The bloody steppe, the badlands, the wild country. People have many names for it, but in the tounge of the native Taniwhans it is called Koraha. It is seemingly endless place, stretching from the Maunga mountain range in the frozen north to the high peaks of the Tokas in the sweating south, divided only by the great river Awa which tears through the neverending leagues of grassland like a great ugly scar. It is the home of many forms of life, both beast and people, and has stood witness to the rise and fall of many civilizations. Dotted through the landscape are the great ruins of the ancients, foremost of which are the great skybridges that run uninterrupted from north to south in great arches, hundreds of feet above ground. Below rages the bloody struggle of everyday life; beast eats beast, beast eats man, man eats beast and, in some cases, man eats man. It is a dangerous place, no doubt, but also a free place. It is said that even in the time of the ancients, Koraha was much the same as it is today. Undisturbed, pure wilderness.

It sure feels that way to you.

For one reason or another, you are here. Here in this, the very heart of the wild, an eternity away from the cities and civilizations of the rest of the world. How you got here is a story of its own, but the story of what you did here is just beginning.

---

It has been days since you last saw anyone else, beside distant herds of wild horses and other creatures. Days since you last spoke. Then suddenly, as you were about to call it a day and make camp for the night, you see something. High upon a hill in the distance you see a light, perhaps from a fire. It is not too long a way away to reach before darkness envelops the land. You can't make out the details from here, so there might be anything there from a lone wanderer like you, to a dozen bloodthirsty Taniwhans. The question is if you will risk the dangers for the possible reward of company.

Sir Rolf kicked at the ground, puffing up even more dust than the fleeing horses had already flung into the air. They were mostly wild horses, and he didn't have the time or knowledge to break and train one of those, but he had spotted the colored silks and linens of knights of Raech, and he knew some of them were survivors of the last few days' battles, just like him. The trouble was that they ran with the wild ones now, and when he approached, they all fled together.

It was getting dark, and he knew he'd need to make camp soon, but with no food he almost didn't see the point. His power armor would support him if he decided to just walk, so maybe that was the best choice? He could point himself east and hope he ran into a Raech town or sentry post. He was searching the sky for astronomical markers to determine direction when he saw a different sort of light. A camp fire? It could be another survivor, he reasoned. It might be work approaching, at least to rule that out.

Rolf drew his great sword, and started walking toward the light.

~Mo'Rahv VI~
~Koraha~

Rahviarra, Mo'Rahv's home city. A bustling place with enthused people all around, a cheerful and exciting contrast to this place. Koraha, a massive unending steppe filled to the brim with mystery, wild life and dread. It would be hard to imagine why a person of Mo'Rahv's stature would be anywhere near a place like this, but that time of questioning is long passed. Mo'Rahv, now on his 5^th day in the forsaken lands, Has not yet seen another human or person.

Mo'Rahv's tent shakes and collapses as a breeze flows over the korahanian fields, it was an oddly warm breeze for the time of day it was. Everytime I'm about to finish the tent, it gets knocked over...It's always just before I put the last two pegs in.... Mo'Rahv sighed as he relaxed his head backwards.

It was at this time when a light, not bright enough to blind, but bright enough to be seen for miles, caught 'Rahv's eye. A phenomenon that sparked his interest in it's entirety. The possibility of a Taniwhan trap or the sun shinning off the mountain in a certain way didn't even occur to Mo'Rahv before he decided to venture forth towards it. Mo'Rahv was so desperate to see another coherent being nothing else seemed to matter at that point. He started to gather his things, and eventually move on. Leaving his tent in shambles on the ground, a campfire that is primed to be lit and a makeshift pillow laying there ready for anybody to take. Mo'Rahv collected his necessities and naively made way towards the light.

The winds blew the dirt around in waves. Every surge of wind threw earth into Worden's face. He was anything but quiet. With the collective sound of his heavy breathing, the large lumbering steps of Charlie, and Worden's voice, the party of two created a parade of noise, losing all hopes of stealth.

Even though things seemed grim, Worden wore a gentle smile on his face as he walked. He talked and talked to Charlie even though he knew it had no real consciousness. Every word fell against deaf ears. Yet he continued to talk more so to keep himself sane than to be heard by anyone. Coming across a small hill, Worden decided to climb it instead of walk around. As he got to the top, the sun, previously blocked, now shined in his face. He shielded his eyes and looked around. Charlie came rumbling up beside him and stood still, as if waiting for Worden to say something. Though he did not say anything. He continued surveying the area until his eyes rested on a light off in the distance. Whether it was a fire or some other source of light, he did not know. Only that the light must have been created by someone else. A smile spread across Worden's face as he began running down the hill towards the light.

At the top of the hill you spot a small open tent, an equally small fire in front of it. Arranged around the tent are small charms of some kind - sticks, stones, bones and feathers tied in intricate patterns, almost like dreamcatchers. Inside the tent sits a person, crosslegged. The person is dressed in a simple hooded poncho and wears a mask which covers its face. Judging from its revealed skin, the person is very old; its hand is wrinkled and veiny. As the first of you approach, the person turns its head towards you.

'So' it says in the voice of an old man, 'You've finally come to claim me.' He pauses for a bit before continuing, seemingly looking you over. 'I must admit, I did not expect the Cinnidhean to send someone like you. Truly, the world is changing. Before you kill me, would you grant me one last request?'

The wind tuggs at the tent, causing some of the charms to jingle and clatter. For the moment, the two of you are alone.

Rolf was not sure what to make of several things in succession. First the charms, he didn't recognize them. Were they a primitive form of heraldry? Or were they some mystical nonsense? Possibly both, the tent might need to be burned, depending on the man(?) who sat in front of it, who was the second thing that gave the knight pause. The third was the mask that the figure wore, but Rolf checked his courtesies and realized he was also covering his face. The last strange thing, was that the man seemed to think Rolf was someone or something else entirely.

Sir Rolf leaned his greatsword against one shoulder while his left hand undid the fastener on this helmet and he took it off to reveal his haggard face underneath.

"I am not who or what you think, good, er, fellow. I am a knight of Raech, in fact. Sir Rolf Ashfoot, of Attenborough. Would you do me the courtesy of giving me your name, and showing me your face? Though I am not who you think, I may consider whatever request you ask of me, if the cause is just."

'You are... not of the Cinnidhean?' the man says, thoughtfully. 'That does not make sense. You... huh. It seems the world has changed more than I know. But!' he exclaims, raising a finger as though having an idea, 'That means I have more time.'

He indicates towards the fire with a wrinkled hand and says 'Sit, please. I have many names, but some call me Slépti. And this-' he points to his mask, '-is the face I have chosen to show you. We shall speak, you and I. Before they come to claim me.'

~Mo'Rahv VI~
~Climbing towards the summit of a mountain (Koraha)~

His legs ached more and more with every step he took, a mountain like this should be nothing, but it proved otherwise. If Mo'Rahv had taken a break when he'd planned or even took an easier route, this may have been nothing. Mo'Rahv trudged up the mountainside, letting rocks plummet downwards with every misstep. His eagerness to find the light blinded him, if he'd planned more carefully he would have took the easier but slightly longer route, a path that winded upwards towards the summit. Instead, he climbed up the side of the mountain with only his duel weapons to be used as makeshift ice axes. Mo'Rahv had finally made it when he'd noticed the slop declining from a dreadful 45 degrees. Mo'Rahv had finally reached the destination he'd been aiming for, the light in the distance.

The light in the distance, which Mo'Rahv had made his goal to inspect, was nothing more than a campfire, a shoddy one at that. Mo'Rahv hunched over with a slight disappointed expression. He than heard something, it was the wind brushing over the mountain tops creating an airway of sound like a whistle...No, it was something else... Voices.

Mo'Rahv Perched up and headed towards the tent, opening the flap wildly, as if he expected someone to yell surprise. It was quite the opposite, it was two men sitting by each other talking. One was wearing a weird wooden mask, the other clad in a familiar armor. Under the mask, were the neck showed, it was obvious to 'Rahv that the masked man was old. The other man in the armor was much harder to identify, but the insignia on the armor proved who he might be. A place called Reach had houses that ruled over parts of the land, this sigil belonged to one of the houses, to which was not of Mo'Rahv's knowing. Mo'Rahv looked over the two men, having nothing to say to them that seemed appropriate. To think, after wanting nothing more but to have a conversation with someone, when the time comes, Mo'Rahv is speechless.

Not utterly speechless, though, he did eventually speak up after some awkward moments,"Finally, other people. At least I know I haven't gone bonkers yet."

Worden was exhausted. He decided to take the longer path to the summit of the mountain. He would have gone steeper but the giant mechanical turtle accompanying him wasn't the best at manuevering. The gravel and debris crunched beneath Worden's feet and even more so under Charlie's. They made a lot of noise as they climbed the mountain. His face was wrought with worry. He knew how noisy his contraption was. So as he neared the summit and heard the voices in the distance, he turned to Charlie.

"Stay here for now. I'll be back." He said to the thoughtless golem. As Worden walked away, the monster seemed to understand the basic order given to it. It stayed in place. Worden was now making much less noise. With his sword and shield strapped to his back, he entered the small campsite. He saw three people and each of them dramatically different than the other. Without saying a word, he stepped close enough to hear their words, hoping they didn't hear him.

The man looks up at the the newcomers and tilts his head to the side. 'More strangers' he muses, 'And also not of the Cinnidhean, I think. Most peculiar. Sit, traveller. I am known as Slépti. It seems that we have business.'

He reaches for something behind him and produces a small kettle, which he fastens to a twig and hangs over the fire. He then fills it with water from a small jug and drops a handfull of dried leaves into it. The smell of sweet herbs soon fills the tent. He stirs the brew with a wooden ladel, all the while staying silent. After a few moments he scoops up a mouthful from the pot, tastes it and nods. He then offers each of you a clay cup. 'Tea' he says, 'Help yourselves'.

The camp is silent, apart from the clattering of the charms and the crackling of the fire.

Suddenly, he speaks. 'I know not how you came to be here' he begins, slowly, 'But I am not ignorant of its significance. You may not think it, but you were meant to be here, and I can only think of one reason why. You must continue what I have started.'

~Mo'Rahv VI~
~Campfire on the Mountain summit (Koraha)~

Gusts of wind would blow over the make-shift campsite, making the flames of the fire dance like the nobles of old. The crackling of the fire made the silence more bearable, a silence that Mo'Rahv had enough of. It's been days since the lone traveler had the company of man, and now that there was company, Mo'Rahv wasn't going to sit here and not talk. He shifted in his gear, standing there and doing nothing makes the cloth on his armor stick to his skin, a feeling most uncomfortable. Mo'Rahv cleared his throat with a cough, ready to speak up to the other two. But, as he was about to speak, the old man bagan to talk.

He listened to the old mans words as he lets the aroma of his tea fill the air of the tent. Mo'Rahv was just outside the tent, but he could still smell the sweet scent of the tea as if he wasn't. It made his stomach growl, a feeling he ignored as he listened to the old man. Naturally, Mo'Rahv was skeptical of this man, his words were profound and, frankly, a bit odd. Mo'Rahv had came to Koraha on business, more or less, and he had no intentions of completing a greater motive. The words the old man spoke of seemed to be the fuel for a man who's superstitious, something Mo'Rahv wasn't.

Mo'Rahv wasn't the kind of person to fly off the handle at every little thing, if something grined his gears he would think of the proper choice of words to combat it. But in this case, there wasn't anything to argue, but rather, something to question.

"And what exactly did 'you' start??" Mo'Rahv said in a deep voice, the tone seeming a bit condescending.

'I started a fight' the old man replies, 'A very long time ago. I started it because no one else would. Because it had to be done. All my life I have been fighting. But no more. I am too old.'

He is still and quiet for some time, then softly chuckles. 'How does one explain something like this?' he mumbles, 'I have not spoken about this to anyone for a long, long time. It is almost beyond explaining at this point. I know what I know because I must know it, but how...' He pauses and clicks his tounge, 'How do I make you know also?'

Erik Ricekeeper

---

Down the mountain, the wind blew, carrying the scent of fire. Erik's eyes narrowed at the smell and the man turned to look in the direction it had come from. He slowly stood and stretched from his little camp, as he had taken to napping in the late day so as to stay active into the night. The steppes had always been dangerous during the day, but it was in the early hours of the night that the more cunning predators stalked. Silently the archer strung his bow, a surprising feat of strength, given the man's frame. He didn't sling it across his back, but instead held it, positioning his quiver at his waist.

It was silent, but for the whistling wind. Shadows from the slight hills were beginning to stretch and devour the land, but Erik didn't avoid them, instead choosing to skirt within them. It was best to avoid casting a shadow, and silhouettes could be seen from a great distance. Already however, he could see the light from the fire atop a large hill. Certainly a camp, though one would have to be brave to risk shining that light across the steppes. It was a beacon, but to what?

The huntsman examined the slope of the small mountain with distaste. Rocky, loose. It would be hard to approach the camp without being observed. He took a breath and patiently began a wide circle around the mount, hoping to find a path that wouldn't require him to show his presence.

More were coming, but Rolf seemed to be in a safe place right now, so with the offer of tea he he began to undo his armor. There were bolts behind his hips, and after undoing them the back of his chestplate flipped upward, allowing him to step backwards(a little clumsily without a squire) out of his armor. His head was momentarily caught under the cape that he had forgotten to remove, but he flipped it over the now free-standing armor's head and sat down by the fire.

His clothes underneath were originally crisp, but plain gray and orange linens, but now they were wrinkled and smelled of sweat. He was shorter out of the armor, but broad shouldered and not small by any means. He gladly accepted the tea. He didn't need it to warm him, but the liquid and the meager energy it gave him were a gods send. With tea in hand, he listened to the man's explanations.

Rolf twirled two fingers in a "get on with it" motion. "You're speaking in riddles. If your cause is worthy I will gladly lend my sword to it, but I must know it first." His voice was deep with a tired rasp to it.

Worden came closer and knelt down near the fire. The light reflected off his eyes as he assessed the situation. These people before him seemed to not want to harm him. Though he seemed weary of others, he had also not seen anyone sane, much less anyone at all, in a very long time. He forwent any fears he may have had about the trustworthiness of others and decided to listen to the old man's story. His expression was that of worry but he still smiled at the man, urging him on with his story. He decided not to speak, as he did not want to provoke anyone or give them hints of where he lived. Instead he just listened and waited, taking note of the others and their composures. He looked back, as if remembering the large mechanism he left behind. He could go back to get it, either to protect it or himself, or he could leave it. It was sturdy and Worden didn't seem to be in any trouble anyway. He just focused his attention back to the fire and the group, waiting to hear the old man's tale.

"Then I will try to tell you, master knight, as well as I can! But where to begin..."

The old man is silent for a few moments more, before producing a fistful of leaves from a pouch under his poncho. He throws the leaves at the fire, which instantly starts to burn with increased ferocity. Shapes, like shadowy silhouettes of people, starts taking form in the raging flames.

'A very long time ago I was part of a great order of magi. At the time we were the most learned on the subject of the ancients and their ways in the world. One of my peers in the order, a woman of the Iwi people, was more learned than even most of the rest of us combined. She discovered something. A great power. It seemed that the ancients had found out the greatest of mysteries, or at least part of it. They had somehow learned to cheat death.'

The shadows in the fire have taken on the shape of a circle of people, moving in circles. In their midst stands a taller one in the shape of a woman. Suddenly, a few of them breaks apart and forms a circle of their own.

'The secret was not that of prolonged life, but a way to stop time. Or, at least to make it move in a controlled and never ending loop. With this power the ancients could have ruled the world indefinetly. Such power does not come without a cost, however. A great source of mana had to be found, and from what we learned the ancients did find it... But failed to control it. It heralded their doom.

The Iwi woman was certain she could succeed where the ancients had failed, given time. Others in the order, myself included, thought otherwise. These are powers not even the ancients understood fully. To tamper with them without a complete understanding could lead to disaster. We set ourselves against her, but she had already found allies of her own. They were more numerous, and she was stronger. The order succumbed to infighting and my friends and I became hunted prey.'

The circle with the tall woman in their midst starts to spin faster and faster, until it becomes a frenzied wheel. It then moves outwards and crashes into the second circle, swallowing or scattering its figures.

'I have fled and fought ever since, to thwart and stall the Iwi woman and her agents wherever I can. As far as I know, I am the last one alive. And tonight they come to claim me. I can run no more. They come tonight not because they need to destroy me, but to capture me. I have found something, you see, in my travels. I have found the last living one of the ancients. And he holds all the answers they seek.'

The mad wheel now spins around a shape in its midst, a shape looking eerily like a small camp on top of a hill. It begins to shrink in towards it.

'So you see, friends, that I can go no further. But you might. I can tell you where to find this last survivor of the ancients. Then you can, you must, continue the struggle and prevent the Iwi woman and her followers from reaching their goal. If you do not, I fear for the world and for the people in it.'

He suddenly snaps upright and stares off into the night. You can hear voices on the wind.

'They will soon be here. Do not raise arms against them, it will do you no good. Do nothing, for now, and all will be well.'

~Mo'Rahv VI~
~The Campsite (Mountain Summit)~

Mo'Rahv's head shifted downwards, looking at the cobbled stones that littered the grass on this mountain top. Mo'Rahv's face turned a grim expression, It was hard to discern whether this man's words were genuine or not, but if they weren't why would he go through all this trouble of the campsite on a mountain? Mo'Rahv thought about it more, and ultimately believed the old man, thinking of what he said. Having a handful of people of the power of eternal life would have major ramifications on both society and the world. Also, to even acquire this power, the mana used would need to be nigh limitless. Where can one find such a power? There is no way one simple Iwi women can handle such a burden of magic. Mo'Rahv raised his clothed hand to his forehead where he'd wipe away the sweat that's been building since the old man started speaking.

Mo'Rahv straightened his back and looked to the others, "Naturally we must stop the Iwi women. But the means of doing it will be nothing short of difficult..." Mo'Rahv pondered at loud as if he was talking to someone. But, at every pause he would quickly continue speaking. At first, he was speaking to the group of people by the fire, but as he continued to speak it slowly turned into his thoughts. Move finally hushed himself, and looked at every, noticing there was a newcomer to the fire. It was obviously to late to take out his weapon and ask if he had ill intent, so he just left it.

Mo'Rahv now stood up from the kneeling position he'd taken during the story, feeling the cracking of his bones as he straightened.

"I am Mo'Rahv the VI of Ravhiarra, I shall gladly lend my blades to this cause. If it is the only means of stopping a future Tyrant...than so be it." Mo'Rahv said to the old man sitting next to the fire, giving him a genuine bow.

Worden watched the shadows move in awe. He pondered the story. Unlimited mana...something that his father could use. Something he could use. The power seemed too powerful to be real. In the wrong hands, or maybe in any hands at all, that kind of power could destroy everything.

Worden sat in silence. He instantly jumped as the old man straightened and voices reached his ears. Hearing the old man's warning, Worden still called out for his power source, just in case there would still be need for him. "Charlie!" He shouted. Instantly the turtle began trudging up the path on the cliff, slowly making its way to the sound of its masters' voice.

Worden then spun to face the man as well and proclaimed his services. "I am Worden of Saint Nâdiya. I too lend my aid to this cause, for the protection of my people and our village. No power that strong must be accessed by anyone." As he said this, the turtle walked up and stopped right behind him, making the device on Worden's heart glow blue under his shirt. The light shined out ever so slightly and it almost looked like his eyes grew an electric blue if only for a moment. Then they returned to normal and he stood there, facing the party.

A sudden gust came from the left, the open moonlit surroundings making the swell of air more akin to the growl of a stalking beast. Ashé grunted and clenched his staff. Even underneath his black robe, head wrappings that exposed only his eyes, and padded clothing, the cold air disturbed him, or maybe it was the thought of it. Whatever the case, he held the bladed end forward and continued towards the dim light on the hill.

"At least home has trees," he said aloud, looking in all directions.

He sighed as he reached the base of the hill without conflict. He glanced at his staff and noticed the slightly chipped edge and sighed once more, releasing his will of the magical essence he had long been familiar with.

After a steady climb, he loosened the canteen from his waist and uncorked it. He pulled down on his scarf and took one large swallow of water. He glanced at the tent and gave a brief dismissing smile when he heard chattering.

He covered his face once more and tended to his canteen. Advancing his steps, he said, in an accented tone, to no one in particular, "Pardon me. I mean no you harm. I only seek a safe night's rest."

~Mo'Rahv VI~
~The Campsite (Mountain Summit~

Mo'Rahv's eyes shifted towards the fire for brief moment before perking up to the voice of another person. Mo'Rahv shifted his body as he turned to face this person, a quick scan of his appearance suggested the man was young. Although this man isn't much shorter than Mo'Rahv himself, his face didn't seem as weathered as the others in this audience. At second glance, he started to ponder. He couldn't be that much younger than Mo'Rahv, seeing as the only thing that distinguished Mo'Rahv as experienced is his beard and a few scars. Mo'Rahv watched as a machine came into view from the shadows.

Mo'Rahv laid his hand on one of his two axes, the metal of the axe clanging against his armor as his hand weighed on the hilt. After a few moments, the machine, that seemed to be in the form of a turtle, stopped just behind the man. He then announced who he was in a respected manner. Mo'Rahv let his mouth form into a discreet smile. Even in such a time as this, there was still people with good intentions.

Mo'Rahv hesitated for a moment, he thought about commending this young man for the reason he decided to join this 'fight'. What better a reason to fight if not for your own people. shortly after, Another man came into view. This one being much harder to read. Draped in a black cloak with a scarf to cover his mouth made it hard to discern who this man was. Before anything could happen he exclaimed he had no ill intentions and was only needing some sleep, something Mo'Rahv could very much relate to.

"Aye! A good rest might do us all some good..." Mo'Rahv said with a decline in volume as he spoke. "Although, it isn't wise to sleep at a time like this...A fight is coming, my sir..."