Emmes || Midday || Day 1

Upon the western Omaran ocean, the hustle and bustle of several Raldoran vessels moved along at full speed. In particular, the ship leading their expedition, the Grand Gimbly, helmed by Captain Heldan Maur, moved upon the waves in a shaky fashion, as it's crew full of Raldoran rookies and recklessly drunken individuals attempted to keep the boat afloat upon the seas.

One of the newer deckhands, a goblin by the name of Hemley, was in charge of moving several barrels from storage onto the deck before the end of the day. Judging by the position of the sun, Hemley could tell that is was probably one or two hours after noon. He had been able to move two barrels since dawn. He had at least 10 more barrels to move. Hemley was likely to be docked pay for his inability to finish his difficult task, but then again, who assigns a heavy lifting job to a goblin?

The small-statured creature was also curious of what exactly those barrels held. He had not been informed of it, and was told not to ask. Was it oil? Gunpowder? Rum? Ooo, rum, that sounded great to Hemley at that moment. No, Hemley had work to do. He could not risk losing his position and being thrown overboard. And so, the goblin placed his focus on the barrels in from of him, near the starboard side of the ship, taking a moment to peer off into the distance, at the glorious machinations of the waves. Far off in the distance was a land mass, topped off by a massive tower that tore into the clouds, as if reaching for the heavens far above.

Upon taking his gaze back to the ship around him, Hemley swore that he saw something right behind one of the barrels, but, upon inspection found nothing. The goblin decided that he was just seeing things, and started to turn around and head back to storage, but then he heard something.

A loud thud emanated from the space behind the two barrels, followed by the noise of several shuffling motions, and a confused "hmm?" Instantaneously, Hemley drew the cutlass that sat at his side, and flipped around in one abrupt motion. Behind the two barrels was a barely-hidden man in a red cloak. His legs and arms jutted out from behind the barrels, and he made no attempt to hide himself. It seemed that the stowaway was either an idiot, or had no reason to stay hidden. But, how did he get there? There was no one there before, when Hemley had looked. Looking above the barrels, a large metal pole stood up from where the man sat. The item seemed completely foreign to the goblin, but he had no room to be afraid. Hemley moved over towards the barrels, where the man's legs resided.

"Oy! You, stowaway, how'dya get on this ship?" The goblin angrily shouted at the man, though it was a desperate facade created in order to intimidate him in some way. Hemley was thoroughly scared.

"Oh, I'm on a ship, that makes sense." The man muttered under his breath. Hemley could just barely make out his words. "I don't know how I got on this ship. I simply woke up here just now. Where am I exactly?" The man spoke more clearly now, his voice rough and deep, one that seems scarred with the memories of guttural screams and deadly battle. Hemley didn't buy his tale, though he did sound rather convincingly confused.

"What? Are you serious?" The goblin's voice faltered from its false bravado from a moment as the goblin was suprised by the stowaway's words. Realizing this, Hemley cleared his throat and reasserted his powerful tone "Uh, anyway, I don't buy it, stowaway. Why are you here?

"Again, I have no idea. I am legitimately confused as to how I got here." As the man said this, he stood up from his place on the floor, showing his full height to the tiny goblin. To Hemley, the man was a horrifying giant. He balanced his weight on the metallic staff, the height of which was topped off by odd metal tendrils curved around a glowing blue orb. And now that he was standing, Hemley could tell that the man also had a blade on his person, which seemed to be meticulously engraved at the base, with the head of a dragon. What wonderful artistry! Though, it seemed so foreign. In fact, the whole of the man's wardrobe was oddly foreign. It was as if he wasn't from Omara at all. As if he had popped in from another realm.

"I'm not buyin' it." Hemley said, acting as aggravated as he could, shoving the point of his blade against the stowaway's throat. As of doing this, Hemley noticed that he had drawn a crowd. Several other members of the crew had dropped what they were doing to step into the situation.

"Ey, who's dis guy?"

"We gots ourselfs a stowaway!"

"Best make'n example of 'im, Hemley!"

"Cut him up, shortie!"

"Oy! Whut's goin' on 'ere?" Out of all of the bystanders, one stood above them all, their voice a deep, terrifying, bellow of a sound. This was of course the first mate, Elkyr Rimhide, though everyone called him Rimmy. The massive, towering minotaur seemed out of place amongst the goblins, Leonin, and Rat-folk that crowded the deck of the Grand Gimbly. The towering mass of fur, flesh, armor, and fancy fabric lumbered towards the goblin and the otherworldly man, brandishing a massive axe, forcing several bystanders to split around him, giving him a clear path to the pair. The man responded before Hemley could even formulate a single word. Both of his hands were clasped around his staff now, one firmly upon the other. He drew one of his hands toward his head, pulling back the hood that shadowed his bony face, before placing it back upon his other hand.

"I am called Emmes. I am a traveling mage from rather far away. I am not sure how I arrived upon this ship, but as this here goblin... Hemley, correct?" Emmes, the old man, looked over at the small creature to his right, and then back to the massive beast that brandished an axe in front of him. "As this here goblin should be able to attest, I simply appeared behind these barrels suddenly, with no explanations as to where I was. I have no idea of the workings of your company, or of the place you may hail from. All I know is that I am here."

"From far away, eh? Everythin is far away, mister Emms. We be on duh westernmust edge o'duh central Omaran ocean. I don't buy yur story. Bet me mum's greataxe 'at you be a spy sent by the damn Escolan." Rimmy made several intimidating motions with his axe, slamming the handle against his palm, and handling it with seeming carelessness.

"Wait, the Escolan? Who are the Escolan?" Emmes made an attempt to draw some semblance of information out of the massive minotaur. Though, his questions were swiftly ignored by the brute.

"Men, what should we do with the stowaway?" Rimmy turned his head to the crew of the Grand Gimbly behind him, and watched as their enthusiastic yelling and cheering escalated.

"Throw him to the depths!"

"Feed 'im to the rats!"

"Fight 'im! Teach 'im a lesson, Rimmy!" When the mage overheard the nickname of the minotaur, he couldn't help but release a snicker. His hand immediately reached for his mouth to halt the childish laughing, but it was too late. The minotaur growled, and raised his axe, preparing to strike at the mage, prompting the small goblin to run away from the chaos in front of him.

"You seem to 'ave a death wish, stowaway!" As the minotaur started to swing his axe at the mage, the strikingly loud sounds of a man walking could be heard behind the crowd. The noise seemed to catch Rimmy off-guard, and he immediately stopped his assault to look at the source of the walking. "Cap'n Maur, we caught a stowaway lurkin' on the deck! I was just about'a end 'im." The man who Rimmy was referring to passed through the crowd in silence, the noise of the crowded pirates being dampened and reduced by their reverence for the man who now walking towards Emmes and Rimmy. He seemed to be using his sheathed sword as a walking stick, which was justified by his obvious age. He seemed a capable captain, with his face taught and serious, his hair was long, grey, and unkempt, a wiry pile of straw-like hair, kept in some semblance of order by the tricorn hat that rested atop of his aged skill.

"Do you know the source of the stowaway, Rimmy?" The captain spoke calmy, every word brimming with intent and purpose.

"Not exactly, sir, but we believe tha' he's from the Escolan." The Minotaur replied, his tone and volume thoroughly nuetered by the presence of Heldan Maur.

"Really, the Escolan? That might prove useful, Rimmy." His voice shifted to a more devious tone, though only a slight inflection that would be easy to miss. "Take him to the brig, chain him up, and give him a meal. Don't gotta be good, just gotta be food, so don't let Harvey make it!" His voice picked up, addressing his crew with a loud, powerful shout. "Last time that bloke cooked, the whole crew was poisoned for a damn month" He muttered a comment under his breath, which seemed to elicit laughter from the crew surrounding him.

Moments later, Emmes found himself bound a gagged. His arms were chained to a wall, and his legs to the floor. At least he found himself sitting. His cloak, blade, and staff had all been taken by the captain. Though, for some reason, he made no attempt to retaliate. He never used any magic, based on the simple fact that they had no response to his statement that he was a mage. Either the people of this plane saw mages as insanely common, or did not know what those were. So, the best course of action would be to find a diplomatic method of escape. Luckily, he found himself greeted by the sound of a familiar loud, intimidating walk, and the awkward creak of a rusty door. Emmes looked up to see the captain come into the small room where he was being kept, a wooden chair being placed in the room by a random deckhand, who promptly left, locking the door behind him. The captain waited a few moments before saying anything, checking for any passersby that could be listening in.

"Hello, Emmes, was it? I am Helden Maur, captain of the Grand Gimbly, and leader of the Raldoran expedition of the West Isles. Let's talk about the church of Escolan, shall we?" In one swift motion, the captain ungagged Emmes, tossed the cloth away, and dropped into the wooden chair, his scabbard clanging to the floor in the process.

The sand beneath his feet was hard with blood. His toes dug into it through his leather boots. His hand squeezed the sword in his hand, clicking as the leathered resisted the tightening grip. He squinted his eyes as the heat from his body escaped his panting mouth. The human female across him was proving a tougher opponent than he initially realized. She had trained much since the last time they met in the arena.

“You’re getting old,” she taunted him through her own gasping for strength.

“As are you,” he responded back in his own rocky bellow.

Their chests rose and sank in some kind of alternating synchronicity. They were pushing each other back and forth like the salted waves against the Droprocks just over the other side of the arena. They crashed against each other just as viciously, as well.

His left foot rose and crunched into the sand. His ears swiveled back, focusing his sight on his opponent. His eyes turned diamond and sliced through the female. She took a quick step back, but only to brace herself for the powerful impact that was inevitable. She wouldn’t back down from her former mentor. But the power he seemed to possess seemed to rise from a sudden surge of energy. Perhaps it was the unnerving glare he gave her.



An elf sat in a booth by himself in a chair, unlike the benches which circled the two fighters. This tourney was being hosted by the Elf, the de facto leader over all sentients upon the island. The two duelists in the center of the arena were in the semi-finals. And the elf was hardly surprised.

Their swords clashed and they dashed and dodged around each other. The Ainok and the Human proved equally agile. They were both reasonably strong. But what both got them to the semi-finals was their skill with the sword and their endurance.

Hatash, the Elven Leader of Viragraf, analyzed each of the individual’s movements. He could see their small stumbles. He could see when either of their hands shifted the swords they wielded. Even at such a distance, he was envisioning combating them himself. He was also making mental notes to give them after the Tourney was over.



The crowd was small this afternoon. The fights with the wild beasts found throughout Viragraf were much more entertaining to the masses than the tactical and, often, short bouts between expert combatants.

There was one such individual that Hatash knew would not be there. He was surprised, even startled, when she entered his booth.

“Greetings, Vao’Hatash.” The female’s voice was soft. It fell into the drapery around him. It sank into the stone under his feet, but still vibrated throughout his body. It held a kind of power not found anywhere in Viragraf. Fla’vao, herself, couldn’t even exude such power. Was she doing this on purpose?

“Please, you needn’t be so formal with me, Syeena.”

His own voice was young but strong. He was a larger elf than most of his species but dwarfed Syeena’s own stature. His tone was warm and friendly. It was quite different than when he would address soldiers, warriors, and troops.

“Forgive me,” she said with a deep bow. She needed to show her respect for the leader of the people who protected her. Who protected the being, the deity, that could save her home regardless how far away.

Hatash huffed an amused grin and turned his eyes back to the duel, though his attention was completely on Syeena.

“I apologize for the interruption, but you should know of a raid currently in progress. It is reaching closer and closer to the Weald and Platad. Reinforcements have been requested. Shall I be sent?”

“You needn’t my permission, Syeena. And you aren’t my messenger. Why is it you are telling me of this and not Mada?”

“The Totems seem to be ineffective against these particular Raldorans. I fear Lady Salna, herself, is part of the raid.”

He chuckled to himself and swallowed a chortle. “If Lady Salna was part of the raid, herself, they would already be at Ma’vao’loth.” He paused for a moment. A succession of sharp clangs sounded as the two duelists exchanged blows. “We wouldn’t even know that they made it that far.”

He forgot Syeena’s ability to sense and neutralize magics foreign to Viragraf. Syeena just remained quiet, however. She didn’t need to argue with the Vao’. She just cupped her hands in front of her and looked down at the stone beneath their feet.

“There’s something different about this raid. I don’t feel comfortable not intervening this time,” she confessed.

“Nonsense,” he scoffed. “I can’t let them know you exist.” He paused again. Another quick flurry of sword strikes against the combatants was heard throughout the arena. “Not yet.”

Syeena simply bowed once more and exited the booth. Her bared feet couldn’t make a sound as they gently caressed the hard marble. Her grace was silent and beautiful.

But she still intervened in her own way.

As Platad Centaurs and Elves cast protective spells against the wild Raldoran Pirates, the grassills came to life. Syeena had enchanted them as she knew the Raldorans usually raided Viragraf from the south since they didn’t need to climb the Droprocks to get to the loot they believed enriched the soils of the island. Few settled in the Grassills for this reason.



The long blades of grass swayed in a breeze that was non-existent. The raiders slipped and fell. A few were ensnared by blades of grass that stretched from the ground. They were unable to move and were free to be attacked. Minotaurs swung their huge axes and hammers, splattering Centaur and elves across the hills.

Regardless of the pirate’s voraciousness, the Viragrafi could not fear death. They knew Fla’vao would reincarnate them into the land, itself. They would fuel the land that once provided for them. They would live on in a different kind of life.

The Grassills swayed and splashed more vigorously as each Platad Warden fell. Their energies strengthened the enchantment by Syeena. However, even they were ignorant of the enchantment.



When the grass sloshed and began to forcibly removed the Raldorans did they begin to retreat. They had come for what they were searching. This fighting was to kill time (and enemies) and prove themselves. It wasn’t any different than any other raid they had performed over the last few months. But it seemed the Viragrafi were weakening. This would be something Lady Salna would definitely want to know.

Syeena floated across the lands of Viragraf as she would have Naya. She arrived back at Ma’vao’loth by sundown when rain softly cried from the sky. She decided to walk on her own back to Fla’vao and her own “throne,” within the Tree Goddess.

She felt the conflict far to her south subside and took a deep breath to cure her of the anxiety that crept throughout her body. As she fell into a meditation, Fla’vao spoke to her.

“You needn’t listen to that child, young Syeena.”

The voice was large yet soft in her mind. It surrounded her in a firm warmth. It would have been overwhelming for most. But, to Syeena, this was comfort.

“But he must know best for his people,” Syeena responded in her mind. “And if that means keeping me a secret, then I shall keep from the public eye.”

“He’s only keeping you as a secret so he can overwhelm the Raldora should they push too hard. He quite fears that Lady Salna will organize an assault on me and take this land for herself.”



The tone was quite matter-of-fact. Syeena was unsure about the nonchalance Fla’vao seemed to show. Was the deity really so sure of her protection? Maybe she didn’t mind the natural turmoil of the sentients of the world. Syeena was sure Fla’vao could reincarnate herself if she cared.

“Fla’vao,” Syeena telepathized.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why do you treat me as your student as if I could be your equal?”

“Because, my dear. You will be my equal when the time comes. The Anima of this foreign world from where you originate is my equivalent.”

“And how do you know this?” Syeena was skeptical that a deity from a world not her own could have such prophetic understanding of something she’d never experienced before.

“If they’re like you without that Spark and more power, then you will soon reach such levels of influence.”

Fla’vao’s prophecies were usually entirely unhelpful in how to reach this level she needed to reach so she could return to Naya and save her realm. Her impatience toward this goal turned into determination and then acceptance that it would occur when it would. Only at the proper moment would Syeena come into her own and be able to save worlds. However, the end result might not be what she would expect.

She rested in her “throne” and meditated across all of Viragraf. The invasion had fled and the island had returned to its usual chaos and turmoil of duels and the manipulation of manas in a way to prevent intrusion.

Days passed while she sat there in the branches of Fla’vao. She was perfectly still and unbothered by small birds and rodents scurrying through the small forest within the walls of Ma’vao’loth.

“Syeena, dear. You have a visitor.”

She opened her eyes to reveal the glossy white that could see all within nature. She peered down to see who would be disturbing her meditation.

A foot descended down between two branches. A vine extended outward to catch her softly. It grew outward and toward Fla’vao’s face where the prayer originated. Syeena placed her delicate feet one before the other until she was past the canopy of the God Tree and looked down at the female centaur kneeling before her deity.

“My sister,” Syeena said. Her voice was soft but it was carried through the tree and into the ground. It touched the soul of the sentient and she raised her head from prayer to look upon the Prophet.

His centaur had traveled far. From the Kins’one of Platad, she had walked through the Weald and deep into the Mountwoods by herself. She was clearly skilled enough to navigate her way to the Kins’all, itself. Her large horns showed an age and wisdom beyond most and the spear resting upon a rock meters away proved to Syeena that this wisdom was not purely mental.

“What brings you to Fla’vao?” Syeena finished.

The centaur rose from the ground in a swift yet graceful manner. Her age did not show any signs of physical weakness, either.

“Ah, so you are real,” the centaur replied to herself.

Syeena remained silent until the centaur would answer her question properly. “I pray for support and strength…”

She wanted to address the being stories above her in an attempt at respect. “Syeena,” she said as the vine lowered her to the ground so the two could converse face-to-face.

The centaur withheld her confusion as Syeena neared. She was vastly different than the elves native to this world. Her stature was petite and her ears almost touched each other behind her head. Elves of Omara were usually broad, regardless of gender, and physically equal to the race of leonin found here. Her white hair was the only connecting feature between herself and other elves. However, her whitened hair was unusual for her own kind of elf. But this was not to be known by others.

“Syeena,” the centaur repeated with a bow. The elf extended her hand to wordlessly ask the centaur’s name.

“Yalisphur,” she said with another bow shallower than the last.



“Yalisphur,” Syeena repeated in a kind of whisper. But it was a statement as if to gather from nature more understanding of the being before her.

“And for what do you require support and strength?”

“My people of Platad and those who roam the Grassills.”

Yalisphur paused, thinking that would be explanation enough for the Prophet to grant her prayer. When a silence extended between them, she decided to elaborate.

“The bodies have decomposed nicely in the past fortnight since the most current raid.”

Syeena wasn’t bothered by the fact she had been meditating for such a period of time.

“However, the bones littering the Grassills have made it into a graveyard that reminds us of the threat the Raldorans pose to us.”

Syeena closed her eyes slowly and extended her consciousness like when the vine from Fla’vao extended to catch her from her throne. It traveled out of the Mountwoods and through the Weald until she coasted atop the rolling Grassills. She could feel the bones that pierced the soft loam and blades of tall grass tangled itself around them.

An echo sounded in her head from far away. “They demoralize those that travel it.”

And so the bones began to sink into the soft loam. The clean white of the fallen’s bones was rooted in the island. Her consciousness then ebbed back to her current physical location.



“And why is the reminder of death so unsettling?” Syeena asked. She was truly intrigued since she had the understanding that most Viragrafi didn’t fear death or mourn over it.

Yalisphur looked into Syeena’s eyes with confusion. Why had she closed her eyes for such a long time?

“It’s not the death. It’s how the death occurred,” Yalisphur said.

“Is this from where the ‘strength’ comes?”

Yalisphur curled her eyebrows in confusion. As much as Syeena didn’t care for the cryptic messages from Fla’vao, herself, she was quite prone to speaking cryptically as well. “Do you also pray for strength to better defend against our enemies?” she clarified.

“Yes,” Yalisphur said with determination.

“It is done,” Syeena said simply and turned to return to her throne within the tree.

Victoria stood proudly across a high table from three lords. The Lord in the center wore all the adornments worthy of his status as a prince while the two on either side of him wore numerous military honors. Victoria wore a simple black dress that descended to just below her knees. From the hemline, red flame patterns stretched upward along the dress. Her brown hair was pulled neatly into a military style bun. She work heavy black leather boots akin to those used by the soldiers of this world. The only thing suggesting she was not some country girl was the long one-and-a-half handed steel sword that rested on her left hip.

The lord in the center of the trio passed a bag of coins across the table to Victoria, "Are you sure there is nothing We can do to make you stay? After all you did bring a war that has been waging for almost 30 years to a swift, decisive end. Surely you have earned something other than gold. Lordship, land, men, you name it and i will give it to you. You can give up this mercenary lifestyle and serve with honor in a proper army. And what if the enemy does return?"

Victoria chuckled as she grabbed the bag of coins, "No need to be so dramatic, my fair prince. All I really did was blow a whole in the walls of a string of coastal fortresses. Honestly, if you would have just invested in better siege craft or had better mages." Victoria began to transfer the coins from the bag into one of her own counting silently as she did.

"Perhaps we should take that money back to buy siegecraft and train better mages then," The Lord on the right piped up.

Victoria did not even pretend that she was amused, "Look! We had a deal. You pay me, I kill for you. The more I kill, the more I am paid. I have kept my end of the deal, I find it funny that you a lord knight would tarnish your honor to even suggest not honoring your end of the deal. As for the enemy returning, I doubt they will be able to muster the numbers to return for several years if not a decade." Victoria finished counting her gold then turned to leave, "If they do return, then so shall I. If I am still alive that is..."

The trio of Lords watched as Victoria left. The lord on the right shook his head before turning to the others and asking, "Was a quick, and easy victory worth dealing with that woman?" The doors closed behind her just in time for Victoria to not hear the other's answer. Victoria was fine not knowing how they felt in the end.

Victoria had just exited the building as a happy looking noble woman ran over to Victoria. "Lady Victoria!!!" The woman exclaimed. A fully armored knight walked behind the woman. Victoria knew that knight well. Victoria raised her hand to stop the approaching noble woman, "Sorry Princess, But if you try one more time to get me to come to the Victory Gala. I swear I will scatter your insides from here to church at the end of this street."

The princess was startled at Victoria's tone. The knight jumped at the remark, "What! What is wrong with you, Lady Victoria?!"

Victoria reached up and undid her bun. Her hair fell down as it may. Victoria smiled, "I have not killed anyone in a week. I just got my pay for my work. I am off to go find another war to fight in."

The Princess looked confused then asked, "But the war is over. The land is finally at peace. Where can you go to find war? Are you going to start one?"

"Maybe..." Victoria replied, "However, this is not the only world wars are waged on. I think I am going to try somewhere new." Victoria turned and walked down the street away from the princess and her knight. As she walked the cool evening air of the city was replaced with a warm salty ocean breeze. Slowly the evening city landscape faded away to be replaced with a bright sunny deck of a ship at sea. Victoria went from walking down a street to standing against the railing of a ship staring out into the vast blue ocean.

"HEY!!! IDENTIFY YOURSELF!!! HOW DID YOU GET ABOARD?!" A hostile, male voice came from behind Victoria.

Victoria raised her hands non-aggressively and turned around slowly. As innocent as she could muster, she began to lie, "I am Rachel Hargrove. I am a humble Scholar. I was experimenting with a teleportation spell and landed here. I was lucky I landed on a ship. I really must thank you."

The crew of the ship that was on the top deck looked to be very well mixed. Merfolk, Humans, and goblins. There was a minatoar pulling a rope to raise the ships red sails. Victoria's accuser was a slimy looking merfolk. He already taken out his sword already. The merfolk approached Victoria, "Well, Ms. Hargrove. You must be the least luckiest woman alive. For This Ship belongs to the Raldoran fleet. One of the infamous Red Fleet, under the Command of Admiral Khal Hungun. Even more unfortunate for you, Our captain is human. A pretty thing like you should easily be to his liking."

The merfolk reached out to take the sword from off Victoria's hip, "Now why would a scholar be needing such a nice sword." Victoria reacted suddenly. She grabbed the merfolk's arm and twisted. In one fluid motion, she threw the merfolk over the railing of the ship and disarmed him. The merfolk splashed loudly when he hit the water. Victoria chuckled as she examined her newly acquired blade, "Wow! I did not expect that to work. I had forgotten how slimy fish people can be."

The crew were startled by how quickly she reacted. She definitely was not a humble scholar. The minotaur that was on deck dropped the line to the sails. He pulled two maces off his belt and bellowed out a warcry. He charged across the ship shaking the enormous vessel. Victoria's eyes glowed dark red and with a innocent wave of her left hand the minotaur was dead. Its flesh was replaced with ash and its charred skeletion bounced accross the deck in pieces. Victoria comments coldly while her eyes still glowed, "Sure, I am no humble scholar, but I am still a mage beyond your power. Who is in charge here?" Victoria rested her boot on top of the minotaur's charred skull and crushed its brittle remains effortlessly.

Dawn's first light shone across the vast open sea, that first morning light peeking over the horizon and into the sea foam mist in just that perfect way as to brilliantly illuminate the surface of the water in a myriad of colors. Bright, vibrant, and numerous, but it was how the foamy fog gave the light a certain feel of the ethereal that was truly enchanting. At least, that's what captain Razortalon thought. The aven officer stood at the front of his vessel's command bridge, the Outreach, enjoying the only pleasure he still got out of his job. Twenty years working in the Bellenar League's fleet of trade ships didn't get him much. Sure, he had a vessel of his own, but was it really? The League officially owned it, and he had to answer for just about every decision he made when she was in the air. Requisitioning maintenance parts was a pain, the crew disrespected him constantly, and now? Now he had to deal with the guests. When Razortalon was informed that he'd be promoted to captain and get a ship of his own, nothing in his twenty years of working trade boats, making connections with Viragraf ports, greasing palms, fixing mechanical problems, fighting off Raldoran scum, and general bravery could have led him to believe, or be prepared, for what came next.

The Outreach was not just the standard trading airship that you'll see in every Bellenar port. It doubled as a luxury cruiseline. In between trade ports Razortalon dealt with the most incessant and irritating, not to mention baffling, complaints he had ever heard in his life. What constituted as a "captain's emergency" had undeniably changed since his last ship. Now the only single solitary comfort he took in this draining position was in the ocean's Morning Beauty.

"Captain!" called out one of the crew members, a young human woman in a stewards uniform. Razortalon gave a small sigh of exasperation, paused to enjoy the sight just a bit longer, then turned to face his demons.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice steady.

"There's been an incident with one of the guests, and he'd like you to see him," she reported. Of course there was an incident, the captain thought to himself. Razortalon noted the tone she used, as though she were playing messenger for another side. Peculiar.

"Send him to my quarters." The senior aven couldn't suppress his sigh.

"Um, the thing is, sir," she began, stammering. Razortalon raised an eyebrow toward her strange behavior, but urged her to continue. "He said that he wanted you to see him. Sir," She added, hastily.

The captain couldn't handle how taken aback he was at such an incredulous demand. He blinked for a moment, unsure of what to say or how to proceed. The young crewman took his silence as encouragement to continue.

"It's the VIP guest, sir. The one staying in our luxury suite." She thought she was being helpful. The captain would have preferred she jump out the window. Or better yet, he could jump out the window. At least he had wings, then she could be captain.

"Dismissed." He spoke curtly and suddenly. The young woman nodded, then turned and left the bridge. Once she had made her exit, captain Razortalon scratched where his beak met the flesh of his face, then adjusted his naval cap. Hoo boy, this was going to be one of those days, wasn't it? The bird man addressed his pilots with a simple, "As you were," and left the bridge himself.

The journey to the luxury suite was one that seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, while simultaneously never ending. The captain mulled through his own mind as he walked (or flew, in the case of heading up one floor at a point). He did his best to prepare for this VIP guest of theirs. He couldn't think of any before that had given such a direct and demanding disrespect to his authority, but he had dealt with the kind before. Sure, it would be a pain in his tail feathers. Sure, he'd rather be anywhere else, doing anything else. He was the captain though. Twenty years of experience couldn't fail him now. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't actually met this passenger. They had picked him up back on Fellview Rock, if he remembered the reports correctly, and since then the man had paid for his time aboard in gold coins the crew had never seen before. He had meals brought to his suite, but never stepped outside, never issued a complaint, never interacted with anyone at all as far as the captain could remember. Now that he thought about it, just what could have gotten this incredibly reclusive guest so upset that he demanded the captain himself come in person?

Razortalon snapped back to reality once he stopped in front of the door to the luxury suite. Having been so lost in thought, his mind racing, that's why time had felt to stretch out. Now that he was here it was as though everything he had experienced snapped back into place, condensing even into a much smaller increment. The senior aven officer shook his head, forced himself to ignore the pit in his stomach, and knocked on the door.

"Proceed," answered a baritone voice, a bit gravelly with just the slightest hint of a rasp. The captain did exactly that.

The lights inside the room were completely dark. It wasn't just that they had been turned off, the feeling was much more potent than that. Darkness covered the windows where even natural light should have been trickling in. It was as though the aven had stepped into a realm of pure shadow. He suppressed an uneasy shiver and, going from memory, reached for where he knew the light switch to be, but was interrupted.

"There is no point," spoke the voice from somewhere in the middle of the room. "You have lost your light. It is not so easy to fix as the flip of a switch."

The captain felt more than a little creeped out, for multiple reasons. How had the guest known he was reaching for the lights? What did he mean that Razortalon had lost his light? Why keep them engulfed in this darkness? Clearly their VIP was a mage of some manner. Razortalon disliked and instinctively distrusted mages. Stubbornly, he flipped the switch. No lights came on.

"You would do well to refine your listening, Captain." That tone was so condescending it infuriated him. A second later and the door closed shut, having moved entirely on its own.

"What's the purpose of keeping us in this shroud?" Razortalon inquired, the hostility clear in his voice. "You trying to ambush me?"

"We are not in a shroud," the voice answered. "You are merely lost. You have been for some time now. As to your other question, no. It would be terrible manners to assault my most gracious host. Especially when your crew has been so providing."

This guy was seriously creepy. It was as though he were trying to ruffle the captain's feathers, and he did not like it one bit! Still, it wasn't like there was anything that he could actually do about it. The guest hadn't, to the best of the aven's knowledge, done anything wrong. "I was informed there was an incident you wanted to see me about?"

"No. There was an incident that I wanted you to see me about. The distinction is subtle, but crucially important." There was that condescending tone again. It's like this guy felt as though he were born better, more important. "You have a traitor on board, Captain. A spy for the Church of Escolan."

That immediately grabbed the aven's attention. "How do you kn-"

"It is poor taste for a host to interrupt his guest, Captain," the voice interjected, cutting him off. "I have seen him at night, during the graveyard shift. He sends long distance communication to his superiors. An aven mechanic named Featherweight."

Captain Razorclaw rearranged his expression, finding it difficult to choose his appearance from confusion, anger, surprise, and disbelief. The end result was some mix between them all, a fluid and ever changing mask of emotional turmoil. "Where? And how? By all reports, nobody has ever seen you leave your room! What kind of proof do you have that one of my crew is a spy?"

Go to your cargo hold and inspect crate 34C. You'll find supplies have gone missing. That's because Featherweight took them and has been passing them along to his Escolan handlers in the ports you've stopped at. Keep an eye on him when we land next. I'm sure you'll see everything you need yourself."

The captain wasn't sure what to make of that. He tried to think of the correct response, but could not find the words before his guest spoke up again. "I offer you a tip for your services. You are dismissed, Captain."

A single gold coin flew through the air toward Razortalon, which he caught. This surprised him, not because he lacked the dexterity to catch a coin, but because he could see the piece of gold. He could see it, plain as day in this room of sheer blackness. The door behind him opened up once again, and the captain excused himself, slinking out into the light and shutting the door behind him. He took a moment to compose himself, gave a weary sigh, then looked at the coin he had been provided. The thing was unusual. Thicker than most currency he had become familiar with in his decades aboard trade ships, with better overall quality. On both sides the coin had some kind of artistic design that resembled the sun. The aven captain scoffed, then pocketed the piece of gold.

"Why do I get stuck transporting the freaks?"

Victoria looked around at the crew. They were still frozen in the awe of Victoria's magical display. Coldly Victoria asked again, "Who is in charge here? Do not make me ask again."

"I am in command here, you mad witch," A male voice came from near the stern of the ship. A rather regal looking, red headed pirate stood at the top of a set of stairs. He looked down on Victoria from his high perch. He did not look like he was impressed by Victoria. He had seen mages before. In fact, he was one. Confidently he spoke for all to hear, "I am Captain Issac Crow. I am a Sea captain of the Raldoran Navy. 8th Captain in the Red Fleet. Who are you, girl! You dare board my ship, kill my crew, DEMAND MY PRESENCE!!! Who are you and by who do you claim authority to do these things?"

Victoria glared up at the man studying him. Long cloak, boots, and one sword that hung on his right hip. The mans appeal did not hint much to Victoria. However his tone and body language suggested a lot of hostility towards her. Victoria smirked and replied, "Your crew tried to disarm me. That was an insult I could not tolerate." Electricity visibly rippled down from Victoria's left shoulder and began to collect in her left hand as she began to silently cast a spell. She spoke again, "I am Sophia PeaceCraft. I claim the authority to do as I please by the right of power alone."

Captain Crow chuckled and waved his hand passively, "I believe I overheard you call yourself Rachel Hargrove before killing my minotaur. Your inability to tell constant lies betrays your nature. Your entire mystic is shattered now. You play all high and mighty, which holds power against those too cowardly to test the waters."

Victoria felt her lightning spell scream as if it needed more mana to complete. Something was not right. It could be the nature of this world that made this spell need more mana than usual or Victoria just got hit with a weak counter spell. Victoria could discern if the latter was true, this sea captain must be a mage. Victoria denied the spell its mana, letting it fizzle out. Victoria stuck the merfolk blade into the wood on the deck of the ship. The captain gave Victoria an opportunity and Victoria was going to use it. Victoria smiled innocently and shrugged. Innocently, Victoria apologized, "You are right. In all the fast actions, I forgot I had already spewed out a name. I am not practiced, but it was a good defence while it lasted. What happens now?"

The Sea Captain shakes his head slowly and replied with the authority of a cold judge, "I have no mercy for you any more than i have for my crew. You lost me my best raid leader. For that, I will smite you." The Captain raised right hand up to the sky. Magical red flames erupted out of no where and began to take the shape of a long spear. Once the spear formed it solidified and descended into the Captain's grasp.

Just as the captain grasped the spear, a wave of fear crashed its way through his body. It chilled him through and through. The flame spear vanished as he gasped to catch his breath. His eyes quickly locked onto Victoria. She was not smiling anymore. She was glaring at him like an angry dragon. Her eyes showed the intent to kill him. Victoria then spoke up, "What is with the lapse of confidence, Captain Crow? Surprised that you are not the only one who knows counter magic?"

The comment reignited the Captain's anger. It overcame his fear. Once again he created the fire spear. This time Victoria decided to use darker magic. Without uttering a word or losing her fixed gaze, she hit him with yet another counter spell. The Sea captain grabbed his chest with his left hand and fell against the ships railing. The crew that had been silent in shock and awe of this confrontation collectively gasped as they saw the captain stumble. The flaming spear never faded from the captain's hand this time. "Damn you!" The captain screamed as he hurled the spear at Victoria in anger.

Victoria did not flinch as the flaming spear passed by her head. She felt the heat of the spear on her cheek as it passed by. Other than a few singed hair the spear completely missed. The crew were blown away by how little Victoria seemed to react to the spear. They had seen that spear murder countless lesser beings. Victoria had not even flinched. Coldly and calmly, Victoria spoke, "I admit, I am surprised that spell did not kill you. Perhaps you should abandon hope of fighting me with magic."

Victoria pulled sword off her hip, sheath and belt all. She began to wrap the belt straps around the hilt to keep the sheath from coming off the blade. Confidently, she took her eyes off the captain as she looked down as she tied the belt straps on the sword. She shook her head fanning disappointment but really looking at the crew. The crew were content to watch this battle, they may even support her now that she has shown their captain to be mortal. "By Iroas," Victoria thought to herself, "What am I doing? There is no option to stop now until I take total control of this ship. I am creating a non-lethal weapon to kill this captain with... Iroas?"

Victoria looked up from her sword to see Captain Crow descending the steps towards her. His sword was held confidently in his left hand. Victoria smiled as she took up her sheathed sword in her left hand to match. She has won this already. The captain growled, "How pathetic that I am forced to fight you like the lowborn scum. Fall, witch!" He swung his sword in a horizontal slashing motion. Victoria ducked quickly. Her knee hit the wood deck with a loud thud. She quickly grabbed the merfolk blade she had set down early with her free right hand and cut at the Captain's abdomen. The blade cut easily, disemboweling the captain. Victoria bolted to her feet and backed away a few steps. The captain howled in pain as he charged Victoria. She effortlessly deflected his sword thrust by hitting his left forearm with her sheathed sword. Immediately she then plunged the merfolk blade through the Captain's heart. This did not stop the captain's momentum though. His bleeding body slammed into Victoria knocking her over. Captain Crow, 8th Captain in the Red fleet, died as he bleed out from his wounds. Victoria had to drop both her swords in order to push the captain's bleeding corpse off of her. She climbed to her feet as a pool of blood gathered at her feet. She grabbed her sheathed sword off the floor and admired her kill.

"Looks like we have a new captain," a merfolk crewman picked up his blade from the captain's pool of blood. It was the same merfolk, she stole the blade from.

"Didn't I throw you off the ship?" Victoria asked curiously while blood dripped off her dress.

"Yes, you did. But as you said Miss Captain. I am a 'fish person'." The merfolk replied, "Name's Clyde. I was the first mate under Captain Crow. I suggest you take my advise and command this ship to set sail to meet up the Admiral's flag ship. You now command one of his ships. It would be unwise to try to use this vessel for long without his blessing."

Victoria looked around at the crew. They were all awaiting orders. "Very well, We sail to the Admiral's flag ship." Victoria commanded, "First Mate Clyde, my beloved dress is now covered with blood. Show me to the captain's quarters so I may change. Then make sure we get where we are going. Sadly, I do not know how to sail"

Clyde motioned Victoria to follow and laughed, "Honestly, neither did Crow!"

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

Several days past after Victoria seized command of the ship, apparently named the Black Angel. There was nothing around but ocean. The crew had spotted no other ships nor land. Victoria spent most of her time in the luxurious Captain's quarters. She had finally gained her sea legs so she could finally keep her balance in a fight on deck. Fortunately, Everyone on the crew seemed to accept Victoria's command. Either they were fine with a young woman taking over or they were too terrified to challenge her. Unfortunately, this state of affairs bored Victoria. In her boredom, She actually took time to dismantle Captain Crow's wardrobe. The captain seemed to enjoy dressing formally. Victoria, however, scraped many of the outfits to make more feminine attire.

Victoria was just about to cause trouble for her new crew out of boredom when the call came that they spotted a ship. Victoria came out to see. Three ships were sailing on the horizon. All three bore red sails. Immediately, Victoria began to calculate the odds of winning a fight against such odds. It was doubtful that their would be a fight but Victoria wanted to be prepared. She watched the ships constantly as the Black Angel approached the them.

There was some commotion as Victoria's ship came into the fleet with the other three. Her crew and the nearest ship began shouting insult and chanting their ship's praises as to outdo the other ship. The Merfolk Clyde seemed to be the only one working on actual matters of politics. Finally, the merfolk got the ship alongside the Admiral's. ropes were tossed and planks were layed to allow for moving between the two ships. Victoria and Clyde made their way across to the other ship. There was a handsome human man standing in the middle of this ship next to a hunchbacked goblin. The Goblin snarled at Victoria. The man extended his hand to Victoria, "I am Captain Adam Velvet, 5th Captain in the red Fleet. This goblin here is Captain Tin Tik, 14th Captain in the Red Fleet."

Victoria shook the Captain Velvet's hand, but before she could introduce herself, Clyde did it for her, "This is Victoria Pax. She bested Captain Crow in fair combat, both magical and with steel. She is to replace him as the 8th captain in the Red Fleet."

"That is very interesting. Congratulation at besting Crow." Captain Velvet said with a forced smile, "Best of Luck to you."

"Who replaces Captain Crow?" A booming voice comes from blow deck. Slowly a figure begins to climb out of the ship's hold. Horns were the first thing visible as a massive minotaur emerges.

The two sea captains casually step away from Victoria. Clyde nervously answers the minotaur's question, "Ad-Admiral Hungun. Victoria Pax, this lovely lady standing before you has met the requirements to become... I mean, hold the title of 8th Captain of the Red Fleet. She killed Captain Crow in fair combat, Sir."

The minotaur looked at Victoria with anger and hatred. He stepped forward till he toward over her. Victoria looked up at the minotaur always making eye contact. There was an awkward moment of silence as the minotaur thought. Without warning, the minotaur grabbed Victoria by the neck and lifted her off the deck. Victoria immediately grabbed the minotaur's arm to prevent herself from being choked. Admiral Hungun growled, "Captain Crow was a good friend of mine. Last remaining member of my original crew. Why do you think I should spare your life."

Victoria's mind raced trying to figure a way out of this hold. Her feet dangled in the air. If she reached for her sword, the minotaur would be able to crush her windpipe. She could planeswalk away but she hesitated doing that. Mogis help her if she decided to actually fight her way out. She might be able to dismember the minotaur with a spell, but then she would have to fight four entire crews worth of men. "I demand blood and Gold..." Victoria chocked out.

Admiral Hungun looked confused at this statement. He was taken aback by the sudden demand. "What do you mean you demand blood and gold? You think you can make demands of me!"

"My loyalty is cheap. Just blood and Gold." Victoria replied, "I am a warrior, battlefield tactican. I am also a powerful mage to cover my female weaknesses."

"Female weaknesses?" The minotaur asked curiously.

"Females tend to be physically weaker than males in most species. I use magic to out muscle those physically stronger than me. I am confident that is why Captain Crow used magic too. To cover his female weaknesses." Victoria replied.

The minotaur laughed. He tried not to. He dropped Victoria and turned aways from her. She hit the wooden deck with a thud. Victoria simply sat on the floor and watched. The minotaur regained his self control, "Yeah! I loved Captain Crow, but he was a weird one even for a human. If you really want to claim his title. I have something in mind."

The Minotaur looked at the other two sea captains and began to explain, "As you all know Lady Salna, our King, has given us a mandate to seek artifacts of the old world to further her research. The Viragraf have a large stockpile of artifacts which they constantly refuse to share with her. I thus have personally demanded I conduct a raid against Viragraf. I, however, am unwilling to commit my entire fleet to a single raid against those land lovers. So, this is why I sent for you both, Captain Velvet and Captain Tin Tik. Your crews and mine were supposed to conduct a joint raid. However! The lady 8th Captain here decided to show up just in time. SO, Captain Pax will be leading this raid. If it is successful, then she will have her ship and title. If she fails, she will die. That simple. Questions?"

"What artif- no, is this all the ships that are coming?" Victoria asks still not getting back on her feet.

"Why, do you want more ships?" Captain Velvet asks. Victoria confidently shakes her head no.

"This is what you have to work with, girl." The Admiral minotaur says as he walks away.

Victoria smiles, "Good, we will attack at the morning's twilight. Just before dawn tomorrow. We catch them as they awake from their sleep."

The elf seemed to fall into the tree, into Fla’vao, as if she was falling back into her natural state. The branches closed around her and the leaves formed a veil that helped her disappear. Syeena’s dress was camouflaged well by Fla’vao and her white hair faded into the sunlight shining through the branches.

Yalisphur caught herself gazing at the act, mesmerized by the cohabitation between the Prophet and Fla’vao. She had never seen her God interact with anyone in such a manner. What was so different about this alien elf?

The centaur shifted her legs beneath her to face the stone where her spear laid. She had to kneel so her hand could grasp the shaft. When she rose, the spear was equipped to her front waist. Yalisphur paused to look back at the resting face of Fla’vao which never seemed to move. But the face seemed more content than the last time she visited Fla’vao. Was this tree actually sentient?

She needed to return to Platad so they could restore and improve their defenses. Many of the totems at the entrance of the Weald had been destroyed and she thought it wise to erect them in the Grassills for further protection. She also didn’t want to be around when a Bellenar vessel would arrive.
____________________________________________________________________________________

A shadow encased Ma’vao’loth. It shrunk as the matte sheen of a metallic substance neared the ground. The Bellenar flagship had arrived for the resources they had requested.

The smiths and artificers from Belward traveled to Ma’vao’loth with excavated artifacts for which they had no use. Caravans were filled with ores mined from the Highills. Though they were less pure than the ores they kept for themselves, the Bellenar couldn’t know the difference. They weren’t permitted to inspect what was not brought for them. They weren’t even permitted to travel outside the capital proper.

But the Bellenar couldn’t complain for the free resources provided for them. Viragraf requested nothing more from Bellenar in return other than their absence and neutrality.

Veins of blue magic flowed through tubes which span in geometric patterns all across the entirety of the ship. This was how they made these vessels airborne and travel through the skies. Viragrafi just knew the magic to be a foreign substance that was prone to cause destruction to their lands. Though the Bellenari didn’t seem prone to using it aggressively nor against them, it was a threat on which Viragraf kept a close eye.

The Sunstrike was a trade vessel but primarily one of defense. Its captain was a kumi, a creature foreign to Viragraf. But Montigue, the leader of Belward, enjoyed conversing with them. They would discuss product, trades, and information of the outside world. He didn’t take this knowledge as fascination, however. He would publicize it so his people could prepare defenses against their enemies. They would treat Montigue’s information similarly.

“Captain Lockjaw,” Montigue greeted. The dwarf performed a bow which lacked the grace of other species. Regardless, it was a courtesy almost entirely unnecessary for the situation.

The kumi just nodded silently. The humidity of the Mountwoods in combination with the altitude made him physically uncomfortable.

One of the captain’s lieutenants approached the dwarf. The ainok was almost as tall as the kumi but much thinner. She was as feminine as the kumi was masculine. Her left arm was covered in a metallic sheet that erased any sense of natural organics. In fact, it looked as if the arm had been replaced. Montigue couldn’t help but stare at the anomaly.

She stuck her hands, or her right hand and her left contraption, onto her hips. The light blue trimming against the deep green fabrics of her uniform contrasted offensively against her fur. Still, she stood with pride knowing her affiliation while in a foreign territory. It was her first time to Viragraf and her first assignment as lieutenant.

“Montigue’vao,” she addressed, having learned the colloquial titles, “I am Lieutenant Shardshaw of Sunstrike.” She finished the greeting with a short bow.

The dwarf couldn’t tell if he should be amused or impressed by such a title.

“What can I do for you?” Montigue asked, still stifling a chuckle. He was curious as to the nature of this apparent meeting. Usually they’d just chat with each other.

“I request an audience with yourself and the other Vao’s.”

Montigue’s bushed brow arced high over his right eye. “I apologize, but I’m afraid that’s impossible on such short notice.”

“’Impossible’?” she echoed incredulously.

“Well, to be honest, Yalisphur prefers to keep from with the Bellenar and Chakaja hasn’t the time nor patience for such formalities. However, Hatash might be summoned to hear what you wish to relay.”

She thought it impressive the level of civility this dwarf presented. Rumors spread that the Viragrafi were only marginally more sophisticated than the Nakarans. It was true that Montigue was on his best behavior. But even then, their barbarism seemed only to describe their xenophobia.

“That should suffice,” the lieutenant said, seemingly unsurprised by the response. “Shall we?”

Again, he was intrigued by her demeanor. Initially she seemed insistent, but now she seemed to not mind.

Montigue led them to the heart of the citadel. He felt uncomfortable leaving the airship since he was supposed to oversee the shipment and departure. But he felt inclined to honor this request since they were otherwise silent of any complaints or additional requests.

“Hatash?” Montigue squeaked through the gates to the main room of the citadel. The wooden doors provided an unusual contrast to the white marble and limestone that made almost all parts of the complex.

There was silence at first. Montigue shrugged with a shy smile. The air was perfectly still as they waited.

“Enter,” a deep voice boomed from inside. “What do you need, Montigue?”

There was a tone of impatience in the voice. Neither could see from where it came. But they both entered and headed for the center of the room.

The ainok looked up and all around them. It wasn’t the intricate architecture found throughout Bellenar and its provinces, but there was a raw nature to it that betrayed the details of the moldings and the high ceilings and sleek lines. Pews and high-backed chairs were made of the marble as if it came up through the floor. It was as if the entire structure, including its furniture, was created from a single block of the mineral. Wooden beams stretched across the length of the ceilings. They were carved from a single tree that even bellenar could not grow to such a height. The faintest scent of damp stone with fresh-cut wood was almost too strong for the purified room. Despite the amount of natural sunlight, the gleaming white room didn’t blind her eyes.

A large elf, even taller than her, approached them from the left side of the room. He kept eyes on Lieutenant Shardshaw. His gaze was suspicious but his tone seemed friendly enough. His long white hair pulled only by a fine rope kept the front portion out of his face which was sharp and strong. Faded green markings were carved across his face, customary to the elves of Viragraf. He only wore an unbuttoned sleeveless white tunic to expose his trained arms and chest. The lack of modesty also exposed more of the faded green etchings which suggested they spanned the entirety of his body.

“And who is this?” he asked as he reached his arm out to properly greet his guest.

“Lieutenant Shardshaw of the Sunstrike and League of Bellenar.”

The whole title was largely unnecessary since he could easily tell that she was of the Bellenar League.

She shook his hand with impressive firmness. Hatash bowed his head as their hands released. “And why is it you need to see me?”

“I was ordered to meet with all the leaders of Viragraf, Vao’Hatash,” she began as a kind of sleight to the dwarf next to her. “But I was informed that such would be impossible.”

Hatash paused for a moment as he realized Montigue was the one who told her request could not be granted but couldn’t find the liberty to properly explain why.

“Alas, the Raldorans’ efforts to invade and pillage this land have seemed to improve in efficacy.”

Her brows lifted in surprise. Not due to what he said, but how he said it. He was even more articulate than the dwarf.

“Their last raid reached the boarders of our southern Kins’one of Platad. Due to this, extensive defensive measures are currently in progress to prevent an invasion from progressing further north. Yalisphur is working to extend the reach of her totems and Chakaja is working to prepare our troops for a more effective ousting of Raldorans.”

So what Montigue said before might have been true, but it seemed much more complex. However, she was already aware of the relations between Raldora and Viragraf.

“Very well, Vao’Hatash,” she said with a high bow. “However, it is that very reason I requested an audience with you.”

Hatash lifted a brow, intrigued with what she may propose to them.

“We would like to offer resources so you may better defend against Raldora and the increasing threat of the Escolan Church.”

Montigue’s eyes widened, knowing exactly what he was going to say and also knowing he’d have to walk back to the lieutenant’s airship with her.

“The offer is acknowledged but declined,” he said with a slight grin of either appreciation or amusement.

Shardshaw’s eyes and brows danced in confusion for a moment. She didn’t know what she should say. Press the offer? Accept the resignation and leave? Inquire further as to the nature of the decline?

“The captains often do this to new lieutenants,” he confessed with a corner of his mouth pursed in sympathy. “I’m not sure if it’s a courtesy or a joke, but this offer is often extended to us.”

Her eyes continued to dance in confusion. A touch of rage sparked in her. She blinked and it was extinguished.

“Thank you very much for the visit, Lieutenant Shardshaw, but I must get back.”

Regardless of his cryptic farewell, he took the ainok’s hand in another firm handshake. He then turned to disappear from where he initially approached.

When the elf faded into the shadows of the room covered in white, Shardshaw’s whole body began to fill with shame and frustration. It seemed Montigue knew this and tried to comfort her.

“I believe the Bellenar have good intentions, Lieutnenant. I think they do this so relations between us remain positive.”

She just glared at the dwarf before leaving the room aggressively which matched her mood. The pads of her feet almost clicked with intensity against the floor. Montigue sighed.

Vines hugged the walls and ensnared the edges of the open windows. Without panes, there was an impression that there was no real worry about weather. Perhaps there never was adverse weather here. It seemed nature worked with the architecture rather than being masked by it. It was subtle, but the craftsmanship of the walls and the masonry of the limestone bricks proved there was a reverence for the world in which they lived. The floors beneath her feet alternated from enlarged brickwork to massive slabs of the minerals. Wooden beams continued to frame the structure, but a skilled architect could tell that these were largely ornamental since they wouldn’t be able to hold up ceilings or walls should the structure crumble.

Lieutenant Shardshaw felt her departure from the citadel much longer than when she was led here. Am I lost? she would repeat to herself. Everything around her seemed familiar, but it could be a trick of the uniformity of the structure. The smell of heavy humidity grew stronger in the stairwells. Perhaps it was trapped, but she took it as a sign of nearing the exit.

She hadn’t noticed until now, but there was no one in the citadel. Only her own breathing echoed eerily throughout the corridors. There were no stewards or guards. There seemed to be no inhabitants for which to serve or protect, anyway. What was this structure’s purpose if not to house the natives of this continent?

Her breath escaped her in shock when she reached the main gates to the citadel. Montigue’s back was against a corner of the massive opening. His arms were crossed in patience, or was that impatience? A hand stroked his long beard which actually appeared youthful over his chin. She only noticed now how well-groomed he was, having only focused on his stature and civility up to this point. Despite his trade as a blacksmith, his clothing complimented his skin and hair well. Taking a step back, she looked less put-together than him.

“Ah, Lieutenant,” Montigue said as he inspected his nails for blackness. “I want you to meet someone. Would you please follow me?”

He was polite enough, but she needn’t his pity. She was matured enough to cope with embarrassment. But this didn’t seem like a trick to her. However, she knew hardly little of the tendencies of the Viragrafi. So she followed with a shorter and slower pace to match the dwarf. Even from behind he was handsome. He didn’t look like a child at all. He was strong and confident. But that could just be the nature of the waddle in his walk.

Small trees lined their walk. They had been planted last season and to which were still tended fondly. As they proceeded, vines stretched from the citadel and into the trees, which were taller than those they’d just passed. Then ornate flowers bloomed not just from the ground but through trees and off walls. Colors assaulted her eyes with their vibrant beauty. She found herself slowing her pace to absorb all she could. The brick path upon which they followed turned into soft dirt against her awareness. It hugged her toes each step she took, making it more difficult to continue following the dwarf and not basking in the splendor of nature she’d never experienced before.

“This is Fla’vao,” Montigue said, interrupting her awe.

She looked up to a face in a massive tree. Blossoms bloomed in any color and vines draped the branches like light green veils. Roots broke through the ground enough and in such a manner for stools and even benches to be pretended. It all looked so orchestrated, purposeful. There was an intention to be overwhelmingly gorgeous. Despite this, it looked so natural, informal.

She couldn’t summon words appropriate for meeting a deity. She’d originally believed them to be zealous as the Escolan for a tree. But gazing upon it now, she understood their reverence for this being.

“She is the reason for our seclusion. Well,” he thought how best to correct himself, “She’s the reason we feel we don’t require intervention from others. She protects us and has protected us since the end of the ancient empire. She has preserved us and so we preserve her. We’ve been shown that others don’t share the same opinion.

“I see,” Shardshaw yipped quietly and low after a pause.

She needn’t argue the opinion. It proved itself valid enough. Bellenar cared little for tradition and suppoied their own protection. Raldora and Nakar, both, wouldn’t mind seeing the continent in flames. Escolan wanted the Empire back and this tree proved an obstacle.

“But we are nearing a turning point in the world’s history. A Prophet has arrived from another existence. Possibly from Fla’vao, herself.”

“Why does that signify a ‘turning point’?”

“She’s here to preserve Fla’vao. That means our own efforts aren’t enough.”

There was another moment of silence between them. She could hardly comprehend what what the dwarf was saying as she continued to eye the tree-God.

“Something significant is on the horizon. Pay attention and be careful.”
_____________________________________________________________________

Whistles preceded the explosions. Yalisphur did all she could to naturalize the cannon fire, but the assault was more intense than she’d expected. They weren’t just firing cannon balls, either.

Centaurs and elves formed a line along the shore. An invisible wall prevented most of the blasts from explosions from reaching the soldiers crowded in front of them. More elves were among the leonin mass, ready to keep the Raldorans from proceeding any further inland than the Glassands. Yalisphur could already tell that this initial attempt on their own part was futile. But Chakaja was preparing for a full assault at Platad. He was right to station scouts at the southern coast of the continent. This was going to be a comment to the Raldorans. They would not allow those pests to irritate them anymore.

The early morning starlight shown throw the window down onto Victoria as she knelt on one knee in her cabin. Outside the dark oceans of this world were illuminated by stars equally foreign to Victoria. The cabin was silent in the eerie glow of the stars. All was quiet until the first mate, the merfolk Clyde, burst in without knocking. Victoria shot up to her feet.

"Were you praying, Captain?" Clyde said with a chuckle.

Victoria rested her left hand on her sword. Defensively she replies, "Yes, I was. Why? Do you think that to be funny?"

"No, not at all." Clyde says as he moves deeper into the cabin. He set an ornate box onto a table. "Most in the fleet would make fun of you for believing in a higher power. Most Raldorans believe that they are the only power worth reverence, or they will as soon as those above them perish. So, Who do you pray to?"

"We are about to go into battle. I pray to my main patrons. Iroas and Mogis." replied Victoria.

Clyde stepped away from the box, "Iroas and Mogis must be impressive humans to be worthy of worship. Anyways, This box was sent by Captain Velvet. He also says his ship will not be avalible for the raid till the third hour of light."

"Of course he is going to be late. Tik Tik also is going to be late. Are any Raldoran Captains reliable?" Victoria asked as she walked over to examine the box. She continues, "Mogis and Iroas are the twin gods of War. Mogis, the god of Slaughter, is a minotaur not a human. Iroas, the god of Victory, is a centaur." Victoria opened the box to find a single smooth looking stone.

Clyde laughed hard, "Twins! A centaur and a minotaur. I am not a woman and I feel sympathy pain for that mother who birthed that duo."

Victoria smiled, "Yeah the mythos on that has never really made sense. If it means anything to you. The goddess of the sea is a merfolk named Thassa. Clyde, what is this stone?"

Clyde looked over at the stone, "The envoy said it was a spystone. It could be used to transmit information over distances. It will allow Velvet to locate you once the raid begins. also keep track of your success."

Victoria picked of the smooth blueish stone then put it in her pocket. She peered through dark at the merfolk, "Can I trust you, Clyde?"

The merfolk was startled by the sudden change in tone, "Of course... Why do you ask?"

"It is time for a good war. Get a landing crew ready we attack without the rest of the fleet. It means more killing for us. I need you to manage the ship and those not wanting to be on the recon party. You come ashore with the rest of the fleet." Victoria said with some excitement. She then put the stone in her skirt pocket then left the cabin.

Clyde stood there in the dark cabin for a moment. The silence rang in his merfolk ears.

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

Almost like clockwork, the guns of a four Raldoran ships began to rang out just about three hours after dawn. This rare display of stregth was a resounding testament to why Raldora is feared across all the high waters of the world. The cannon balls, grape shot bearings, forks and spoons, balls and chances, explosive shells, plague rats, and the occasional goblin all flew through the air to the tune of the percussion symphony. As impressive as the fireworks were, the Viragraf were willing to just watch the performance. Their mages passively established a barrier to block the incoming inferno. The ammunition of the Raldoran symphony crashed harmlessly against it for the infantry on the beaches to watch with wonder.

Just before dawn this morning, Victoria Pax had lead a group of about 2 score ashore unopposed. Without any resistance, Victoria was able to move her warband around the southern coast to get the lay of the land. Among tall grasses and boulders, She had found a good hiding place for her men. She was now laying on the top of a boulder watching four ships of the Raldoran Red Fleet fail to clear the beach head for a landing.

"Fascinating" Victoria thought to herself, "I had always wonder what it would look like if the Boros legion were to engage the army of Bant. However, these Viragraf took the wrong definition of engagement. Viragraf forces looks like the Boros legion engaged and married the Bant Army. They attack in mass formations bolstered by powerful individuals. Smash the standard bears and we will see if they still chose to march in lockstep."

"Hey, Captain," A human sailor called up to Victoria, "While I enjoy the veiw, I would like to get some action here. Those cannons sound lovely. We would love to join the killing."

"View? They cannot see this from- OH!" Victoria thought as she moved to cover herself as she slide down the boulder. Her fault for choosing to wear a battle skirt. "OK!" Victoria began in a booming voice, "The bombardment from our fleet is pathetic. Those Viragraf mongrels are content to use magic to watch our display of power safely. I say they are not going to really get the full experience until their mages are run through with our blades. So, we are going to attack them from behind since they do not know we are here. Then once the mages are dead we are going to withdraw and make sure the remaining forces have no place to escape."

"What?! Withdraw!" A minotaur questioned, "Why withdraw instead of pressing our advantage? You a coward, woman?"

"Something like that, but sometimes cowards do survive. Without fear, you are already dead. Y'all can follow me when I withdraw, or you can die a pointless, yet glorious death as the ships bombardment tears you limb from limb with the rest of the Viragraf scum." Victoria said as she turns to charge at the Viragraf.

Victoria and her war band charged with the speed of lightning down into the rear of the Viragraf formations. Many Mages were cut down before the Viragraf knew what hit them. However, once they realized the Raldoran's were already ashore, it was too late. Victoria had used her sheathed sword, she swiftly parried an elf, then she kicked that elf into one of the centaurs that was maintaining the barrier. The Distracted Centaur was forced to lower the barrier and as soon as it was lowered the front lines of the Viragraf forces came under Raldoran Naval Bombardment. Victoria dented in the elf's skull with a blunt blow with her sheathed sword, then picked up its fallen sword and stabbed the Centaur before it could get back on its hooves.

Victoria looked up from her fresh kills to see her men topple the other Viragraf mages. The rest of the infantry guarding the shore was beginning to realize they had been flanked badly, but as soon as they turned their backs to the sea they were slaughtered by cannon fire. Victoria called out for the withdraw to get her men out of the bombardment zone. Her Warband withdrew to the top of a hill where they could easily cut down any retreating Viragraf. It was a slaughter and a route. Victoria enjoyed it all. The Bombardment slowed as the ship of the Captain Tik Tik began to send troops ashore. Raldora was going to be victorious today.

Blood and horror screamed. The sentients of Viragraf fell as they were sacked. The Wardwall broke and those along the shore were buffeted and crushed. Some rushed into the foreign realm of the sea in the hopes to save themselves from the force of gravity. Others retreated only to meet a wall of opposition thirsting for blood and glory. Wardrenders soaked the sand with their blood with little resistance. Still, the chaos didn't instill insanity in the Viragrafi. They were prepared to die here as the first line of resistance to the Raldorans. However, they hadn't predicted such a large-scale assault.

Yalisphur whipped her head around to watch her brothers and sisters cut down by the barbarian-pirates. She released any energy that kept up the Wardwall as she equipped herself with her Halberd of Platad, one of the most powerful weapons forged by the dwarven forefathers of Viragraf. It was a relic, but harnessed a power that defied age. Being a distance away from the bombardment, she was free to defend herself against the raiders. She chopped down a few and stomped some others out of the way until she could find an escape that would allow her to gallop away.

She could see other centaurs far in the distance, no doubt with her same strategy in mind. What few Raldorans her brethren could slay at this juncture would cement their ultimate "victory" in this battle. But there would be too many casualties to properly call this battle such. She could only pray to Fla'vao that the lives lost would strengthen the land of Viragraf as she weaved and trampled over what she could to find herself a safe distance away from the battle proper. Her specialties didn't lie in mass combat, or even one-on-one combat. She needed to reach an area that she could affect in a benefit to those who were better-trained than herself.

Screams could then be heard up ahead. She gripped the halberd in her hands. The hooves under her pushed through the sand. They needed to get her past this assault and warm the second line as well as prepare her own defenses. She summoned enough magic to simply protect her body from physical strikes. Swords and blasts didn't even affect the hair on her back. She pushed through hard just to get past them.

She sprinted through the unforgiving Glassands until she reached the Grassills. The blades still danced in the wind as if they were possessed. She could feel a faint power in the greenery that suggested manipulation from Fla'vao, if no one else. She hadn't noticed it on their way to the Glassands. The land, itself, was preparing for battle. A hope of less bloodshed was birthed into her spirit. Yalisphur slowed to a trot and weaved through the Grassills in such a way that she could lay a hand on each rock in her immediate area. Temporary totems were empowered with each touch. The warriors and soldiers of Viragraf would find their skin more difficult to break and their bones less likely to crumble under intense pressure. If enough time would pass, they would also feel their vitality return slowly to them. It was a marginal effect, but the affect would be felt by her allies.

An hour after she escaped the Glassand Sack she had reached a second garrison of warriors and soldiers ready to take down what Raldorans they could before they could reach Platad proper. Yalisphur approached a young Leonin who wielded a shortsword and not much armor. She was adept in agility rather than power. Yalisphur doubted it would properly save the female Leonin from death at meeting the Raldorans.

"Tell the scouts to prepare to flank the enemy when the time comes," Yalisphur ordered.

Though the Leonin came from Celridth, a Kins'one far enough away to have its own form of structured authority, Yalisphur was above any other sentient save Montigue (to which she was an equal) and Chakaja (to which she was third-in-command to Vao'Hatash).

"Any Wardrenders are to be protected by scouts and placed a distance away safe from the main battle," she added.

The Leonin only nodded in a "yes ma'am" manner and turned to one of her subordinates. She reiterated the orders given to her and the human rushed to organize the strategy.

"And tell Chakaja that this isn't going to be like any other raid," she said in a hush.

Yalisphur was past the Leonin a body-length and didn't turn her head so she could hear. But she needn't do so for she was a body length taller and the others around her couldn't prevent her voice from traveling.

The Viragrafi couldn't know "doom" or "despair." They found pride and worth in a battle well-fought much like the Nakar felt invigoration and fervor in slaying innocents. A battle lost is a battle fought with valor and determination. This is all Fla'vao could ask in return for her preservation of their land.