as his body began to roar to life. Legs motioned in ridiculous but well timed ways. He swung side to side and spun a few times before finally slowing into a graceful posture. His arms then extended, revealing a tuff of braided black hair in his arm pits.

Nina slowly sank into her chair before catching sight of a hooded man slinking through the doors. This was her chance to escape the scene Golan was showing. And the entry of what could only be described as an iron age flash mob, she had to get out quick. It was at the opposite and most secluded side of the room did Nina meet the hooded fellow. The figure spoke with a very masculine tone, "I have completed the search. The north holds the most promise."

Nina crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. "What of the barbarians... Things are already bad enough. Starting a war would only make things worse."

The figure smiled but through the dark contours of the figures face shadowing detail left this smile unseen. "Matriarch, you tasked me to find lands to spread population to.. Fertile lands for farms."

Nina folded her arms. "I suppose I did. Well done on your mission." She looked to Golan who was now in the middle of a crazed dance with nearly half of the visitors.

"Find a place for a pioneer fort to coordinate northern efforts." She unfolded her arms and clasped them. "Once you find a good spot return here. Hopefully Golan can stay clean long enough to make an informed choice." The masked man nodded and turned away.

Nina turned back to Golan who by now was imitating a bird with, shamefully, a flock of other men and women...

---------------------

Eastern Umberal

"aesior" a strange androgynous voice said in a whisper. Behind the voice was a spiral of strange green colors and fields of bright grass.

"aesior!" The voice shouted and the image of a city appeared in the distance. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the city was close enough to touch.

Then the eye appeared, the volcano's eye. Its image was vague but there was no denying what was seen.. And in that instant, the world turned black before reality brought the light back. "Darnil! A feminine voice sounded. The man, Darnil had once again awoke from a strange vision. He was a frail man with skin pale as snow and a cold touch to match it. His twilight years were filled with strange visions that benefited his guild, the "explorers guild". It was more of a relic acquisition group at this point, reporting to Golan and showering him in gold. Golan was still a good patriarch though, pouring the majority of that gold into welfare programs. Regardless, that guild was rich and its biggest pay-day to date was on its way.. A volcanic relic.

"Galfree!" His aged voice called out.

A few minutes passed before a young slave walked through the doors.

"Yes? What can she do for you."

The old man smiled. Go grab some grogar.. That randar fellow."

"Ramnok" she corrected.

"yes, summon nomkon."

"ramnok."

The old man shook his head, "Have him summoned and I will have you accompany him."

"But she cannot care for you if she is sent away."

The old man smirked, "Did you really think I purchased you from the military to act as a sitter?"

He frowned, "That whore from the brothel nearly outbid me. Apparently some men like it rough and Galfree, you're rough."

Galfree gave him a puzzled look. Causing him to speak again,

"I mean you are strong and aggressive."

She smiled, "She would've broken many men."

The old man smiled, "Some men want to be broken."

Before Galfree could respond, he waved her off once more. "We are done here."
.....

Within a day or so, a runner would've tracked down Ramnok with a simple note.

"Ramkon, I've been told that you've helped my guild a few times in the past. From what I've heard there were no complaints so I am calling on you in person. Please come to the city of Havalona to see me, It'll be worth your time.

-Omus Darnil, on behalf of the Explorers guild."

In the Northeast of the Axasiri Khaganate. Lands of controlled by the Aunchini Great Clan and their tributaries

Shesk Aglur-Byhar tightened the grip on his lance as he watched the unfolding skirmish from a vantage point atop a hill. In the plains below a couple hundred Grogars warriors, the remnants of a larger band, tried to stave off the Axasiri cavalry. Hundreds of horse archers riding in a wide circle around them, peppering the surrounded enemies with arrows as they tried to catch up with their enemies.

Shesk scanned the horizon. Hours before his sister and Ghazan had led a mounted detachment to chase off the Grogar riders, disappearing into a cloud of dust and dirt beyond the rolling grassy hills in the horizon. Leaving him to deal with the Grogar infantry. Which suited him just fine. The enemy couldn't hope to catch up to his riders as they so painfully learned during the last hours of futile chases and charges, one needed only to look to the bodies spread across the battlefield, peppered with arrows and trampled with very few of his own warriors.

Back to the battle, Shesk realized that most of the horse archers were now disengaging and distancing themselves from the Grogar remnants, ran out of ammo most likely he thought to himself, not that it mattered much by this point. This battle had been won when they Paleskin had allowed their cavalry to be chased off the field, and not even the hulking females that remained, now looking more like pincushions than anything else, with the footmen were enough to turn the tide.

"Sound the charge Mogha." Shesk ordered as he took hold of his horse's reins. "We can at least bloody our blades before the others return." He joked as he and his retinue trotted down the hill, gradually increasing their speed as they rode towards the disorganized mass of Grogars. Who were just now starting to try to form up something resembling a shield wall even as the remaining horse archers unloaded upon their backs.

It did not work of course, the paltry line of scavenged spears and shields did nothing against the sheer mass of almost a hundred charging heavy lancers. Shesk's retinue hit the Paleskins and trampled their way out of the shattered enemy easily. Somewhere during the act Shesk's lance had been broken and so he charged back with an axe in hand, slashing and hitting his way through what was left of the mob.

With the battle properly won and the enemy cut down to the last, Shesk left behind most of his riders to deal with the dead and wounded while he rode with a party in search of the rest of the warband.

It wasn't hard to find them, the running battle between the Axasiri and Grogar cavalry had left a veritable ocean of tracks and casualties behind them. And by the time Shesk and his fifty riders found Ghazan and his forces the Axasiri were already in control of the battlefield. Shesk and his men rode towards a group of riders at the edge of a sparse woodland, where the largest yellow-colored Aunchini banners were flying.

Ghazan rode towards him and the two met halfway through.

"I really hope that this isn't all that's left of your force." Ghazan teased as he leaned forward to clasp hands with Shesk.

"You know what it's like." Shesk replied smiling. "It's very hard to defeat an enemy force that can't catch up to-"And then he stopped, eyes focused beyond Ghazan, on the crowd of commanders and chieftains by the treeline. There, Shesk noticed his sister's absence and in a split second a thousand dreadful thoughts filled his mind. Ghazan, noticing his half panicked expression spoke up:

"Your sister is fine, Shesk." He smiled, gesturing back to the trees with his thumb as Shesk was filled with relief. "I've sent her to take care of the stragglers and sack their camp, she earned the privilege. The Paleshits put up quite a fight but once we dealt with their females they broke and ran. She should be back in camp by nightfall."

"We had no problem dealing with the infantry." Shesk replied, now recomposed. "Honestly, it was somewhat disappointing." He smiled.

"Don't worry, Shesk. Next time I will save a female for you to kill." Ghazan grinned. "But come, let's drink to our victory!" And with that he turned his horse around and rode back to the crowd of now dismounted nobles. Shesk followed and by the time they reached the treeline, cups of haoma and fermented milk were already being distributed.

Ghazan and Shesk dismounted quickly and sat side by side in the circle. The two of them soon found themselves with cups in their hands.

"Do you like it?" Ghazan asked, lifting his own cup while Shesk stopped mid gulp to look at the skull cup. "Had it made from the first Paleskin warlord we defeated. Once I get back home I will have it decorated with gold precious stones." He grinned. "A proper memento for my first command, don't you think, Shesk?"

"A bit pretentious don't you think?" Shesk replied, slightly cocking his head as he took another sip of fermented milk mixed with blood. "We're just exterminating disorganized raiders. It's not like you defeated the Pale Horde."

"Is that so?" Ghazan snorted. "Maybe we should go hunting for a proper enemy then, my scouts tell me the Paleshits have gotten themselves a new warlord. Supposed to be gathering what's left of their strength up near the border."

"Our next target then?" Shesk asked.

"Yes, as soon as we deal with the last stragglers here we will move north to join my grandfather and ride against this Paleshit warlord." Ghazan replied confidently. "One last glorious battle before destroying their filthy nests to close this campaign on a golden note."

Somewhere in the Continent.

Anukyr dropped the last load of firewood into the lit firepit before falling backwards on the bench. At any time now the Blue Priests would return to the ruined fortress the party had camped in with the night's dinner. Above him, the moon's glow filled the room through the cracks in the ceiling as the Red Priest placed a pot filled with water above the fire pit. Tea would do wonders for the group after a hard day of travel.

Anwukhuar entered the dilapidated room, crouching slightly as he crossed the treshold, greeting his fellow Red Priest with a smile and sitting by his side, on a large piece of rubble. Silently Anwukhuar retrieved a pouch from inside his tunic and leaned closer to the pot. But Anukyr stopped him with a shake of his head and a hand on his shoulder.

"I just put the water on the fire." He explained. "Let it boil first." Anwukhuar nodded and settled back on the rubble.

"So, how far are we from Ethea?" Anwukhuar finally asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Maybe a couple more weeks?" Anukyr replied, scratching his yellow stubble. "It depends on the terrain. We've made good time so far but once we enter the lands of the Plainsmen...it's hard to tell."

"That's an understatement if I ever heard one." Anwukhuar replied as he toyed with the tea-leave's pouch in his hands. "Do you have a plan for what to do once we get there? How to deal with the others that will try to claim the Eye?"

Anukyr sighed. That was the real problem in the end and they all knew it. Not only was the entire world informed of the location of the Eye but the Plainsmen themselves would certainly be on the lookout for any interlopers and foreigners infiltrating their lands. His initial plan of posing as traders would be highly suspicious and prone to failure in light of the situation. Meaning that he would have to resort to subterfuge to even have a chance of reaching the Old Empire's ruins and finding the Eye. That's not even taking in consideration all the other groups moving to take the Eye for themselves. Word on the road was that entire armies were moving north. Still, Anukyr had faith in the Goddess and that would have to be enough.

"We keep our faith, Anwukhuar." The Red Priest finally replied with a reassuring smile. "We go in and stay out of the way while the armies of the heathen and heretics bleed themselves white."

"And pray to not get caught by said armies?" Anwukhuar asked with a slight smile.

"Frankly, Anwukhuar, you could use having a little more faith in the Goddess." Anukyr spoke as he checked the water's temperature.

"I have faith in Babash Talek." Anwukhuar defended himself. "I'm just not thinking that She will simply strike down our enemies and descend from the Heavens to hand you the Eye Herself."

Further discussion into the topic was halted however, when Savahir-Oiur entered the half-crumbled room. The priestess of Manurta sniffed the air and made a throaty noise of disapproval when she realized the tea wasn't ready.

"The Blue Priests have just crossed the bridge." She informed as she approached the fire. "In half hour they will be here, so you two better get the tea ready before we have to use the fire to cook the meat." She then sat on the ground opposite to the two Red Priests, retrieving a pipe and some herbs from her travel bag.

"Guess now it's a good time as any." Anwukhuar mumbled as he stood up and moved to the pot to start preparing the tea, Anukyr took his own pipe from his belt and extended a hand towards Savahir.

"Not even in your dreams." She snorted as she lit the pipe. "It's not my fault you smoked all your stock before you even had left the Khaganate." Anukyr whined like a scolded puppy and made a pouty face at her.

"Please, Anukyr. You can do better than that." Sahavir chuckled. "I would've thought that with all the pity sex you get you would have mastered the skill of guilt-tripping women."

"Says the woman who has managed to develop resistance to wine." Anukyr shot back as he moved to sit closer to Savahir.

"That has no relation to the point and you know it." She replied, taking a drag of the pipe and letting out smoke through her open mouth. "And being able to drink wine without turning into a sobbing wreck is nothing to be ashamed of. It just shows that I have wealth and elegance." She smirked, turning her head towards Anukyr. "Unlike you who can't even ration your herbs."

"A single puff. Just one." Anukyr insisted. "The burden on my shoulders is very stressful, and as a member of this fellowship you should do your part to ensure that your leader is in his full faculties."

"Didn't you say something like that to that skinny servant girl when we first met all those years ago?" Sahavir remarked as she released more smoke. "Except that time you were trying to get your clothes washed for free."

"I take offense to the attacks against my integrity." Anukyr exclaimed in mock outrage, turning to Anwukhuar. "Can you believe the cheek of this woman?"

"Our great leader." Sahavir spoke up with a grin. "Bet you didn't know that part of him?"

"Just remember that I also know things about you, Sahavir-Oiur." Anukyr shot back with a grin of his own. "I wonder what the others will think once I start telling them about that time in Bishgar, five years ago-"

"Fine." Sahavir laughed. "Here's the damned pipe." Anukyr accepted the pipe with a gracious bow of his head and took a long and deep puff, releasing a cloud of smoke with a satisfied sigh.

"The tea is ready" Anwukhuar announced as he filled his own cup. "And I for one would love to hear more about this part of our leader's youth." He added with a lopsided grin. "I'm sure it would do wonders for the morale of our fellowship.

Karablagasun. Axasiri Khaganate

Khagan Danu-Oior Paiti looked over the smoking ruins of his city from the windows of his hilltop palace with anguish. To see his beloved city, the life's work of his forefathers, half reduced to rubble and ashes in question of days was heartrending already. But to see it reduced to such state by his own subjects was almost too much.

To be honest the Khagan wished to simply let the weight crush him, to mourn and cry with his son, who had lost a wife during the riots and his brother, who would probably not survive the month. But he had duties and obligations, both as Khagan and leader of the Paiti Clan. The city would not rebuild itself and neither would his Clan's standing be restored easily. The people would need a firm leader to guide them once they finished mourning their dead and the Paiti Clan would need a strong leader to preserve its position of supremacy within the Khaganate. Many were already whispering that the Red Goddess had shown clear disfavor towards them and so they needed to be replaced.

The High Priestess herself had fallen during the madness when the great temple was sacked and the remaining Red priests were still bickering on who would succeed her. The Khagan could use this opportunity, get one of his allies as the new High Priest and earn good will by paying for the temple's restoration.

Speaking of temple, he still had to deal with the proper rites to purify the city. Hundreds of animals and people would have to be sacrificed to appease the Red Goddess. Though Danu was unsure if it would work, they didn't even know the cause of her displeasure. Without a High Priest there was none with the power and authority to make the proper divinations and rituals to discover it anyways.

The Khagan sighed, getting away from the window. There was still much to be done and he couldn't be wasting his time brooding and sulking like a spurned boy.

There was a chill in the air, the kind one would not normally expect given the time of year. A gentle breeze from the east chilled those standing atop Astraea’s walls even further. Those who stood watch could feel a storm coming, and not the figurative kind. There were some, however, who did sense the brewing of a figurative storm as well.

Emperor Orion looked out beyond Astraea’s walls as he commented “Should we weather this storm all will be well.”

“And which storm is it that you are referring to?” Brygus inquired. Orion shifted his gaze to the form of his right hand man. Brygus was a giant of a man, standing at almost seven feet, and his form was even larger when he was in his armor. It was a rare sight to see the man without his armor on. Many in the court had never seen his face.

“Both” Orion replied after a moment, allowing his gaze to shift away from Brygus. The two men watched the ruins that lay beyond Astraea’s walls in silence for a moment. Finally Orion broke the silence. “What’s the situation?”

“We have several hundred infantry occupying the ruins right now” Brygus reported. We’d have found the Eye by now, I’m sure, except the nomads keep raiding our soldiers’ camps. Thank the world-mother there were only a hundred of them in the area when the Bannik informed you of the Eye’s location.”

“Were?” Orion asked.

“Aye. More show up every day.” Brygus shifted his stance slightly, allowing his arm to rest on the hilt of his falcata. “There must be at least a thousand of them in the area now. By tomorrow there may be two thousand. I’d send more infantry out, but we only have a hundred more here anyways. As it stands the nomads have managed to take the southern most reaches of the ruins and appear to be conducting their own search for the Eye.”

“That confirms it” Orion said as he stroked his chin. “The Bannik told everyone about the Eye’s location, not just us. Foreigners will come for the Eye, and the nomads will try to stop them. We cannot let this opportunity go. Even if we lose the Eye it will be worth it should we make contact with the outside world.”

“We have five hundred heavy cavalry here already.” Brygus stated. “And the rest should finish mustering within the next few days. We should also have a thousand infantry ready soon as well. If we have enough time we may be able to gather two thousand.”

“Excellent” Orion said. “Soon we will march towards victory.”

Among the grey rubble and tattered spires that polluted the once gleaming metropolis of the Ethean ruin, a dark gleam caught the eye of a young soldier. Light swirled in the artifacts dark pupil, soaking in the shafts of light that speared from the sun. It looked welcoming, yet treacherous.

The soldier’s mouth widened in surprise as his stomach swelled with excitement. A cold whisper called to him from the void of the pendant.

“I-I foun… THE- THE,” He stammered. Spinning he turned to his fellow Ethean soldiers, a proud smile breaking his warrior face, “THE EYE!” He thrust his finger at the artifact, partially buried in dust.

In the distance a nomad raised his head from a chilled flask, his eyes narrowing in the direction of the scouting parties shouts. Roughly he wiped his chapped lips with his burly arm, he himself turning to his brethren.

Cyninggraf, The Weald
The Arch Priestess and High Priestess Mildburg sat side by side on the banks of small lake, not making a sound and simply meditating and taking in the sounds of nature. However the Arch Priestess could tell something was bothering Mildburg, despite her inability to see the younger woman's slight fidgeting. "What is the matter, Mildburg?" she asked, and before Mildburg could reply she added, "And do not say it is nothing; you have been at my side long enough for me to know when something is bothering you."

"I... I just worry for the warband who left after the Eye. I mean, Ethea is far from here and I, well, I have heard stories of it," Mildburg replied, "Do... Do you think they will succeed, Æbbe?"

"If the Gods will it," the elderly woman replied simply, "I would like to think so, but you know as well as I do that Eorþe is a fickle master. His whims are beyond the understanding of mortals."

"I, I know that..." Mildburg said, "But, um, but then why were they sent at all? Eorþe is not a kind master, and, well I mean, he does not care for us."

"Bah, Eorþe cares not for the Weald because he cares for the world. And the Holder of the Eye, his Champion, is the instrument of the World's Will," Æbbe said, "I thought you would understand that, Mildburg. Have I truly taught you no better?"

The High Priestess looked down into her lap, her shame obvious. "I, well, I mean, I, no..." she stammered out, before stopping to compose herself for a moment, "I just... I just worry for them. I mean, the Bannik told everyone of the Eye. It is so dangerous."

Æbbe sighed and put her shoulder on Mildburg's shoulder, "I am sorry, I should not have snapped. I sometimes forget you have such a gentle heart."

"I'm sorry..."

"Oh no, there is no reason to apologize. It is a good thing to care so much," Æbbe said, smiling, "But sometimes you must look at the larger picture. Do you understand?"

Mildburg hesitated for a moment before nodding her head, "Y-yes, Arch Priestess."

The older woman smiled again, and then both went back to their silent meditation. Though now Mildburg's thoughts were preoccupied with what to come that night.

------

The night had fallen on the Weald once again, and once again Mildburg found herself alone with Princess Hild in the Council room. Though this time she had thankfully not been suddenly awakened in the night, which was always welcome. They were dressed much as before, with Mildburg in the plain robe of a priestess and Princess Hild dressed in an expensive night gown. But now Hild had her arms crossed, and was deep in thought. A far cry from her usual bored demeanour.

"And you are certain?" she asked, "There is nothing you can do or say?"

Mildburg nodded her head, "Y-yes. Of course. And I mean, she has always been stubborn..."

"The bloody zealot," Hild said angrily.

"I'm sorry..." Mildburg said nearly instinctively.

"Stop that, the old bat's mind is her own business," Hild said, "But she is going to be a severe problem. Even more than I'd feared."

Mildburg nodded her head in agreement, though her expression showed that she was clearly upset, "She, she doesn't care about the Weald at all. I hoped I could've changed her mind..."

"She is a stubborn old crone and you are not exactly a great orator, Mildburg," Hild said before quickly adding, "And the next thing out of your mouth had better not be an apology."

Mildburg stared with her mouth open for a moment, as she had fully planned on apologizing, "Well, um, then what should we do Princess?"

"Well the woman is going to need to be dealt with one way or another," Hild said, and in reply to Mildburg's shocked gasp she added, "No, I am not saying we're going to kill her, just make her less of a problem. Less of a threat to me. And to the Weald and her people."

Although unhappy about the turn of events, Mildburg nodded her head in silent agreement. Then Hild rose from her seat and patted Mildburg head, "Well, I think we need to sleep on this. Maybe I'll have an idea in the morning." Then she left, leaving Mildburg alone with her thoughts.

------------

Ethea

Ælfrige Bearsson stood tall amidst his band of warriors. Numbering a few hundred in all they had been drawn from all over the Weald, fanatics and zealots of every stripe had been drawn by the call of Cyninggraf's Arch Priestess. Many of them were nobility, both high and low, though there many churls among their number as well. Ælfrige himself was dressed fully prepared for battle, as he had for much of the trip. It was a dangerous trip after all, especially once they had entered the domain of the nomads. Thankfully it seemed their numbers had scared off any smaller groups and they'd managed to avoid running afoul any of the larger of their barbaric warbands. Not that there hadn't been casualties, of course. Many good men had fought, bled, and died in the few raids the horsemen had dared to attempt on the Wealdmenn.

And Ælfrige cut an impressive figure. He was fully dressed in his long shirt of chainmail and wearing a helmet wrought in the shape of a mustached face, though blonde hair spilled out from underneath the helmet on all sides. Across his back was his great, round shield painted with a dark green tree on a black background and he had his longsword sheathed on his hip. Many of his warriors were dressed in a similar manner, though only the upper nobility wore the masked helmets and wielded swords. The others had to make due with axes and spears and bows, while the churls did not even have the chainmail or helmets at all, being dressed in boiled leather or even just numerous layers of cloth.

And from his vantage point, Ælfrige could see his target. It hadn't been hard to find, truthfully, which made it all the more dangerous. Not because of the veritable horde of barbaric horsemen but because if the Wealdmenn had found it so easily then so would anyone else attempted to find it. And there would, without a doubt, be many of them. Ælfrige had to be constantly vigilant against any would-be attackers and had men watching the perimeter for any signs of any who may have spotted the warband. Thankfully the throng of nomads among the ruins hadn't seemed to have noticed them, yet, for they were still a distance away and they were most likely preoccupied with the ruin itself. But Ælfrige knew that even with the blessings of the Gods that it would still be a difficult fight and that many of the men he had spent so long traveling with would end their lives here. He could even be among them, he knew, but he did not fear death. For all that happened was by the grace of the Gods and he lived to serve them. But that didn't mean he was a moron; unless his hand was forced, he would wait until the moment was right to strike out with the fury of the Gods.

Folds of flabby skin collapsed on each other as Matsumura yawned. The portly Bannik's mane of hair was well-groomed; not wild and coarse, like most of his kin. He was adorned in a kimono of Shihoman livery, accompanied by trinkets and fetishes that hung from strands of his beard and around his neck. Matsumura stretched his sleepy limbs, jumped down from his little throne and fetched his ceremonial staff. Now that Homugara had decided to stir once more, it was time for Matsumura to make himself known to the Shihomans once again. The Bannik's recent slumber had been accompanied by some troubling dreams; no doubt Queen Sounouichi had been privy to the visions as well.
In all the years the Bannik had served as Homugara's emissary to Shihoma, there were few he liked better than Sounouichi Sakai. She was decisive, opinionated, and he liked that about her. Too many monarchs had been complacent - willing to grovel on the throne and pay lip-service to the Volcano. Not Sakai; she was very engaged in the affairs of Yahasato, and it pleased Matsumura to see Homugara receive the devotion it deserved. As the Bannik swung himself up into the saddle of his kirin, he thought about the visions Homugara had made known to him. With one of the relics already in the hands of man, it was nigh time for Shihoma to prove its mettle once more.



“Homugara has made this matter known to me,” Queen Sounouichi said, perched upon her golden throne. Her kimono was a deep wine, embroidered with patterns of flame and coiled dragons. The chamber had been vacated, with the exception of herself and the Bannik seated before her.
“Then you, too, must understand what this means for Shihoma, if not the entire world. I would be loathe to sit back and see the rest of Homugara's artifacts fall into the hands of the undeserving.”
“It is too late for the Eye, but there are more relics to draw our concern,” Sakai muttered. “If only I hadn't been so careless...”
“Do not blame yourself, Your Highness. I have no doubt of Shihoma's capability, were it to march on foreign lands and reclaim what it deserves.” Matsumura's remark earned the slightest grin from Shihoma's queen.
“You are rather opinionated, for a Youkabi, Matsumura. I don't call your service into question, but one might expect a Youkabi as yourself to be neutral in the affairs of the mortal world.” The Bannik chuckled politely, nodding his head.
“As the patron Youkabi of Shihoma, I can't help but sympathize over the centuries I've served with your forebearers. Homugara will do what it wills, but I have always had a soft spot for your people.”
“And your service does not go unnoticed,” Sakai replied with a tip of her head. “Now, concerning Homugara's awakening... this demands the attention of both Shihoma's sword arm and Yahasato's faithful. We must be vigilant and prepare ourselves for the signs of the next relic. I will place the kingdom under high alert and announce a month of devotion. Have you any other news, Matsumura?”
“Nothing you haven't already witnessed, Your Grace. I shall remain close by at all times. It would be to your advantage for Shihoma to appear blessed during this time.”
“I agree, but isn't it also to your advantage: basking in the exaltation the public showers on you when you appear before it?”
“Heh, heh! I won't deny it. That is one of the perks of being a Youkai in Shihoma.” The Bannik straightened himself, patting out the wrinkles in his garments. “Now then, Your Grace, I believe it is time for Shihoma to restore order to the land once more.”
“Quite right,” Sakai answered, lifting herself from her throne.

Ethea/Tribal Lands
Several weeks had past since Urtha lead her army of six thousand strong up north to claim the Eye of the Volcano, and after such a long journey, she had finally reached her destination, before her army stood a something that once seemed great and marvelous, now in dead and in ruin, far from it's glory days. However, she soon became aware they were not the first to arrive. Smoke rising from the tattered ruins, as well as clashing of swords, followed by cheers. Outside the sight of the ruins, a large encampment closing off the main pathway towards it, a challenge the High Priestess will take.

"Look my followers! Already heretics and none-believers seek the Holy Eye! We must pry it away from their hands!, charge my warriors! For Argun!" She shouted out, thrusting her scepter outward, pointing it directly to the ruins. Within mere moments, her army charged forth, Grogar riding atop raptors, drake hound packs charging in the dozens, and hordes of grogar warriors and several females following in pursuit. The Battle for the Eye has begun.

The Bannik’s eyes shot open, immediately welcomed by a ray of light from the blue skies, the volcano groans again. Like a burning sensation he can feel the volcano shift its gaze among the Grogar, the Umberal, those of Shihoma and the people of the Weald.

The mountain of fire searched diligently, passing out its blessings and curses as it awaits its champion to be awakened. The Bannik could feel it, oh yes he could feel it.

The soldier held the Eye close to his chest, gasping for breath as he fled through the ruins. Cries of anger, fear, and pain echoed all around him, reminding him of the very real and constant danger he was in. The soldier stumbled over a piece of ruble, falling to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. He had run for what felt like miles all the while still outfitted in his heavy armor, although he had long ago cast aside his shield and javelin. He took a deep breath as he looked up towards Astraea’s massive walls, still in the distance. Perhaps too far.

“You need to get up Nisus!” A comrade of the soldier cried, taking the soldier’s arm and hefting him to his feet.

“I…know…” The soldier, Nisus, managed to wheeze out. “I just… need a second.”

And that was about all he managed to get as a group of seven nomads ran into view. Nisus could only thank the world-mother that they were on foot. Nisus’ comrades drew their weapons and charged the nomads, crying for Nisus to go on ahead without them. Nisus didn’t argue, choosing to save his breath for running instead. No Ethean soldier had cause to fear a dismounted heathen anyways. And considering that Nisus held the Eye it was he, not his comrades, who were truly in danger.

He ran and ran and ran. He continued to run even after each breath caused his lungs to burn like they were on fire. His legs felt like lead and yet he forced himself to not stop moving. Sweat burned his eyes and his mouth felt dry, yet still he ran. And he would continue until he was either dead or had seen the Eye to safety.



Events had begun to move quickly and violently. The nomads had managed to muster about three thousand horsemen, just as Praetorian Brygus had predicted, and had formed a ‘U’ around the ruins, with about a thousand men to the south, east, and west respectively. Meanwhile many more Ethean troops had arrived, raising their number to thirteen hundred heavy cavalry and eighteen hundred heavy infantry, three hundred of which was already in the ruins. As it was the situation was highly favorable for Ethea. The Ethean and nomadic forces were almost equal in size, but Ethea’s infantry were infantry better suited to fighting in the ruins. Just as important was the presence of Ethea’s heavy cavalry. While light cavalry was not inherently inferior to heavy cavalry, and could be considered superior in some regards, in this instance the strength of heavy cavalry was more important than that of light cavalry’s mobility.

However not all was good. From atop Astraea’s walls Emperor Orion could see several unidentified forces in the distance. Neither appeared to belong to the Tribe of Long Nights, which was both good and bad. One force, number around a thousand, consisting of men or some sort of humanoids riding larger more beastlike humanoids, charged towards the nomads from the south. The southern formation of nomads was slow to respond, but eventually turned the bulk of its force to fend off this new threat. Meanwhile the second unidentified force, which by Orion’s estimate was several hundred in number, seemed content to watch from a distance. Orion raised an eyebrow as fifty horsemen detached from the nomad’s western force and moved towards this unidentified force before stopping a more than respectable distance away.

“The troops are assembled and ready to head out.” Brygus reported.

“Very good” Orion commented and he observed the battlefield from atop one last time. He and he alone currently had the clearest understanding of what was occurring and he would be damned if he didn’t make use of this advantage. His eyes narrowed as a small detachment of nomadic horsemen neared the walls. Would they come too close? His question was answered almost immediately as a pair of ballistas, stationed on the turrets of Astraea’s walls, and Ethean archers rained death on the nomads. “Let us head out.” The Emperor said.

The two men quickly made their way to Astraea’s southern gates where the force of Ethean soldiers were assembled. Thirteen hundred heavy cavalry and one thousand infantry in total. That would leave five hundred infantry to defend the walls; more than enough to hold back any halfhearted attempt to attack the city. After the Emperor and Praetorian mounted their horses Orion turned to address his men.

“Beyond these walls wait our greatest foes” Emperor Orion yelled. “Even now they wage war on our brothers and on soldiers from distant lands.” The troops began to murmur at the mention of the foreign soldiers, but Orion’s strong voice silenced them. “I know not what the objective of these soldiers is, only that they are no friends of our foes. And that certainly sucks for those heathens for we number nearly as many as they do and I have never known Etheans to lose a battle except when overwhelmed by superior numbers!” Several thousand soldiers let out a cheer, some yelling derogatory remarks about the nomads. Orion waited for a moment before continuing. “When we ride out through those gates the heathens will defecate themselves in fear! They will see our glorious arms and know that their end is nigh! And historians will mark this day as the day that secured the empire another thousand years’ worth of history! Now ride my brothers!” He grabbed his mace and held it over his head. His men grabbed their swords, maces, and spears and did the same as the gates were opened. “Ride with me to glory!”

Orion and Brygus rode at the head of the formation, guiding it towards the ruins. They could hear the sound of battle from the ruins. Several embattled Etheans in the ruins spotted the reinforcements and took up a cheer that quickly spread through the entirety of the ruins. The nomads seemed to waver for a moment before doubling their efforts to break through the Ethean lines and find the Eye.

“There your Majesty, over there!” Brygus yelled from besides Orion, pointed towards a group of Ethean infantry that were trying to fight their way towards Astraea. They had apparently been forced out of the ruins and were desperately trying to fend off a group of nomadic cavalry. Orion steered his horse towards the battle, the rest of the heavy cavalry following him. The nomads, seeing the formation of heavy cavalry closing in, doubled their efforts to take out the infantry instead of fleeing. Those soldiers must have the Eye! Unfortunately for the nomads their attempts were in vain, the embattled Ethean infantry simply went into a turtle formation and fended the nomads off until Orion and the cavalry arrived, making short work of the nomads.

One of the soldiers that Orion and the cavalry rescued stumbled towards the Emperor, saying “The…. Eye” as he held the object of the world’s desire out towards his saviors. The act must have spent the last of his strength for as Orion took the Eye from him he collapsed. Orion Eye the eye for a moment before thrusting it towards Brygus.

“Take one hundred men with you and take this back to Astraea.” Orion ordered.

“But-“ Brygus began, only to be cut off by his lord.

“No buts!” Orion yelled. He then leaned in close and spoke with a much quieter voice “Even should we lose this battle, if we hold the Eye it will all be worth it. Now do your duty! And take this soldier back with you!” He gestured towards the collapsed form of the soldier that had offered the Eye to him.

“As you command your Majesty.” Brygus responded.

“Very good. Now I want the infantry to support our forces in the ruins. The rest of you… follow me!” He turned and charged towards the west and the force of nomads that could be found there.

A DRUNKEN SPLEEN PRODUCTION



Anukyr cursed silently as he watched the unfolding mess from atop a grassy hill. Not one or two, but four armies had already arrived to fight for the Eye. He sighed in frustration, the Goddess had apparently decided to test his faith yet again. Common sense would have made him turn back and return to the Khaganate and the High Priestess with empty hands. But if he were listening to common sense then the Red Priest would have refused the quest to start with. Besides, if Anukyr ordered a retreat now, he and his followers would surely be cursed and haunted by the souls of their fallen companions for their cowardice and for making their sacrifices useless.

“So, what do we do now, Anukyr?” Sahavir asked, finally breaking the silence.

“We’re here to take the Eye and return it to the great temple in Karablagasun.” The Red Priest replied sternly, turning to the priestess he continued. “It’s our divine duty, not only to Babash Talek but also to those who fell since we entered this cursed, heathen, country.”

“If you want to kill yourself go ahead.” Sahavir replied, gesturing to the distant battle. “But please, recall that unlike everyone else here we do not have an army at our backs. We go down there and we die.”

“Maybe we could sneak into the ruins?” Anwukhuar suggested meekly, his brown horse shifting uneasily. “Use the battle as a distraction and snatch the Eye before they realize what’s happening.”

“And I suppose you think we would be able to do that?” Sahavir asked in an acidic tone. “I don’t know about you but they didn’t teach us how to infiltrate and steal during my days as an initiate. That’s assuming the Eye is still in the ruins.”

“Do you have a better idea then?” Anukyr half hissed. “Because I’m not going to simply turn back now.”

Sahavir was about to reply when one of the surviving Blue Priests spoke up:

“I do have an idea.” He pointed towards the city north of the ruins. The tiny bells strung in his beard jingling as he moved. “We go to Astrea. It’s clearly inhabited and properly maintained. So it must mean that the Old Empire still controls it. The Avestas teach that the people of the Old Empire were the first to follow the Red Goddess, surely they will give us shelter once we make our identity known.”

Anukyr regarded him silently, analyzing the plan for a few moments before replying:

“And how can we be sure that it isn’t simply another heathen tribe that controls the city? That they won’t simply shoot us once we get close enough?”

“Do they look like nomads to you, Anukyr?” The Blue Priest asked as he gestured to the battle. “Even from here I can see that they fly the colors of the Old Empire. Besides, even if they aren’t what other choice do we have? We can’t stay here and wait for the victor’s mercy. As you are so fond of reminding us, we still have our mission to carry out.”

“It’s worth a shot.” Sahavir agreed. “But still, the Old Empire still standing...imagine what we could learn from them if this is true…”

“You forget that they may have the Eye.” Anukyr warned. “The Eye we’re supposed to retrieve.”

“The High Priestess sent us here to make sure the Eye doens’t fall into the hands of heathens. If we’re right and it is indeed the Old Empire then we need not worry.” The Blue Priest retorted.

Both Anukyr and Anwukhuar prepared to reply and continue the argument before Sahavir silenced them:

“Yes, yes. The sacrifice of our fellows and bla-bla-bla. We’re not forgetting about them, but we also must accept the fact that we’re not in position to do much. Had the High Priestess convinced the clans to send us with an army maybe we could do something, but we’re only seven riders. Wounded and tired from weeks of travel.”

“Besides, I’m not going to raise my sword against the Old Empire. No matter what you say.” The Blue Priest added. “They were the first followers of the Red Goddess.”

“I know my theology, Shankar.” Anukyr snarled and then sighed. “But it seems we have no choice here. We ride to the city and pray for the best.” He then turned to the Blue Priest. “But if this doesn’t works-”

“We all die. Yes, but our chances aren’t that much better if we stay here either.” The Blue Priest then turned backwards to the rest of their party, who was probably having a similar discussion at the base of the hill, and called out to them.

And so they turned their horses towards Astrea, avoiding the ruins and the battle completely. Anukyr and the two remaining Blue Priests at the front, followed by the two remaining warriors and priests. Sahavir, as the only interpreter and diplomat of the group was left at the rear of the formation.

As the riders neared the city they could see the distinct forms of men moving about the walls, some yelling and pointing in their general direction. Men began to line up on the walls, bows held at the ready but bowstrings not pulled back, yet at least. Then the gates opened and a group of thirty heavily armored men marched out and began a slow trot towards the riders. It was clear, even from a distance, that these men were no nomads. They held to a tight formation, the kind that only men who drilled on a regular basis could. Their laminar armor shone brightly in the sunlight. The weapons they held were crafted by true blacksmiths and all looked to be new. Finally as the armored troops neared Anukyr and his party they came to a stop.

“Identify yourselves” One of the armored men shouted in the nomadic tongue, his accent was clear even to those who couldn’t speak the language.

Anukyr stared back at the man, he didn’t speak a word of the nomadic language. Instead, it was Sahavir who spoke for the group:

“We’re priests. Hailing from the Axasiri Khaganate in the west and sent here once we received word of the Eye’s location.” She then turned to Anukyr, who nodded for her to continue. “Are you Etheans?”

The armored man eyed Sahavir for a moment before speaking again. “Yes xenos, we are Etheans. I know not of this Axasiri.” He paused before continuing “Are you children of the world-mother?”

“We’re faithful servants of the Red Goddess of the Volcano, if that’s what you’re asking.” She replied before saying something to her companions in her own language

“Close enough I suppose” The armored man muttered. “You may follow us into Astraea, but be warned xenos, we will not hesitate to cut you down should you prove to be a threat.” With that said he turned and led his men back towards Astraea.

“They will let us in.” Sahavir announced to the group. “Don’t to do anything stupid, let me do the talking and keep to yourselves.” And with that they followed the riders into the city.

As the entered the city it became apparent, if it weren’t so before, that the city was very much alive and being maintained. The walls were in great condition, with men seen patrolling the battlements and manning the ballistas. In the distance the sounds of a bizarre or market could be heard, despite the fact that a small war was being waged beyond the walls not too far away. Even so the only figures in sight were those of the heavily armed and armored soldiers that now eyed Sahavir and her party warily.

“Are these our guests” A young woman asked as she strode into view. Her dress, that of a vibrant red silk chiton, certainly set her apart from the other Etheans in sight. Small pieces of gold jewelry that had been woven into the silk jingled as she moved. Most of her pale blonde hair was allowed to fall freely from her head, although a small amount of it was kept in a bun by a pair of ornaments. She smiled warmly as she looked at the ‘guests’. “Welcome to Astraea” She said as she approached the group of outsiders.

“We thank you for your hospitality.” Sahavir replied with a cordial smile. “To be honest, we weren’t expecting to find the Old Empire stil standing. Though it’s a relief to be proven mistaken.” Sahavir then turned to her companions and told them to dismount.

“Just as much as it is a relief to finally meet some… civilized xenos” The woman responded as she closed the distance to Sahavir and embraced her like a dear friend. The armored Etheans tensed, but otherwise made no motion. “You may call me Aleris if it pleases you” The Ethean woman said as she released Sahavir from her embrace.

“It’s a relief to be so well received.” Sahavir replied, somewhat discomforted by this Aleris. “I am Sahavir-Oiur, priestess of Manurta, the god of merchants and traders and interpreter of this fellowship.”

“Your presence here must be the will of the world-mother” Aleris said as she shifted her gaze to the others in Sahavir’s group. “But I’m sure you and your companions are tired and hungry. If you’d like I’m sure I could arrange for some food and wine to be prepared in short order.”

“I thank you for your offer. And we would be honored to receive your hospitality.” Sahavir replied with another smile before adding more hesitantly. “But do you have anything other than wine? I don’t mean to offend, but my people isn’t used to consuming alcohol and I would rather avoid any possible incidents.”

“Would water suffice?” Aleris asked. “And I hope you don’t mind fish. I would offer you something else but… well Astraea isn’t known for farming.”

“It will be more than enough.” Sahavir replied before turning to the group and telling them what was just agreed. The Axasiri cheered a little bit and Anukyr gave her a complimentary pat on the back.

Aleris, and more than a few heavily armored soldiers, led the Axasiri to what one might consider a nice tavern. If by nice tavern one meant a building the size of three normal taverns put together and decorated by paints and statues that must have been centuries old. It was the kind of place one might expect nobility to be found. Oddly enough the ‘tavern’ was devoid of occupants, except for a few servants and guards.

“The chefs will be done preparing your food soon” Aleris said as she led the group to the largest table in the room. “If you’d like to clean yourselves” She continued “you will find the public bath in that backroom.”
Sahavir translated Aleris’ words and added a hissed warning of her own as the rest of the group went one by one to the public bath.

“Once again, I thank you for all this.”

“You are the first guests we’ve had in centuries” Aleris said. “It's the least I could do. I’ve been hoping to speak to some non-hostile xenos for a while now anyways. Sadly the nomads don’t make great conversationalists.”

“Don’t need to tell me that.” Sahavir replied, mood darkening. “We tried to talk to them once and lost three of our own. Bunch of heathen savages the lot of them.”

“Indeed” Aleris agreed, much of the warmth seeming to drain from her pretty face. “All attempts to make peace with them have ended in tragedy.” There was a moment of silence before she perked up again. “Ah look, it appears that your food is ready.” She gestured towards several servants who were carrying plates of fish and bread. The servants said nothing as they brought the food over, scarcely looking towards the Axasiri.

“Now then” Aleris began, “I’ve been told you come seeking the Eye.”

“Yes, we have.” Sahavir started, apologetically. “But we were working under the assumption that the Old Empire was gone. Once we heard that the Eye was here, the High Priestess sent us to make sure that the Eye didn’t fall in the hands of heathens.” At this she turned to Anukyr, who had by this point washed off most of the grime and dirt from his dyed hair, and translated something to him. The Red Priest replied quickly and Sahavir turned back to Aleris. “My companion here is wondering if you know anything about the ongoing battle.”

“I must confess that I do not know much” Aleris said with a small shrug. “From what I’ve heard there are three foreign forces out there right now. His Imperial Majesty took a force comparable in size to what the nomads brought, so I’m sure he will find nothing but victory.” She gestured towards one of the armored men. When the soldier approached she whispered something to him. He nodded before marching out of the tavern. “We shall see if the situation has changed” Aleris said.

“Now I must say” She continued “that this series of events can be none other than the will of the world-mother. For how else could we make contact with the outside world while at the same time obtaining the Eye?”

“Indeed.” Sahavir replied. “The Avestas speak much about the glory and power of the Old Empire. And to see that it still stands despite everything, will open up many new opportunities to us.”

“It is nice to know that we haven’t been forgotten” Aleris commented. “But tell me… how do you expect to return to your homes? Honestly I’m amazed you made it here in the first place. How many thousands did you leave with?”

“We departed the Khaganate with 10 riders and made our way through the lawless lands between our nations without much trouble. It was only when we entered the lands of the savages that we found opposition. And that was only because we miscalculated and tried to trade with them.” Sahavir replied before she turned to speak with Anukyr. After a minute or two she turned back to Aleris. “As for our return, we originally thought that keeping a low profile would be enough. But with all these armies around we think it will be feasible to slip away in the confusion.”

“Perhaps” Aleris didn’t sound convinced. “Though I should warn you that the region will be flooded with savages soon. They’ll number in the tens of thousands by the end of the month. They’ll try to breach our walls.” She rolled her eyes. “And like always we’ll repel them. I might be able to arrange transportation via ship to another of our cities. It won’t get you terribly far, but at least you will have a chance of skirting around the nomadic horde.”

She turned to Anukyr and soon the rest of the party had joined the discussion. After several minutes the conversation died off and Sahavir turned back to Aleris.

“And where would this city be? The Khaganate is in the western tip of the continent. If we follow the river for too long we will end up too far to return in time.”

“We have cities all around the lake” Aleris answered. “Any one of them may be far enough away to reduce the dangers you’ll encounter.” She shrugged. “Barring that you may just want to wait the nomads out. They’ll lose interest soon enough. They always do.”

Sahavir translated to her group and after another short discussion she replied:

“If you would have us, we would be willing to send some of our group by ship to bypass the bulk of the nomads while the rest waits here for them to disperse.”

“Very good. I shall bring the matter up with his Imperial Majesty once he returns.”

“Thank you.” Sahavir replied. “Is there any chance that we may be granted access to some of your religious texts? I would be very grateful for the chance to study them.”

“Certainly. I’ll see that some be delivered here.” She waved at a nearby soldier, who nodded before taking his leave. “In the meantime feel free to make yourselves at home here. You may treat this entire building as if it were your home and all those you find in it are your servants. But please do not leave the building.” She offered them a warm smile before asking “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“You’re already doing more than enough.” Sahavir replied with another smile. “Thank you.”

Several Grogar females had charged ahead of the first wave, closely followed by the smaller males, the large females had let out unearthly shrieks towards the Long Night Warriors, however their terror tactics had only sent a few fleeing from the horde, many others remaining firm as they started their own counter charge, arrows ad javelins launching up into the air as they rained over the grogar, many falling before the attack, but just as the Long Night tribesmen, the grogar were not deterred, the females the first to clash with the tribesmen, one of the beasts using her bulky arms to swipe away any in her path, all the while the long nighters pounced upon her, pierce the tough hide with all the blades that could be used, the pain causing the creature to go berserk, spinning like mad, swiping away friend and foe alike.

Grogar infantry quickly followed in, the paleskinned warriors clashing blades with the tribesmen in a chaotic melee, all the while drake hounds begun to take advantage of any downed enemies, poncing upon them in a feeding frenzy with their gaping slit maws.

Urtha watched from the distance as the rest of her army made their advanced, her hand-picked lieutenants and elite guard watching alongside her. "Heh, now is the time." She says, turning to her men. "Come, we shall move in the shadows, the Eye is awaiting us."

Near Astraea
Ælfrige snarled as he saw the few nomads ride towards them, just as he received word that an equally small group was behind his men. It was not an advantageous situation for the Wealdmenn; he was not only outnumbered but the wide open terrain heavily favoured the nomads. Unfortunately it didn't seem as though there was any plan that wouldn't result in heavy casualties for them, with the possible exception of him ordering his men to pack up and head back to the Weald. But the thought of doing so never even crossed Ælfrige's mind; it would be a disgrace not just to him but to all those who had chosen to follow him to the Eye. They had traveled too far to simply give up now, so they could either die where they stood or try to make their way into the ruins not only to retrieve the Eye but also to mount a better defense against the nomads' onslaught that would inevitably come.

Then Ælfrige heard the sounds of battle, watching from a distance as the grogar vanguard slammed into the nomad's forces. Though he couldn't what they were, he could see their numbers. And he grinned. Perhaps he could use their assault to his advantage, as the nomad's didn't seem particularly keen in engaging his men just yet. If they happened to pull men from their western force to deal with the paleskin horde it would undoubtedly be easier for his men to force their way into the ruins. So he decided once more to wait, though he knew that his men were already restless. In truth he was restless as well, and hated sitting here while their goal was within view. It was so close, but it could scarcely be farther from their grasp. But it wouldn't be much use to go and get most of them killed in a reckless charge, glorious at it would be. But Ælfrige could not simply sit on his haunches all day, either. The nomads knew the Wealdmenn were there and an attack would come eventually. If they happened to charge his forces before dealing with the grogar to the south, then so be it. But he could still prepare.

"Scildweall!" he shouted to his men at the top of his lungs; a cry that was quickly carried on the wind by the numerous other Wealdmenn. Quickly the Wealdmenn made their way into formation, their shields up to protect themselves and the man to their left. The first few ranks were those like Ælfrige, warriors of the upper class with real armor and weapons, while behind them were the poorer warriors with their spears. And behind even them were the archers, ready to rain death down on those who approached. But still the Wealdmenn didn't advance, waiting for the word.