@Lawful Newtral@Scyntell

Amber accepted the pretty stone, smiling. She retreated, sat in a chair and started quietly playing her panpipes to provide comfort to the tense children. Amber had no knowledge of the Laws of the civilised world. Nor did she care. The forest had it's own rules, and this stranger had given her a gift. In return, she would help save his life from this beast.

While she was playing, she patted the heads of nearby children with her free hand, comforting them while she played a one-handed melody. The less brave ones flocked to her, scared of the ragged bounty hunter. The braver ones were still making an effort to guard or protect Lark. Amber's maternal instincts were being invoked, further turning her against Gellert. He was the predator scaring and worrying her nest.

"Be calm, young ones. Nothing will hurt you today. You are watched over," she spoke to them softly and reassuringly, only stopping when a child tried to touch the crystal Lark gave her, whereupon she simply looked them in the eyes and shook her head and the child stopped and backed away, as if making Amber even slightly disappointed would feel worse than being scolded by anybody else.

She tried to catch Lark's eye, and once she did, she winked with the side of her face that Gellert couldn't see, letting him know that when he tried something, she would help. The old man seemed to have the sharp senses of a wolf. Naturally, that would include enhanced canine hearing, and with it, a severe weakness to loud ultrasonic sounds. Her melody on the panpies started to gradually rise in key and pitch.

Analise Amad

Two figures sit side by side on the wooden floor of the room sipping tea together without a table in sight. The dust danced in the space, reflecting the small candlelight that lit up the room. The man, slouched in his posture, spoke quietly to the shining yellow eyes that stared at him. They listened to every sigh and murmur that escaped from his mouth and nodded along to every one of his brooding's. The mere warmth he felt was her comfort.

“I don’t know… I,” the man eyeing his teacup while grumbling. “I wish hell for the lot of them, really… I couldn’t even defend myself! If only they-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she hushed softly, patting his shoulder. “They merely seek to withhold power over the world. He doesn’t care much about what they do…”

“Hey...You’re a Revenant, aren’t you?” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “ Ah- no... B-but I’ve heard of being escorted to the vil- Ah, No...never mind..”

He stopped, spotting the widened yellow eyes that would peirce at his soul. They looked down and back to him in thought, letting silence take its place. With a bite of her lip, she let out a sigh.

She moved her hand from his shoulder and squeezed his own hand in her palm, “I… Don’t wish to force upon you- This is-”

“-I know it was inappropriate of me, but..” he looked down, hissing under his breath. “.. I just can’t stand them…!”

“...I will be back in a number of days,” she squeezed his hand once more before getting up from the ground, her figure shading him from the mere candlelight. “If you still wish to seek her out by then… I’ll take you.”

“ I understand..” he sighed with a slight chuckle. “Sorry for keeping you here for so long, Ana. You and your travels … Oh, right!”

A full baggage laid upon the creaking ground, objects peeking out from its skin that threaten rip if treated without concern. He gripped at its slings and pulled at the bag itself, though its weight had proved to be heavier than previously thought

“Watch your way out there, okay?” he joked with a slight chuckled though struggling to hold the bag up.

“Your humor is original as always, my friend,” She replied as she wrapped a thin cloth over her eyes before slinging the baggage over her shoulder. “Take care.”

Pulling her hood over the white of her head, she turned the doorknob and went out into the day’s light.

---

Many have questioned the blindfolds origins with interest. ‘Seeing’ was a sense that she simply did not need. The thought had been long abandoned of seeing others living by the light of day, basking in what Raziel had created. Her hatred for the deity has burned strong as the time she had taken first to her steps into the villa. Burning as high as her bravery as she first entered the study, as brightly burning as she took the last steps down the stairwell, and crackling as loud as when she had bowed her head to the black swan upon the throne of thorns.

But here she was in Wellsborough, her flames weakened by the magic barrier of the town. Inferno was what she was, but not even to use the most basics of it was frustrating. The ‘white cloaks’ seem to show no concern for the weaker common people, those who need the magic. They were just scrambling to uphold the power of Raziel and-and his laws. If they go about it this way, it would only take a matter of time… A smile of pride spread about her face.

Crowds of the city seem to be cutting the distance between themselves and suspected Revenants. Analise had been used to stronger suspicions during her younger ages. What had been five feet away has lessened to about two feet within a century, anything stepping into that space would start to feel suffocating.

Feeling a small bump to her thigh, she stopped in her path and looked down to the suspect.

“Whoopsie, Sir, I-” the young child stopped, looking straight up to her. “ ..Sorry Miss!”

The child ran off once more, looking back to Analise and forth to his path, amazed at her great appearance. I guess there are exceptions, she thought. The pale skin shunned by light would usually leave some sort of assumption. Might need to be ore careful nextime...

Approaching on what she assumed was the edge of the town, streets around her were bustling with more citizens each block she passed. Possibly some sort of brawl had occurred… Too bad I missed it she sighed. Her interest would be piqued once more as she felt a familiar presence in her midst.

“Is this a Nephilim I sense…?” Analise moved toward the energy without being too close and took a peak from the blindfold. “It’s true...Two White Owls...”

Kaezira simply listened in silence to the nonsense of the Centaur and the elves. They seek a common destination of the Institute's library. But of course, the two neutrals could only assume it was open for business. One does not simply walk into the library. That of the Nephilim and the ones they permit are to enter, none else.
Crow tried to make calm of the three begging neutrals, but to no avail. He doesn't handle these types of disputes well, and Kaezira understands thoroughly. Many neutral disputes of all magnitudes have had to be settled by the Nephilim in the past, recurring repeatedly without a foreseeable end. Yet they still reject the Nephilim. They fail to see the great the light allegiance brings to them. What are humani without protection, mere helpless souls, inferior the races that inhabit Terra alongside them.
Sutagara spoke of her gods she had been told the stories of since she was a youthful foal. But they are simply that, stories. She seeks the institute to learn whether these gods of hers are true to not, vowing to join the Nephilim if she finds them to be false. Kaezira has read the books over what feels to be millions of times. These gods she speaks of seem to be merely something her tribe were to cling on to, for fear of all else. A founding tribe member believes something as simple as the feather of a bird falling from the sky as a sign of the gods and they start a religion based off of such an occurance. Rather primitive of them.
"I'm flattered by your respect for the Nephilim, but its not your choice to join the Nephilim allegiance. It is Raziel's word." Putting thought into it, Kaezira sees a strong Nephilim sister in the soul of Sutagara, it would not be to his surprise if Raziel were to see the potential that resides within her, and accept her into the Nephilim ranks.
The elves seek knowledge. One seeks that simply, but the other seeks knowledge of their existence. She is unaware of her past. She wishes to know more about herself. Unknowing of oneself brings great distress and darkness into their lives. Her suffering is not surfaced in her, but can be sensed within her by Kaezira.
"Bah, very well... I shall bring you three to the library to assist you in your quests for knowledge."
He directs his speech towards Crow, in a firm tone. "Corvus, be nice to our humble visitors. They are innocent souls."
Suddenly, as if he had been something could be felt within Kaezira. Something strange. It was dark, it was aggravating. It was the presence of something dangerous. Something within the city. "We must move quickly, I dislike staying in this city for too long. We are lucky the people haven't started another event for them to blame the Nephilim for." His tone was odd, in attempt to mask his sense of a dark presence. It grew closer as he readied to depart. It was Revenant.

The centaur was definitely of a noble nature and Crow could not help but feel some pity for her. He was raised under Raziel's light while she was raised under unknown stories and gods. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to have to face the idea of his god being false and yet she stood stoically seeking out the truth, not only that but to go so far as to seek to swear allegiance if she were to find out that there was only Raziel and Alithe. She would find what she sought at the institute but she would be disappointed. Still, it was not Crow's place to say anything, her quest was her own and the truth would come soon enough.

"Corvus, be nice to our visitors humble visitors. They are innocent souls."

"But..I..They" Crow spluttered for a moment, "I'm always nice!". It wasn't his fault that he wasn't a people person, it's not exactly like the Nephilim get many opportunities to have a social coffee with neutral friends to be able to build up such people skills. He let out another huff before pausing as the dark presence arrived somewhere nearby, this was definitely revenant. Low in his chest, crow could not stop the slightest of growls. Not today, he already had too much on his plate and nothing to wash it down with. Luckily the arch-mage felt it also and was already suggesting they head off before more trouble was started. "I suppose I'll go play fetch with the farmgirl then before the mobs come with pitchforks and the like" he grumbled before setting off after the tracks left by Shertul and his helpful companion. Although crow would have preferred to just arch to them, he needed the tracks to follow, not to mention that a bolt of lightning is generally pretty noticeable so he picked up his pace to an endurance jog he could keep for days and began the hunt.

Finally, he could sense them now and so knew he must be close and yet before Carlisle could celebrate not having to run for much longer, a terrible feeling settled in his soul. Instincts screamed of a dark power feasting that was not the Fleshspinner. Surely he hadn't twisted the girl just yet. He slowed his pace, changing the gait of his steps so that he moved without sound and crept among the trees. Bits and pieces of conversation drifted through the leaves to him and what he heard was not pleasant. Taking up to the branches among the trees where the leaves would offer concealment, he caught a glimpse of them a few meters ahead. The fleshspinner was touching a mark on her thigh and even from here Carlisle could feel it awaken and feed from Shertul's energy. That mark.. It was the mark of Alithe. On this child? Why? What would Alithe possibly want from her? Crow felt as if he were about to leap down and tear the creature away from her but he did not wish another confrontation and the girl would only try step in the way. Patience was what was required, the would surely come an opportunity to bring her back before more damage was done.

---

Lark's soul had come close to leaving its fleshy cage right there and then as he felt the wind and weight of a sword press against his hand. He could hardly make out even a scant of movement as metal flashed before his eyes. As the previously silent tavern rang with the sound of tumbling coin all Lark was left with was a scrap of cloth and a sudden queasiness. Dropping the cloth Lark open and closed his hand experimentally almost as if he couldn't believe it was still attached. Everything was going from bad to worse for Lark and didn't look to be getting any better.

"By what means does a bird who thirsts for riches tempt the wolf who thirsts for blood," The sellsword growled, "You mistake my profession for my desire, boy. The bounty on your head cannot be paid by mere coin. Only with justice long overdue. Now, come with me if you want this to end well for you, me and everyone under this roof, really." This left Lark momentarily stunned as he sifted through the collected information on Gellert in his mind. Every time he came back to Wellborough with a kill he'd bring it to the Guard to trade in for a bounty. His actions were not unlike any other sellsword who wouldn't lift a finger if he weren't being paid for it previously. Lark was flabbergasted as he tried to wrap his head around the idea and came upon a consensus that his best plan of action was to simply comply and turn himself in. At least then he could bribe his way out of the dungeons and he'd be back on the prowl in no time.

"It appears," Lark paused as he looked over the children who have begun to crowd around the fae, "That I have completely no choice in the matter. What kind of damned sellsword are ya anyways? What sort of profit ya makin' with this? None. A waste of your time. Don't you have lives to steal?" Lark spat as he glanced over at the fae. He had long since caught her look seeing the meaning hidden behind it. However Lark still assumed this fae to be an elvish child and refused to bring danger to her. Giving her a meaningful smile he cautiously stepped forward towards Gellert with his hands held in front of him. Given the sellsword's previous action with his sword Lark wished to give him no reason to pull it out once more. He was a thief, not a mugger, and had no skill in combat. If he had time to prepare he'd never have been in this situation in the first place.

"I'll be gone for a little while, little ones. Mink you're in charge now and all of what belongs to me belong to you until I come back. Do try and keep your brothers and sisters well fed and spoiled any way you know how." He said with a wink as he stood in front of Gellert. "Well then, dog. It's time ya introduced me to the illustrious captain of the Guard then, hmm? It's time to collect that oh so fearsome bounty on my head." His words were cold, but his facial features were ugly when he thought of abandoning the children. It was purely the fact that he knew he would be able to bribe his way back out in hardly a fortnight that kept him from flying in a rage.

He grunted when the Mark of Alithe stole magic from him. It was ravenous, starving, and his body was a feast of macabre energies. It drunk up his power like wine. A faint hint of darkness emanated from the sign- the sunlight shining on the farmgirl actually diminished somehow, grew dimmer. It was the opposite of a glow.

Shertul yanked his hand quickly away before it could devour all of his magic: all of him.

"Congratulations," his sarcasm was clear and amiable, "you are officially evil, according to our dear angels. However, you are still somewhat stifled. Held back, just a bit, like good old Shertul.". He gestured to himself with a cold chuckle.

"These forests are far from my homeland, friend. I can take you to the Monastery," he explained to the farmgirl, "but do not expect a quick journey. I must find food many times a day. Furthermore, unless I carry you upon my back, we will be forced to move at your humani pace," that tone was almost disgusted, "and the Wastes are many, many kilometers fro-"

He stopped mid-word. The leaves were rustled, but not with the wind. Something much heavier than a squirrel was perched waiting, and Shertul knew the motion of a predator intimately- how often had he hunted animals in the very same way? The thought only reminded his stomach of how incredibly hungry he was growing.

I will not be hunted.

The Fleshspinner's head twisted away from Sophia, like an owl's going around, with the sound of bone cracking against meat in his throat. It was sickening. His body turned to match only slowly, with serpentine caution.

The sounds stopped dead. Still. Quiet. Deceitful. He didn't trust it.

"Speak, spy." He spoke in a rough voice. Weak. The runes, the hunger, and the Mark had taken, all together, far too much out of him. It showed. "You have nothing to hide from. I do not harm those who do not first harm me."

He waited. No reply came from the green, so he decided to shout one out. "Speak now!"

Any normal creature, animal or not, would certainly have reacted to his scream. Either his unseen stalker didn't exist, or they weren't afraid.

His eyes grew wide, all three of them, as he realized who it must be. The Nephilim, of course! They would never leave will enough alone. Shertul was confident that he could at least hold the angel off long enough to save his savior, but he was not so sure of his own survival odds. Ordinarily, his concern would not even surface- what is a single Nephilim to an experienced Fleshspinner?- but today had not been ordinary. He felt exhausted and trapped.

His gaze darted urgently to the girl. "Marked of Alithe," Shertul spoke rapidly "some coward has stalked us. This is your last opportunity to return to Wellborough. Take my hand now, or take your chances that the Nephilim will ever have mercy." His claw was outstretched to her.

@Scyntell@Silver Carrot@Lawful Newtral
She'd been up for most of the day, wandering around the town, though conveniently not around for the skirmish at the bar, though the scream had certainly gotten her attention. Whatever it was seemed to have passed, or had been dealt with as she heard whispers of Nephilim and monsters. They must have put the beast out of its misery if she had to guess with their type. Not an ask first, kill later group if ever she knew one.
But that wasn't her business, nor did she care to make it that way. She was strolling through the backwater part of town as she strolled across a scene in a tavern. What on earth was she seeing exactly? She walked towards the Fae and crossed her arms, "Shouldn't you be saving your mischief for a less possibly violent moment? There are children involved," she said harshly as she looked towards the kids before looking to see what this was all about. She'd spent enough time in the woods and with its folk to recognize the scents of them. If she'd caught wind of the elves, her being here wouldn't be a thing. She rolled her eyes seeing the two, not even batting an eye at Gellert having drawn his sword. She walked into the tavern, putting her hands on her sides, "Seems a tad excessive for catching a thief. Or is it your frustration of his evading you that's got you so riled? I'm sure the Fae tagging along and causing mischief isn't helping, but you're a fool if you this oaf is going to serve any justice that doesn't include someone forcibly removing a limb," she crossed her arms. She's been around Wellborough her whole life and knew Lark's reputation and deeds well enough to know someone barking at him about justice wasn't going to mean diddly squat, "Plus, how do you plan to get him back to the guard? Drag him, cuff him? Aside from making him unconscious, he'll probably evade you somewhere between here and there," she pointed out to Gellert.
This wasn't usually how she spent her day. Normally she'd get her own bounty, go hunting and call it a day, but it was always so funny to watch upstarts coming in and trying to deal with the regulars in this town. She believed catching people like Lark or his friends was the definition of insanity as they would just go right back to what they were doing anyways. She didn't get enough entertainment these days, so why not see how this seasoned wolf decided to handle the slippery fox? She couldn't figure out the Fae's purpose in all this yet other than to give the old guy a hard time, but that was usually all they were good for anyways. She looked at the coin on the ground and noted the hungry eyes around the tavern that were waiting for Gellert and his sword to be gone for them to gobble up every piece of it. Either because they were desperate or they were a drunkard, either way, most here would kill for that coin. She used her foot to push most of it back into the same pile, looking towards Mink, "You, you might want to get this," she pointed to it. True, Lark was in trouble for stealing which lead to the pile of gold, but those kids outside seemed to be depending on him to get, and she wasn't about to let some drunkard waste it.


@Jeyma@Emuxe
A sigh left her lips as she continued to trudge up the path, a groan of "How much farther?!" coming out under her breath. She felt like she had been walking this path for eons, and still Wellborough was no closer. There better be something useful here, was all she could think. She didn't really know what she expected to find in this place, she was just looking for something, some direction to go in that felt like it was where she was supposed to be. She hated that nagging sense of needing a place to belong.
But she need not even reach the city before she happened on something extremely peculiar. She could tell she was catching the tail end of some momentous moment between these two individuals, but she also recognized a particular mark from her previous studies. Where these Revenants? She moved a bit closer as the odd looking one was calling out to some spy, but to no avail. She knew it wasn't her he was growling at as he was looking in the wrong direction and she wasn't close enough yet, nor was she trying to be sneaky. Caution be damned, nothing fun ever happened while trying to be careful.
She winced a little at the scream, but that just intrigued her more. What the blaze was he? She got closer as she heard his urgent talk to the girl, "Yeah right," she scoffed hearing his rapid speech, "Mercy has never been anywhere near Nephilim in any description of them ever, so whatever you did, you should go with him," she pointed at Shertul, "What are you by the way? Do you guys needs some help?" she asked, not seeming to get what the urgency was all about. She didn't see the Nephilim he seemed to be scared about, but she could handle some pansy do-gooder right? Then again, there was this voice in the back of her head saying that that was the most naive thought she could have ever had. Oh well, you live and learn, right? And she was technically neutral, unfortunately, so it wasn't as if he would have a reason to slay her on the spot if there was one coming to fight. A wall of fire would be sufficient to keep them busy long enough for an escape if necessary, right?
It never occurred to her that this might be some sort of private moment that she shouldn't intrude on, but they were like right on her way towards the town, as she had lost the main trail ages ago, and how could she pass up the opportunity for an adventure of some kind. The next question blurt from her mouth as the thought popped into her head, "Where ya going? Can I go too?" Oops, too late, might as well just see what they say, she wondered if a please might help her case.



There was a loud thump as the male closed his book. He sighed as the thing had offered him no direction and no clue as to where to look next. Surely the institute was too far from here, right? The runes were that of Raziel, who was kinda the big shot for the Nephilim, so they had to be close.
He finished his tea and breakfast before standing from the table in his room. He walked over, packing his bag back up and putting the book in last. The most he could do at this point was to start walking in the direction he hadn't come in and hope to find some clues along the way. He doubted the locals knew anything about Kaezira or the Institute, or knew enough that could help him find either of them. He hoped this wasn't all for not- not that he was putting too much hope into it succeeding anyways. He sighed to himself before heading out of the room to go find a place to get some basic provisions for his journey forward. He had missed a lot of action, or from what he could discern from the talk of the locals around him. He didn't miss the most important though- Carlisle Corvus and Kaezira of the North were here. He could have done a jig. What luck?!
He turned and started in the direction that the locals told him the Nephilim had been spotted, but stopped seeing that there were already other vying for their attention and apparently bothering them. His shoulders dropped a bit hearing Kaezira's statement about the Institute not being a public library, and he wondered if he would see his purpose as the same as theirs- a waste of their time. They obligingly seem to be permitting the lot to the library, and he wondered if... he could just tag along or if that would get him in trouble. He didn't realize that in his inner turmoil, ice was starting to form on his sleeves, his hand to his chin as he weighed the pros and cons of the situation and whether or not he should come along, hiding maybe. He certainly didn't want to bother them with trying to ask considering they already seemed annoyed with their current requests.

and
@Soragoku@Jeyma@Arkaotic
Sybil breathed a sigh of relief hearing Kaezira's words to Carlisle though she had to refrain the laugh that threatened to bubble forth at his protest that he was always nice. She watched him go after the other girl, the one who had been protecting the Fleshspinner and wondered if he was actually going to be able to convince her to come back- for some reason she was fairly certain that wasn't an option. He had pushed her away already and the girl didn't seem so weak in her convictions that she would turn back against what had already been decided when she left with the creature anyways. It seems a fool's errand on the Nephilim's part.
Daewyn sighed a bit of relief though he made a face at Sybil as she spoke, "The one who needs to be nice is him," she pointed at him and he swatted her hand off.
"Regardless of niceties, let's be off if it's necessary. We don't have to go at too quick a pace so that Corvus and the girl can catch up," he said, motioning in that direction, "But we can at least remove ourselves from the town," he said, removing the alcoholic liquid from the girl's hands and tucking it away in his bag.
Sybil leaned over and whispered, "You should apologize to her," to which he gave her "over my dead body" look. It wasn't that he didn't like centaurs, it was that he didn't like army types, nor did he like those who tried to make themselves seem more improtant for military or religious purposes. He chose to remain neutral because it was in everyone's best interest he not choose a side. It just wouldn't end well. Plus, he had to think about Sybil. He had a feeling this was going to test several theories for him whether she could enter those halls or not....

Sophia could feel her body fill with dark power as the Fleshspinner had touched her mark. It flooded her very being, like a crashing ocean wave on the stony barrier that seperated the land and sea; she felt the power encase her like a warm blanket, though part of her still felt empty and untouched.

"Congratulations," the fleshspinner sarcastically chimed in, before proceeding to inform her of her new... Situation Sophia was now evil? But... She didn't feel any different; she was still Sophia.

Perhaps the Light Terra was wrong; maybe giving into dark power didn't make you inherently evil, as they so often said. Alithe and the Revenant were scary bedtime stories for Neutral children, to scare them into behaving; Sophia remembered witnessing parents scolding their children by telling them that Alithe would steal their soul if they didn't.

All of a sudden, her flesh-spinning companion's attention was suddenly ripped away from her; and so did his neck: Nothing that even resembled a human should physically be able to do such a thing - his movement reminded Sophia of an owl. A very disgusting owl.

The creature spoke of a spy, but as Sophia turned to try and the source of her companion's concern, nothing was there. The young woman could only furrow her brow, starting to question the man's sanity; though she supposed that her senses weren't as developed as her companion's.

Oh sure Corvus, it's not like you're after a blasted Fleshspinner, it's not like they wouldn't have bloody heard you, idiot. The self berrating thoughts came in reaction to the Fleshspinner having called out, obviously having heard his slight movements due to whatever ungodly organ he'd managed to grow over his life. It really should have been more obvious for Crow to take more precautions against being noticed but as seemed to be the growing trends, it really had been quite a long day. Plus, he'd still yet to actually be noticed.. The problem was what to do now, with Sophia's mark feeding like crazy she had just taken that extra step towards the irreparable.

"Speak now!"

Sophia's companion suddenly screamed behind her, causing her to feel like that she had nearly jumped out of her own skin from the electric-feeling shock. Even Crow had to wince at the scream from Shertul for the spy, that being him, to say something. He already had a blasted headache and this whole mess was just... not helping in the slightest.

The woman turned to berate the man for scaring the living daylights out of her, though he'd again cut her off;

"Marked of Alithe, some coward has stalked us. This is your last opportunity to return to Wellborough. Take my hand now, or take your chances that the Nephilim will ever have mercy."

The flesh spinner's clawed hand was outstretched toward her, and Sophia had to hesitate. She momentarily turned her head back toward from where they had come from, curious if she actually should return - her life would remain a lot simpler than the path she was going to take...
"Yeah right," another voice scoffed. Sophia jumped away from the Fleshspinner, much like a startled feline. "Mercy has never been anywhere near Nephilim in any description of them ever, so whatever you did, you should go with him,"

For the fourth time this day, and counting, Crow opened his mouth to return a remark about a coward having followed them before what appeared to be some sort Fire Elemental just decided to waltz on into the situation.

It's strange to see a fire elemental outside of Volkungthad, Sophia had to mentally note; she remembered when she had once visited the dwarven city; at the time, her naive mind thought that the dwarves and elementals worked in unison. Though, what else could she assume? Neither race actually left Volkungthad, and not many could stand the firey conditions of the underground city; it was no wonder that no-one ever heard the truth.

What was it about today in which things continuously got more complicated than could ever have been considered necessary. At this point Carlisle had to take a breath to remind himself he was here for an as yet innocent child. Yet another bloody neutral with some issue with the Nephilim was something he would just have to deal with.

"Where ya going? Can I go too?" the elemental's question pulled Sophia from her dissappointed thoughts. The woman didn't even know who they were or what they were doing, but she wanted to join in? Strange woman...

A quiet "uhh..." escaped her lips as she turned her confused face toward her flesh spinning companion. She didn't say anything, but she'd silently passed the baton of a question toward the strange looking man.

Enough. Carlisle dropped from his perch among the branches to land before them. "Please don't run, I've-", the pause was punctuated by a finger held up in a quietening manner as he managed to fish a flask from somewhere within his clothes. He held the finger up a moment longer as he took a slow swig from flask, savouring what should be a top end scotch back at the tavern before dropping the gesture. "-had a really long day and I'd prefer not to do any more chasing.". After swishing the flask to judge it to be about half full, he tossed it to the fleshspinner, "You, my abomniable friend, really need to eat". Silver flecked eyes cast about each of the members of this rag tag get together, a sigh slipping past his lips. "Now, after your story I actually had to consider you as an unforunate byproduct of a disturbed upbringing and then, low and behold, after having to come for an innocent child, I find you feeding a mark that is not just within the realm of disturbed, but utter madness. Not to mention being more than willing to bring her, the aforementioned innocent child, to within the waste's of Alithe herself. Crow threw up his hands with an exhasperated huff as he turned to the fire elemental having blundered into the scene. "Annnnd lets not forget being in the process of picking up yet another tag along, which, I really really suggest you retract miss. So can someone please explain to me how to rationally resolve any of this without blood", his eyebrow raised in question as to if any of them could possibly have any rational thought processes in their minds and waited. A fight might injure the child and even with her dark mark now awakening, he had been sent to bring her back, she was his responsibility and anything he could do to minimise risk to his charge would have to be done.

Just as Shertul nearly grasped Sophia's hand, yet another lost soul wondered in.

"Yeah right," their new guest scoffed, "Mercy has never been anywhere near Nephilim in any description of them ever, so whatever you did, you should go with him."

Another helpful one. Things were turning his way again.

"What are you by the way? Do you guys needs some help?"

How fortunate! He liked her already.

"Where ya going? Can I go to?"

Nevermind.

Shertul performed some combination of a squint and a scowl. "Have you seen us? Where else but the Wastelands?" A single sharp claw pointed to the trees. "A Nephilim is there! We have done nothing to provoke him! Start a fire!"

Then he withdrew his claws back into a defensive posture. He dug his feet into the dirt like a bull, ready to grab them both and charge off if those trees finally decided to vomit up whatever they were hiding.

And so they did. There was a rustle, a shake, and an angel dropping out of the forest roof.

The Fleshspinner was ready to bolt, yet the Nephilim's words gave him pause.

"Please don't run, I've-"

He stopped mid sentence... to drink from an alcohol flask. Shertul wasn't certain whether to laugh, or to be frightened of this display of confidence. Briefly, he wondered if he was still dying in Wellborough. Or already dead. Is this a new layer of hell?

The angel threw the bottle to him, which he caught by instinct alone.

"You, my abominable friend, really need to eat".

Of course, part of becoming a Fleshspinner proper is forcing your body to ignore poisonous substances. The moment a drug begins having any sort of effect, including dizziness or loss of inhibitions, his body pumps it right back out.

In other words, Shertul can never get drunk.

If he swallowed down this dirty water, for that's all it is, he'd be urinating out pure alcohol in an hour. Maybe half.

"I do not know if you are ignorant of us," Shertul's voice was still weak and coarse, "or simply mocking me." The useless bottle of bile slipped from his hands to drain into dirt. No good. His stomach could only accept very specific brews, made by skilled alchemists, to ease the pain of bone growth. For the sake of his friends, he added "I physically cannot digest alcohol."

"Now, after your story I actually had to consider you as an unfortunate byproduct of a disturbed upbringing and then, low and behold, after having to come for an innocent child, I find you feeding a mark that is not just within the realm of disturbed, but utter madness. Not to mention being more than willing to bring her, the aforementioned innocent child, to within the waste's of Alithe herself. Annnnd lets not forget being in the process of picking up yet another tag along, which, I really really suggest you retract miss. So can someone please explain to me how to rationally resolve any of this without blood"

Shertul raised his eyebrow.

"We have a little myriad of options for resolving this without tearing ourselves apart, I'm certain. There's always another way out, isn't there?" The mage realized that making pleasant conversation in the middle of a life-threatening time was becoming his specialty.

That and spewing out long speeches.

"We can simply flee. You could never match my run." He studied his aggressor, then sighed admittedly- the endurance runes on this man's body were all too clear. "But you'd find me eventually, wouldn't you? Fine. Another option.

"You can give up because we have harmed no one at all. My only crime is having more arms than you're comfortable with. This girl's... problem, I'll call it... can only be solved by those with serious expertise in dark magic, so that's exactly who I'm taking her to.

"Or the girl can chose to go with you, where you will mercilessly, remorselessly murder her as soon as you realize how deep that Mark goes." He sounded equally apathetic towards all the ideas.

Shertul still felt the need to travel with his rescuer, certainly, he had simply become too starved to feel strongly about anything. Right now, his only real emotion was the instinct to eat.

It's times like these that make flesh-mages feel like animals. He hadn't eaten in all of twelve hours. No problem, for a humani, but Shertul was halfway to going comatose unless he found something edible now. His whole world was hunger. He didn't feel angry at the Nephilim. He felt hungry. He didn't feel sorry for the girl. He felt hungry. Even his curiosity about the flaming one could be held off 'till after dinner. He felt hungry.

He shocked himself when he suddenly found himself licking his lips at the enemy, wondering what angel tasted like.

---

Analise dared closer toward the two figures, making her own well being known in their path. Her lip curled as she could hear the slightest of growls from one of them. It would only be a moment away for her to escape from the town’s chains, how it weighed down her ever being. And yet, the enemy would stand upon its mere edges.

"We must move quickly, I dislike staying in this city for too long. We are lucky the people haven't started another event for them to blame the Nephilim for."

As if you haven’t done anything. Analise shrugged off the thought, then took notice of the Neutral individuals among them. A simple “ah.” escaped from her mouth. Where else would they depart to? Her sight tinted to the old image of her memories. The dear halls of Raziel himself, the gates in their known grandeur, and the knowledge ever flowing within their city. Though in her reminisce, the memory of the hospitality provided for her and her kind had been etched into her mind. It had to be remembered, for it would be certain of the end laid ahead.

"I suppose I'll go play fetch with the farmgirl then before the mobs come with pitchforks and the like" the other Nephilim spoke before running off.

Quickly, Analise followed after him, curiosity and mischief brimming within her mind. Long has it been for her to encounter a white cloak. The thought of letting the children of Raziel slip from her grasp would be displeasing. Though it would be troublesome if I were to fight...

She slowed her pace as other beings seemed to tug at her senses. Odd and yet faintly resembling of her own. Brothers? No, it can’t be... What she was feeling was different from her kin. She followed the traces slowly, carefully cutting the distance between them. About three I can- “Four,” she counted. The Nephilim... She hid among the trees in silence, looking out to the unknown figures.

Living statues are typically controlled via simple verbal commands. "Come", "stay", "explode", etc. The more well-crafted golems can take more detailed orders. The very best can hold conversations, offer opinions and act of their own "free will", so to speak.

Yet all that is only for the benefits of the non-magical customers who buy them. When a Mystic Artist creates a golem solely for their own service, rarely does it need a comprehension of language at all. They communicate with their owners by a mild telepathy. It only works when the servant is in physical contact with their master, but it is nonetheless invaluable.

Especially if you can't speak.

Lumao wanted to create a golem that could talk with a voice of it's own, so he would be able to relay his thoughts through it, and thereby speak to others. No matter how hard he tried, all his speaking creations crumbled, screamed, whispered or became as mute as him. It was too complex, too beyond him. Lumao had to settle for a very expressive turtle.

Determined to make the most of his situation, Lumao ensured that his mount was superior as a companion and a tool, if not a translator. He imbued it with real personality, he gave it as much understanding as he could, and finally he designed it to be strong enough to carry massive weights. He carved it's plated shell and claws out of deep, fiery ruby.

It's primary purpose is for the sake of companionship during travel: it is not as fast as a horse, not even close, yet it never tires. The middle of its shell has a built-in dip that Lumao fits right into. He can sleep on its back with relative comfort. He even filled the dip with pillows and blankets, where he can rest or read as it totes him along the road. Because they share a mental bond, it is much like holding a conversation with a dear friend as you travel a long path.

It's ruby-made back is hollow. Down beneath his little bed, Lumao has built a hatch that opens up right into the interior of it's shell. It is small in there, only four feet from top to bottom, but it's perfect for storing the most valuable supplies, or for sleeping in on stormy nights.

Shell never buckled under the weight, regardless of what Lumao stuffed in it. The mage once offered a four-hundred pound merchant with two-hundred more pounds of goods a free ride. His loyal turtle just grunted and glared ruefully at Lumao, then continued on their way... a little slower, albeit.

As the mage approached his destination, the bustling capital of humanity, a scattered crowd could be seen only beginning to disperse. There was stress on their faces and curiosity in their voices. Something had happened here. Something negative, if the palpable tension was any clue.

"Hurry," he thought to his golem, "get me to the gates." It just sighed in response, but reluctantly sped up. Lumao had to feel bad for the creature: it always hates being left outside the anti-magic gates of Wellborough. If it entered, Shell would be nothing more than a pretty statue.

Chasing away his guilt and narrowing his bird-like eyes, Lumao only just noticed someone standing in a group separate from the crowd, on the distance, barely in sight. He could spy a silhouette of white and blue. It looked... cold, somehow, even from this distance. And familiar.

It can't be.

Yet it was. Kaezira of the North, the mage of ice who saved his life. What are the odds?

Shell must have known his master's thoughts, because suddenly it was changing direction and chugging along with a real purpose.

"No no," Lumao tried to think, "Mr. Bal, the merchant you carried that one time, is waiting for us. We can find Kaezira afterwards. We can't keep a good man waiting. He may need a lift again."

The walk sped up.

Shell twisted around to look at his rider. He tilted his head sarcastically, a look which both of them had learned means "I'm not impressed."

Wow!, the artist thought. It was really excited about meeting Kaezira. Normally, the most interesting thing this turtle did was when Lumao would open his back to find all the supplies bathed in grass and fish, because apparently Shell is convinced that he can eat food like a real turtle. Nothing will ever change his mind.

Lumao tapped the ruby cover beneath him in quiet acceptance. Nothing would change his mind about this, either. Shell was going to take him wherever Shell was going to take him.

The golem gave a satisfied grunt.

---

How very, very convenient and generous of Lark to so brazenly hold his arms in front of him. As if Gellert would put cuffs on him. Oh, none of that. The Grey Wolf was not a guard, but a brute in man's clothing. Who needs cuffs when you can break and/or dismember criminals' arms so they can never run away and/or commit crimes until their dying breath? This sort of grim pragmatism was exactly what earned him such a bloody reputation. For the most part, he knew neither mercy nor restraint when it came to eradicating the scum of the earth. Indeed, Lark would get neither of the two in the Grey Wolf's care.

But it would be bad sport to inform him of that so early, would it not?

Gripping tight both of Lark's arms, Gellert turned him over and held them against his back. A rough movement that probably felt just as uncomfortable as a punch to the head. Thus the Grey Wolf held him like this, a prisoner of his own. People who have seen him perform a capturing maneuver like this to another, that person would soon be executed, with blade or otherwise. But surely Gellert knew better than to kill a child in the open. Surely.

"Let me tell you something you should already have known, young man," Gellert muttered in the boy's ear. "There is no bounty on you. I don't need one to end your criminal activities for a wolf does as the wolf pleases." Lark having said his goodbyes to his....children, the Wolf walked with him in tow, escorting him out of the Rogues Gallery to who knows where. On the way out, he was met with someone who was clearly judging him for what he just did. A Lycan, too, if her scent spoke of anything. There was another wolf here in Wellborough? Either she was a wanderer like that Fae girl who tried to skadoosh him or the old wolf's memory was failing him again.

"Forgive me, pup, but who are you?" The tone did not deliver it, but that was an honest question. Gellert legitimately had no idea who this she-wolf was and frankly, could not be buggered enough to know right now. He resumed to escort Lark out and soon the Rogues Gallery was left to its own business. A collective sigh of relief was to be had for sure; they could've faced a massacre if that thief had spoken anything out of line.

Walking their way out of the Lawless Zone, people looked at Gellert with even more incredulous look. Never had they thought that Lark Sylvsson would be apprehended in their lifetime, yet here he was. In the custody of Wellborough's Grey Wolf. Most thought that he would carry the boy to the Guards, but they would be wrong.

He was in fact taken to the Markets.

To a certain food stall. The stall whose owner Lark had robbed earlier today. The man looked nothing less than flabbergasted at the sight of his robber. He never thought the Grey Wolf would be serious about capturing him. Gellert brought Lark close to said man, not letting him off of his iron-tight grasp. "You bastard! Stealing from me was your last mistake!" he shouted at the boy as he shook him up as best he could.

"How much money did you steal from this nice, honest man?" The Grey Wolf asked him with dead seriousness. Lark had better answer this question honestly. And the vendor had better not try to profit from this, either. Lest there would be two corpses he'd have to deal with.

@SanaChan@Scyntell@Lawful Newtral

Amber immediately took a disliking to the new girl. For one, she also smelled of Beast, specifically wolf. Secondly she immediately accused Amber of being here for mischievous reasons. She actually came here for safety, and stayed because children were frightened. If this wold girl wanted to see mischief, she'd see mischief. Amber just had to think something up...

After the exchange of words that Amber wasn't really paying attention to, the nice guy was escorted out by the mean old guy. Amber felt a pang of sadness, but that was the law of the forest. The strong prey on the weak, and the weak try to outsmart the strong, but there's always a winner and loser. She turned her attention back to the she-wolf, when she noticed her giving coins to the children. Amber knew that coins could get you food, and that this was basically feeding them. Her opinion on the wolf softened, and she decided not to be mischievous to her.

"That was nice, what you just did. I'm Amber. What's your name?"

As she talked, she turned, as as she turned, she felt the crystal in her dress. She took it out and looked at it, then back out the door, appearing deep in thought. Amber had no concept of favours or manners, but she knew that she owed Lark, and she didn't want to let him die after receiving a gift in this beautiful stone. Disregarding Nyx entirely, she ran out the door, keeping her head down, and following the scent of the wolf. As it got stronger, she took a left turn and headed down an alley, now running parallel to where the trail would lead her, which was back to the nice part of town, the way she came.

She was quickly cut off by a gang of boys in their early to mid teens, not one of them much taller than her, but they all still looked tough and lean, and their eyes were cruel.

"We'll be taking that crystal now, if you don't mind." said the largest one.

Amber smiled, then chuckled a little, then kept walking, quite close to the edge of the lawless zone now. The boys, furious, followed her at a run but she continues to ignore them, or occasionally provoke them with laughter, or a playful thwap with her light wings, constantly leading them towards the markets. She was goading them, sometimes even dancing out the way of their grabs at her, but not running away yet. Not quite. That would suggest she was fleeing. That she was afraid, but it was her confident mockery that was throwing the young thugs off so much. They weren't used to people smaller than them being so fearless.

Eventually, the large one lost his patience, grabbed her dress, and pinned her against the wall, seething with rage. "You're going to pay for mocking us," he near-whispered with a shaky voice. "First you're going to give us the crystal, then we might not beat you up as bad as we want to."

Amber smirked right at his large, ugly face. He's just sprung her trap. Before he could register what she was doing, she grabbed his hand, and pushed it away from her, tearing her dress in the process, and then immediately screamed as loud as she could, adding the evergreen "Stop! You pervert!"

The teens, flustered and red-faced at this display, quickly backed away and looked around. A few people were starting to turn in their direction. The boys bolted back towards the lawless zone, and Amber proudly skipped into the market, quickly picking the trail back up.

---

According to ancient myth, there existed down beneath the surface of Terra, below even Volkungthad, home of the dwarves, a series of labyrinths that would eventually lead to a sealed vault. Few know of its existence and fewer still know of its contents. Some say it held riches beyond any mortal comprehension, some speak of ancient horrors, sealed away since time immemorial. It was generally agreed upon, however, that whosoever was able to open said vault, would obtain the power to change the course of history itself. A rather vague way of describing a power, to be sure, but enough to entice many a treasure hunter to seek it. Predictably, few even found the labyrinths, let alone the vault, so the truth behind the vault remained in word of mouth alone and even if it existed, it would remain closed for quite some time.

And that time was up.

Heralded by a chain of earthquakes, the vault's doors suddenly opened, releasing what had been sealed inside since before recorded history: Nerzar, the Sacred Nightmare, Dragon of Darkness. Bane of Raziel and Alithe alike. At his side, his Herald, Cyndia Eversong. The Elf had been chosen by the Lord of Dream's champion ever since her birth. He had guided her to the vault and she joined him in the Long Sleep, biding their time until the time was right to unleash their master plan: the salvation of Terra from the monsters that were Order and Chaos. When she first slept, she had been a young and timid girl, not knowing why she had been given these dreams.

Now, at the advent of her Lord into the world once more, she was a woman, dedicated and learned from a millennium of training, so most of all, she was ready.

"And so the sleeper awakens," Nerzar uttered, his voice an amalgamation of multiple voices with a deep one resonating the loudest. "In time, Raziel and Alithe shall suffocate in their own foolish sanctimony. And you, my dear, will be the Herald of what is to come." A baleful, shadowy wing moved to enshroud the girl in some semblance of a hug. She snuggled up to the wing in response as if hugging him back.

"I am ready, my lord. All the world shall bear witness to your vision, your dream. This I vow." In contrast, Cyndia had but one voice, yet it rang truer than the shadowy deity's. More...zealous. If the grin on his maw was to be believed, Nerzar was pleased by her words and her zeal.

"Go now, my champion, and spread the words of doom. Show them what is to come should they not heed my omen. I send you to the cynosure of Humani, the most resilient of Terra's denizens, but the most willing to listen to my dark sermons. Failure is not an option, for the fate of the world depends on this task." Dark smoke circling the elf woman, she was transported away from the dark caverns. The Lord Nerzar would now wait, as he had waited since the bygone age of creation. In time, Cyndia, his Herald, would show the mortals the true folly of Order and Chaos. Only then would those blasted beings be purged from existence and their conflicted annihilated. Under his baleful wings that beat with the rhythm of eternity, life would finally know peace.

---

Cyndia hadn't realized how much sunlight burned her eyes until she was depraved of it for a thousand years.

Blinking her eyes like a near-blind bat, she looked around and saw trees, a vast woodland and within it, a sprawling settlement. She heard the chatter of civilization, various sounds that spoke to her that life was here and life was here to stay. In her millennium-long sleep, she had deeply missed these sounds. Had it not been for Lord Nerzar grounding her knowledge, she would've surely lost the ability to function like a normal elf and would've been overwhelmed by the return to the mortal plane. The dreamer did not necessarily want to remain dreaming, after all.

As Cindy made her way to enter this settlement, Wellborough, she immediately noticed after just a few steps that around the confines of the city was a barrier that turned magic aside. The Elf frowned, this simply would not do. The powers of Nerzar would be made useless under such a barrier. To her fortune, however, the release of the Sacred Nightmare had not gone without a fair warning. Originating from the vault, an all-encompassing yet subtle darkness swept through the land, as if dusk suddenly arrived early everywhere. With the darkness came with it a foul magic that surrounded the magic barrier that ever so slightly faltered it. The naked eye could not see it, but she felt it. The barrier was weakened just enough for her whisper magic to function, as proven when she made a poor stablehand shiver in fear. Now was the time to find prey.

Catching in the corner of her eye the presence of a crowd, Cyndia had found just that. Two Nephilim and a couple of free-minded beings, one inclined to Raziel and the two others to Alithe.

Innocently standing behind the cover of a wall as if waiting for someone to arrive, Cyndia let loose the dark whispers of Nerzar, spreading doubt and portents of doom within their mind of minds. She did not expect their wills to be so weak as to immediately succumb to them, but no one could ignore them. They would continuously dig into their minds, chipping away at their sanity, bit by minuscule bit.

---

Sophia was beyond surprised to discover that Shertul wasn't wrong in his paranoia and that they actually were being tailed; and by none other than the same Nephlim that had previously let them walk free. Had he changed his mind? she had to wonder. Sophia's confusion was only magnified by the sight of the Nephlim stopping their conversation to drink from a flask; being the naive girl that she was, Sophia had only assumed that it was water. After all, were Nephlim even allowed to drink?

A twitch formed in the corner of Carlisle's eye as he watched the fleshspinner empty the rest of the flask. How was he supposed to know the creature's metabolism extended to alcohol? He'd had encounters with fleshspinners before of course but it wasn't like he casually sat and had a social outing with any to know they didn't drink and now, once again, he was without a drink and outnumbered.

It was only after the Nephlim tossed the flask to her companion who only proceeded to drop it onto the floor. So it was alcohol, Sophia thought, a little disappointed; the Nephlim were meant to represent Raziel and his "purity". The young woman crouched down to pick up the dirt-covered flask, dusting the muck off with the end of her sleeve; after replacing the plug of the flask, Sophia tossed the flask back to the Nephlim man. "Seventeen is hardly a child," Sophia remarked, though the childish pout that her lips had formed into didn't really help her cause.

Shertul nodded grimly. "I decided my fate at ten. You're a child only as long as you can afford to be one. She chose to save a 'monster' today, then chose to stick by me: she's not a child."

At the very mention of the suggestion that Sophia was to go back to Wellborough to face the Nephlim's twisted sense of justice, Sophia had to meekly retreat behind her four-armed companion, not dissimilar to a shy child hiding behind her mother's legs: While she wasn't fond of the idea of being labelled as an evil creature by following after Wasteland-dwellers, Sophia definitely didn't want to have her life ended for simply having the shadow of darkness inside of her.

Shertul registered the concern on her face. At the gates, he had stepped with stealth between his savior and his threat. Now he mirrored it, guarding Sophia carefully from one who he knew would end her life if he could only see how much darkness was truly clinging to this youngling. Yet, in the same fluent motion, he prepared his stance to leap at the Nephilim like a pouncing tiger. He still would not stop the girl from leaving with the Nephlim, if she chose, but it would be the same as not stopping her from tieing a noose around her neck.

Keen eyes caught the hunger within Shertul's gaze as he sized Crow up, causing muscles to tense along his body. The creature must be starving, Carlisle wasn't even sure how he had managed to survive the runes at the gates long enough to be dragged away and knew less how long it had been before that since Shertul last ate. Either way, he certainly wasn't planning on being a meal. "Don't..Even..Try it", each word came controlled and steady though the steel could be felt in the spaces.

The hungry mage's face contorted into a predatory smile. Somehow, his teeth gleamed sharper than before. "No offense. You would be considering it as well, if you were starving. Instinct, my friend. Instinct. I will not harm you if you do not harm me."

Standing atop her perch, Analise spied out to the unraveling scene tempting at it's movements. Her senses picked up and clinged to every life force that dared at her surroundings. It would not take much to find her with her struggling state. Hardly would she have thought such an encounter to happen and became far from her previous intentions. But as Analise would expect, she couldn't ignore the situation's appeal.

She shook her head and concentrated on the beings below her. The four-armed one... she peaked from her fold before readjusting its form, a fleshpinner! Rare was it for their kind to be seen out from their Monastery. Long she had doubted the sewned on tales of its path and yet, there was its living proof of its glory right before her.

Though picking up on to the other flamed spirit in her midst, her attention was focused onto the more neutral of the four individuals. Human, she assumed, but her stature did not phase Analise. A hint of her form resided within the young woman. Peculiar and yet invigorating. Analise was sure of it, a great darkness had to resided within the girl.

With flashes within her mind, she turned quickly to the Nephilim. She had always taken caution with the Nephilim, knowing the danger that comes with facing their kind. As if a sense of worry began to entangle in her mind, small sparks began to escape from the tips of her skin. If he wishes them harm, she would take her aim.

Shertul paused for a few moments. Another creature was rustling in the trees, now. Another predator perched in wait, but this one... darker. Shertul's third eye dared to ease open.

Staring off with mystical gaze, he could spy something black gathering in the woods. Power. Very dark power, yet power burning so bright.

A dark mage? The one who marked the girl? Another Fleshspinner? Certainly not a Revenant. His luck was not nearly so fortunate.

It doesn't matter, he berrated himself. It is no friend to the Nephilim, certainly, and now Raziel's avenger is outnumbered three-to-one. This should be an easy kill, if it becomes a kill.

The silver flecks in Carlisle's eyes flared along with the clarity rune as the fleshspinner's third eye saw past him to something further back in the trees. As his senses opened, Crow could swear that the presence touching his mind was the same Revenant that was around the gates before he went on this jolly hunt. Following in Shertul's movements, Crow's foot slid across the dirt to form a ready stance, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to the presence behind him. The girl was well and truly hiding behind the creature and Carlisle was being surrounded, an absolutely brilliant continuation of a really..really shitty day.

Shertul hoped with all his mind that the dark-bright one hiding in the trees could help them. Ambush the Nephlim. But first, someone needed to create a distraction. Then he remembered: at Wellborough, the angel was thrown off guard by Shertul's unexpected accusations. How simple!

"You know..." the flesh-mage was spinning a confusing spiel again, "the only reason I need to eat you is because Raziel created life in such a way that we must kill other creatures to feed on them. If he is so morally righteous, why did he make a world where the weak must always die to feed the strong? Why did he create predators to murder the prey? In doing so, your god invented violence. He is its origin. One would forge such beautiful life only to ensure that it would have to destroy other life to survive?"

Shertul did not know the answer to these unrelated questions, nor did he care. He created them as he spoke. The Fleshspinner could only hope the Nephlim would be too distracted to notice his actions, or the actions of the stranger in the woods.

"That was...a pretty poor argument", Carlisle's head tilted to the side quizzically as he watched the fleshspinner, eyes occasionally flicking over his shoulder to the farm girl cowering behind him. Unless his instincts were incredibly wrong, things were on the verge of getting very messy. There was nothing around to help him out either, not that he could see in the quick glances he managed to make around whilst keeping tabs on the threats around him.. unless.

The faintest rustle through the trees alerted Carlisle to the fox's movment and in the space of a breath his hand moved to the throwing axe at his waist, hurling it through the shrub. The other hand came up in the same instant in a pacifying nature in hopes that he wasn't about to be jumped on before the [snick] and dying yelp of the fox could be heard. The throwing hand pointed to the fox, pinned dead to the nearby tree, holding the other hand still in a pacifying way "Eat that instead".

Shertul wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or more suspicious. His eyes darted from the raw meat, to the angel, to the raw meat, to the angel, and then stuck to the meat. It was a plump little fox: still warm, dripping in blood. It's foot kicked just a bit. Fresh. Tantalizing. Ignoring instincts was not in his nature.

His stomach was shouting at him. This wasn't a choice.

"You!" he pointed to the fire elemental while gluing his vision back to the angel. "You said you wanted to help. I will not leave this girl even long enough to take the fox. Not while he stands here, waiting. Bring it to me." He tried to sound polite, but desperation tinted his every word. "I must eat. It is the curse of my kind."

"And the axe if you don't mind, although best to touch it as little as possible.. It can be a little, uncomfortable", Carlisle punctuated the request with a quick glance to the flame spirit. He was hoping that in feeding the fleshspinner, things would calm down a little bit but it would not be so easy to soothe the suspicious creature and now he was without his axe with a possible Revenant behind him and two powerful beings in front.

Corra looked at the two.... she didn't know what to call them at the moment who just ordered her to go get their things as if she were some little servant girl at their beck and call, "You're joking right?" she said, her expression as tame as she could keep it, but she sighed. She reigned in the desire to blow them all a few feet in some other direction, and turned and all but stomped over to the fox and axe, her hands ablaze as she was still deciding whether or not a fireball to their faces was an appropriate response. She pulled the axe from the tree after a couple tugs and need to shift positions for a better grip, tossing it towards the group, semi in the direction of its owner, as if it were diseased, before grabbed the fox corpse by the ear, also not wanting to really touch it, before bringing over and tossing it at the fleshspinner, "Is that all?" she asked, her sarcasm practically dripping from speech.

"Thankyou. I'm sorry to order you, but it was a matter of life and death. You may have just prevented my starvation." He paused to take the fox from her hands like a bar of gold. "You said it yourself," the Fleshspinner continued, "Nephilim have no mercy. Not on beings such as me."

He started to move the fox towards his lips. His jaw unhinged like a snake's, but just before it made contact at last, he suddenly leapt with all the speed in his bones, grasping for the angel's axe. The corpse was still dangling limply in one hand.

He had heard the Nephilim's warning. He knew it might be runed. He knew it might hurt. But nothing could be worse than Wellborough's gates.

Just as Carlisle thought he might have a few moments reprieve while Shertul ate, the creature lept for the axe that'd been tossed to him. From the sheer velocity of the fleshspinners movement, there was really no way for Crow to stop his mass directly without getting hurt himself. Instead he paused for a split second longer until the creature was about to grasp the axe and sent a kick hurtling into the side of his face whilst feigning a surprised step back. "Didn't I just say it'd be uncomfortable?", the axe finished it's arch, landing in his waiting hand. He almost wanted to give an apologetic look to the farm girl but had suspicions that Shertul wasn't just going to eat dirt from that one.

Shertul took that shattering blow. It was bludgeon to his skull, aching and flaming. At first.

But Fleshspinners must grow their own bones: a slow, agonizing process for years. It hurts every second, every minute, every day, until the last second of the last minute of the last day of your life- unless you learn to blot out your pain. Flesh-mages practice all their lives to dull themselves.

In a split second of focus, in the time between the kick and the fall, his aching was forced into relief.

His arms moved quick. They impacted into the dirt and the rocks beneath him, then launched up. It was like watching an insect. He was back on his feet with inhuman speed.

Two upper limbs took a defensive stance across his body, while the remainders spread to either side with open palms. The fox flopped in tail all the while, a bloody corpse in a clawed hand.

His eyes dimmed to monstrously black, cloaking the direction of his gaze. One tried focusing on the backdrop of the forest, searching rapidly for the source of the dark-bright powers he still sensed. The second pinned itself to Carlise.

Crow grimaced slightly to the insectile motion of the Fleshspinners recovery, while it was expected, it still wasn't pleasant. His eyes dimmed to a black void and it took a moment too long to recognise the purpose of, to be able to secretly keep an eye on that presence.

Analise's lip curled, amused by the sudden recognition of her being. Warmth rushed to the tips of her fingers as adrenaline sweapt her. Sparks began to fly out from her being, signaling those from a distance. Finally, she leapt from her tree, diving at the angel's back.

Analise hit his back before he could duck and he was forced into a roll to get her off him. As soon as she was over, the burning death rune in his hand flared as the other went to the hilt of the Braidh, partway drawing it so as to show the righteous power within. "I just want to speak with the girl", he took a breath trying to settle the flaring of the silver flecks in his eyes. "This isn't how this has to go."

Analise stared out to her new surroundings as she lay, taking small breaths to keep steady before moving. Pushing herself to her feet, Analise cocked her head as to sneer at the Nephilim."Well then," she outstretched her hand, mimicking his action by having her own palm set ablaze,"Speak quickly." The fire diminished at her clench.

Of course, of course, Shertul internally lectured himself, another fire elemental. One of the wastes. How could I not have expected this? The third eye could focus now that she had revealed herself- he saw her more clearly. Her soul was perceived like chaos sheltered under fire. Her took in her whole being as a shadow wreathed in flame.

She came just in time. This angel was not leaving- not until he was forced to flee, or until he claimed Sophia. Shertul could never allow that to happen. He knew if the farm girl let the Nephilim lead her away, she would never survive. The darkness was too deep in her. She was almost made from eldritch powers, the way Shertul is made from magic. A vital, primal part of her soul was forever shadowed.

When Raziel's chosen find her out, and when they know there is no cure short of death, then death is exactly what they'll give her.

"You wish to speak to her? Nobody was stopping you." His voice was dangerously calm, to hide the chilling anger waiting under the surface. "It's what comes after that worries me. You almost took my life for nothing, then barely knew enough compassion to spare me. You've shown your true face already. You will kill her, when you realize what that mark is. You will burn her away." He made certain the last sentences were loud enough for Sophia to hear.

He backed up mildly, posing again as her bodyguard. If he stayed at her front, she would be kept safe: at the least, Shertul could move deftly enough to repel any approach.

With a boney click, his jaw was unhinged again. This time, finally, the blooded and dirt-caked fox was actually eaten: it sunk down head first. Each part of the Fleshspinner's neck stretched slowly to pass along the sliding corpse. He was a snake swallowing a rat whole. Within thirty seconds, all that was left were the last threads of a tail being slurped down.

His strengthening voice whispered behind to the girl, at a tilt of his head. "Apologies, human. Fleshspinners do not bother with table manners. Or cooking... or chewing." He cleared his throat as he motioned to the Nephilim. "You may speak with him or go with him, but keep caution. It is your choice, friend."

Sophia was beyond disturbed at the sight of Shertul's snake-like tenacity; every minute she spent with the twisted creature, the more he surprised her with his... Evolution. At least she could take solace in the fact that she wouldn't have to cook for her four-armed companion - the Nephlim's wrath and Wellborough's gates were nothing compared to her awful cooking.

"Speak to me about what?" she questioned. The farmgirl peered around her fleshspinning companion, looking toward the Nephlim man. Sure, he'd showed them mercy before, but she doubted that she'd be offered such courtesies again. "You'll just take me back and then everyone will find out the truth and I'd be burned alive - it's better this way; just tell everyone that I already died."

The more Crow thought about it, the bleaker this whole situation looked. He was outnumbered three to one with the fleshspinner directly in front of his quarry. There was no way he was going to fight all of them and be together enough to get the girl after. He held the defensive stance, hand on hilt, whilst the newest fire elemental flashed a warning of flame and Shertul questioned the fate of the farmgirl if she were to go with Carlisle. Fair points all round considering Carlisle himself had yet to actually figure out what on earth he was going to do with her if he managed to get her away from them. It was only then that Sophia actually piped up, the poor girl considered herself too gone to return.

"Look I know you can't just go back, and I know you've been set on a path you can't just walk away from-", he paused to glance at Shertul who was very in the way of the conversation. "Y'know, this just isn't good social etiquette", he suppressed the growing frown before directing his attention to what what little of Sophia could be seen from behind the disjointed mass of Shertul.

The disjointed mass made one step out to the left.

"See now I don't feel like I'm talking to a very humanlike tumor like growth on your shoulder." The death rune dulled enough to show good faith but not enough to not be used if needed.

Shertul felt less stressed since eating. His metabolism was already processing the food and regaining his lost strength, but that also meant his stomach would be empty again in a few hours.

At the very least, his sense of humor was re-fueling. "I could grow a humanlike tumor on the other shoulder, if that would add some more symmetry." He made a wink, identical to the one he had given to the crowd who watched him in Wellborough.

Crow had to repress a mix between a shudder and a chuckle to the image of more growths of any kind from Shertul, "I'm not sure the symmetry would make you any less distracting". His attention returned to the now more visible Sophia, "Running off to the wastes is not the only way to do this. You're not some lost cause, nor do I plan on killing you. I can help you work this out without running headlong into the Revenant."

Carlisle's eyes flicked to Analise for just a moment; he could feel the dark influence from her prickling the hairs on his body. The partially drawn Briadh slid back into it's sheath as a further show of peace. "I'm not going to capture you, you'd be free to walk away from me whenever you wanted. Just let me try to help".

For once, her self-appointed bodyguard did not argue. Shertul only shifted his eyes questioningly to Sophia. They were all gray, now.

From Corra's perspective, closer now, but still not any clearer, this was all ridiculous. The answer to the solution seemed obvious. How did this Nephilim plan on helping her? It didn't seem like the source of the overall issue was something he could just whisk away and make it like it never existed, so what exactly was he trying to sell? And why was he so ridiculously determined to continue to try and sell a seemingly broken product when he was completely surrounded by those who did not exceedingly care for his presence, let alone his actual opinion on where the girl belonged? And it was all going in circles anyways, but even this odd character who took a boot to the skull and rebounded nonetheless had stopped to let the girl consider her options, which again just seemed like an endeavor to confuse her and waste more time. She sighed aloud, rubbing her forehead, wondering if all problems between these factions were handled so.... poorly. Honestly, the initial idea of the fireball seemed like the quickest and smoothest way to end this nonsense, plus the girl didn't seem interested in what Carlisle was even dangling in front of her- a smart choice as far as Corra could tell. She looked to the other fire elemental, though, deciding to divert her attention to the more interesting thing here anyways- was she a Revenant? Oh the questions she had for her, but she wasn't entirely sure she was the question answering type. In a physical manifestation of her rapid, circling thoughts, a fireball appeared in her hand that she tossed back and forth idly, waiting for something- anything really- to progress.

Sophia couldn't feel any more anxious even if she had a sword against her throat; on one hand, she'd be traversing into the wastes with those who Terra saw as evil. But on the other hand, Sophia could simply go home never knowing the truth of her... condition. "I... I..." she stammered, nervously clutching her hands to her chest. The farm girl backed up, edging closer to the border that separated light Terran lands from the chaotic wastes.

"I'm sorry; I-I just need to know."

Without another word, Sophia cut herself away from the group, her small figure disappearing further east - and into Alithe's domain.

---

No! On the way to Kaezira, Lumao noticed Mr. Bal was already there, waiting by the gates expectantly for his artistic supplier and the "most illustrious mount of magic and stone" (Bal's words, of course).

Wait!, Lumao thought-commanded to his most illustrious mount of magic and stone, We can't just leave him: I promised we would meet here today.
And there was that amphibian "I'm not impressed" look again.

To the contrary, Shell seemed to only be encouraged. It raised it's upper claws into the air like a rearing horse, then charged forward with half the momentum of one. It was moving nearly the speed of a sprinting human, which Lumao figured had to be some sort of world record either for turtles or for rocks. The speeding turtle-rock rider felt bad seeing Mr. Bel try to flag him down like a carriage-for-hire. He wished he could shout out an answer to his confused friend- the mount just kept moving forward.

Lumao gave a big, apologetic shrug of "sorry!" while his turtle chugged on to Kaezira. He could have sworn he saw it stick a stone tongue out at the fat salesman as they passed him. This was strange. His golem had never disobeyed any order so directly. Normally it would obey, even if that meant complaining all the while.

Thank the Gods, Lumao thought, that I made my golems for sale so much less independant.

Was that sound coming from Shell's throat a laugh?

"Oh look," Windleaf sighed sardonically, "a giant turtle made of rubies. Why am I not surprised?"

There it was, only a few yards away now. It's skin was stone of endless black, it's back was octagonal-plated rubies redder than flame, it's eyes were blazing emeralds... and it was a damn turtle. Not only a damn turtle, but a damn turtle being ridden by a stunningly surprised Corvi.

The woodland warrior had been in the "capital" for less than an hour, and already she had seen three- three!- mages, two Nephilim, one abominable thing, and one da... one stone turtle. She silently wondered if the whole of centaur kind should just scratch Wellborough off their maps and write "Here be monsters."

The feeling of the Revenant presence Kaezira could sense, faded with Carlilse's leave. He has the suspicions that it's following him, but he's not worried for Crow. He has much confidence that the white warrior will be able to deal with it himself. If need be, Corvus can call out to Kaezira.
As he mounted his horse and looked back to his traveling partners, he saw that their focus wasn't on leaving but rather on something in the distance that must have been very odd, judging by the looks on their faces.
Kaezira looked towards the direction they were. Somewhat surprised to see the sight, but honestly so many irregular things have happened and been seen already, its hard to be surprised by anything at this point.
A corvi, named Lumao, riding his stone mount, which was vigorously charging towards Kaezira, at which probably felt like break-neck speed to the mounted turtle.
Kaezira closed his eyes and pressed his palm against his forehead to releave of an oncoming headache. No doubt once the bird learns of the destination of their travels he would want to tag along. His Nephilim siblings will be confused when they see Kaezira escorting two elves, a woman-horse and a man-bird into their sacred library. The situation was seeming to be pulled straight from the script of a play.
"Well, if it isn't the greatest artist the sky has yet to see, Lumao Suulaliva. Tell me, what brings you to the somewhat peaceful town of Wellborough?" Kaezira wasn't expecting a response much short of absurdity.

Daewyn wasn't paying much attention behind them, figuring some other oddity was causing some sort of scene behind them, but hearing both what Windleaf had to say and seeing Kaezira's reaction lead the elf to look back and see what his younger companion was already staring at. His brows drew down to a point and he found himself wondering how they were able to just blow this off with their rather obviously exapserated comments. This was a sentient, moving, giant gemstone turtle mounted by, of all things, a Corvi. He found himself smirking at Kaezira's comment of the city being somewhat peaceful- maybe it was but certainly not today it seemed.
"I'd thought I'd seen everything in my time, but I do believe this is a first," he said as he crossed his arms, watching the jeweled beast move.
Sybil found her voice rather logdged in her throat, too confused at how the thing was moving, much less as quickly as it was, to voice her confusion and barrage the rider with all the questions that came to the forefront of their mind. She did, however, spot the young elemental stepping out of the way of the beast with a defeated look on his face. He seemed as if he hadn't wanted to approach the group, but decided that it was too large and the Nephilim too bothered to dare approach and make matters worse. She glanced at Daewyn but he didn't seem to care if he did notice, no his attention was now on the giant walking turtle gem. She wondered if the elemental would do what he had said before and just tail along. Surely now if this thing was coming it would be much easier to figure out how to get to the place.

Everyone seemed so surprised when the turtle rode up. Surprisingly enough, Lumao found himself equally surprised at their surprise. You would think Kaezira would be found in a crowd of magicians, who should well already know of golems.

They all were so full of questions; the elf girl looked positively bursting with unspoken wonder. Desperately, the Mystic Artist tried gesturing to his waxy-scarred throat. Shell even "helpfully" projected a little beam of green light from her eye to his neck, as if saying "SEE!"

Lumao's eyebrows shot up with an idea. He held out his index finger for "wait" so he could rummage through one of his packs for a few seconds. The corvi felt clumbsy and nervous, knowing so many were expecting an explanation. That centaur was already staring him down like an archer with their target in sight.

When his hands finally emerged, they were wrapped around a scroll of parchment, a fine quill, and a well-used bottle of ink. Even tensed with nerves, his writing was eloquent and practiced, yet his sentences were concise for time. Lumao realized long, long ago that speakers had no patience for writers. He didn't blame them.

"Kaezira!" he wrote, "Did not expect you. Came to trade magic art for supplies. Golem saw you, would not stop when told to wait." He paused in consideration for a moment, then added "He just fed on my excitement. Never disobeyed before." He held the parchment outward to be read.

Then he stopped and smiled at the youthful elvish woman. With a brief pause of consideration, he stroked quickly across another part of the parchment, tore it off, folded it closed, and handed it over to her.

Wyn still had his hand to his chin, tilting his head. He had seen golems before, but never one so.... shiny. He noticed what the Corvi pointed out to Sybil, and his brows drew down in confusion. Now how did that happen? The look of perplexion didn't leave his face as Sybil took the paper from the Corvi after he had written(?) to Kaezira.
The paper said "You can ask all your questions when I'm done with Kaezira." She almost jumped at the opportunity to ask questions and learn something new- especially something unrelated to herself, fighting, magic, or elves. She couldn't remember if she knew what this walking gem was, or if she'd ever met a Corvi, so she started coming up with questions, hoping she wouldn't forget the important ones, for after he finished his more important discussion with the Nephilim.
Wyn leaned over to look at the parchment and she closed it, "Mind your own business," it wasn't like it was actually a secret, but she loved holding things like that over his head- she had a secret and that made Wyn want to know it.
Lumao smirked slyly. Shell almost smiled at the girl, an odd sight on an amphibian- it liked her already.
Wyn crossed his arms and turned to face her a little more directly, "Really?" She just stood a little straighter and tucked the parchment into the pouch she kept on her side. He shook his head and looked towards Kaezira again, wondering what his next course of action would be, biting back the comments of he could just simply show them how to get there on a map and they would leave him to his business as he figured no one would actually appreciate his typical commentary right about now.

Impulsively, the golem-rider tore, wrote, and folded another paper message, but this one he gave to Wyn. He could see the confusion riddled across his elven face, and besides, he didn't want to let the man feel left out. This note was a bit longer, explaining that the corvi's neck wound came from untreatable dark magic.

Wyn looked at the note once it was handed to him and put a hand on top of Sybil's head, holding her at arm's length to repay her secrecy with him. She growled, but she realized she should have seen that coming. That was fine, she would just ask him what he wrote on the paper, he said she could, so she would. Wyn nodded, intrigued by that, though it was also worrisome that such magic existed. Not that he should be totally surprised, he'd read of similar ideas. He thanked Lumao for the information and tucked it into his sleeve, furthering Sybil's glare at him for hiding the information. He just patted her on the head, making her swat at his hands and take a step away, crossing her arms with a huff.

Lumao nodded politely at Wyn in response, and grinned reassuringly at the girl. Were all elves this playful? Shell, on the other hand, was gradually becoming inactive: its knees were bending into a sit, and its lit-up eyes were dimming. Its creator should have expected this. While a golem can walk or run forever, they grow tired quickly when they are forced to handle complex thoughts or make their own decisions- like choosing to chase after a mage its owner once knew, or developing an opinion on an elf it just met. It could still walk as a mount, but some time must pass before it can think again. During times like this, Lumao wonders if he was irresponsible when he gifted Shell a mind of its own.

This group looked to be preparing for a journey. If it was the Institute they were after, Lumao couldn't help but hope Kaezira would let him tag along. Rune magic was still a mystery. Do the Nephilim even let outsiders study their sacred power? He wrote, "Where are you all going?"

Nobody answered. Before Lumao could even lift up the scroll, every waiting face was struck with deep doubt, including his. Without warning, the artist was apprehensive and anxious at the very idea of traveling with a Nephilim- even if this was the one who rescued him from certain death.

Am I doing the right thing? he was asking himself. Maybe I should turn back the way I came.

He wanted to push his concerns aside, but suddenly Lumao could not allow himself to forget that the Nephilim were killers. They slaughter those they decide are dark, but who made them judges? They enforce an iron law, but it stifles those beneath them. They keep the world calm, but that calm is only under their boot. What is peace, if it was made through violence? And what is love forged in hate?

Going to the Nephilim, learning their ways, it would be the same as consenting to what they do. Approving of it. The next worse thing to becoming one himself. He looked to Kaezira for support, as if the wizard would freeze his worries. And for just a sweet moment, Lumao almost could swallow them down. Then they just came gurgling back.

Am I doing the right thing?

He guessed that part of him always knew this would happen, when it came time to actually visit the Institute. Morality was strong. He should have known that he was wrong in believing his conscience would let him enter the fortress.

"Are you doing the right thing?"

No. Wait! That last voice wasn't him. It was speaking to Lumao, not as Lumao.

It was a foreign force, he realized with a shutter slithering down his spine. An invader in his mind. The mage focused in all of his magical energies, every last drop, into deciphering or ceasing this abomination. I'm not the most powerful mage, he tried to turn his mental voice intimidating- this thought was truly his own- but now I know you're here.

It must have heard him. Suddenly one whisper of doubt spread into hundreds.

"Listen, listen..." one voice urged him in a way that said this was of vital, life-staking importance.
"...you're not ready yet..." the next wisely observed.
"They'll try to make you one of them... they'll try to make you kill for naught..."
"...evil angels, evil revenant..."

A fierce headache stabbed through his skull.

"...should not go with him..."
"Stop this..."
"...cease..."

The source still hid itself from him, dodging and twisting and ducking like a serpent weaving inside him, but it's attacks were growing simpler. Dying out. Then another blow to the brain; his fingers twitched with nerves.

"...evil angels..."
"cease..."

Almost. His head threatened to crack open under the weight; his hands tried to quiver themselves to the bone.

"...No!"

Only an inkling, but a clear inkling. He heard the voice now. The voice was dark, deep, commanding and powerful. The voice was godlike.

The pain faded.

Now that he knew the origin, he saw it: over to his left, not far from their little group, stood a new arrival. And with her eyes like arrows aiming, every face in her path etched into an expression of fearful worry. It flowed from this specter as a river. She was a shadowy woman standing aloof, as mysterious as the whispers, as dark as their voice: her eyes were an unfathomable ocean of purple, her cloak was midnight's black. She watched.

He tried to discern her face. He failed. The figure was... bleared was not the right word, but it is the closest to describing this otherworldly woman. He could see clearly, yet some part of his mind was dazed at her stare. It was like looking out of reality and into a dream.

Lumao desperately waved his arms, gesturing the rest of the group in her direction. Kaezira looked to be the only other mage here- the others might still believe the whispers are their own.

Wyn too heard those whispers start to form in his head, but he turned them out nearly as quickly as they came and began to look around for the source of the forced confusion in his mind. He had set on this path long ago and knew exactly what he was doing and what he wanted, and it was not in his nature to turn back on something he had set his mind too. Plus, it was far too sudden to be natural doubt, so who was behind this and what could they possibly gain from trying to confuse them? He looked to his companion and realized that she was not so sure in herself and had a look on her face that was a mix of alarm and conufsion.
In Sybil's mind, those whispers were loud, and they questioned if she could truly handle the truth of who she was, if that person was even someone that alone would want around. Maybe it was better if she just forgot and left it that way. She could feel her heart racing a little as her thoughts swirled in her head, though there was a voice that wasn't necessarily of doubt that was louder than the others and it was much more malevolent than the others.
Oh, sweetie, you don't want to remember me. Go on and play your little games and pretend you're worth having people around you.
The voice was a cruel laugh echoing in her head, and it just seemed to get louder and louder. She put her hands over her ears, trying to shut it out, not seeming aware of Wyn grabbing her shoulder trying to pull her out of her own head. Her head was already a broken mirror the last thing she needed was to be doubting the shape of the pieces as she was trying to put it back together- but did she really want to put it back?

Windleaf, unlike Wyn, was drowning in doubt. Doubt of her gods, doubt of her life, doubt of her convictions. Sutagara heard a quiet voice's sinister whisper. There are no gods, her mind reminded her mindfully.

She shook it off. That's... that's what I'm here to find out! she retorted to... herself. But "herself" only fed off the fear in that moment of hesitation. It is a fool's errand! And what will I do after words? Join the Nephilim?

Separate trains of thought chimed in, each hissing affirmations.

One spoke in the voice of a wizened old shaman: "A disgrace to your tribe, you'd be! A shame to us all!"
The chorus grew a little louder.
Then a centaur's voice, weeping. "We always knew they were only make-believe. We didn't want to admit to it, but we always knew."
The chorus grew a little louder.
"Idiot tribeswoman. Your people tell stories to hide from truth. Raziel is everything." The arrogant Nephilim-wizard.
The chorus approached a crescendo.
"You," the deepest and most frightening of them all, a rumbling bass that sent a chill running along her whole being, "are lost." It spoke this as a plain truth. All the other whispers grew excited behind it, a wave of trumpets chirping "Yes, yes! Lost!"

They were screaming. The mind began to buckle under their oppressive symphony. It was a claw, pushing her into the dirt. It was weight that could never be lifted. Her own voice was gone- taken away in a silent agreement to the terrible music.

Sutagara slumped down to her knees. Lumao leapt down from his mount, he tried to wake her, yet her eyes were glued tightly shut. She was listening to those screaching doubts. Her sword clattered uselessly on the ground. The warrior of the tribe of Windleaf was gone.

---

"And this mechanism has not fallen in Revenant hands in all this time how?"

In an unassuming Humani settlement, nestled deep in the Woods, there resided an elder who headed the settlement as a venerable voice of reason and a one-man governing body. Chaplain Maxwell was his name, a man of faith in the path of Raziel. Denied entry into the Nephilim for reasons unknown, he instead established a miniature version of the Institute, a place of holiness where all could find peace if they chose to seek it. It was christened Farshire Abbey and in time, enough people flocked to the abbey for a settlement to be built around it, named Farborough. This was a long time ago and the revered Chaplain now lived out his twilight years in a quiet peace, though evidently he was not object to extending hospitality to itinerant travelers seeking his audience, like this young man before him: Rowan Redpath, ex-Nephilim.

The two were in the Chaplain's humble residence, sitting round the extinguished hearth whilst examining...a certain mechanism of ancient origin that floated mysteriously between the two of them. A bronze spherical device that shone bright with both sheen and holy energy, it radiated a calming presence that more than compensated for the lack of fire. And like fire, when Rowan attempted to touch the mechanism, he found his fingers stung with extreme heat despite his hands being gloved. This action was met with a reprimanding look.

"It is pronounced Mekansm, young Redpath, and I strongly advise against touching it," the Elder said, his voice not losing an inch of command even after all these years. "Alithe and her Revenants have long suspected of the Mekansm's existence and have sent plenty of forces in seek of it. Their failure is only attributed to me getting better and better at hiding it." And that was a truly necessary skill. This humble bronze orb held great power to be used against the darkness, the last word in Nephilim weaponry. Should it fall into the wrong hands, the forces of Order could be overwhelmed by the turned tide. How a humble man of peace had managed to create such a magnificent weapon was lost to Rowan personally, but Chaplain Maxwell was full of surprises. That much he knew. That much the Nephilim knew.

"If I may, Lord Maxwell, how exactly did this thing come to be? This does not seem like something normal Humani craftsmanship is capable of creating, so how did you do it?" Rowan asked, still intently eyeing the Mekansm. The elder leaned back on his chair, rocking it slightly. "In my youth, I came across a set of scrolls containing advanced Dwarven techniques of engineering. They came with schematics to a weapon, potentially of mass destruction. With what I was allowed to learn from the Nephilim, I was able to-" Suddenly Chaplain stopped and looked out his window. Rowan did the same, rising to his feet.

"Do you sense something, my lord?" the knight inquired once more, hand gripping the hilt of his Braidh already.

"Yes, a dark force is approaching. We must act with haste and protect the Mekansm with our lives!" Such a commanding presence in so frail a man, Rowan could not disagree. Chaplain Maxwell placed the orb within a small chest and hid it in a special secret compartment on the floor. Meanwhile, Rowan headed out of the residence and scouted the immediate surroundings. The folk of Farborough, seemingly sensing that trouble was approaching, had stopped their activities and made for shelter in their homes. Soon, the bustling settlement was filled with an eerie calm and it was only the knight standing guard over the abbey in the middle of the woods.

The Revenant Commander's knee was burrowed into the cold stone floor of the Dark Realm, her head bent in respect to the magnificence perched upon the thorned throne: Alithe.

The paramount Angel with a demeanor as cold as ice stared down at her Commander. Her gaze was the essence of corruption, the epitome of a nightmare. Alithe was such a woman who truly believed that the ends justify the means — and everybody was expendable. In reality, Alithe was far worse than the terrifying angel of death depicted in the stories parents told to scare their delinquent children into shape.

Although the air was still, Alithe's black gown billowed about her figure, blown about by her very essence. Darkness entered the room with her; shadows flickered from her form like light from a candle. She was not simply immersed in darkness - she was the darkness.

"I have valuable information on the Mekansm's whereabouts, and I need you to collect it for me," the Angel emanated, her chilling voice filling the domain's vast hall.
"The Mekansm? But I thought it was a myth," Sariandi expressed in a shell-shocked tone, whipping her head up to stare at Alithe as if she were a madwoman.
"No, child; It is indeed real, and powerful."

While she would often cut down those who would oppose or interrupt her, Alithe's respect for Sariandi was sometimes the only thing that kept the elf alive when she'd step out of line. A look was all it took to make the Commander submit again, bowing her head back down as a terrified shiver ran up her spine - she knew that Alithe wouldn't even have to lift a single finger to obliterate her non-conforming prey.

"My sources tell me that the Mekansm is currently in the humani settlement, Farborough, and is in the possession of one Chaplain Maxwell," Alithe continued in a forced-calm tone, masking her irritation. She would continue her tyrade, but that darkly smooth voice suddenly cut short as she visibly felt a twinge, her whole body flinching; her dark eyes widened, appearing as if she'd just received an electrical shock.

Suddenly, the Angel shot up to her feet, cutting the conversation short with a simple "I... Must go deal with something" before vanishing away into a mist, leaving the Commander alone in the throne's chamber. Sariandi could only blankly stare at where the Angel once stood, a look of beweilderment plastered on her weathered face; while she felt confoundedly dumbfounded, she knew better than to question her Mother or her actions. "Yes, Mother..." she quietly confirmed.

---

As Commander Farzorwyn approached the small humani village of Farborough, she basked in the sweet sound of silence before battle. Nary a soul could be seen, and the dark elf couldn't help but smirk at the cowardice of the humani - for she relished in the sweet silence of fear/terror/illpickonelater. Sariandi stopped in the middle of the town square, appearing to be alone: It was a rude gesture, suggesting that this town wasn't worth the waste of any of Alithe's rescources.

"If Chaplain Maxwell would surrender the Mekansm," her voice sliced through the silence, "I'll consider not slaughtering your entire town," She ended with a mocking bow, her arms extended to either side of her as if she were bowing to the vain Duke of Wellborough. To add salt to the wound, Sariandi never bothered to draw her weapon, implying that she believed that she wouldn't have to go to such measures to crush the weaklings that stood in her way.

The Chaplain emerged from the Abbey, folding his arms over his chest. "I'll never let you get your filthy hands on the Mekansm!" he called, his voice sounding as if he had to force the brave words out. Sariandi could only smirk as she raised her eyes to stare into the Chaplain: He was scared. For years he successfully hid the powerful orb from the eyes of the Revenant, and now the Commander herself was on his doorstep with the very intention of ripping it from his cold, dead hands.

"I was hoping you'd say that," the Commander cooed as she straightened herself back up. Her smirk spread into a bloodthirsty grin as she again raised her arms by her sides, her hands resembling claws ready to tear apart their prey - a signal. Almost instantaneously, a band of Revenant warriors sprung from their shadowy covers, their expressions matching their battle-starving Commander as they raised their weapons for battle.

The Mekanasm would be their's.