Liliana swallowed hard as Gripus seemed to age impossibly fast, showing his true face to the world if for only a moment. He was not what she would have expected from the proud and powerful Mage she had known. The years, while leaving her relatively untouched, had taken a harrowing toll on the man. The fallen Paladin could certainly understand how one's sins could weigh heavily upon them. What gave her the most reason to reconsider traveling with him, however, were his final few statements. In the end he revealed himself to be far from the man she had known years ago, though to her it did not seem so long. More than anything it was disappointment that stung the worst.

The Crone's sharp tongue only served to force Liliana deeper into her thoughts. Tsabal revealed her identity in turn, as well as her reason for being on the surface and alone. Such a tale of loss brought painful memories to the surface, as well as deep sympathy. The Drow showed herself to be genuinely strong, a survivor both on the battlefield and off. Separating herself from the Mage was starting to look like a better idea.

Then El laid out it even plainer for her. On some level, Gripus had given up. This too, she understood. There was a time when she had resolved that there was nothing left for her to do but die. The Hero of the East had been the one to drag her away from that. Now it seemed that in the face of his own mistakes, he sought to leave the world behind. Liliana no longer feared death in the pursuit of her goals, but she would not go to a meaningless end. To her the Mage seemed willing to throw his life away simply to bring his suffering to an end.

El's own revelation was certainly startling, especially as the ex-Paladin recognized the source of her wasting sickness. It was a thing spoken of as though legend in her homeland, and she had certainly never imagined to see a case in person. It must have been a frightful existence, not made any easier by the anthropomage's abilities to extend her own lifespan. On top of that, she was estranged from her faith and likely to be prosecuted by those who should welcome her with open arms. Once more, a stranger's story struck a chord with Liliana.

In the end, it looked like Gripus might have driven off all of his potential allies in one stroke. Liliana looked back and forth between human and Drow. Both choices grated against her morals at that moment, but she did not wish to be alone on the road to Dragonblade Tower. It didn't seem that Tsabal was going anywhere yet, so she stayed to see how the Mage would react to the pair if scalding lectures he had received.

"Then I bid you all farewell," Gripus managed, refusing to grasp the arguments of his short lived companions. "I hope you all find whatever it is you are looking for, out there, where only the dead walk and where a great evil is about to unleash a permanent nightmare across half the known world."

He reached into his robes, and pulled out a parchment. The Mage scribbled frantically on it, rolled it and wrapped it with a red string. He uttered some arcane words, and the the parchment turned into solid gold. Holding it high, he fixed the one known as Ellasapet with his glowing eyes.

"I still hold great sway in the Imperial Magi. There is one that you should seek, in Fort Octavius. He's a Dwarf by the name of Bishop Ogloid, a kind fellow; he and I worked tirelessly on my age retarding projects for some years. I could not have made the advances that I have, without his assistance. He specializes in the science of biology, and his knowledge of the intricate workings of all things might avail your research into your own illness. Present this scroll to him, and he will give you whatever help that he and his laboratory can - only he will know the password to return it from gold to parchment," the Mage said, his tone devoid of emotion. "If you survive your ordeals in Iron Coast, I would urge you to consider my offer." He let the golden scroll fall, and it hit the mud with a wet thud.

Turning to the Drow, he smiled. "You are certainly a powerful woman, Tsabal, and I thank you for confirming my suspicions as to who you really are. However, I think simply telling me to 'fuck off' would have been more prudent. I know you aimed to hurt me, reminding my flesh of its former comfort, but in truth you merely allowed me to see into your heart, and what I see troubles me. Behind such intelligence, behind such knowledge, is a blackness. As equals, I wish you well with your endeavors, but know this: should I triumph over Magnor, then I will be returning to find you... I'd hate to see one evil replaced by another."

And then the Mage lingered on Liliana, and for a moment his face betrayed sadness. "Watch yourself, my lady. You walk among giants, and when all is said and done, see that you are not crushed underfoot. I pray that the God of the Sun continues to watch over you, and that you will come out of this nightmare unscathed."

Not wanting to stay a second longer, Gripus thrust the Staff of Morven towards the sky, and the green gem pulsed brightly. "Amath kiera tor, alan shan!"

---

The Arcane Void was exactly that; nothingness. A blackness that continued forever. For someone not versed in its workings, it would truly be a terrifying place. Though Gripus had intimate knowledge of the Arcane Void - it was after all, the dimension that he and many like him, drew their strength. By focusing his efforts, a pathway lit itself for him - a purple streak of magical energy, buzzing underfoot.

Gripus urged Shadowmere onward, following the pathway, and as he did, images flashed by him. They were locations. In one, he saw Campus Magnus, and the three of his short lived companions. In a second image, he saw trees and shambling figures. A third image crossed him, revealing an empty and decrepit roadway. He focused on the roadway, and saw that it was a place ten miles west of Actium. He hesitated, for traveling a hundred or so miles through the Void would kill many, even one such as he if he blundered.

Teleportation was not a forte of the Arcane. It had severe limitations in accuracy, and traveling only short distances took their toll on the user. It was also easily susceptible to disruption from other arcane users, who would sense someone traveling in the Void nearby. With a few words, they could hide or destroy an image, forbidding him to come through. Still, despite its vulnerabilities and limitations, it offered a convenient passage of escape in pressing situations - such as the one at the gate. And with the Staff of Morven, Gripus could double the distance he would normally be able to travel.

He lent over in his saddle, and touched the image with the Staff of Morven.

---

Dead and dying trees lined the decrepit roadway. The smell of decaying flesh was thick in the air, though no undead minions presented themselves. There was a brief crash of thunder, and an even briefer flash of lightning. Rain started to fall, and Gripus pulled his hood over his head. Sweat lined his brow, and he breathed heavily, feeling as if he'd missed a night's sleep. Traveling so far had drained him, and it would be some time before he could hope to call on the Void for such swift deliverance.

Shadowmere stirred uneasily, but Gripus calmed the beast with a brief stroke to its neck. "Easy, my friend. Come, let's see what folly awaits us."

And so Gripus Probus, Hero of the East and Bane of Morven, started his journey, following the road that lay between Corpsewood and the Iron Forest.

Location: Actium

Sarai could only watch as the situation deteriorated rapidly. She was rapidly suspecting that Pyria was a dragon. The feeling she got from the little girl was just unnatural. Serpica and Al were dangerous, but only in a mundane sense. Sarai had no doubt that she could handle them when the time came - even if 'handle' meant 'run away from' - but she didn't get that same feeling from Pyria. No, the girl felt more oppressive than those two.

Then there was Luca, who was handling the situation as well as she expected. Which was not really that well at all. What she didn't expect was for the young man to take what looked like a manacle and throw it into the ground. Sarai wondered what that was about; now that she looked closely, she realized it really was a manacle. Afterwards he gave a pouch of gold to the two . . . adventurers, and walked away from the crowd. Sarai shook her head and sighed. It looked like he was well and truly fed up with dealing with these people. Still . . .

Sarai looked at Pyria, the poor Dragon. Her own preservation instincts asides, leaving the girl like this left a bad taste in her mouth; it reminded her too much of when she was thrown away to the monastery, because of fear of her understandings of death. Pyria was just too demanding to handle though, but maybe that feeling of hers was hypocritical? Couldn't the same be said for her and her parents?

Caught by between her instincts telling her to leave and her desire to stay by Pyria, Sarai remained rooted on the spot. She jumped a little when Luca patted her on the shoulder. The meaning of the look he gave her was clear enough, and Sarai nodded slowly. Walking towards Pyria, she did the same, and shaking her head, said, "Come, Pyria. Why not just let this go? You don't have to pay them any mind. You're a dragon aren't you? Show some dignity." This was the best compromise she could come up with.

Pyria's merry trip to the inn was halted abruptly, as she heard the distinctive clattering of a manacle in the ground in front of the two, forcing her to look back. Straining her sight, her eyes went wide with shock, as she wasn't sure what was happening.

Is that...my manacle? The proof of my boon towards Luca? Why did he do that!? WHY DID HE GIVE IT TO THAT GIRL!!!? Pyria stared in disbelief and shock as the fools rejoiced upon the discovery of both the manacle and Luca's money. But there was no relief, nor joy in Pyria's mind. It was then when Sarai approached her, her eyes still on shock, gazing and comprehending what the young man had just done.

"Umu" was her answer at first. Her golden eyes became fixated in the horizon. "I'm not angry at them now." She said, in an eerily calm tone. Instead of the bravado and furious display of earlier, the young dragonling was showing almost no outward signs of anything. Something broke inside Pyria's mind.

"Still, there are things I cannot abide for. Sorry, but could you just... leave the town? That was a nice intention you had, so I'll be sorry if i...accidentally hurt you." The child said, as she ventured towards the duo, shambling as if she were a corpse. Along the way, tears began flowing down her cheeks, emotions overpowering her momentarily as the maelstrom of emotions that was building in her was finally surfacing.

"That...is...my...manacle. I gave it to Luca. I told it was really important. A boon..." She sniffled. "Please...give it back."

And all coherence was lost in inelegant blubbering. A wail was heard, increasing in intensity. "LUCA YOU TRAITOR! THIS IS HOW YOU REPAIR MY BOON!" She screamed, as she clenched her fists. The cries became yells.

And the yells became a roar, when she literally exploded into magic, her true form actually showing. Glistening red scales, sharp claws. A mouth that could chew a man in two. Her tail flayed angrily, as her eyes narrowed on the duo, and more concretely on the bracelet. Snorting dismissively, her wings spread and batted heavily.

"DRAGON!" Someone yelled. And a choir of screams followed.

"BURN. YOU. ALL. FIRST LUCA. THEN YOU. THEN THE REST OF THE TOWN. YOU'LL PAY FOR TREATING MY BOON AS IF IT WERE TRASH." She roared once more, as she took flight, her eyes set on a particular youth who had wasted a dragon boon so thoughtlessly.

Wal was finishing his meal in front of a fireplace ignorant to most that was happening in this city and out of it. He kept his senses on high alert mostly because he was bored and it would be good training to attempt to decypher everything he felt. Mostly normal sensations came and went, as people went about the inn. An alchemist gave an interesting sensation, or more his potions did as he took a room for the night. Soon he felt some strange magic and a chill form based off of it. The sensation seemed distant, but certainly out of the norm. It didn't seem like anything to powerful so he decided to let it go. Now another power was coming into play. This one was much more powerful, but it lied outside of the city. It didn't give off a deadly feel, but it carried something. The city was certainly more active than the temple.

This next feeling was amazingly overwhelming. It came more from the cities center, but it felt powerful enough to destroy the city from there. Wal instantly grabbed his dark ax and began running toward the city center. The feeling was getting stronger. He was unsure if even he would be able to do anything, but he had to try. People cleared the way for him, as no one wanted to be in the way of what seemed like a brserker with a giant battle ax. He soon heard words roared with an incredible power. There's nothing that can roar like that and speak, and to speak of burning. This isn't a dragon is it? As he finished asking himself that question he reached the area of the commotion. People were running away frantically. A dragon had just risen and appeared to be focusing on the man he spoke with earlier about the undead charter. Whatever this man did it would need to be corrected and more. Hopefully this dragon could be appeased, or this was going to be very messy.

"Good dragon! Why are you upset?" Wal yelled to the dragon hoping it would talk before burning everything.

"Y-yeah we have to spend this right now," cried Serpica in reply. If this was so much money that even an adult like Al was excited, they really must have hit the jackpot.

"Let's buy the whole town! Then we can take whatever we want and never have to worry about anything ever again! And if someone is mean, we can kick them out and-"

But she was interrupted once again by the other orphan. This time, however, it wasn't because she was leaving after calling her bad things. Instead, she was coming towards Serpica and crying. She had wanted to scold the girl, of course, for being mean to her, but Serpica had never wanted to make the girl cry. Apparently the pretty bracelet was important and belonged to the other orphan, and that girly man threw it on the ground and abandoned her. Serpica's eyes widened and her lower lip quivered with empathy for the girl's plight.

Of course, Serpica would give it back. She was the bigger person, and she bet it would teach the girl that it really did hurt when one's precious things were taken from them. Then the girl would apologize for taking Serpica's garbage, and maybe they could be friends. Serpica reached for the bracelet, her heart swelling with benevolent love and caring for the other orphan, regardless of how mean she had been, when the other child screamed.

Which turned into a bellow, and then into a roar as the other orphan transformed in front of her. The girl become huge and winged and scaly and really scary. Serpica's eyes widened further, and everything became very quiet. She knew that people were screaming and yelling, but she couldn't hear it at all. Something warm was running down her tail. She wondered if the creature had slashed her with its horrible claws, but she dared not look down.

A small puddle expanded below Serpica, and steam rose up from the frosty cobblestone. Anyone present could tell that the girl had soiled herself in fear.

Then, all of a sudden, the sounds came back. They were louder than anything Serpica had ever heard. The girl still couldn't think or process anything other than the sound of her own crying.

Oh. She was crying.

"Uu... uu... uu... UWAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Serpica bawled and choked and tried desperately to keep the snot in her nose. It was all she could do. It was all she knew how to do. The horrible creature flew away, but Serpica didn't know for how long. She almost instinctively slithered over to Al and grabbed onto his leg, getting her tears and saliva and snot all over his pants.

Ramius Kastagir, the White Raven
Location: Iron Forest

"Well that's just t-" Ramius began sounding rather disappointed, then the ghastly light burning in his eyes - one already fading again - became brighter. "You accept? This must be a lucky day." The tall Revenant sounded downright amazed. He did however gather himself quickly and ran his skeletal fingers through his hair. "Well then. I think for the time being we should agree not to stab each other in the back - be it proverbial or literal, the stabbing I mean." It was strange, trying to work with someone after all these years. Especially another Revenant. The White Raven was still, even in undeath an honorable man - that was a rather strange thing for a Revenant to be. Still, he was no fool. He wouldn't trust Thorn as far as he could kick him. Then again... The two had gotten this far already. Ramius took a step closer to Thorn again and now extended his right hand for a handshake. "I just wish to see Axis being freed of this curse. Since none of the living have managed it... The least I can do for him is this final favor."

Luca dug his nails into the palm of his free hand, steeling himself. Despite Pyria's wailing yell, he managed to not even turn his head to look back or stop in his tracks. It seemed cold, even to him, but he reminded himself that his chosen path belonged to the Goddess of Winter and none other. Both he and Snow continued on, apparently uncaring.

He only made it a handful of paces before he ended up turning back anyway. Who would not, considering the circumstances? The little girl was now far from little, revealing her true Draconic nature. Stunned, Luca let Snow's reins fall from his hand and only managed to keep hold of his staff because it fell against his shoulder. The horse reared and bolted, narrowly missing him. It soon dawned on him that he had made a grave mistake, and endangered the lives of everyone in the town at the very least. The red dragon was a bit larger than the mare he rode, but still certainly a threat to be taken seriously. Sending a silent prayer to the Raven Queen for strength, he clasped his hands together and started chanting under his breath.

Luca didn't intend to lash out at Pyria, but neither did he plan to let her strike at him unanswered. Those near him would note the gradual shift of his eye color from gray to ice blue, and the fact that another voice seemed to be layered over his own. His eyes followed the dragon as it took off, losing focus of everyone else around him. As the chanting continued, it grew in strength and speed and the air around the priest grew heavy and cold with magic.

For a second, a peal of thunder drowned out Luca's voice and a flash of lightning lit the sky in the distance. The storm had finally come, and it was beginning to rain. It struck him as rather appropriate.

"Hm?" Al gave a dumb smile as the lamia started to return the manacle.

"Hmmm?" he hummed as the red haired girl turned into a fire-breathing monster.
"Hmmmmmmm?" the lamia wrapped around his leg, smelling of urine, more so than before.

Al leaned down and picked his coat up off the ground, spinning it around his head and thrusting his arms through the sleeves. The dragon had begun shouting a barrage of vague threats at the town.
And the town burning down would stop their shopping spree.
And also burn the food they wanted to eat.
And that's a bad thing.

The dragon was... not actually large. In fact, it was smaller than even a griffin, and Al had fought those before. He'd heard rumors that dragons were larger than even castles and fortresses, but this was clearly false, or else this was some sort of stunted cousin of a dragon. The only truly threatening thing was its ability to quickly set things alight, and that flight made it difficult to reach.
Al picked up his snake friend, and dispensed her coils in the bed of the wagon; the manacle and bag of cash followed suite. Finally, the man stood in the driver's seat, and drew his claymore, spinning the heavy blade once with surprising dexterity.

"Hey Serpica, you still want to adventure with me, right? It's dangerous, but we need to stop that dragon, the one throwing the temper tantrum. Not just for the town and that wizard with the belt-skirt, but also I think it wants to kill us specifically, for some unknown reason. So here's my plan: I'm gonna stab it. Any objections?"

A girl wailed within the bustling city centre, drawing little concern from patrolling soldiers. Children screamed all the time in Iron Coast; some because they had been wronged by a sibling or a parent, some because their bellies had swollen with hunger, and some because they had nothing better to do. Actium was the Jewel of Iron Coast simply because it was the only town left in the region, not because it was a place of happiness and prosperity.

However, a great explosion abruptly rocked the city's inner districts, causing shanties to collapse and cracking pavement. Mass panic broke out shortly after, and patrolling legionnaires took little time in fighting their way through a screaming crowd of horrified onlookers. Indeed, they took even less time in discovering the source of the commotion.

A dragon had taken to the skies! By the Emperor, a dragon!

The beast was small, larger than a work horse but smaller than a griffin; gleaming red scales betraying its obvious rage. Confusion hit the soldiers, followed shortly by fear. None present had seen a dragon in the flesh, and tales of the terrible damage they wrought suddenly exaggerated themselves within the minds of the legionaries. Some turned tail, and vanished into the fleeing crowds, but others stood their ground; the pride of the Empire thick in their guts.

A score of soldiers, their tower shields held high and their swords drawn, broke through the crowd and formed a loose circle around the dragon, knocking any civilians aside with little regard for their well being. They looked up at the monster, determined to slay the evil, but lacking the means. A gladius could only reach so far.

And then an arrow whizzed by, followed shortly by another, as a band of the garrison's auxiliary troops stormed down the roadway. In the distance, bells started to ring, echoing across the city. More would come, and soon.

There would be no diplomacy with the beast, nor would there be any mercy.

The old wizard shambled his way into Atrium at the precise moment a dragon whelp arose into the sky. What uncanny luck... he thought ironically, knowing full well that this town would force him out if he did even the most simplest spell. However, it was interesting to see a young dragon in these parts. With a pain-wracking cough running throughout his body, Aramil continued his way further into the town, his pace quickened. Already the cries of fear and rage reached his ears, the hysteria of knowing that a dragon was within their town was enough to cause many of the folk to run past him. Nevertheless, the old wizard did not slow and he pressed on, ignoring the arrows that landed by him after their arc came to an end.

Aramil arrived just in the time, for it was merely the beginning of the garrison's assault. He heard the bootsteps of many more rushing closer into the city and he gave another cough, his right hand becoming coated in blood. It has been too long, Aramil thought, his eyes drifting to his flask. Already he felt weak-kneed and exhausted, his bones aching with an otherworldly cold. The wizard shrugged the thought away and simply stood behind the current ranks. More were coming and he would need to stop this before it escalated.

The wizard tapped his staff three times onto the cobblestones, muttering an arcane syllable, causing the crystal ball atop it to come to life with a simple cantrip: an ancient dragon's bellow. Throughout this all, Aramil looked skyward towards the dragon whelp, whose dark silhouette was plastered onto the darkening clouds of a coming storm.

Wal tried to stop the garrison as they came for the dragon, but they gave him no patience at all. It was ok while there were just footsoldiers with shields. They made their circle in a feeble attempt to contain the dragon. Wal was fine with this, nothing would happen yet, but soon arrows began to fly by the dragon and bounce off of her hide. Wal was getting worried now, they could seriously hurt her and no one was trying to help from what he could tell. Wal sprang into action as he decided to be the one to help her.

He ran up behind a tower shield guard and lept off of him onto a nearby foodstand. Then he used that to run to a nearby building and caught the top of the tavern with his ax. He launched himself onto the tavern. Giving himself a running start he lept off the tavern at the dragon. He landed on her back and began to deflect as many arrows as he could while maintaining balance. He had been through a lot balance training, but this was a whole new level. As long as she didn't try to throw him off, he would be able to maintain balance and help her ward off arrows, but otherwise he was going to be thrown easily.

Location: Actium

Sarai began backpedaling as quickly as she could. To say that this was an unexpected turn of events was . . . actually, that would be a lie. The girl suspected that something like this would happen ever since Luca began walking away. She'd suspected that there was something not quite normal about her, and her suspcions were proven correct.

Too correct, in fact. Of course Pyria had to be a bloody dragon!

She watched as the inevitable chaos following the rampage of a dragon whelp in the middle of a crowded city unfolded. As if in response to it, the weather gleefully provided an excellent backdrop for the disaster and a peel of thunder heralded the beginning of the storm. The city guards ran towards Pyria, and more and more people gathered to put her down. Sarai watched as one of the two adventuring beggars talked about hurting her, and bit down on her lower lip. This was an impossibly huge incident, and she hadn't even begun her venture towards the Tower!

More than that, however, was what she should do now. What was her place in all this? She had only come here to witness the displays of death that were so prominent, and yet, here she was, stuck in the middle of an unqualified disaster. What was she supposed to do? More than that, what could she do? Her talent for the dead aside, she was first and foremost a skilled healer. She couldn't fight, and had no means of stopping the . . . or maybe . . .

Perhaps there was something she could do? It was a long shot, and she had no idea what the outcome would be, even if it worked as intended, but there was nothing else that she could think of at this point.

"P-Pyria!" she called out over the din, hoping against everything that she could be heard. "When you hear someone s-singing, fly! Fly as fast as possible out of the city!"

So Sarai ran. She ran towards the nearest and tallest structure she could find and climbed all the way to the top. Ducking behind a barrel so as to conceal herself, she took deep, steady breathes and sang.

It started as a surreal, haunting note; beautiful, but also sad and depressing, as if a reminder to everyone that not everything that was morbid was repulsive. Despite the storm, each note sang was as clear as the sun on a cloudless day, and softly entered the ears and hearts of everyone within range of her voice. It filled their minds with images of death, and the pointless struggles of life. Only those that have accepted the outcome of dying right here and now would be able to resist the message of the song she sang, and only these people could resist the gradual weakening of their bodies.

Whether it was the dragon Pyria or some random guard, the prerequisite to resist her song meant accepting death. In her mind, Sarai hoped that by weakening the minds and bodies of everyone present, then perhaps everyone would stand down just long enough for the dragon whelp to escape. At least, that was what she hoped would happen.

Location: Iron Forest

"Upon my honor, I swear that so long as you hold up your own, I will do no harm to you on purpose," said Thorn, clearly outlining his terms. "If ever I were to cause you harm, then it will not have been my intent." As it was for Ramius, so too did Thorn feel strange at the thought of actually working with anyone on the basis of trust. His years spent in isolation had made loneliness his only companion - well, loneliness and Steadfast, but the steed was not much for conversation.

It was with great surprise that Thorn found himself elated at the prospect of working with Ramius, and he readily shook his hand. He found no grievous error in his character - no error that he could fault him for, in any case - and for once in his un-life, was eager for the next day. Then Ramius spoke up once more and Thorn froze.

There was no flashback, no tug of war between the two wills of Thomas and Thorn, and not struggle to maintain his sanity. No, this was something . . . different. Unique from those.

The knight broke into roaring laughter, laughter he had not experienced in a long, long time. He felt his heart roar with satisfaction and his mind in agreement with his heart. He turned to Ramius, and took of his helmet to reveal the face of the once upon a time hero.

"My friend Ramius, you've no idea how much of a favor you have done me by with those words," said Thorn. "For too long I have languished, without purpose and without cause, unwilling to accept undeath and yet, unwilling to part with it without reason. Your words, no, your mission has given me both reason and will to fight once more." Now, there was genuine emotion in his words, and Thorn felt as if he were finally here, back in the present, but now, he was no longer tied to the past.

No, it would be better to say that past and present were finally in accord. Thomas and Thorn working together, because:

"The goal you have, it is a noble one! To release one's liege from the curse that torments him is an honorable cause. Yes, if the living cannot achieve this task, I see no reason why the dead cannot attempt it!" And once again, Thorn laughed. "I retract my oath, Ramius. I will not just be assisting you with this endeavor! I will be your sworn ally, and your cause shall be mine as well. I will do everything in my power to make sure our goal reaches its rightful end!

This was now truly a quest worthy of the name of Thomas! And Thorn would be the one to carry it out. A noble ally, a heroic cause, and long odds that they would have to brave. Is this not what he had to face in life? What difference did it make that he now did so in death?

None! None at all!

Serpica peered at Al from the back of the wagon, still sniffling and whining. She rocked back and forth as she shivered in the cold and the fear, and managed to choke out a response.

"I don't wanna hurt her," she choked through the tears, trying to get about a gallon of snot back into her head, "b-but she's gonna kill us if we don't fight back, right?"

She wiped her eyes with her thin, filthy arm, leaving a muddy streak across her face.

"You're more experienced with these things, so I'll leave the decision to you," Serpica muttered, looking to the floor of the wagon as if it might have the answers she was looking for, "this is the sort of thing adventurers do, right? I can do it. I'll do it. I'll still go with you. Anything is better than living like this."

Then she heard more loud roaring and a sad song, as if someone was mocking her feelings. She covered her ears, because she didn't need any more stuff in her head right now. Not roaring, and certainly not a stupid sad song.

"STOP YOUR STUPID SINGING," she shouted, still sniffling, "THIS SONG IS DUMB! YOU'RE DUMB!"

Al glanced behind him at the sobbing girl, and heaved a sigh. Shouldering his heavy blade, he stepped into the bed of the wagon, and lifted up the manacle.
"If you don't wanna hurt her, fine. But let's give this back before we bail." he said. "Hold this."

The swordsman left his claymore in Serpica's lap, and tossed the manacle between his palms. The iron bracelet had heft, and the target, he saw, had a rider, some deranged elf who decided to protect her for reasons even he couldn't discern. Elves were weird. But still, the target was a bright red, easily discerned against the stormy sky.

Al's foot arced in the air, before swinging down. His entire arm grew taut as his hand followed through. The manacle left the wagon at blinding speeds, faster than even a crossbow bolt. Its target: the dragon's snout.

"And with that, we can... what's that noise?" he asked, looking around. "What's the, hey. HEY GET OFF THE ROOF."

And then, chaos unfolded. Pyria kept aloft above a considerable height by batting her wings furiously, eyes fixated in Luca. Sensing some sort of icy magic gathering around the man. All while he was perfectly willing to stay in the middle. Brave, but not very wise. And humans begin to bleed inside the place, with weapons in tow, looking mightyly pissed. In her deluded eyes, a clear sign of betrayal. They had been planning to do this from the very start.

"NOT EVEN THE GARRISON WILL SAVE YOU, LUCA." Pyria bellowed once more, and then several things happened in quick succesion. Someone made a draconic sound, which made Pyria turn her face in hope and antipacipation. She was not alone! But... it turned to be quite a trick. No other dragon was there. More human trickery, they all wanted to fight her. Have a piece of her hide. She couldn't trust any of them. They all were with Luca!

And then, the funny elf from before decided to jump on top of her as arrows rained. She arched under the weight, quickly losing altitude, as she shook the perp off. Even the elf wanted to make her taste the pain. There wasn't a single soul in the world who would help her. She didn't any help. And then a deafening song struck her senses, images of death and pain weakening her mind. Shaking her head, she winced slightly as she struggled to keep aloft, more arrows being thrown in her direction.

And then a manacle -her own manacle- collided against her snout, drawing blood in the process, and knocking a couple of teeth out. She reeled back, stunned, and almost fell to the ground, coming dangerously close to the garrison's blade's reach, before finally shaking him off. All while the song kept sapping her strenght. Pyria was feeling being quickly overwhelmed. She may not win this fight. She may not live through this ordeal. Her short life could end at any moment.

But...there were so many things to do. She couldn't die just yet. Not without a last blaze of glory. Fire ignited inside her mind. Washing all thoughts. Washing all traces of the ugly song. Newfound power coursed through her veins. Wrath. Desperation. Hatred. A true inferno inside the confines of her mind. Powering through the arrows, the storm, and whatever lame attacks the humans threw at her, Pyria managed to rise above once more.



A deafening powerful roar, full of vindictiveness and hatred overpowered momentarily the song, the yells of men and orders, and even the thunders of the storm. Whelp or not. Young or not. She was still a dragon. A force of nature in her own. She stood aloft for the briefest moment, before ascending. Climbing. Higher. Into the clouds of the storm even.

Only some fool would take this for a retreat. She was preparing something much, much worse. Abandoning all hesitation, doubt and grief, Pyria braced herself. If she was to end up dead, battered and bleeding because of the attack, she would not care. When enough altitude was gained, she then flipped overself and began her dive. Gaining speed. What she lacked in physical maturity, she would use the speed of the flight to compensate. Faster. And faster. And then, in a deft move, she levelled her flight horizontally, just above the reach of people's blades.

Flames flickered in her mouth as she chose her central target. She exhaled deeply, and the whole scene was set on fire quickly around her, a fierce strafe run quickly carving a trail of destruction with Luca as the main target, threatening to burn him to the bone.

---

"Human arrogance is certainly something." Tsabal shook her head as the mage quickly vanished after spewing some vague threats at her. Not like she feared the fool anyway. His lack of better judgement had cost him allies. If he was just as deft with his magic as he was with recruiting potential allies, he would have a hard time not smacking himself in the face with the staff. Tsabal gripped the pommel of her weapon slightly.

"I think this is how far we go with the attempts to form a powerful group to venture forth into the tower. Haa, it showed quite some potential. A waste." Tsabal elaborated on, before pondering on something. Her eyes went back and forth to the mixbreed and the elf. One is an abomination and the other one of the eternal enemies. Still both do have considerable restraint.

"Hm. Or maybe not. Three of us remain. We could do it on our own. It'll be a far shot, but I have to admit, I have no guarantee that the next people to come over will be even worse. At least you two are elves. Hatred enemies aside, It'll make you less prone to rush into things like that mage just did." She put a hand on her hip.

"So, I'll join you, if you wish to make a shot at it." The cleric hummed in a slightly singsong voice, as she took care of her donkey. All while the guards frowned at her.

Maintaining his focus on the dragon above and his chanting, Luca was near oblivious to the soldiers moving in to surround the scene. He barely even saw the elf from before in his wild charge and insane attempt to help Pyria. Nor did he notice the hail of arrows, nor the steadily growing rain. The roar of another dragon caught his attention, but could not disrupt him when he was this deep in the flow of the Raven Queen's magic. The return of Pyria's manacle to her went unnoticed as well, though it's effect did not. It was only when a clear voice rose above the storm that he missed a beat. It was not enough to disrupt the magic he was preparing, but it demanded attention.

Sarai's song brought to mind Luca's patron deity, albeit a darker aspect of her than he typically saw. Through his eyes, the world shifted subtly. No longer was he simply warding off the tantrum of an angry dragon, he was fighting for his life. One of them would likely pass from this world before the fight was through. Death did not frighten Luca, for he knew it was the true fate of all things. If it was time for him to meet the Raven Queen, then so be it. But he would not simply lay down and die. As his chanting grew stronger once more, at seemed to flow with the melody of Sarai's singing.

Finally, Pyria began to make her move. She started to ascend high into the air, and Luca recognized the preparation for a dive from watching birds of prey during his time in the temple. The high towers had been the perfect place to watch owls late at night. The priest would not lose focus of his opponent. Eyes on the air, he waited for her to reappear from the clouds. When finally she streaked toward the ground, his chanting ended and a voice cut through the air.

"I am done with thee, dragonling! This soul belongs to the Raven Queen and none other. May the bite of the Winter wind drive this truth into your mind!" Even as the words left Luca's lips, a harsh cold wind began to gather. As flames washed the cobblestones, he was ready with his rebuke. Unleashing the strength of his Queen's wrath, he directed the icy blast toward Pyria. Rain froze as blizzard winds blew through the square, pelting everyone present with tiny pellets of ice. The fire directed at him would be blown to either side, and hopefully extinguished before it could do any real harm.

Though the strong wind was powerful and extremely cold, it was nothing worse than a harsh northern storm could bring. Nobody would be unduly injured by the spell, unless they were unfortunate enough to be blown from their feet and dashed against the hard ground. Even Pyria had a good chance of avoiding being hurt, if she could fly above the wind before it caused her to lose control of her flight.

---

Liliana stood as one stunned while Gripus delivered his parting words to the other women. By the way he spoke, his intentions were clear. The Mage was done with the lot of them. Disbelief kept her silent until he finally turned to face her. The way he looked at her confirmed that he would be abandoning her as well, perhaps for good. The thought of that made her sad at first, and disappointment filled her. Then anger swelled in her chest. Her people and her faith had left her behind, and now she would be standing in the Bane of Morven's dust as he went away to die. She did not want his warnings or farewell.

"You think you can just-" Even as she reached out to grab Gripus, he vanished from Liliana's sight. "Leave...?" She stared in confusion at the space he had vacated until Tsabal spoke up, drawing her attention. Turning to the Drow, she crossed her arms over her chest. Once again, the Crone spoke reason. The three remaining would be a formidable force even without the Mage.

"I see no reason why we should not make our own attempt, especially if Gripus expects to fail. Having some knowledge of his abilities, is unfortunate that he left. That human was a powerful Arcanist unlike others of his kind. Perhaps he shall clear part of the way for us in his madness and eagerness to die." If Gripus was done with her, then she was with him. Liliana would do as she had before, and move on to seek her true purpose. If that meant traveling with the other two elves, then she would do so. Perhaps it would be better than dealing with the old man after all.

The rain came down hard, and held an icy value. Gripus shivered beneath his thick robes as water drenched his arcane flesh, filtering its way through to the decrepit body beyond.

"What are you doing, old man?" he mumbled to himself; Shadowmere snorted with indifference. "Going alone, on a last chance glory march of questionable redemption."

I had a part in this evil, like many others. It must be me to finish him.

"Yes but why?" Lightning momentarily broke the monotony of the grey sky. "You said yourself - you bear no more of the burden than hundreds of others. You weren't the only survivor, not by far, and it wasn't you who decided it wise to cast Magnor's body to the sea."

I should have returned to break that tower.

"The Magi should have returned," he grumbled. "You spent six weeks recovering from green flames that tore flesh from your bones, and then you resigned. Why do you persist in this guilt? It is not yours to claim."

Leave me alone.

"Oh Gripus, you are a funny one," he finished, as a shadow crossed the extremity of his vision.

A lone corpse, its body limp and seemingly suspended on a singular string, crept forwards from the darkness of Corpsewood. Mottled flesh, blackened bone and soulless pearls confronted him in all its undead horror. The Mage did not immediately react, and regarded the visitor as an interesting passer-by.

I should have stayed at Magnus.

"Nonsense," Gripus chirped cheerily, smiling at the abomination shambling towards him. "It's not for you to caress the egos of children, who would rather piss-pat over imagined injury than prevent a world wide catastrophe."

True enough.

The Mage raised his hand at the creature, its features clearly visible as it stumbled onto the decrepit paving of the old roadway. It had been a woman once, possibly an elf; she wore the fashion of another time. The necromancy imbuing the corrupted vessel was weak, a mere echo. With a slight effort of focus, Gripus released the creature of its torment. Rotted joints and brittle bones gave way in a small avalanche, as he dispelled the necromancy holding the former Elf maiden together.

"Be at peace," Gripus mumbled, fearing he would be repeating those words a few thousand times before he reached his destination.

Lightning struck out across the sky, and the rain continued to fall.

The old wizard took careful note of the dragon whelp's expression when it turned to his general direction. It appeared hopeful, then somber, and finally enraged. He was hoping to bring out her curiosity more than anything, but this also proved fruitful in his endeavors. She was alone and she had finally let the anger and loneliness consume her in a fit of rage. A childish temper tantrum. He also took note of everyone else who took action as he performed his cantrip; everyone was trying to bring down the dragon in some way. Save one, who was apparently hidden and singing. The song was laced with magic and were he some other wizard who did not endure the sickness that currently dwelled within him or the life full of death that broke him, it may have affected him. Aramil, however, would not be swayed, for his continuous pursuit of knowledge was paved in blood, some of which was his own. Knowledge and power... he was willing to die for these things.

The chaos in the square was escalating, and he very badly wanted the dragon to live. So much could be learned from her, and he much preferred her alive rather than dead. Aramil had a soft spot for children; were she full grown and at her prime, he would not care either way how he gathered information from her. As a whelp, she was just as scared and as desperate as the rest of them. He needed to act quickly to assist in the calming of the people and he would not dare cast anything more than a simple trick. His mind raced, the seconds feeling like an eternity; yet everything slowed down. Unfortunately, a manacle collided with her snout, raining blood and teeth from the impact. The dragon bellowed an infernal roar, ascending further. Embers became visible to the old man, but he knew quite well how harrowing this could be for everyone. And then, like an arrow on high, she descended with such speed and precision that Aramil began to consider a spell that could render him physically weak. It grew even worse as the young man that had caused the incident, much further down the road, had turned and launched a spell of sorts. His magic was interesting and foreign to Aramil, but the wizard did not wish focus on him.

The dragon was the key to ending this nonsense.

However, the spell launched by the youth had the strength of a powerful storm. Aramil could do little but brace himself, only to skid back and slip. He fell backward and tumbled, his physical strength drained. The wizard needed his concoction, needed his vitality. The flask was empty and he cursed under his breath. Without much more to do, he took the blood that he had coughed up into his hand and began a low chant, drawing a bloody circle of magic. When the chant reached its end, the wizard infused his energy into the tiny circle and cried in a deep, raspy baritone:



Without the aid of his blood, the spell would not have been potent; however, the spell was beyond his normal power because of the strength of his component, even if diluted by the disease and saliva. A wave of rolling green mist appeared from the circle, flecks of emerald starlight within its depth. Those who were caught in the spell would feel waves of calm, perhaps even dream-like euphoria. It was a powerful Calm spell and it drained the wizard greatly, using his own blood as a conduit. The spell rolled swiftly from the circle and rose high into the air, about 20 feet if not a little more with its escaping wisps. The circle would provide the rest of the energy he no longer had to expand, and he knew quite well that it could fill the square.

The old man sighed as his sight began looking down a long tunnel. He needed to remain awake...

Ramius Kastagir
Location: Iron Forest

"Ha! Splendid, splendid! Magnificent!" Ramius spread his arms and nodded in agreement. He obviously still did not quite believe his luck, but had obviously chosen for now to at least try. He turned on his heels and picked up the banner with his right hand. "I accept your assistance, sir Thorn. I accept it with great pride!" The White Raven paused, staring towards the south-west, towards their destination - Emperor's Folly. "I suggest we head to our destination by the shortest route. Emperor's Folly is not that far from here - unlike the living we hopefully have no need to fight our own kind... Though my blades could do with the taste of flesh, be it that of the living or dead." The flame in his right eye died down completely and the revenant very casually gouged it out. "What say you? Shall we head to Emperor's Folly right away or should we perhaps seek the Bane of Morven first? Perhaps he'll cross our path by luck..." Ramius rolled his eye and slightly shook his head. He had already gotten his stroke of luck for the day. There would most likely not be another such in a long time.