Port City of Ardaza, Heartlands Chapter I | Shadow Sun
A lone figure stumbled through a dark alley, shuffling past the refuse and filth that did oft so flood and heap up in the poorer districts of a city. The lone figure jerked to a stop- almost falling forward before their outstretched hand steadied their fall using the hard cold stone that boxed them into this tight space. The figure in question held features that were a dark ebony complexion, broad shoulders that suggested male, and a face pulled into a grimace as sweat edged his brow. The hand not held against the wall was clutched to his side as the man gasped hard. Sucking in wheezing breaths, trying to ignore the rancid stench that wafted into his nostrils and mouth with each moment he spent in this pathway. The stink here was bad enough he could practically taste it, along with the coppery taste of blood.
His own.
His hand pulled away from his side, and even in the fading light of Azueral’s Eye, he could see the dark red staining his hand. Each of his breaths coming harder and slower, pain like many needles pricking his skin covered his entire left side making it hard to focus. Jalbar had never felt so tired before in his whole life, even during the long vigils of meditation that marked his early training, and the urge to sleep grew stronger with every lumbering step yet he knew he had to push on. He also felt profoundly stupid. He’d been arrogant and foolish to the extreme, Kabius had always told him these were his greatest weaknesses. Now it had finally cost him everything. He resisted the urge to stop and rest, knowing that inevitably meant death, and continued forward hugging the wall for support.
Jalbar nearly tripped over a discarded broken barrel and almost lost his footing. His fall was arrested by a crate that he hit hard. The sudden shock of movement then impact sent a jolt of pain up his side, and he mouthed a stream of curses. To take his mind off the pain, he fell back to his training, instead focusing on his surroundings. There was the stink of shit, piss, and fish that seemed to permeate the alley like a shroud. He could see little in what light was available. On the road ahead the lights of the street were as visible as a beacon on a stormy night. Everburn lanterns of mage fire lined the street way ahead and from what Jalbar could see there were few out at this late hour. Meanwhile, in the alley, he’d been forced to take temporary refuge in the only real light was that which spilled out from the windows above and the twice damned moon which had taken an ominous crescent shape in the sky. Like the smile of some sick god.
He could hear sounds of revelry coming from within the building to his right and assumed it was some Taphouse or brothel. The odd off-key singing he could just faintly catch now and again probably meant it was the former. He swallowed as he straightened himself once more and took a step forward and almost fell to his knees. He felt weak, weaker than simple blood loss would entail. He could only assume the blade had held poison, just his luck. He took another uneasy step and suddenly coughed violently forcing him to stop and cover his mouth with a hand. He pulled it away to find fresh blood and knew the knife must have punctured his lung. That explained his shortness of breath and the pain that came with each one.
He flexed the fingers of his left hand finding it to be suddenly stiff. He willed himself to take another step; he only needed to get to the street he told himself. If he could just reach out into the open perhaps-
At that moment Jalbar froze as he heard a distant sound that quickened his heart. It was too much to hope he’d lost his pursuer. Then again tracking a half dead man bleeding his way from the docks was a simple enough feat a child could do it. The pain Jalbar felt now made it unlikely he’d be able to shadowstep. He’d barely been able to use it in his disastrous escape. How could he, one of the chosen Hands of Kabius, not have heard the approach of his attacker? That riddle would need to wait, however, until he was free of the current danger; edging forward he quickly and slyly etched a simple script of words into one of the stone walls and covered it with a hand before continuing.
Jalbar shook his head to fight the sudden drowsiness that was beginning to ebb away his strength. He was only a few more steps from the street, and hope was starting to rear its head once more. The short walk from the alleys dead-end to here had felt like an eternity. As Jalbar was about to take another awkward step, he shuddered violently and fell to one knee as a new spark of searing pain shot through his left shoulder. He hadn't even heard the pull of a crossbow if such was what even hit him. He hissed in pain and fell to his right hitting the wall there roughly as he slid to the floor. He managed barely to pull free the dagger sheathed at his side as he leaned against the wall. He’d be damned if he was going to make it easy for them.
“So troublesome,” came the voice of what Jalbar assumed was his unseen assailant.
The voice sounded cultured and coldly calm as if the speaker was currently busying himself with a simple chore. The owner of that voice still stood further inside the alley, and his face was cloaked in the shadow of the high walls thanks to the position of the moon. Jalbar summoned all his strength of will to attempt to stand, but it was like trying to drag himself out of slow sinking soil.
“But perhaps I should see this as… an opportunity?”
Jalbar could scarcely focus on a word that was being said, just staying conscious was becoming a losing battle. He never even felt the hard edge of metal sink into his chest, and he knew no more.
Kabius Grim
Tower of Shade, Thulthar, Heartlands
Early Morning
The cold winds breeze felt like the gentle touch of a lover as its icy embrace helped awaken Kabius’ senses. The blowing gale was just short of oppressive this high up among the tall spires of the capital. The cold gust held the last vestiges of winter as the season made way for early spring. At his current vantage point, through was able to appreciate a degree of general perspective most that lived in this city rarely if ever enjoyed. Sitting upon the crown that circled the edge of the high tower that was the home of the Shade Enclave; Kabius observed the slow awakening of the city of Thulthar.
Even this early in the morning as the sun crested the horizon, bathing the city in long shadows, the buzz of activity that would mark the day was already coming into full swing. The common folk going about their business, ignorant of his existence as an unseen observer. Like so many ants swarming in and out of their colony. The sight was always refreshing and held it’s own beauty. Even if viewed from a distance the city of Thulthar and her black towers seemed to rise majestically from the sea of trees that grew right up to the coastline. Among the sights was the great harbor wall curving out into the ocean, surf crashing upon it. Kabius could just make out the unique faint scent of salty sea air in the relentless winds that pulled at the edges of his coat even this high up.
Still, despite the occasional harassment of the weather, Kabius’ fingers busied themselves with his most recent sketch. A strip of papyrus placed within a tablet of wood was his, albeit crude but effective, canvas, and a piece of charcoal his painters brush. He had become quite practiced in quickly forming any picture before him in stunning detail. Sky, his familiar and these days closest comrade, was taking long laps around the head of the tower. Now and again screeching a cry that echoed through the streets below. Sky was a rare magic creature scarcely marked by the taint of the disjunction, though touched by magic from long proximity to the Archon of Shadow. Part golden eagle and part monkey, Sky was, in fact, a sylphen as the Northmen called it.
In the raising sun Kabius enjoyed a moment of peace. It had been almost twenty years since the start of the Northern Campaign. Even after the fall of Nordheim and the subjugation of the tribes, it had taken years before the region began to regain anything resembling order and stability. When his shades were not hunting down rogue chieftain lords for the Archon of War, there was the troubling reports from the south. Centuries ago Mother Night had wisely taken to a slow and gradual expansion. All an aim to assure the realms of Nachesh did not see the rapid growth of Illyrica and band together in fear. By the time the Northern kingdoms had all fallen (save for Atar.) it was almost too late to stop the growth of the Empire.
Almost.
The Republic of Lesmiana had been born in response to the conquest of the North. So much time had been spent gathering everything to be learned of this federation of states that Kabius had had little time to keep as close an eye on the other Archons as he might have liked. A certain Archon of Blood especially. Their shadow war had since died down significantly in the past decade as Kabius was forced to look further, and further beyond the borders of Illyrica. Once he had learned every needed detail and the conquest of the south began in earnest, he’d have to start pulling inward again. He only had so many eyes.
As he was putting the finishing touches on the landscape, he was forming to paper with careful strokes, when the shadows to his left darkened considerably as the light seemed to bend away from the sudden blotch of inky black. A moment later, seemingly stepping out of the impossible dark, a lithe figure cloaked in dull greys appeared several steps beside the Archon. Kabius knew right away who it was from the lightness of their steps and softness of their breathing.
“Electra,” he whispered without looking up from his drawing.
The woman in question stopped short and after a slight pause knelt to one knee. Seemingly unbothered by the dangerous edge she found herself so close to. “Master,” she said in a quiet voice.
Kabius fought the urge to sigh. No matter how often he told her she need not be so formal on every meeting, Electra seemed married to proper protocol. He assumed it must be from her rather humble origins as a servant before Kabius had discovered her unique gifts decades ago. Perhaps there were some things one could never unlearn or grow out of.
“Report,” his tone relaxed, the serenity of his surroundings combined with his favorite activity had put him in a favorable mood.
“It’s Jalbar.” She seemed to hesitate for a moment.
Kabius frowned slightly. “Well, what is it? He hasn’t done anything stupid I hope.”
Cold drizzle fell upon the moss-mottled roof of Rasthomig, the keep and central nexus of puny Eskar. As keeps of the time went, Rasthomig was quite modest; especially modest given that this particular keep served as the seat of power for an exarch of Izalith's grand empire. Those exarchs in the more prosperous Motherlands to the south ruled over their dominions from mighty citadels defended by small armies, mages, and magical constructs. But Rasthomig, in contrast, was little more than a stone-built lodge built atop a low-built platform of stonework overlooking the town. Such rude fortifications would elicit laughter from the denizens of greater cities such as New Galenave or Adarza, but Rasthomig's stone walls and lichen encrusted shingles were strong enough to withstand the rain and retain the warmth of the fire hearths. For the folk that called this keep home, that was enough.
Stewardess Helkha watched morosely from the head of the table as the rain pattered against the dining hall's paneled windows, observing as day morphed into night in gloomy dusk. The dreary weather outside the keep should have made the firelit warmth inside all the more cozy. Such coziness only elicited guilt from the Stewardess, reminding her of the misery her beloved brother was enduring half a world away on the fringe of Ethica. Helkha could not forget that last moment where she had seen Vadigar through her scrying orb, clutching his cape against a furious blizzard, shivering so furiously. Even now she wished she had disobeyed him all those years ago, that she had left Boria and the tedium of statecraft and imperial politics behind to support Vadigar in whatever Mother-forsaken hell he found himself.
As much as she wished she could change the past, the Stewardess remained here in Eskar serving as Izalith's representative in the realm of Boria. It was an important post, to be sure; the realm of Boria was relatively new to Izalith's dominion. Installing an imperial government in a land where tribal society was so deeply ingrained was a important task - unenviable as it may be. Without careful governance and direction, the Borians could easily revert to the old ways, and from that point revolt against the empire would be nearly certain. The Borians, particularly the horsemen living in the hill country north of the Weald, would never heed the command of some imperial magistrate appointed by an exarch in the Motherlands. The people of Boria would only ever heed a fellow Borian, and among their people there was no one more universally-respected than Helkha save for Vadigar himself. Reminding herself of this fact, Helkha withdrew from her reverie and resigned herself to her role as the Stewardess.
A plate of thick stew of pork and squash grew cold in front of her, and she began prodding a fatty chunk of pork about with a spoon as she took stock of the Rasthomig court seated around her at the dining table. A dozen or so of her advisers, courtiers, and visitors dined around her discussing the events of the day in between loud slurps of stew - an even mix of native Borians and imperial appointees and advisers.
"I'm not sure I can believe that," Helkha heard an imperial guest exclaim dubiously. "His spies are certainly in Doma, that I can believe. But Colonia Mania? What could possibly compel the Lord of Sheol to send his spies this far west?"
"All I shall say is that I have it on good authority that a scrying orb was found on the person of a supposed hillman that had been living within the palisades of Colonia Mania," Hemigan, a balding, geriatric native of southern Boria and the Stewardess' closest thing to a spymaster reported. "A scrying orb carved from obsidian of such blackness that no one could ever see who or what watches from the other end. Even so, there is little doubt as to where something like that originated."
"What would interest him out here?" The imperial reiterated. "The Lord of Sheol seems to concern himself with embarrassing the other archons and extending his reach across the coast. He surely does not care about these undeveloped backwater tracts of the empire."
"No offense intended, milady," the imperial visitor added apologetically.
"None taken," Helkha replied dispassionately.
"I suspect that the Master of Sheol is probing for weaknesses, perhaps determining the strengths of his enemies," offered Hemigan.
"Enemies?" the imperial nearly scoffed. "Rivalries, certainly, but enemies? To suggest that there are enemies within the Mother's dominion strikes me as almost unthinkable. In spite of our differences we are, after all, one empire."
"To hold an opinion that naive strikes me as unthinkable," Hemigan retorted. "As someone with some knowledge on this sort of affair, I have no doubt that spies in the employ of nearly every archon and a great many of the exarchs have their informants abroad. The Master of Sheol simply possesses the most advanced surveillance apparatus in the land. I would make a sizeable wager that there are foreign spies here in Eskar even now."
"In Boria?" exclaimed an imperial merchant whose demeanor suggested he had a few cups too many of barley wine. "What would a spy relay to their masters about this place? The number of sheep? Depth of the mudholes in the roads?" The merchant bellowed, eliciting some laughter from his fellow guests.
"Whether Vadigar is coming back," Hemigan corrected solemnly. He could see the Stewardess cringe at the very utterance of her brother's name.
"Speaking of which, has anything been heard from Lord Vadigar, milady?" Baronet Galakhad asked. "I would much like some word from our lord."
As would I, Helkha thought.
"It has been some time since I have last heard from Lord Vadigar, Knight-Commander," the Stewardess reported. It had been nearly a year now since the siblings had last communicated by scrying orb, to be more precise. As the anniversary of that last conversation drew nearer, Helkha's mind filled with dread. She hoped that Vadigar had simply broken his scrying orb in his long march through the mountains, but in her mind she could not help but paint gruesome images of more macabre fates.
The Stewardess withdrew into reverie once more, pondering about where her beloved brother might be at this very moment. She paid no mind to the conversations going on around the table and scarcely acknowledged the kitchen maids as they went about the table taking the bowls of stew and replaced them with trays of honey-candied apricots. With no interest in the desserts nor the after-dinner discussions, the Stewardess was just about to excuse herself to retreat to her bedchambers. Before she could bid the diners good evening, the dining hall's doorway was thrown open. Felegad, Rasthomig's courier boy, stood in the gaping doorway joined by two kettlehat-sporting keep guards.
"Milady!" the squeaky-voiced lad announced, silencing the dining hall as he approached the Stewardess with a tightly-bound scroll with no fewer than six intricate seals. "A rider has come from Doma, bringing word from Regent Master Ai. He bids you read it at once."
Wide eyes followed the courier boy as he presented the scroll to Stewardess Helkha, bowed once, and promptly left the dining hall.
Correspondence with the archon's regent was not terribly unusual. Helkha and Ai had come to become good friends since Vadigar's departure, and Helkha had come to see the Regent Master as a surrogate brother in Vadigar's long absence. As such, scrolls from Ai were not unusual. What was unusual was the sense of presumed urgency with this particular missive. Why could this scroll not wait until morning? With a raised eyebrow, Helkha drew a butterknife from the table -still clean- and separated the rose emblem seals from the celemworm silk of the parchment before unfurling the scroll and reading silently to herself. All the diners at the table watched with held breath as the Stewardess' eyes scanned across the letter, looking for some indication as to what the archon's regent so urgently needed to convey to the Stewardess. Only the soft roar and crackle of the dining hall's fireplaces and the pattering of rain were heard as Helkha read to herself.
With wide eyes, the Stewardess furled the scroll back on itself and rose from her seat.
"Arrange to have the maids pack my belongings and ready my steed in the morning. Regent Master Ai has summoned me to Doma."
The mountain air bit into his bare flesh. His mask was in his hand, held close to him. As he looked out over his city, a pair of Griffins climbed into his view from the side—two of his Tithing taking off for their patrol. The morning fog had largely been burned away by the rising sun, but he could see a few wisps winding and curling away what remained of their short lives down in the pass. The day was well under way in the city below, so many of its people having risen not long after the sun. For its part, the sun was not one quarter into its sluggish trek across the sky.
“Your Grace.”
“Is something the matter, Adyras?” Kalon turned to face the other, much younger, man. He was pale—paler, even, than Kalon was—and was wrapped in an unadorned black robe. A raven was perched on one shoulder, which idly ate from a hand he had raised up to it. Asyras’ eyes were locked on Kalon, but his face was impassive.
“I must admit, your Grace, that I am nervous.”
Kalon’s lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke. “You have little cause, Adyras. You won’t even be in the room.”
Adyras pulled his hand away from the raven, which squawked in protest. “Nevertheless, this will be the first Council of War Sanc Valatir has seen since it became a part of the Empire. And to host all of the Archons…”
“Iao still sleeps in the north, and none have the same mercurial tastes as Soraya.”
Adyras heaved a heavy sigh. “It isn’t the physical demands that have me concerned. If it was just the aggregation of resources, and the management of preparations, there wouldn’t be a problem. If it was just the task itself, there wouldn’t be a problem.”
Kalon stood rigidly, his eyes tracked up and down the other man. After a long pause, he said, “It’s in your head.”
“Aye, your grace.” Adyras’ lips curled into a rueful smile. “It is a fear not conjured by reason or sense, and fed by the idle hours where I do not toil.”
“Then toil.” Kalon’s voice developed an edge, and closed his eyes. “If it is in idleness that brings you fear, then rest idle as little as you can until the object of your fear has passed.” Kalon raised his mask to his head, and lowered it onto his face. His eyes opened to see that Adyras had taken a small step back. “Do your duty, Steward. Shelter in in it. Find purpose in it. Even revel in it. But do not let anything distract you from it, or else you may bring your fears to pass.”
Adyras brought his feet together, and raised his fist to his chest in a silent salute. Pulling the hood of his cloak up over his head, and walked past to the stairwell.
The Eyrie was busy as it ever was. Soldiers bustled to and fro through the stone corridors on some business or on leave—snapping into a salute as Kalon passed—slaves carrying on their menial tasks—averting their gaze from him. As he clibed the floors, he passed the Griffin stables, large portions of their wooden, outer walls lowered by winch over the walls of the city, and saw one slave struggling with a Griffin. He passed the barracks, where the men slept. He passed the armory, where the weapons of the Eyrian Wings were kept, as well is their harnesses and saddles.
At last, he came to another door, this one closed and somewhat more ornate than the others. On either side stood a soldier in the colors of his city, a mace at their hips. As one, as the soldiers on the floors below, they snapped into a salute.
“Sky-Captain Kalaster is expecting me.”
One of the guards opened the door, and he saw a graying man in a fine gambeson seated behind a desk look up. In an instant he was stood, also saluting. Kalon stepped in, and the soldier holding the door open closed it behind him.
“At ease, Cirile.” The man lowered his arm, but still stood rigid as a tree. “Now, you mentioned earlier that you had a map of the skirmishes of late?’
“Indeed, my Lord.” Cirile bent down and grabbed a scroll from a box of them beside his desk, and, pushing aside what he had there previously, and spread it out over the wood. “We’ve had seven Riders clash with enemy pegasus riders in the past fortnight,” Each was marked on the map, with the elevation and date scrawled beside each. “We’ve repulsed every probe of their into our airspace, and brought down four more of theirs, of which all riders and mounts were killed.”
“They’re pushing harder. That’s the same number of encounters as in the last month.” Underneath his mask, Kalon scowled.
“We’ve probed their air-space over the same period. As expected, there aren’t any openings, but we have thus far suffered no fatalities, and only minor injuries to two Griffins. That’s in addition to those last month. Additionally, all interior Flocks has reported having sighting and engaging small enemy ground forces in the passes they protect. All were turned back without difficulty, and a reported twenty enemy casualties with no prisoners.”
Kalon leaned onto the desk. He closed his eyes. Reaching out with his power, he intoned aloud:
”Commander Salvus Ward.”
The response was clear as day. ”I am hearing you, your Grace.”
His command was simple: ”Report."
”Your Grace, extensive inspection of our fortifications have produced no sign of enemy sabotage, nor have any enemy forces been sighted by any of the garrisons. Our scouting parties have skirmished with the enemy on their soil, but we haven’t been able to get within sight of the river.”
”That will be all.” Closing the link, Kalon reopened his eyes. Cirile looked back it him quizzically.
“No losses on our part, but we don’t have the numbers or the training to probe them properly. Looking back down at the map, Kalon continued, “Maybe I could convince Soraya to call up some of the levy to scout for us. But how quickly would they finish?”
“I wouldn’t know, my Lord.”
Kalon ignored him. “Galenave has good guerillas. Guerilla types. They might be trained already, but Lysvita wouldn’t be on hand for me to ask. My best hope would be for Soraya to know the capabilities of the forces she commands.” Beneath his mask, his scowl deepened, and he raised his head to Cirile. “Maintain current procedures until you are instructed otherwise, and alert me if anything goes awry.”
Cirile saluted again. “Of course, my Lord.”
Kalon regarded the Sky-Captain briefly, before turning and leaving through the door.
Kalon could see the war-room of Sanc Valatir clearly in his mind: The large, round table, with a map of the southern Tiranine Mountains and all of Lesmiana stretched across it, with the location, date, and time of each skirmish to date marked on it. His fortifications were marked, and the strengths of their garrisons, as were the many towers of the Tithing. Around it were several chairs of fine make—with four of yet finer make for the Archons. The whole of the room was well lit, and it was protected by additional layers of anti-scrying enchantment.
Kalon’s eyes fluttered open. He saw his gloved hands resting on the pommel of a longsword. His fingers drummed along it in irritation. Realistically, he knew that Kabius and his spies would be able to perform better reconnaissance than Kalon could dream of, and that he couldn’t realistically expect a force trained to garrison heavy fortifications to expertly probe enemy capabilities. But they were right there It was his duty to protect the border, and he was ill-equipped to do that between now and the Council.
He breathed in, slowly. And then out.
The Council would come. And, despite the escalations, it would almost certainly be before Lesmiana could strike. The Archons would arrive. The other Exarchs, who would attend, would arrive. And they would have a plan.
And then, Lesmiana would never threaten the Empire’s borders again.
Figuratively, of course, but no less was every street bustling. This was Tarvisium, situated upon the River Flosis, which was a crucial waterway linking the other major rivers of the North into one massive interconnected trade route. It was thus flooded with merchants, with missionaries, and with artisans, all capitalizing upon the only recently-conquered North.
The harbor was especially busy, crowded with ships of all shapes and sizes, from the smallest cargo barges and hand-paddled craft to mighty ships that were built to fare seas, which had come upriver all the way from the ocean to sell their stock. In markets the missionaries perched themselves upon anything they could, practically yelling their message, broadcasting the righteous sentence of Izalith.
And one man enjoyed it all, atop the Imperial palace balconies and terraces. Sergius stood, hands interlocked behind his back, eyes wandering. He was clad in his Governor's dress, a toga praetexta of solid and pure white, with an ornate purple sash diagonally down its midsection. It was a sign of authority, of rights, of power, and Sergius wore it openly, though with his own reservations.
He began to sip from a calix, gold in color. It was topped to the brim with the finest Imperial wine, made of the best grapes of the most prestigious vineyards in the Heartlands, created as a drink for only the highest rungs of society. And Sergius drank it as such, the sweet yet bitter blood-red drink soothing his mouth as he drank. He stared off into the hills and valleys in each direction, until he heard the handle of the door behind him rustle.
From it burst forth a man of similar stature to his own, clad in the leisure clothing of the Legion, a knee-length crimson tunic belted by a golden-colored length of rope. He had a pugio in sheathe strapped to the belt, and a cowhide scroll holder on the opposing hip, of which he reached for vigorously as he panted quietly, attempting to utter words in short breaths.
"Sir.." He panted, coughed. "A-" He coughed again, taking in a deeper breath. "A message.. It's from the headquarters.. It- It shipped in earlier this morning." He finally popped the cap from the holder, drawing a formal scroll, one of Imperial origin, with no doubts. Sergius took it, unravelling the fine parchment.
Sergius mumbled its contents lowly to himself in his gravelly, monotone voice of which he used when talking to himself. His pupils dilated slightly as he slowly nodded. He furled the scroll, tucking it back into its holder. "Courier." He cleared his throat, speaking normally. "Inform my staff to meet with me within the hour. Tell my Praetorians to gather their gear and muster themselves. The Legion rides at dawn tomorrow."
The courier nodded and stumbled away, back through the door. Sergius sauntered into the door as well, biding his time as he made way to meet with his headquarters.
Sergius Aetius
Fevos Ford, Regio Militum VIII
Midday, the following day
He patted his bay mare lightly as he spurred her along. He crested the hill and paused, followed by his staff. The Equites were forward, as were his mounted Praetorians, probing for any rebel ambushes. Could never be too sure, he thought. Though, most of the resistance was much further north, and even if a lone band did attack, with a Legion facing them, they would certainly surrender or die.
"Keep them moving." He instructed the Pilus Primus as his staff rode by. The ford had been flooded slightly. Good tidings for merchants moving upriver, however it was less than optimal for marching across. The men's caligae became stuck in the muddied mound of earth which usually served as the only river crossing for miles.
It was damper on the plans made the previous day. They were to cross within the morning and be much further. He should've known it wouldn't turn in his favor completely. But, it was a day's delay at most, and the better half of the Legion had already made it across, with the rearmost Cohorts of Legionaries and Auxilia crossing as he observed.
He was still hopeful. The plan was to be across the Empire as quickly as possible on a forced march. The Legion would arrive in time to gain much-needed rest while Sergius attended the Council. And then there would be a plan, and they would march against the Empire's foes, he mused.
He became lost in his own thoughts, awaiting the crossing to end.
The late evening was cool where Kuth stood, resting languidly on the balcony off of his personal chambers. The stone was gentle on his skin, its workmanship exquisite. Like all of his palace, it was dark granite mined from the foot of the Nightfall Mountains, and fashioned according to Old Sheolan tradition. At least as far as Kuth could remember it; he was a warlock, not a mason. The end-result was passible, but imperfect in ways that Kuth could only sense in his subconscious. So many fine details lost, like forgotten dreams. Even so, the smell of the Spring breeze had not changed. Winter had was at its end, its last vestiges visible as snow-caps upon the mountains. Mild weather had returned, and the rivers surged with snow-melt. Thus began the new season; the season of war.
His reverie was broken by the arrival of his steward, Sibari, who stepped out from the curtain behind him to stand at his side. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, though he knew her face well. Sharp features, pale skin, white hair. All features she had inherited from him. Her eyes were the only dissimilarity; green, like her mother's. She was "Second Brood," by the reckoning of her peers, meaning she was Kuth's granddaughter. His children classed themselves by the closeness of their relation to himself, the "purity of their blood," so to speak. Those that had joined the Coven by any means but birth were of course at the bottom, called "Bastard Brood." Kuth cared nothing for their internal politics; only their usefulness mattered. Thus why the competent Sibrari served him personally.
"Great-Father," she addressed him directly, as she knew Kuth hated to waste time on pomp and grandiosity in private correspondence, "Your quarters on the Forever Worm are prepared. Shall you be retiring there for the evening, or within the palace?" Their ship would depart at dawn, and they would have to awake beforehand if they did not stay overnight on the vessel.
"Here," he said simply. His voice was throaty, but melodic, and carried traces of the guttural tongue of Old Sheol. "I cannot say when I shall return, and I should like to enjoy a night's rest in my homeland while I can."
"Yes, Great-Father," Sibiari answered dutifully, "I shall awaken you in the morn."
"Have Alu do it," He commanded, "The boy needs to stop acting so damned afraid of me if he'll be of any use whilst I'm abroad."
Sibari bit her lip momentarily, and asked uneasily, "Are you certain you'd prefer to take him with you? He's not yet completed his rites, and I can always-"
Kuth cut her off with a raised hand. "Enough. I've made up my mind already. I need you here, with Margaux. Were the council far enough off that I could personally see her to her duties, perhaps it would be different, but I need you to keep everything running smoothly. Treat her with the same reverence you would me, of course, but don't let her give way to ambition or any other flights of fancy. Sheol will look the same as I return as it did when I departed. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Great-Father. Pardon my outburst." Sibari answered with her head hung in apology.
"Good. You are dismissed." As Sibiari turned to leave, he stopped her momentarily, "Ah, send up my evening meal. I will need my strength for tomorrow's journey."
"Yes, Great-Father." She answered again, and left the same way she came.
Returning to his bedchamber, Kuth paced steadily about the room. His dark bedrobes swirled behind him with each step, silent upon the rich furs covering the stone floor. He had plenty of time to pace and ponder the coming council, as his bedchamber was on the highest level of his personal tower. Lower than most and set in the middle of the castle, it was designed so that it could not be scaled, and it was protected from mortar fire. At last, with a quiet knock on the door, Kuth's meal arrived. A waifish young woman, clad only in a thin, white linen dress, was ushered in by a pair of Sanguine Guards, and the door was swiftly shut behind her. She stood just beyond the door, seemingly rooted in place. Her apprehension was clear in her watery eyes, and she stared at the floor rather than look directly at Kuth.
"Well?" Kuth said, prompting her.
"I... I..." She stuttered for a moment, fidgeting with the fabric of her dress, but eventually remembered what she was supposed to say. "I offer myself as t-tithe to you, Great-Father. May you take communion of me as we, your l-loyal vassals, prosper under your dominion."
"Good," he took the girl by the arm, leading her to the foot of his bed. She flinched at his touch, but followed closely along. "This must be your first communion," He said, sitting them both down. She nodded stiffly, still not looking at Kuth and nervously fussing with her dress. "What is your name, my dear?"
"S-Sheri." She said, quieter than before. Her face was flush, and she was furiously aware of the fact that he had not yet let go of her arm.
"Sheri... Sheri..." Kuth let her name roll over his tongue a few times. If she came again for communion, he would try to remember it. "Please try to be calm, my dear. It only hurts for a moment."
His face slowly drew closer to hers, as her breathing began to tighten and hitch in her throat. As he grew near enough to feel her hot breath on his face, his head pivoted slightly, and he dipped his face to rest his cheek against her thin, bare shoulder. Then, with a quickness like a striking snake, he bit into the soft flesh of her neck with sharp, predatory teeth. Her scream echoed through the palace, and the spring breeze carried it out over Maweth.
Tower of Shade, Thulthar, Heartlands Act I | Fallen Shades
On the continent of Nachesh there existed several great libraries that acted as centers of knowledge, of both the mundane and the arcane. It was in Charce that existed the largest library of magic in Nachesh if not all of Ethica. But second only to that great well of information, were the archives within the Tower of Shades that possessed the next largest concentration of wisdom. Over the centuries Kabius and his countless agents had recorded everything of worth from every corner of the empire and beyond. Every detail was written down for posterity, from the rise and fall of Exarchs, to the inner political machinations of lesser nobles. All was recorded and eventually stored within the Shade Enslaves Hall of Secrets. A rather on the nose nickname that was given to it by the inhabitants of the tower. There was a famous saying that if there was anything in all the known world that was worth knowing, one could find it here.
Kabius Grim could see little but the long river of illumination that pooled either side of the walkway bisecting the Atheneum. Much of this light generated by floating orbs that dotted the great chamber. The edges of shelves vanished into the darkness towards the dark walls of the tower. The hall’s attendant, Azzanar V'oshba by name, had accompanied him down to this level and as was his manner was rattling off about various facts about the place like an over eager guide. The fact the Archon of Shadow had walked and added to these shelves since before the man’s grandfather had even been born seemed not to matter to the little man. He spoke of how many leagues they were below the streets of Thulthar, of many more levels were below this one. He went on and on about the many different wards of protection in place, that kept even the most adept shade from shadow stepping in or out of the archive, or how they prevented even the most potent of scrying from penetrating into these levels.
The turning of gears could be heard now and again as different platforms shifted. One bridge way would turn about, raise up or move down, and connect to another now and again, revealing the many individuals going about their business in the hall. Now and again a familiar zipped by with a bundle of scrolls clutched in a paw or hand. Many were a small monkey-like creature, with wings that held the color of green feathers and heads that possessed black beady eyes. The libraries attendant, his ink-stained robe large on his wiry frame, peered at the Archon with small dark eyes.
“It has been some time since you have honored us with your presence, your grace.” He offered something akin to a smile, “I do recall one of the Hand asking space to document his findings some weeks ago. It was also around the time we were looking to expand the halls. Perhaps I should call upon the stone shap-”
“Yes, perhaps you should,” Kabius began, “But in the interim. You said you knew of Jalbar’s last additions to the hall?”
“Ah, yes here we are momentarily,” the keeper stopped before a section of honeycomb shelves. “It should be…. Here.”
The man pulled free a scroll that had significantly less dust upon it than its neighbors. The pages even still held color and it was obviously rather new. Azzanar handed the scroll to Kabius with such care that one might think the man expected the scrolls to crumble to dust if he moved too quickly. Kabius took the scroll and unraveled it, reading its contents carefully under the light of a free floating orb of light. Azzanar looked on with curious eyes as the Archon's eyes traveled the expanse of paper. Kabius took note of the man's awe and interest. It was a law that the attendants of the Hall were forbidden to read the scrolls and books placed under their care after all.
“Is...it what you were looking for my Archon?”
“Were these the only reports submitted this month by Jalbar?” Kabius inquired without answering the attendant's question.
“Ah, no My Archon. Shall I recover the rest?”
“Endeavor to do just so and have shades make copies of any relevant information. I would also have all reports regarding the southern kingdoms as well. They shall be needed.”
“Of course, my Archon. Any aid I can do to bring justice to young Jalbar.”
“It is less a matter of justice than the learning the answer of an important question,” Kabius rolled the scroll he held up once more and took it under his arm before he added. “But… I at least owe him that much.”
The old keeper nodded in understanding before furrowing his brows, “forgive my question, but will you be looking into the matter personally? I know he was a pupil of some importance to you.”
“No, the war council begs attention, but suitable candidates have already been set to the task,”
The Fortress of Great Tiran Pass
City of Sanc Valatir, Southern Border
"In the age before the Disjunction the world was at peace and the kingdom that rose higher than all others was the kingdom of Antediluvia. The Antediluvians were the greatest minds of their time. Blessed with the gift of a wondrous mind for industry and engineering. They built cities of such scale as to have no equals in the current age, with buildings and wonders of seemingly impossible geometry and feats of construction that defied the mind. Even life was a toy to them, as they built golems of gears, iron, and brass, living mechanical wonders of magic and sorcery given false life.
However, for all their knowledge, for all their power. The greatest downfall of the Antediluvians was their thirst to know ever more. When that ancient shepherd race the Oran-i had taught them all they could, or wished to, the Antediluvians turned to other, darker, sources of knowledge. It was this that set them on the path to the Ancient Ones, the primordial beings of the Beyond. Their greed that would give birth to the disjunction, which begot the War in Heaven. It was the Antediluvians that set it all in motion. It was hubris and greed that brought them low. Theirs is a cautionary tale of what becomes of those who seek to deal with beings too alien to ever understand. Or bargain with."
Kabius enjoyed a moment of introspection as he hobbled through the streets of the so-called Crag. Apparently, this city ward had long since served as one of the poorer and most recent additions to Sanc Valatir. The Archon of Shadow was many things, but a creature of habit was not among them. It was his nature as the oft forgotten and least predictable of the Archons to be something of an enigma to those around him. Even his closest lieutenants had a hard time pinning down his thoughts and motivations. One of his closest guarded secrets, however, was the levels in which he went to learn as much about each of his subordinates and agents who worked under him when time allowed. As both a master at manipulation and illusion magic, it was never hard for him to spy on his own spies now and again. Not so much because he mistrusted them, or even to babysit them for one can never afford to get to attached to one's own subordinates in his line of work. No, for him it was simply to understand the motivations and goals of anyone who carried out his will. So now and again he would often hide his own identity and mingle with common folk-- all the while personally gathering the information of his informants when the need arose and the opportunity presented itself.
So he as he had spent the day doing, in the guise of an old unassuming beggar. His branch of shades in Sanc Valatir had only recently grown to be among the largest in the Empire as it stood. Staging grounds as it was for their missions into the Republic of Lesmiana proper. Exiting The Crag through the northeastern gates, Kabius made a slow beeline toward The Valatirine Sanctum where the soon to be war council would commence. A walking cane in hand with simple tattered rags about his seemingly gaunt frame. Kabius did not enjoy the titles and land, or standing armies of the other Archons. However, his enigmatical position allowed him a degree of freedom that was easily his strongest most valued tool.
Kabius cut through one back way seemingly at random, the alleyway being completely deserted as he had expected. By the time he had started walking out on the open roadways once more, Kabius was completely unrecognizable. He now wore the face many of those who knew him well were familiar. His long coat, with its ritualistic looking markings of white over dark brown leather, and eyes of hauntingly milky white that seemed to be illuminated but cast no true light. This with his shaved head, goatee and mustache gave him an almost sage appearance.
He still walked with his cane, affecting the shambling step of a bad leg he had perfected over the years. He found his going much quicker than before as commoner and noblemen alike wisely made way. They knew not for sure if he might be an Archon, for he wore no symbol of any of those ruling elite. Neither did he walk with a guard or escort. But, only a fool could not feel or sense the presence that followed the man like a shroud. As he so often did, he walked boldly with deliberate steps for even in the noonday sun shadows of the day seemed to wrap and twist around him as if he wore them like a living cloak. Most of those who saw him would not mark where he passed even if he stepped within a foot of their face. Such was his nature, for so firmly believed was the archons power as the shadow that even in the plain sight of a crowd he was easy to overlook yet many avoided his path all the same without know why.
He might have stepped into a shadow of an archway or back passage to appear within the grounds of the keep itself, as he disliked being marked upon arrival at any place for any reason. Yet, as it happened he took note of one figure he recognized almost immediately.
It was the favored son of Iao, Ai. As if cast to fit the part of the Archon of War’s favored son, Ai stood tall. His night colored hair was wild and long, pulled back away from his broad shoulders and deeply tanned face and fierce eyes. Scuffed metal adorned his arms and chest, while the pelts of various beasts plumed around the rest of his sculpted figure. Two scimitars curiously made of striped metal hung on both hips. Fresh markings that suggested burns formed lines along his face, and some blackened his metal outfit.
Kabius took the time that was needed to match his pass with Ai to observe him. He had a stunning amount of similarities with his father, it was almost uncanny. As he neared Kabius began a light whistle of a tune he enjoyed knowing his steps would go unnoticed by the young Regent.
Cocking his head to the sound of the tune, Ai eventually turned to the old Archon. His own eyes took a few seconds to register who he was looking at, but as recognition flooded his understanding his eyes lit up and his own pace slowed.
“Lord Archon Kabius of the shadows,” Ai gently placed his fist to his heart in respect, matching the cane walking Archon’s steps.
Kabius inclined his head in respect to his younger compatriot, "Ai of Doma and Lord Regent of Severen. The spirit grows heartened at such a timely meeting before the task ahead. Perhaps, I shall join you on the way to the Sanctum if you do not mind," the question lingering in the air as the Archon offered an unreadable half smile.
“Please,” Ai returned the smile with one of vague certainty, “I had hopes we would run into each other before the meeting even began.”
The younger man let a pause pass before continuing, “much in the way of my father, I aim to work closely with you on this present endeavor of war.”
The Archon nodded knowingly, his pupilless eyes upon the ground before him for a moment seemingly staring at nothing, his mind elsewhere for the briefest of moments. "I would expect no less," He then 'hmmed' before adding. "Know that I seek much the same, for I have long since found, the real strength of our empire has always come from close cooperation. Something that is oft forgotten..." he reflected a moment as a time of silence followed
As they walked, they passed by one man retching in a side alleyway, possibly suffering from a night of too much drinking before. The faint smell of vomit assaulted Kabius's senses before he finally said, "but you will have my full support in the coming days. Not just on the obvious field of battle. You may not need this warning but-- I would be wary of Kuth Irkalla.... though I suppose... others might say you do the same regarding me." He smiled a mirthless smile to himself, not elaborating further.
"How fares my old friend?" Kabius said, changing the topic suddenly.
Ai looked over Kabius for a moment, soaking in his words, “we must discuss matters of shadow after the council,” he said trying to damper any uncanny tone his words might take. It is true, Kabius might already be well aware of what Ai needed to talk to him about, or at the very least know about Ai and Manuel’s prior meeting.
Finally the young regent answered the posed question, “My father is well, he still slumbers.”
"Good," he said simply. "Mother willing we may let him sleep a little longer. With hope, we will not need him." There was, however, something in the tone of the spymaster that hinted he did not have much faith in such a hope. They finally arrived before the main entrance of the Valatirine Sanctum the doors of which were already open.
“Archon of Shadow, Lord Regent of Severan, I welcome you to my city and my keep.” In the doorway stood the city’s Exarch, Kalon, his first raised to his chest, and his head bowed forward. Raising his head again, and lowering his arm, he stepped down from the raised entrance, and raised his hands, at about waist-height, to the both of them. “It is an honor and a pleasure.”
Ai gently put his fist to his own chest, similar in the way he did for Kabius, “hail Exarch Kalon,” he said almost ritualistically, before offering his hand as his stern tone broke into one more friendly yet retaining his coarse baritone of leadership, “always a pleasure to visit a southern settlement that my father praises almost as highly as it’s keeper.”
Any direct emotional response was obscured by his mask, but Kalon’s tone was lighter as he took Ai’s hand into his own and clasping it. “The Archon of War’s words do me a great honor.” He drew his hand back.
Kabius nodded after Kalon's introduction, both hands on the head of his cane. "Exarch Kalon of Sanc Valatir. An honor. I have heard much about you." His face unreadable for a moment before giving way to a surprisingly disarming smile for such a stern visage, "and much of what I hear you will be gladdened to know is good. There is precious few Exarch who have my respect. You yet remain among them, and I do not make such a statement lightly."
Kalon bowed his head. “You honor me, Archon Kabius.” Raising his head, he continued. “The others who shall be at this Council have yet to arrive. If you would like, I have had rooms set aside for you all to rest in, to which I can have a servant conduct you until we are prepared to begin. If not, we can proceed to the war-room, and continue speaking there.”
“I think I speak for my father when I say: I’ve had twelve years of rest enough, let’s proceed,” Ai gave a cocky smile and motioned ahead of him, “if the Lord of Shadows agrees with this statement, I say it’s best we begin now.”
"Hmph, well said, the day grows long, and I grow thirsty," Kabius gestured for them to continue toward the inner keep. "Seeing as our enemies will not idle, I say we begin preparations in earnest."
“Indeed,” Kalon motioned to the gates, “I will show you the way to the war-room, and a servant shall bring us drink.” He half turned, his hand stretched out towards the entrance to his keep, but his masked face still towards his guests. “Please, follow me.”
“Ah, as for drinks. I am not sure about young master Ai, but I find I rather prefer tea before a long meeting of such import if you have such on hand." Kabius added as they walked, "the mind finds calm with the right herbs."
Beneath his mask, Kalon smiled, “that should be easily done.”
The morning sun’s light fell weakly onto the lurid menagerie of colour that was the city's streets, the cool salt breeze carrying away its heat. Despite the early hour the sounds of Ardaza were as lively as always, the shouts of merchants hawking their wares and the creaking of old ships at dock filling the air with a curious baritone buzz. Manuel had spent the twilight hours before sunrise making his way down to the seafront, and for a time he lingered there. Despite his status as the cities Exarch he was all but unrecognizable to the crowd. It had always amused him how very slightly one had to alter their appearance to be as good as hidden from all but the sharpest eyes; in this case a beard and crooked nose shielded him from recognition.
As the sun rose higher he made his way to a decrepit looking building whose once vivid yellow colour had been bleached a spotty beige by time. Ardaza was unlike most cities in that the oldest parts were indisputably the poorest and least maintained. Further inland, near Manuel's own palace, the streets were alive with rich colour. Not a spot of chipped paint revealing old limestone brick could be seen even if a whole year were dedicated to the task. It was a state of affairs driven by an odd tradition, that each new ruler build their own palace further inland from the last. Manuel's was the most recent, though he'd taken extraordinary effort to make sure it was uncontested in scale and grandeur.
The building he entered now was such a juxtaposition that it verged on the ridiculous. The limestone brick was cracked where old paint had worn away and a small pile of white dust crowded the edifices periphery. With a brief look behind him Manuel heaved open the old oak door and made his way within. Inside a pair of guards came an inch from levelling their spears at him before his appearance shifted to one they were rather more familiar with. He smiled wordlessly at them as they straighten up and saluted their Exarch, neither knowing just how near their nervous reaction had brought them to being unceremoniously ejected from their rather comfortable positions.
The interior of the building was a stark contrast to the facade outside; though windowless the walls were well maintained and adorned with exquisite paintings. A large rose wood table dominated the centre of the spacious ground level room and Manuel casually made his way to its head, sighing as he sat on the cushioned chair. The meeting ahead was important, but he never enjoyed visiting the sea front. If the area wasn't so suited to such a use he'd have preferred to never set foot in it again. Misgivings about the locale aside, Manuel ran his fingers over the tables polished grain in thought. Ai, the favoured son of the Archon Iao and the regent of the whole of the north reaching out to him hadn't been expected. Then again, he knew far too little of the man. With a tsk Manuel made a note to commit more eyes to the north. It wouldn't do to leave such a blind spot.
As if on cue the doors opened once again. With long confident strides, Ai marched in. The man was no more less adorned than normal, burn marked metal adorning his arms and chest, and fur covering all else. An intense look narrowed his eyes akin to that of a hawk or even an eagle spotting a mouse. Without a word he pulled a chair out from under the table and promptly sat in it, but not before unsheathing his two menacing scimitars and laying them in front of him on the table.
“Exarch Manuel,” He began as he folded his arms, a stern smile cutting his serious face, “I’m glad we could meet, and such and so before the war council.”
Manuel unconsciously cocked an eyebrow and replied dryly, “Lord Regent, I am pleased to make your acquaintance at last. I trust this venue is sufficiently discreet?”
“Very much so. As you might’ve guessed that the following words are meant for you and I only, and is to remain in such a shadow that Kabius himself won’t know much beyond our meeting place unless told otherwise,” Ai raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair, “he will know eventually, but that’s not important right now, we have much to discuss.”
“I will take great care to see that such is the case Lord Regent,” Pausing Manuel gestured for the guards to excuse themselves to the upper levels, “so, what is it that has brought you to Ardaza in such secrecy?”
“So it is clear war is upon us,” Ai began, slouching in his chair as the guards left, his arm dangling over the edge of the chairs back, “and much to my displeasure the South has not been as focused on such matters as the North, leaving us harshly behind from where we should be in the conflict.”
“I mean there are already skirmishes and we are just calling a council now,” Ai did not hide his clear frustration, “but I digress. We need to catch up, and you are the man I need for a very special job that requires very special connections.”
Manuel leaned forward, a proposal like this from the Lord Regent of the North? It was as curious as it was concerning, even admitting the connections Ai presumed he had could cause trouble. With a small cough to clear his throat Manuel looked to Ai intently, “The way we prepare for the inevitable conflict with Lesmiana isn’t something I am knowledgeable enough to comment on Lord Regent, though I am prepared to aid the effort as best as I am able. What then would this… Job be?”
“I’m not sure how well acquainted the South is with war, but any Northern soldier worth his salt would tell you the best war is one fought without battle, and the second best war is one fought on another platform to lessen the length of battle. In this case, due to time, we are restricted in choices but I’m sure you know the platform very well.”
Ai stuffed his hand in a tiny pouch on his belt and pulled out a shimmering Lesmainian coin and flicked it across the table, the metal making soft chimes as it skipped against the wood. “Money,” Ai concluded.
Manuel cautiously picked up the coin and examined it, squinting for a moment, “Or, Lord Regent, something very much like it. A man using this would be like to find himself in a cell or worse.”
“A fake for sure,” Ai agreed, “but imagine thousands of these flooding the Lesmanian economy at a much higher quality. Do you see where I am going with this?”
“They would find themselves unable to fight before our investment in men even became significant,” Manuel spun the fake on the table, waiting until it fell before continuing, “and you see me as the man to do this for you?”
“I think you are the best soldier in the economic world Illyrica has to offer,” Ai answered, straightening his posture, “I feel like you know the language, the battlefield if you will to get this done. I also think you can go above and beyond simply inflating their market. Perhaps staging false subsidies to their farmers using our own currency once their own begins to fail, stalling their food market, or even purchasing their own resources with their own counterfeit to aid our war effort while drowning their exchange rates. The poor will have no choice but to turn to our economy for support, and should the leaders of Lesmania close their economic borders, they will suffocate on the high velocity rate of too much currency and too high prices for farms that are undergoing subsidies. Perhaps even capture the real currency and melt it down to make even more counterfeits. It’ll be too late should we do this right, and I feel you have the creativity to outdo even my expectations. After all war is fought on all levels.”
Manuel was silent for a time, Ai was right, of course, Manuel could do all he said and more. That said, it was a calculation in the end. Was Ai’s endeavour more profitable than a protracted war that would draw upon his cities valuable harbour? A long war was safe, but Ai’s scheme had benefits beyond simple money. Manuel was not blind, “This can be done Lord Regent, though I have made an effort to prevent counterfeiting in my city... It would not be impossible to find those who could make fakes of the required quality. Nor would it be impossible to recruit the men capable of distributing them in Lesmiana itself. However, the need for secrecy in this matter would make gathering these individuals somewhat difficult. The Archon of Shadow is not the only spymaster with agents inside my walls.”
“I am confident in your ability in keeping this as secret as it will be shrewd,” Ai steepled his fingers, “I will tip of Kabius as well, it’s the least we could do to secure his aid in keeping a shadow over this part of the war effort.”
“Very well then, I will see to this task Lord Regent. Though I shall endeavour to be hasty… Well, these things take time. I cannot guarantee our fakes will reach Lesmiana before our soldiers do.” Manuel leaned back, considering the myriad ways he could turn this little venture further into his favour. “I understand the time it will take to do this right, but the effects will be well worth it in the long and short run. I’m also putting you in charge of a secondary task of confiscating enemy resources for our use while you’re at this and in all ways do whatever you can to benefit this effort. Do whatever you want on the side, just see it to the welfare of the war effort and Illyrica.”
Ai’s eyes focused on Manuel, “and with all that said, I think we have a deal?”
Manuel met his gaze, a slight smile infecting his visage, “Lord Regent, I believe we do.”
Ai stood up and smiled back. He quietly retrieved his scimitars and replaced them on his belt, “Then I’m glad we had this chance to meet and look forward to the next visit. I do hope this particular war won’t be the only reason we discuss the welfare of Illyrica.”
After securing his weapons Ai gently put his fist to his own chest, “until next time, Exarch Manuel.”
Rasthomig's stable, typically silent at this predawn hour, was a cacophonous hive of activity this morning. Sleep-deprived stableboys busied themselves drawing up horses from their straw-strewn stalls. The horses snorted and shook their heads in annoyance as their handlers shoved bits in their mouths and affixed the saddle cinches around their bellies. Shod hooves clacked against the cobblestones of the stable chambers, plate-and-mail cuirasses of the Stewardess' mounted guard clinked and clanked as the knights swaggered over to their steeds. All was nearly ready for the departure for Doma, save for Stewardess Helkha herself.
All of the preparations were finished, her steed readied and waiting in the stable. She was dressed appropriately for the journey; she wore a riding dress beneath an ornate-yet-comfortable doublet of true silk was cinched around her bosom as snugly as a horse's saddle. But in her mind, she was not prepared. Her attention was paid not to her meeting with Ai or the council to which she would accompany the Regent Master, but to her brother's whereabouts. Where could Vadigar be? Why had she not heard from him in so long? As she often did when she was lost in these all-to-familiar anxieties, she stared vacantly. Looking out over the stables, Helkha was startled when Hemigan laid a wrinkled hand upon the Stewardess' shoulder.
"Putting off the ride? I cannot blame you; the ride across Ciskhadania is a long ride to make in a single day," said Hemigan, referring to the sparsely-populated wards of the Fifth Legion to the immediate south of Boria.
"Which is why I elected to leave as early as possible," Helkha replied, turning to face her aging adviser. "We will reach Portus Furcata by sunset. Doma is only another four days by ship from there."
"I know you are not the procrastinating sort," Hemigan nodded, looking silently into Helkha's eyes for a moment. "Something else stays you, and I think I know what anxiety that is." Helkha nodded in tacit affirmation.
"How long has it been, milady?" Hemigan asked, almost whispering. "When did you last speak with Lord Vadigar?"
"It will have been a year's time within a fortnight." A lump formed in Helkha's throat as she recounted their last conversation by scrying orb. Hemigan's eyes widened.
"Where was he? Do you recall?"
"He is so far, Hemigan. He told me that he had crossed the Erg Sea in the Shattered West. I have looked in the library for maps, trying to find where he might be. None of our maps even chart lands that far west. He was beyond the known world, high in a great range of mountains. That's all I know," Hemigan could see tears welling in the corner of the Stewardess' eyes.
"I am so worried, Hemigan. I fear I will never see by brother again; that I will only have that view of him in the scrying orb, so wretched cold, to remember him with!"
"Helkha," Hemigan said in a soothing whisper. "Do not fear. You know your brother as well as I do - better, in fact. You know his resilience better than I, do you not? His persistence? His resourcefulness and tact?"
"Yes," Helkha affirmed.
"How then, can you possibly doubt that your brother is alive?" ____________________________________________________________
Heavy particles of ice fell from a sky of churning stormclouds, plinking against the jagged stone all around him. Vadigar's bootfalls were slow and deliberate; the icy stone was terribly treacherous and a single misstep could easily spell one's doom. The loss of any member of this host could be a heavy setback, but the loss of his own life at this juncture would likely damn all of the soldiers in his command. The exarch cast a glance over his shoulder to his host following at his heels. Marching three or four abreast, they stretched all along this narrow path that skirted along the mountainside, a great snake of warriors that wound sinuously into the distance where the haze of falling snow and ice obscured the host's rear guard. Numbering just over 20,000, his army lumbered along the ice-glazed path at a turtle's pace, winding around fallen boulders, and climbing over rockfalls and talus. Treacherous was an understatement for the trail - a mere goatpath - that wound up and around the jagged slopes of the Crown of the North. The exarch glanced down the mountainside for a moment and stared into a dizzyingly deep crevasse that, Vadigar knew, would become the tomb of any of his men that made a false step. The yawning canyon below served to reiterate the sole command Vadigar gave to his soldiers upon beginning their ascent through this passage: Move deliberately.
"It is best not to look down, Egarko," a stunted, rat-faced man walking beside Vadigar suggested in the stilted Illyrican that the people of the far west spoke with. "Makes you dizzy... not wise in this place."
"I will bear that in mind. Thank you, Onur," Vadigar said to his guide, focusing once again on the ascent up the mountain path. He firmly planted one boot, secured purchase with the other, and then stepped. It was a tortuously slow pace, especially in the freezing, turbulent mountain air. Speed of passage, however, was not Vadigar's priority. Negotiating the Crown of the North with as many soldiers alive was his only concern. At the head of his army, the exarch was able to set as safe of a pace as possible for the soldiers behind him.
"Good, good," Onur praised, brushing a layer of ice pellets off of his wispy mop of hair. "Your step is cautious, and you do not even shiver in this cold. You set a good example for your men, Egarko."
Our guide is as observant as he is congratulatory, Vadigar thought, unnerved by the fact that Onur noticed that he was repressing his urge to shiver in the cold. The Exarch had spoken to his sister Helkha, who remained in his homeland of Boria, the night before. He remembered watching her through his scrying orb, her lips quivering with every bout of shivering. He could not afford to elicit a similar reaction from his soldiers. But the fact that Onur noticed this bothered him. His memory is sharp, and he talks too much. I do not like that. I wish I did not have to trust him.
Onur, however, had proved his loyalty to the Night Mother's cause, or at least Vadigar's cause. Mercenaries in the employ of the Djaam had come to his homeland looking for thralls and sacrifices for the barbarous rites of their masters. Onur explained that he had been in the hills looking for pasturage for his flocks when the mercenaries took his wife, and that they killed his son when he resisted them. Onur had even shown Vadigar the boy's grave. And so when this shepherd offered to guide the exarch's army through the great mountains of the Crown of the North, into the heartlands of the Empire of the Djaam, Vadigar had no reason to question his loyalty.
Similar stories had motivated a great many of the soldiers that now comprised Vadigar's army. When Vadigar left the Illyrican Empire nine years ago on a campaign to conquer the world - known and unknown - in the Night Mother's name, he had assembled an army of some 8,000 Borian volunteers. After nearly a decade, thousands of miles of desert wastelands, and dozens of battles and skirmishes, less than 4,000 of those original Borians remained. Vadigar's army was now a gestalt legion of exotic warriors from seven realms, comprised of soldiers and mercenaries who joined Vadigar's host. Some of these men joined as mercenaries, or in hopes of some share of the spoils of war; but the majority had come to the exarch seeking nothing more than the chance to exact revenge against the Djaam and their lackeys.
Before Vadigar left Illyrica, he had never heard of the Djaam - virtually no one in the Empire had. But as his host journeyed into the lands known as the Shattered West, it became apparent that the Djaam were the dominant power over this broken land. Those that defected to the exarch spoke of a realm of terrifying power far to the west on the coast of the Sunset Ocean. That realm, they claimed, was ruled by men imbued with the power of gods who called themselves the Djaam. The Djaam, it was said, were granted power by their moon god in return for enormous sacrifices. Vassal states all along the periphery of the Djaam Empire were expected to make regular payments in human beings for their continued existence. Their sacrifices to their barbarous god gave the Djaam great arcane power, but created numerous enemies. Enemies that Vadigar welcomed into his ranks with open arms. It seemed that even in this distant land, the Night Mother had been gracious to her servants. For the Djaam and their allies were afraid, and had thrown their armies against Vadigar numerous times. Each time, the exarch and his men repulsed them. Now, Vadigar was at the very doorstep of their empire, with a host capable of fighting a protracted war against the Djaam in their own homeland. How could the Night Mother not be with them?
The switchback path rose up to a flat shelf that skirted along a jagged cliff in the mountainside, running some two hundred paces from the cliff wall to a sheer precipice into the crevasse. Vadigar and his guide led the forward guard of the army into this wider area, welcoming the newfound elbow room they had not been afforded walking four abreast along the goatpaths. Vadigar turned to one of his lieutenants - a seasoned Borian veteran who had fought for a decade alongside the exarch - to instruct his men to spread out on this wide shelf and rest. Vadigar continued alone toward the precipice edge. The exarch stood on a promontory that jutted above the crevasse, where he looked out over the mountainscape that surrounded him. Jagged fangs of ice-blanketed stone surrounded Vadigar on all sides. Even through the haze of the falling snow and ice particulate, tumultuous eddies of snow and ice swirled about the high peaks. But across the canyon, off to the west, Vadigar caught a glimpse of golden sunlight; a window through the blizzard to clear weather off in the distance. Just beyond the profile of a particularly tall and fanglike mountain, the foothills of the lowland countryside could be seen, just now growing verdant in the early spring. The exarch could hear Onur approaching now, and he pointed out into that distant patch of sunlit green.
"That pasturage down there, where is that?" Vadigar asked, directing his guide's view down the hill country where the shadow of clouds could be faintly seen rolling over greening plains. Upon laying eyes on it, Onur smiled wide, baring his yellow-orange teeth.
"That is Ayt Shardum, Egarko," Onur declared. "The northwest edge of the Djaam Empire. In a week's time, we will be there."
There could be no doubt now in the mind of Exarch Vadigar. The Night Mother was with them.
"Make yourselves scarce! Clear the street! Move aside, or you will be moved!" The Sanguine Guard at the front of the formation barked at the wavering crowd, his harsh voice ringing from inside his helm.
A procession of some two-dozen persons moved sluggishly through the narrow streets of Sanc Valatir. Nearly all of whom were members of the Blood Host, positioned to keep onlookers and other passerby at bay. They shouted those who stopped to gawk, baring their fangs and drawing their glaives. Nestled in the tight circle formed by the crimson-cloaked guardians were a small handful of eccentric figures. A large woman, dressed in bizarre, white garments, her eyes veiled and the bloodstained pelt of a white lion draped about her shoulders. A boy of no more than sixteen years, white of hair and crimson-eyed, glanced about nervously as he clutched a collection of scrolls. A young man with the same vermilion cloak as the knights about them, ivory hair and piercing blue eyes, his hand resting on the hilt of the weighty sword at his belt. And lastly the Archon of Blood, Lord of Sheol, Kuth Irkalla.
A dour expression rested on Kuth's face. This was hardly ideal. The streets leading up to the fortress where the council was to commence proved much too narrow for a carriage, and so they had been forced to proceed on foot. An irritating end to what had already been a long and tiresome journey. Sailing from Maweth to Ardaza had been a mercifully short and uneventful passage, but the long travel over land that followed was grueling. It could have been shortened, perhaps, by making port further along the coast and closer to the border, but the Coven had sufficient presence in Ardaza to ensure that the Forever Worm would be safe, and that they could secure a caravan for their travels.
And so there Kuth was, lifting his dark robes like a noble lady so that they would not trail in the shit-covered street, and eyeing passerby as they stared at him wide-eyed and mouths agape. Just in front of him, some rabble refused to move from their path, and the Sanguine Guard at the fore was forced to go through him. With a firm hit from the hilt of his glaive to the man's face, blood sprayed from his mouth and nose and he crumpled to the ground. An errant tooth from the unlucky commoner shot out toward Kuth, who prepared to dodge the unsavory projectile. However, it was plucked from the air like a falling petal by the Herald of the Blood Host, Calistar. The youthful, blue-eyed warrior gave Kuth a knowing look and a reserved smile, and flicked the tooth away into the crowd. The wayward bystander had been kicked into the gutter at this point, and the procession carried on.
One of the Sanguine Guards struck out ahead as they neared the fortress, so that the gates could be opened as they arrived. They likely shared in their Archon's frustration, and any more time spent among the rabble was likely to end in bloodshed. It seemed that the gatekeepers had already heard word of their arrival, and made no fuss as the larger party arrived.
A herald called out their arrival to the fortress, "Honor and welcome, to the Archon of Blood and his procession!"
No sooner did Kuth cross the threshold into the fortress did he begin to call orders to anyone in earshot. "Your Exarch, take us to him! Water for my men! Bring a basin and a cloth as well; the stink of this city clings to me terribly. Where is Soraya? If I arrived sooner than her to a council in her own bloody province..." Kuth trailed off, muttering irritably.
City of Thulthar, Heartlands Act I | Fallen Shades
The gambling den house was alive with sounds of laughter and the occasional bout of cursing. The large room held over a dozen round tables around each held several patrons who were in the midst of seeking and losing fortunes as mistress lucks whims ebbed and swayed. One particular fellow, who’s tanned complexion and disheveled appearance suggested a sailors occupation was having less than ideal success as it was. He was a burly fellow who hailed from the dark island Sheol. Given some much-needed shore leave in the capital he had hoped to make some coin on the side as he always did off anyone willing to face him in a game of dice and bones. He happened to win more often than not, something he liked to contribute to both skill and his cunning, be it as it was.
Knowing when and what to call always seemed to come naturally to the man, so often that his fellow sailors aboard his ship often called him ‘Lucky Jack.’ That luck, however, seemed to have failed him today. Repeatedly. Sat across from him was a woman barely half his size. She had long dark hair that was braided into thick locks a round face and a nose slightly on the wide side. Still, she had an unmistakable feminine touch to her features that most men would find attractive. He might agree more if he was not currently losing to her in a wondrous fashion.
Her ebony skin and faded white eyes marked her as clear as day as an umberan. One of the shadow touched folk of the west. Not an oddity on the mainland, but her cloths were certainly bizarre, to say the least. It was minimalistic at best, and the tribal-like tattoos of white that covered most of her body, in fact, that same white body paint around her lower jaw just under her nose was fashioned like the lower jaw of a skull. Not being from the mainland Jack could not decipher the meaning behind the tattoos, but the Empire was rift with many cults that often passed themselves off as legitimate mage guilds.
She was currently leaning back in her seat with one arm hanging over the backseat of her chair. Her eyes were boring holes into Jack as he nervously rolled the dice around in one hand with his own eyes glued to the table and the sum of coin he’d already lost. He was not alone, though the others of the game had wisely backed out earlier on. A smart man would do the same, but pride and anger, born from not being used to losing let alone this much money, had forced him to continue. Worse still the she-bitch continued to egg him on with snide remarks now and again. No doubt it was all a ploy to make him reckless. The thing he hated most was it was working.
“Oh, poor Jack, have you finally given in?” Her voice dripped with sarcastic scorn, “maybe I’ll leave you a copper out of pity?”
He clenched his teeth in frustration as he made a fist out of the hand with dice, “this…. Y-your cheatin! Can’t be no other way you keep winnin! Ain’t no one that lucky least the mother kissed you herself!”
Others at the table shuffled uncomfortably at the near blasphemy Jack spoke, but he was too angry to care. The woman, however, only smiled that damned smile of hers utterly unbothered by the outburst. He looked around at the others still seated at the table before adding with an accusing finger, “magicks I say! She’s a damn sorceress witch! Is the only way I see’it!”
The woman gave a gasp and held a hand to her mouth mockingly. “Meee? Never? I know nothing of the arcane, but even a mere peasants know's you need chanting and circles.”
“Don’t pull that me, you got some trinket or the like,” in fact Jack knew for a fact such things existed for he held such a charm he had stolen many years ago. Thinking of it now his left hand subconsciously fell into his side pocket. His eyes lifted in surprise to find his pocket empty. A few moments passed as he quickly began to check each of his pockets repeatedly. All the while the woman herself looked on with a condescending smile. After a length of time had passed she raised a hand with a necklace with a carved animal tied to its string.
“Are you looking for this?” She asked in an innocent tone.
“Th-that’s mine! You little thief!” Jack jumped to his feat scattering the dice to the ground and knocking over several items on their table.
“Yours? Why I found this laying on the ground a little while back,”
“That’s a magic charm; you have been cheating you little bitch!”
“I have no idea what you mean; you did say this was yours did you not?”
Jack’s mouth opened then closed-- momentarily caught off guard by the sudden turn of events. Grunting in frustration and indignant beyond reason, Jack shot his hand forward to grab his money citing, “I won’t be robbed by no damn thief. I-”
Faster than anyone present could follow Jack’s hand was intercepted by the woman's, grabbing his pinky before, with a simple twist of her wrist and lightening fast downward pull she yanked the man forward placing him in a sudden and painful pin. Jack found himself suddenly forced to hugging the table top with his face as his arm became stretched across it at an awkward position. The woman bent his pinky finger forward toward him, and he grunted in pain and stopped his struggling short.
“Such a shame, you’ve cheated dozens out of their money but lo and behold the moment the tables turn you cry fowl.”
“Don’t just stand there you arses,” Jack managed to cry out, aiming this towards his fellow deckhands still around the table. One of them took a step towards the woman but stopped short as she gave him a withering stare and he suddenly lost heart and stepped back. It seemed Jack was not as liked as he might have thought, especially considering recent revelations. Stretched out as he was and with each small movement, he made bringing pain Jack was helpless.
“Poor friendless Jack, a cheat, a liar, and all you have to call yours is a broken hand.”
“My hands not broken you bi-” With a sudden violent push forward she bent his pinky finger back over the back of his hand with startling strength and with that same hold, she used both hands to twist his wrist. Jack screamed in pain as he fell back knocking over his chair as he clutched his right hand to his chest, as he cursed and mumbled in pain the woman pitched her winnings into a pouch before tucking it behind her back and offering Jack a mocking bow.
“I thank you all for you generous donations.”
Finally, one of the men still standing around the table snarled angrily and stepped forward, “hold on a damn tic, you don’t think you can just walk out of here after cheating us out of our coin.”
“Oh and why not, if you have an issue you can take it up with Jack.”
Already she was walking away having put them out of her mind seemingly already. Of Course, it did not take long before a particularly bold individual strode forward before his hand could even make contact with the woman's shoulder to stop her short. The biggest Umberal Jack had ever seen had taken hold of that sailor's hand. The sailor in question was a lean armed fellow and pulled fruitlessly against the larger man’s seemingly iron hold. Jack had not even noticed where the lout had even come from, but it only took a moment to see him for what he was. The man was bald, or shaved, but sported a dark goatee and wore a dark gray gambeson over which was a black cape with the inner surface a dark crimson. The brown leather cuirass over the man's chest was what really got the attention of those gathered, for there for all to see was the symbol of the Justicar.
“I would not advise that if I were you,” the big man's voice was deep and cultured, holding a strange and soothing calm to it. Much unlike the woman's, who now that Jack thought about it, seemed to hold some resemblance to the Justicar.
“Aleena are you making friends again?”
“Hmmm, I guess you can say that.” the woman, Aleena, stated with a shrug.
The big man finally let go the arm he was holding, and the owner of that hand fell back nursing the discomfort as he held that same hand close to his chest. It seemed no one wanted to say a thing now that a Justicar had shown up, one that apparently knew this strange woman at that.
“Well, you’ll have to say goodbye, we’ve been called upon. It seems we have a shade to hunt. Or at least the killer of one.”
Free City of Ardaza
Port City of Ardaza, Heartlands Act I | Fallen Shades
One Week Later.
Jahard Nhazum was beginning to appreciate very quickly the difficulty of the task set before him and his sister. The guards that had found the scene of murder days ago had since stripped and disposed of the body. It was a sensible though unfortunate outcome that had not been unforeseen. At the very least they had managed to retrieve his belongings, for what little good it did in their investigation, it at least left something to send back to the Enclave. Outside the watch station, Jahard cracked his neck as he thought of his next move.
His sister was leaning against the wall beside the watchtowers door toying with one of her daggers. He gave a single glance and could tell immediately she was still stewing over having to wait outside. An inevitable outcome given she had 'implied' bodily harm to the guardsmen several times during their questioning. Out of pity for the man, he was forced to suggest his sister wait outside. Without looking up from the long knife in her hands, she spoke first.
“I take it we learned nothing of value?”
Jahard frowned slightly, “less than I would have liked.” He placed his hands on his waist as he scanned the cobbled road around them. Noting as the sun was setting there were few people out now. It was not too late to find an inn of some sort to make their stay in the city an easier one while they went about their investigation. He’d have to make sure it was a respectable establishment if he wanted to keep his sister out of further trouble. It would not do to make a bad first impression while in an Exarch’s city.
“I still think we should have given that watch captain a small stabbing at least,”
Jahard rolled his eyes, and with his back to her, he knew she’d not see it, “no Aleena. We can’t just maim every guard you think to be incompetent. They did their job as they needed, they had no way of knowing the importance of the body they found.”
Aleena huffed, “you’re far too soft brother, half the guards in this city are scum, anyway. I think they could stand to have their numbers beaten into something respectable.”
“Not our place, and a waste of time. We at least learned of where they found the body; we’ll check it in the morning and see if we find anything they might have missed.”
Aleena kissed her teeth, “those fools couldn’t find their arse with both hands. I’d not be surprised at all if they missed the murder weapon all together.”
They could be so lucky Jahard thought as he ran a hand over his shaved head-- eyes closed in thought. If someone had been able to kill one of the Hands of Kabius they were not people to underestimate. He doubted very much it would be anything as easy as his sister made it out. Of course, she probably knew that and was only mocking him.
Jahard and Aleena were among the most skilled and dedicated agents the Justicar’s could count among their order. For criminals to low for the attention of a shade, but whose innocence was yet uncertain, there were the Justicar’s of the Empire. They were as much feared as they were respected. Theirs was an order of cunning and cleverness as much as strength and power. The well-trained Justicar needed to examine and question- list every barrel and analyze any testimony for the faintest breath of a clue. Nothing was insurmountable. Any knot that puzzled you, one need but mark for later investigation and return to it when they had learned a better method of untangling it. There had to be no limits to a Justicar's resolve.
No riddle was unknowable; no foe unbeatable; no mystery unsolvable.
Breathing in then exhaling slowly, Jahard calmed his mind and nodded to himself. Yes, it was to early to think the trail to difficult to follow. In many ways he and his sister embodied the best aspects of the Justicar. Where he was calm, rational, cautious, and far thinking. His sister was cunning, ruthless, merciless, and the most deadly killer he knew. They helped balance each other, making up for the shortcomings each possessed.
“Well?” His sister's sudden interruption breaking his reverie. Before he could respond he noticed someone further down the street approaching with purpose.
Donning a rich blue uniform and short cape that contrasted with his blond beard and hair Nilos Metaxas, captain of the city guard, strode toward the pair confidently. Behind him a small entourage of less kempt men followed in similar, though more worn dress. A habitual smile formed on his lips as he neared the pair before introducing his personage, “Justicars! I'd heard some of your order had been wandering around here, though I can't say I fully believed it! I'm the Captain of the poor sods you must have been interrogating in here, name's Nilos.”
Jahard had watched as the man and his entourage neared and offered his own smile, "ah, Captain Nilos is it?" Jahard said .as he extended a hand in greeting, "we had thought of arranging a meeting for you in the morning. But I see you have found us! How fortunate."
"My name is Jahard Nhazum," he then gestured to his sister behind him who seemed to be paying them no real attention, "and this is my sister and colleague Aleena."
His attention returned to the captain as his expression became more somber, "I take it you likely have some inkling as to the reason for our visit to your charming city?"
Aleena scarcely concealed a laugh at the word 'charming' and made no attempt to hid her smile.
“News travels of course, a dead shade I hear,” Nilos shrugged and gestured around him, “The old city is as dangerous as it is decrepit, though I'd have figured a shade could handle themselves, eh? Then again, I suppose you lot wouldn't be down here if you thought some beggar with a hidden dagger was responsible for this.”
Nilos chuckled and looked back at one of his entourage, a story better left unsaid by the sour look on the lesser guards face. He turned back to the pair and went on, “Which is why I've gone out of my way to say hello. Truth is, the Exarch isn't fond of people who can off a shade running around his city like they own the place. If you'd follow me out of his latrine of a neighbourhood he'd like to have a word.”
Jahard shared a quick glance with Aleena, and after some unseen agreement between the two Jahard looked back to the Captain, "that sounds most agreeable sera Nilos," his tone and accent revealing a hint of a scholar's tongue, at odds with his size and height. "Please lead the way."
As the group set off Aleena took up the rear, eyes ever seeming to wonder as if she was looking for something in every shadow they passed. Her hands never far from the circle of knives at her belt, fingers tapping away at an unusually large blade at her thigh. Now and again her eyes fell to one of the guardsmen with an unreadable expression. He dark almost cat-like eyes boring into him and all this for no other evident reason than to make him uncomfortable.
The road to Manuel's palace was one of contrast. The white limestone and faded paint of the sea front neighbourhoods giving way to the almost garish colour of the inner city. The further from the water one went the greater the juxtaposition was, each successive part of the city was self contained within its own wall and centred around its own palace. The many palaces of the city were the former possessions of Exarchs past and most now belonged to the wealthy or had been reclaimed as markets.
By the time the group had reached the outer city Manuel's private residence could be seen. The towers of the estate played brilliantly in the light as they came into view, the stone sides plated with 'vines' of polished metal. Manuel's residence dwarfed the rather modest palaces of the inner city, a vast and ornate structure with an outer wall that had been carved into a tremendous relief of some battle long past. Even the neighbourhood around it spoke of opulence. When the group reached the castle gate, a great door whose intricate silver inlays spoke more of vanity than defence, Nilos turned to speak with a grin, “Well, this is about where we part ways Justicars, Manuel prefers I do my job away from his precious monument. A damn shame, watching you terrorizing my subordinates was proper fun.”
Jarhard eyes took in the sight of the palace in the failing light of the setting sun, the lack of light in no way robbing it of any grander. He turned his head to Nilos as he departed, "then I thank you for the escort good Nilos."
Aleena meanwhile, paid neither much attention her mouth clearly turned up slightly in disgust as her eyes wondered over the Exarch's palace. "Oh joy, I have a creeping feeling this Manuel will be as contemptible as I feared. Who even needs a home this large? Is he compensating for something."
Jahard cleared his throat, "nevermind that sister. Let us meet Ser Skleros-- and please do try to remember to be respectful."
Jarhard led the way through the high doors as they opened and permitted them entrance, following closely behind a single guard as Aleena blew a raspberry behind his back. It did not take long before the pair were escorted through the palace and up a series of stairs that lead to a higher floor within one of the mansion's towers. They stopped before the door where presumably Manuel waited within.
The guard rapped once before stating the Justiciar's had arrived.
A voice from within bid them to enter and the guard held open the door. Within was a semi circle almost totally illuminated by natural light flowing through what seemed to be an open wall. Thin veins of metal connecting panes of glass spoke to the reality of the great window, though the effect was undiminished. Manuel Skleros sat in a heavy built padded chair at a table perpendicular to the window and gestured for the two to take similar seats on the other side.
When Jahard had taken his, and Aleena had made it clear she would stand, Manuel spoke softly, “Justicars, I must apologize for permitting this to happen. It is not often your order finds its way to my city, and I take some pride in the knowledge that I have as yet made it unnecessary.”
With a small wave dismissing the guard Manuel continued, “That aside, I’d like to provide you anything you need in your investigation. I’ve already made sure to tell the various notables of the city to cooperate with you in the apprehension of the filth that has defiled my streets. With that said, I’d like to ask one thing: if you happen across some unrelated wrong doing in your investigation, would you report it to me so that I may deal with it directly? This incident has already proved quite the blow to my cities image, I’d prefer to handle any future issues before they necessitate your attention.”
Jahard crossed his fingers as he leaned back in his chair, "we appreciate your cooperation, as well as your candor. As you are of course the ruling sovereign of this region and city, you will have the benefit of sharing in any knowledge in regards to violations of Izalith's law we come across in our investigation-- to be handle as you see fit depending on the severity of said violations."
"Now as toward our current investigation, I would wish to request one boon. As we are strangers to this city, we remain dangerously ignorant to the inner workings of this town. In short, I would ask for a guide of sorts to aid us during our investigation. They may serve the dual purpose of supporting us during our time here with critical information, as well as acting as a bridge between us. All to assist us in ensuring we remain on the same page."
“Hmm,” Manuel drummed his fingers across the table and looked out over the city, “A guide can be provided. I think of one of my guild mages, a miss Lilika Sisinis. One of my more skilled acolytes, better yet, she is all but beyond reproach. I'll send for her to accompany you and provide you any aid you need.”
"Then I thank you, Exarch Manuel." Jahard said as he inclined his head, "with any luck we shall discover the ones responsible for this crime quickly and perhaps rid your city of this trifling matter."
"Not that it will make any difference in this city," Aleena said under her breath from where she stood at the room's window.
Clearing his throat suddenly Jahard quickly added, "well, I believe we have come to an agreement, onto another matter though I suspect I know the answer already I shall ask all the same for the sake of thoroughness."
Jahard paused a moment as if to collect his thoughts and continued, "now the business of shades is by nature one often kept in shadow, even between themselves. However, we know at least there was something that drew this one's particular attention to your fair city. Might you beware of what that might be? Strange going on's, an unscheduled docking perhaps? Any insight you might be able to shed could prove useful, as I am sure you are more aware of the going on's of your city than I."
Looking up Manuel smiled, “The business of the Archon's shade is beyond me Justicar. Ardaza is a port of prime location, were I to go over every unscheduled docking in the last month well, we would simply lack the time. I try to keep myself informed of course, but I have my limits. All I can say is that the city is quite unchanged from the usual, as your colleague there might put it, nothing is notably different about this month in regard to the last.”
Manuel paused and looked out the window again, this time to a small square on the estate where there rested a sizable pile of crates, “Then again, I am hosting quite the festival in a week or so. After all a war council has been called. Glory in the future and all that, it's good to let people celebrate for what might be the last time in a while. Moreover, it's always good to provide people an excuse to meet and make merry.”
Jahard lifted a hand to his chin, running a hand through his goatee in thought as he stared vacantly for a moment before he gave a single nod. "I see, then we shall be forced to start at the beginning as planned. Still, if you might have your watch captain obtain a portfolio of all the ships that have docked in the past two months. That might prove useful in the coming days, best to have it just in case. It might be time-consuming and perhaps even a waste."
"A complete waste." Aleena managed to chime in.
"But such is the nature of these things. One constant that often remains true in any port city is that anything truly worth learning can eventually be traced back to its docks. Good or ill."
"In the meanwhile, I think we shall take our leave and retire before the night is upon us. I will have word sent on the morrow where your acolyte might meet us before we begin our investigation in earnest. It would seem our first challenge will be finding suitable lodging within the city proper-- unless you have any suggestions."
Manuel looked the pair over, lingering on Aleena, before he spoke, “I know an innkeeper in the inner city, he should provide your lodgings free of charge for so long as you require them. I shall await your word Justicar, but for now I simply wish you the best.
Jahard stood and offered a bow with a fist to his chest, "and to you as well your grace."
Blood flowed through his fingers as he vainly pressed his hands against his stomach. Why did he feel so cold? Why was this happening to him? Why here and now? He had survived numerous fields of battle, yet one day in this city and a run in with a thief was to be his end? And he had such a bright future ahead!
The sound of footsteps drew his gaze up, and the through the encroaching darkness he saw the forms of a decidedly plain woman and nervous looking man standing in front of him. With the last of his strength he managed to beg “Please… help.”
The plain woman knelt next to him, seeming to not notice the dirt and grime now marring her dress. She observed him for a moment before reaching towards his wounds with one hand. “Rest now child” The woman said, something he found odd given his somewhat advanced age. Warmth spread through his entire body as she continued “And wake up to a brighter tomorrow.”
The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the woman rising to her feet, not a speck of blood or dirt on her. She looked at him, a warm smile on her face, as the sweet embrace of sleep took him.
“To think we would see such a sight here” The woman’s nervous companion muttered.
“Just remember that even the brightest lights cast shadows James.” The woman said with a snort.
“Wait… are we talking about the Night Mother now?” The man, James asked.
“Sometimes…” The woman said with a raised eyebrow, “I forget that you don’t get metaphors. Let us be off.”
“I.. uh… Yes milady.” James said as he hurried to follow the woman, casting one last glance at the man she had healed. “How did you heal him? I didn’t see you cast any magic.”
“How indeed.” The woman said with a laugh. “Just remember this: a skilled sorceress knows how to hide when she is casting magic. But a master sorceress can bend, even break, all the rules.”
By this point the pair had stepped onto a busy street. James struggled to keep up with the woman who, for her part, showed evidence of trouble navigating the street whatsoever. His gaze traced the apparent path she was taking to the palace.
“I’ve been wondering” James said after a moment, “why we’ve been on this trip to the south in the first place.”
“Would you believe me if I said that attending this council had been part of my plan all along?”
“Um… yes.”
The woman looked over her shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow. “Really? Sometimes I can’t tell if you are being serious or putting on an act.” Given that they had journeyed to the south months before the council had been announced and had only heard of it by pure chance the likelihood that she had had any plan seemed unlikely at best. The pair had actually arrived in Sanc Valatir a tenday ago, though this was the first time the woman had so much as glanced at the palace since arriving.
“I’m not sure what to say.” James commented.
“I’m sure you are.” The woman said. By this point they had arrived at the front entrance.
“Identify yourselves!” One of the guards challenged.
“I’ve got this” James quietly said. He took a few steps forward as he began “Before you stands- UWAH!” His little speech turned into a startled cry as he tripped over his own feet and tumbled to the ground. All present stared at James for a moment before the guards turned their attention to the plain woman. The woman, with a look of amusement still pastured on her face, shifted her gaze to the guards.
“Tell your lord” The woman’s form changed as she spoke. Her dress, suited for a peasant, turned into the luxurious gown of a queen. She grew in height, her figure becoming more lithe as he hair turned blonde. “That his Archon has arrived.”
Lady Margaux knelt beside a row of thriving green onions, the vegetable growing better than she had expected. It was Sunday, her day of days, so to speak. Easy, lazy, with a warm sun and a cool breeze to make it all the better. She smiled as she tended to her modest garden. While it was nothing compared to the lavish flower gardens of the other nobles, Margaux had a feeling she was among the few that actually knew how to tend to the garden itself, and not order some servant to take care of it for her. She leaned in closed uprooting some weeds that were trying to slither into her garden. 'Bothersome plants... no matter how many times I purge your from this soil, you always come back...' she thought to herself as she brushed the upthrust of dirt back into a smooth pattern. She took a deep breath of the fresh air about her, enjoy the aroma of ripening vegetables, ranging from onions to tomatoes. At the end of the day, Margaux could safely say, this was the one thing she had full control over, and didn't have to worry about the contrived and utterly ridiculous court politics. She smiled again, standing up to move towards her tomatoes.
"You will be ready to eat soon, my little friends. Just a few more days..." Margaux quietly said aloud to herself. She knelt beside the tomato vines, plucking away dead leaves and spoiled produce, when she felt a presence behind her. She let out a soft sigh, before rising up to greet her steward, Gérard de Villefort. The man was soft spoken and seemed to glide across the ground rather than walk, since he scarcely made a sound. Perhaps it was just tricks played within the mind, but Margaux placed those thoughts to the back burner, and brushed the dirt from her pants. "Villefort, what do I owe this privilege of your presence? Surely it could wait until tomorrow? Or, has there been another attempted escape from the mines?" Margaux smiled at her steward, taking her gardening gloves off and setting them aside.
Gérard de Villefort smiled softly, the barest hints of his lips curling upwards. He bowed his head forward, and in a soft, yet authoritative tone, replied to his mistress. "My Lady, I know that today is your day off from the tiresome task of running this island, but, this docket of business cannot wait. And do not worry, the prisoners are toiling away as they should, repentance for their inability to either serve the Great-Father admirably, or because the rest of the Empire has no need for such financially draining bodies." He stepped back, offering for Lady Margaux to take the lead towards a gazebo in the center of the garden. "It is best that we discuss this matter of state out of the warming embrace of the sun, besides, Sir Armand Dorleac is waiting as well. It seems this news has him lamenting over his duties of protecting you once more... " The man paused, before smiling, and looking towards the garden. "Quite the beautiful crop this year, my lady... now come, let us see to this business, and perhaps you will have time left to enjoy your day."
A while later, Lady Margaux, Sir Armand Dorleac, and Mr. Gérard de Villefort
Lady Margaux was first to speak after the long silence from learning the news. "The Great-Father has summoned me, one can not refuse such a summons, regardless of how you feel about all the lickspittles that call themselve's pure-blooded. It matters not to me what you would prefer me to do, Sir Armand, your job is as my Captain of the Crimson Reavers. Which I need not remind you, means you serve me, and be extension, serve the Great-Father. Piss on all the fetid fools who believe blood and their proximity to the Great-Father makes them better or more suited to be in charge. Those bootlickers care more about their pedigree than what truly matters, and that is your usefulness to the Great-Father coupled with your loyalty. Sir Armond, don't tell me you have forgotten of the traitorous ilk of the Great-Father, that vile creature who was among the closest of the blood-kin to the Great-Father? So keep that in mind, before you decide to spout off such borderline heretical and treasonous talk. We will answer the Great-Father's summons, with all due haste." Lady Margaux leaned back against a pillar, angrily eyeing her chief military leader. Damned be the fact this man was a skilled fighter, he just held too much open disdain towards the mainland politics, or rather, the Blood Children of the Great-Father who saw themselves as betters to his Lady and mistress.
It was Lady Margaux's steward Gérard de Villefort who interceded, speaking plainly and politely. "Friends, come now, now is not the time to be letting such emotions take control of us. Sir Armond, you will do just splendid in the capital. Lady Margaux has nothing to fear with you and your hand-picked attache at her side. Besides, it is only momentary that you shall be in Maweth, only till the return of the Great-Father. Let not your disdain for the mainland nobility bring dishonor unto yourself, our mistress, or the Great-Father. This Lady Sibari, the Great-Father's stewardess, is a... well, she can be worked with without too much fear of being stabbed in the back. Beside, the Great-Father would not look kindly upon those that disobey his orders, regardless of their peerage and pedigree."
Gérard de Villefort smiled, and beckoned his mistress in closer. "Lady Margaux, all will be fine. Just do as the Great-Father would do. Do not overstep your powers delegated unto you, and when in doubt, ask the stewardess, she will have been ordered to help you, regardless of her personal feelings in the matter. I will ensure that nothing goes awry while you are gone, my lady. And I will even send a fresh shipment of produce and blood wine so that you may enjoy your trip from home to the capital. The Crimson Reavers will keep you safe, and when in doubt, do not trust that which is told to you." He sighed, bowing his head, before motioning towards the pathway. "I must be off, my lady. I will keep you informed of the new shipment of prisoners, and their progress in the mines. I have to oversee their arrival, and ensure that these chattel know their place, and should things run amok, you can raise their dead corpses when you return. Sir Armond, protect our mistress, you are fully capable of that, don't let your doubts and reservations run amok." The Steward finished, bowing before the two, before setting off to his other duties.
Lady Margaux looked to Sir Armond, and let out a low sigh. "What could possibly go wrong? You see to the guard retinue, and I shall see to chartering passage for us. We leave in the morning, which should allow us to arrive in Maweth in four days time. Best to not keep the Great-Father waiting. He summoned me, and that is all the reason we need. Our loyalty to the Great-Father must be unyielding, no matter what outside forces we may face. Besides, it will be fun to rub those pampered prick's noses in the fact I was chosen over them to help oversee Sheol while the Great-Father is way." Lady Margaux finished with a wicked smile. Let the sycophants play their games and show their true colors to the Great-Father, Margaux bemused to herself, for she knew with the deepest of convictions, that there are few more loyal to the Great-Father than her.
City of Sanc Valatir, Southern Border Act II | Pit of Vipers
The large round chamber of that would house the war council was surprisingly spacious enough. The table at the room's center was round and possessed a few high-backed chairs positioned around it; several maps sat upon its face along with several wooden figurines. As Kabius, cane in hand sauntered into the chamber through the larger double doors; he quickly noted two other entrances into the room. As well as two high stained windows that offered enough light to see. Upon his shoulder sat his familiar, Sky, his paw like hands clutching onto the straps of his long coat.
Rather than heading to the table directly Kabius made his way to a side table and carefully poured himself a cup of tea. He heard the others enter but did not turn to greet them right away. Instead sampling the drink at hand, finding it well enough for his liking.
There was a man already there in the room standing like a hulking statue by the table, and by the emblem portraying an eagle clutching a rose that held a red cape around his enormous shoulders, it was clear that Ai sent him to be there before him. He looked a lot like Ai around the eyes and the only major differences in appearance was the boxed jaw, and the light porcelain skin only kissed by the sun. Also unlike Ai who seemed to carry his fitness and muscle with grace, this behemoth of a man was content on carrying himself in the fashion of a bulky giant. He, like Ai, was one of the favored children of Iao, and his name was Cannae, a Lieutenant directly under Ai.
As Ai entered behind Kabius the two half-brothers quickly clasped each others forearms in a silent greeting, a toothy grin flashing over Cannae’s face, outdoing the more wisp of a smirk Ai returned it with.
“Everything is all set,” Cannae whispered loudly into Ai’s ear, summoning a curt nod from Ai.
“Good.”
“Well if it isn’t my favorite mortals!” Soraya said as she swept into the room, making a beeline for Ai and Cannae. “I haven’t seen you since the last time I visited your father.” And by visit she meant sneak into his chambers and doodle on his face. She approached the two men, hands spread apart to invite an embrace as she asked the two men “How have you been?”
Ai turned and smiled as Cannae rushed to intercept the hug with a mighty embrace of his own. The hulk wrapped his log sized arms around the shifting Archon and gave a squeeze, enough for both him and the more reserved Ai.
“It is good to see you as well,” Ai chimed in past Cannae’s happy bear growl he tends to do when hugging. The giant man released the Archon and spoke for himself in a boisterous baritone, “so that is what it feels like to capture the elusive Archon of the south.”
“You make it sound so difficult” Soraya patted Cannae on the shoulder. “Didn’t your father ever teach you about using bait?” She said with a smile that only grew larger as she continued. “He’s quite the master baiter himself.”
A few sips of black tea later and Kabius felt refreshed, allowing himself a moment to watched as Archon Soraya, Ai, and his brother greeted one another. The hard tip of his cane clicked against the floors stone surface as he neared the group.
"Archon Soraya of Lonassa," Kabius said with a small bow, his smile coming naturally, "a pleasure to see you again as always."
“Lord Regent,” Kalon’s voice came from behind his Archon, “I don’t believe I’ve been properly introduced to your guest. Cannae, I believe it was?”
“Indeed it is,” Cannae roughly grabbed Kalon’s right hand and shook it vigorously, “pleased to meet your exarchness.”
Ai smiled politely, “Cannae, the…?”
Cannae looked over at Ai for a brief moment before nodding, “right, of course. If you’ll excuse me, Archons,” he bowed his head to Kabius and Soraya, “Exarch,” he dipped his head to Kalon, “brother,” he nodded sincerely at Ai, who in turn nodded back. The large man quickly exited the room, heading off into a hallway branching from the council room, leaving Ai standing alone, hands folded behind his back and a smile as curved as his scimitars.
Brushing past Cannae as he exited, looking to the large man somewhat disdainfully, Kuth entered the council chambers. He wiped at his face with a damp cloth, his long, pale hair tied back by a black ribbon. Noticing the others present, a wicked grin crossed his face, revealing his ivory fangs. He handed the cloth off to the scroll-laiden boy following at his heels, and sauntered over to greet his hosts and fellow guests.
Soraya was closest, and so he met her first. Clasping her hands warmly, he gave her a familial kiss on each cheek. “Ah good, I was wondering if you had arrived late, you hag.” He said without a trace of audible malice, still smiling. “Just how much magic does it take to keep you from looking your age these days?”
“Probably not half as much as it would take to change that ugly mug of yours into something pleasant to look at,” Soraya retorted without missing a beat. She returned his smile with an amused one of her own.
Kaibus was acknowledged only by a passing glance and a brief, pained expression, and Kuth’s gaze followed over to Ai, stood at the table. “The favored son of the Great Hibernator himself. I am pleased to see you leading such an ambitious undertaking, rather than be left to scour ticks from your father’s hide.”
Ai furrowed his brow at Kuth’s words and simply shook his head, “Shall we begin?” He motioned towards the chairs that surrounded the war table, he himself not taking any advance to pick a seat.
"Yes, let us set mind to task at hand," Kabius acknowledged as he made a beeline to a seat. He pulled it back but did not seat himself, instead gesturing to Soraya, seating himself after her. Leaning his cane against the arm of his chair as Sky hopped onto the table from his shoulder, picking up a random figurine that was fashioned like a knight and gnawing at its head.
“Thank you” Soraya said as she seated herself, waiting for the others to take their own seats before speaking again. She reached towards Sky, a small piece of bread in her open palm, as she stated “My exarchs are ready to deal with this matter. And Alexander in particular has requested permission to try and peacefully bring some of the city-states of Charce into the empire. I see no reason to stand in his way.”
Kalon took a seat beside his Archon. “While I have my doubts that his plan will work, I cannot foresee any manner in which Alexander making the attempt will backfire, so long as he maintains reasonably cautious. It is even possible that, even in failure, the mere attempt could sow the seeds of distrust amongst their number.” He placed his gloved hands on the table, spreading his fingers out over the space in front of him. “However,” he continued, “regardless of Alexander’s success or failure in this endeavor, there are a number of more pressing concerns.”
“Alexander is wise,” Ai said, still standing as if waiting for something, “I too would have preferred we opened this conflict with talks of peaceful conversion as we did with a number of tribes up north through our assimilation parties, but I also know we are well past that stage unfortunately. I do not see any reason he shouldn’t try however, I wish him luck.”
Suddenly Cannae re-entered the room carrying a large pewter bowl, a dead hog splayed out in it. Placing the bowl on a pedestal away from the maps, Cannae stood behind it, one hand gripping the snout of the dead beast. Ai turned and smiled, walking over to his brother.
“Up north,” he began, “we have many customs not seen in the old province of the Empire, one of which I wanted to bring down to you four. I feel the growing north has grown far from the stagnant south, and that this council is but one stitch in keeping us together as we welcome in floods of new customs and cultures of those conquered and assimilated. A favorite of mine is the war chieftains gift, a notable custom of a long lost tribe that once inhabited the swamps far west of Doma.”
Ai slowly studied the boar as Cannae stood at attention, ready for a command, “you see,” Ai continued, “a boar is caught and killed without breaking the skin to show sign of skill among the hunter, to which the prize is inspected by the chief to confirm.”
Ai looked up from the pig and at Cannae, nodding his head, “when found to be perfect, the boar is given to the tribe for good luck in the next endeavour, be it harvest or-”
Cannae’s arms flexed and with a gruesome snap and terrible rip he pulled up on the head of the boar, it’s neck bones ripping out from the throat as the brutish man beheaded the hog, a bright red spilling out into the bowl.
“-War,” Ai finished as he dipped a tiny thimble of a glass into the bowl and took a sip before discarding the glass, “I do not expect you to join in the blessing of luck, but if you wish, I would be grateful to see the rest of the Empire follow the North in opening its arms to the new ideas of conquered lands to help further the cause of Mother Night. Such unity and devise of change will aid in our coming battles.”
Kabius raised an eyebrow as Ai finished his explanation, his eyes on the dead boar laid out before them. "Hmm, interesting customs you seem to have adopted," Kabius nodded once, "such an endeavor is worthy of admiration, however. Very well."
After an unseen command from Kabius, Sky made a growling noise in his throat, not unlike the mix of a cat's purr or a mouse's squeak before dropping the figurine and accepting the morsel offered to him by Soraya. He then sniffed the bowl and made another sound that was either one of dismissive withdrawal or displeasure. As if suddenly satisfied Kabius imitated and appeared to take a sip himself.
Kuth, who had seated himself next to Soraya and across from Ai, quirked an eyebrow at the barbaric display. The boy at his side practically jumped out of his skin when Cannae effortlessly ripped the boar’s head from its body, but settled down behind the Great-Father. Kuth retrieved a glassful of blood, sniffed at it, and swirled it about in his glass as though he were examining some form of wine. Finally he seemed to resign himself to it, downed the glass, and grimaced as he smacked his lips.
“May we continue with the proceedings, please? Or if there are more formalities, I would like to request a chaser.” He said, still frowning from the taste.
Kalon observed the bowl of blood in silence for a while. Eventually, he produced a small cup, not wholly dissimilar from the one that Ai had used, and filled it with the blood. He regarded the odd drink for a moment, before tipping the bottom of his mask up with one hand, and bringing the cup up beneath it with the other. After a moment, he pulled it back down, empty, and placed it on table. He brought the bottom edge of his mask back to his face without a word.
Soraya had grown a pair of vulpine ears while watching the others partake in the ritual. It was a sign that she found something to be particularly interesting, though no one knew whether the action was involuntary on her part or intentional. Many individuals had, in fact, cited such actions as reasons to believe that she was not human but a magic using fox. She took a long drink before commenting “Not bad.”
Ai smiled softly, taking a seat by Kuth, “I’m glad you all were open to the change of process, it means much to me and the north.”
He placed a hand on a map of Lesmania and looked down at the curling parchment, “so…”
“Kabius, what exactly has been going on in our southern border, I hear reports that fighting has already started, and that tensions are beyond repair. More importantly, where are the Lesmanian’s focusing their efforts?”
Prompted, Kabius opened his coat and pulled forth a scroll. One far too vast and great to have possibly been hidden within the volumes of his jacket.
"The situation in the south has been... less than ideal," he began as he placed the scroll upon the table, his deep voice though barely more than a whisper carried across the room. He whistled sharply and caught the attention of Sky who shot Kabius a look, before spreading his wings and hopping off the end of the table. Quick as the eye could follow, Sky scooped up the scroll in his bottom paw like feet like feet that proved as dexterous as his hands. He then flew over to a side table behind Kabius, transferring the manuscript to his main two hands, and letting it fall open. Sky yawned, producing the faint sound like a zebra from the far southern lands.
Kabius idly picked up the overturned figurine of a knight Sky had been chewing on only moments before. He then continued, "as a few here may recall. What we call the Lesmanian was once just a collection of city states, with the more united isolated kingdom of Bretturean further south. The first years of the northern conquest saw that change in a drastically short amount of time with an alliance that many had thought impossible. It began as a defensive pact and has evolved over these past twenty years. It was only five years ago this alliance shifted from a defensive focus to an antagonizing one."
Kabius chose one of the figurines that were fashioned like a spearman and moved him and a nearby identical brother to the southern border of Illyrica. "Two forts were built uncomfortably close to the two most important mountain passes into the south. Just under four years ago. At first, they were pitiful little-fortified hills, but..."
Kabius added two more spearmen like figurines to each of the first two positioned near the border, "now they have grown considerably. My spies have also seen an increase in naval activity on the Haliakia as well, and the garrisons on the border cities Thebus, Attica and Charce itself. The trickling of men has been small, no doubt to allow it to go unnoticed for as long as possible. It may even be they are still unaware we have taken notice. The fighting you have heard of has taken the form of small aerial skirmishes in the mountains. No doubt scout's seeking to test our defenses. Good Kalon here has seen them off on every occasion. But one does not need to be a military genius to guess where this is leading if we do not act decisively. And quickly."
Sky at this point had produced a feather pen (from somewhere) and had been busy writing away as Kabius spoke.
“Damn,” Cannae spoke suddenly out of turn, his voice genuinely surprised, “we have been gone a long time.”
Ai shot Cannae a sharp look that softened over time, “sad to say,” Ai looked back at the Archons, “he may be right.”
“Archon Soraya,” Ai suddenly addressed the idle Archon, “what strategies have you deployed these last five years of antagonization? Any preemptive measures against the forts?”
“I have mostly left the matter in the hands of my capable exarchs” Soraya said. “With the occasional intervention of my own personal troops to ensure the Lesmanians didn’t get any foolhardy ideas.”
“Do we have the architectural plans of the pass forts and the other border estates?” Ai quickly replied.
“I suppose” Soraya said with a sigh, tracing a circle on the table with her finger. She had a decidedly bored look on her face as she commented. “Not the most interesting architecture I’ve seen.” She finished the circle and as she did the surface of the table seemed to change, a miniature replica of the forts taking form. The amount of detail was incredible to say the least. “Though I suppose they are functional.”
“I suppose I’d be hard pressed if I assumed you had agents inside the forts or sleeper cells from when the forts were first erected?” Ai bit his lip, “or any other hinderance or advantage planted while they were being built?”
“Sleepers? No.” Soraya answered. “Though I’m sure it’ll please you to find out that the metals used in much of its construction is of somewhat lower quality. At least for the gates.” By this point her eyes had glazed over as if she were on the verge of falling asleep.
Ai drummed his fingers across the table, “is there anything else you know about any of this that could help?”
“Last I saw…” Soraya had shifted her gaze to Sky, “they had about as many troops as one would expect to find in those fortifications.”
“Is this the extent of your knowledge?” Ai leaned back in his chair, draping one arm over the side.
At this Kabius tapped a finger on the hard wood of the table, "sera Ai, on this front, you might find wish fulfilled." Kabius chimed in in his unconventional halting manner of speech, "these forts were not born of ordinary means. In particular, Fort Dawn, as the southerners call it, was strengthened from what is strongly suspected to have been fey magic. Still, I have managed to... introduce a number of agents during their construction. Afterward a few remained undercover as members of the original garrison."
"It was some difficulty and no small danger they have been able to relay critical weak points of their structure and times the guard is most lax."
“What of recent reports?” Ai suddenly perked up, clearly glad to finally be getting somewhere, “numbers?”
At this Kabius pulled another scroll from his coat, and placed it on the table. "Last reports placed their numbers at no more than two thousand at Fort Dawn, and another... one thousand and three hundred roughly at fort Argos." He gave a half smile, "this scroll will have further details, such as the times their supplies are replenished, and the intervals they have received reinforcements. They appear hardly more than a month apart. Due to the manner of their encampment, however we have been unable to devise their overall composition, but we do know the garrisons are entirely made up of Charciens. No Knights of the Bretturean kingdom, nor their peasant levies. It is too early to know for sure what that might mean. Still, the numbers are far too large for simple garrison duty unless they expected to be attacked."
Ai straightened his posture, “very good, very good,” he slowly reached for the scroll. Looking up he continued, “anything else of note for these two forts? How many of our agents on the inside for example?”
"Over a dozen in each fort who thus far remain above suspicion. I should note now that no agent inside is aware of the identity of his fellows. A necessity when playing the mole," Kabius took a sip of tea as his eyes studied the map. "In addition, it seems each fort has been supplied with several wizards who are counted as the noble elites of Charce. Each brought with them a troop of wagons which my spies believe house creatures they have not yet been able to identify. Beast of ill sorcery no doubt, beyond that the forts seem be built in the classic Charcian fashion. A four sided fortification with towers sporting bolt throwers."
Ai rubbed his chin and leaned back, “anything else you think I should know about these forts?” He scanned the notes on the scrolls, “if not we can move onto Charce.”
Kuth had been quiet thus far in the proceedings; sitting back with his chin resting on his folded hands. Every so often he turned to the boy stood behind him, whispered something to him in a tongue unknown to the others present, and then returned to watching them from behind the silky veil of his white hair. The boy, when prompted, produced a metal-tipped quill, which he used to prick his own wrist, covering the nib in blood. He scrawled strange and intricate runes into one of the scrolls he carried, and the inscriptions of blood quickly vanished from sight as soon as they were placed upon the scroll. Kuth took small pleasure in using this cypher directly in front of Kabius, as he knew it was a code the spymaster could never crack. Old Sheolan had been a dead language for centuries before the man had ever been born, and Kuth had cloistered away every ruin and relic he could find on his island to keep the language a secret.
Upon mention of Charce, though, Kuth picked up. “If I may be so bold as to say, Charce is as good as ours. The Coven is well-entrenched in the city, particularly in the ports and merchant fleets. Sheol’s banking houses have had contracts drawn up with Charce’s for decades, and stand ready to absorb their capital and clientele.”
He examined his fingernails as he continued, giving off a casual affectation, “A half-dozen of Sheol’s privateer fleets have expressed their willingness to take the city, and my own fleet stands ready as well. The Coven can be counted on for insurrectionary activity within both the ports and the city. All in all, when we decide to take Charce, the fighting should be swift and short-lived, and the turnaround will be quick. It’s a merchant city; as long as we can get the merchants back to making a profit, they will have no complaints. War can be quite profitable, after all.”
“Very good,” Ai steepled his fingers, “I presume they are using the Imperial Currency if it is Sheol banks, a very clever way of keeping them under our wings so to speak. If we can topple the leadership there and replace it with our own, the city is ours without even an invasion. Kuth, do you think you could do this swift conversion? Our logistics team will surely be using any Lesmanian ports under our control, a very huge incentive for merchants to side with us and our economy after all.”
“A touch more complicated than that,” Kuth elaborated, “Our banks are the only institutions on the coast that will deal in the myriad currencies of the far east. Few are as polite as our friends in Jiaozi so as to deal in standardized units of gold.” Perhaps for effect, he produced a foreign bank note for the others at the table to examine: a blue slip of parchment with various illegible runes and a drawing of a rooster in its center. “Without us they’re essentially cut off from international trade.
“Now while an ‘invasion’ may not be necessary, I will still need my fleets to make port and take control by force. The Merchant Prince have their own private militias, and some of the private merchants in the city rely heavily enough on deals with the current rulers that they will fight to keep them in power. My privateer fleets should be sufficient for crushing these forces, but the assurance of reinforcements would be comforting. The city will be destabilized for at least a week, in which time the Coven will be purging remaining sympathizers. Merchants whose loyalties lie with their own interests first are most convenient for us; they will most likely show their bellies the fastest, and will welcome us as long as we patronize them.”
"Caution must be considered," Kabius added after a short pause. "The Charcian fleet is not the only thing to consider if we make any move upon the sea front."
Kabius finger traced a circle on the table, dark smoke wisping off his hand as he continued, "my agents have discovered that it is in all likelihood the Nordheim fleet that escaped the siege of Eskiholt took refuge with their surviving heir in Charce."
“Is he terribly important? A deposed heir with dwindling resources and no political allies does not frighten me much.” Kuth twirled his white hair around a slender, ivory finger as he spoke. “If it worries you so, I can have the Wraith Host conduct sweeps of the city.”
“It would be problematic if the two joined forces.” Soraya commented. “It wouldn’t be unreasonable to expect Charce to use the Nordheim fleet for its own purposes under the guise of aiding it to regain its homeland.”
“The Storm Host of Lotan is now at our command. I should hardly expect a single fleet of northern savages to post much threat.” Kuth cast a meaningful look in Ai’s direction. It was known that Iao had alienated the Blood Archon’s corsair fleets from partaking the conquest of the North. “In any case, Northmen can barely organize enough to make breakfast, much less incite revolution behind the figurehead of their dead monarchy. If you need this person killed so badly, I will endeavor to make it so.”
Ai nodded his head, “well noted, both of you.”
“Should we decide on a economic and marital take over, Kuth will have his reinforcements, and a name in who gets to own Charce after this mess,” Ai squirmed in his chair for a moment, adjusting the scimitar on his right to a better position, “as for the lost boy of the north, I would like a better detailed report on his where abouts, it’s been thirteen years and I’d like to know all we know about it, as well as the heads of Charce.”
Kabius tapped the head of the wooden statuette before saying, "We know he managed to reach the city of Chrace itself where he was a prince in exile, king of nowhere. We bided our time for two years after his arrival in Charce before we acted. I sent one of my best hands, but nothing has been heard since from either my agent nor further word of this prince. Even after all this time and searching there has been nothing. I suspect there is much more at work here."
“Could it not be said that if he is a threat at Charce, our attempts would either drag him out of hiding like you suggested, or he will simply vanish further into the south?” Ai asked quizzically, “and should it be the latter, is it a safe understanding that he has two options: to either manipulate things and act, or do nothing at all and hide? Should it be the first, you would have your answers, and there would be no wildcard. It must be dealt with eventually, not to say now but eventually, and not to say not now as well. Do you agree, or do you have further insight?”
Ai leaned forward, “you know what, our course is clear,” he smiled, “for the sake of our writers,” he pointed a thumb at the scribbling boy and the flying monkey, ”and for the eventual chumps doomed to read this conversation, let’s cut to the chase, yeah?”
He slammed a hand onto the map, “so we have four potential starting points but only two do we care about and here is why: We need to get rid of their potential to counter attack or funnel into our lands, henceforth we need to knock out the two forts before we can do anything else. Sure a diversion in Charce would help our chances, but until we take out the forts, we can’t divert full effort anywhere, not even on an aquatic assault on Zhul and reversing back to take Attica and undercut the riverlands, which we can discuss another time. Now I propose an idea, but I’m going to need help from Kabius on this one. We send a messenger to the commander of the fort most likely to give in, and tell them Iao is awake and wanting, they will resist and they will bunker in for the worse, it is at this point we hit something else, twice as hard as that ready fort was expecting to be hit, that fort sees what we can do, and gives in, or is hit like the first target, but this time with no friends to help out. How we hit, who we hit and when we hit are up to debate, but securing our border at the start of the war is not.”
“The easiest target is the unthreatened fort, and that way we at least bottleneck their chances at forward assaults and counter invasions while increasing our availability to their lands. Second, we hit a city they don’t expect while using Kuth’s connections to take Charce either during the initial hit or after. Third, we convince the kingdoms of the south and any potential allies of Charce to work with us for great benefit, someone is going to need to rule the new southern province after all, although I do suggest doing this right away.”
“Questions, comments and concerns?” Ai looked around the table, “and you!” Ai pointed at Kabius, “for the sake of all that is decent spit it out about the wild card, I can see it building up inside that damned glorious head of yours!”
Kuth sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest, “I will send correspondence to Sheol, and have the Seven Hosts brought to bear.” He looked to Kalon, “We can discuss lodging later, and with the input of my guards.”
“Great!” Ai smiled, “I’ll send some correspondences of my own, and get what the North can afford to give down here as soon as possible. Although I will say this ahead of time, I do plan on keeping a major force up in the North in case of an attack from Atar. Don’t worry though, more than enough of the Iaon military will be down here to help.”
Ai rubbed his chin, “as I’m talking, I realize perhaps we don’t even send that message to the forts, or if we do, we need to attack almost immediately after. It would be nice to have a fort surrender unconditionally, but I think the resolve might be too strong this early in the war. Thoughts?”
Kuth waved him off, “Do as you will; military strategy is out of my realm of expertise. Upon their arrival, the Seven Hosts will of course be given deference to your command.” He paused, quickly adding, “Well, five of the Seven will be. The Blood and Wraith Hosts will remain at my hand.”
“Very good,” Ai happily agreed, “I will need more time to think of the proper ‘how’, but rest assured we will be capturing our borders either way and then moving in for the conquest. So, in Kuth’s footsteps I say we all pledge our troops and then I’ll take a further look into these notes,” He lifted the scroll that Kabius had given him earlier, “and then with the reports on the numbers we gather, we can begin in no time. Also we will need someone to lead the negotiations with those willing to comply to our side in this war, and a report on the results as soon as possible, Kabius?”
"My shadows have already isolated those most likely to be swayed to our side, and discord has subtly been spread through the various merchant princes of Charce over these years," Kabius tapped the map over the location of Attica. "An overmaster by the name of Jnanac Cranard is especially susceptible and might prove to be of great benefit when we move on the city Sea Lord Karadal has demonstrated himself to be a wily opponent, however. Any move we make must be decisive and quick before he adapts. To that end you have the shadowdancers at your disposal. They may be few, but consider them the fine edge to your spear point."
“I hope this extends to the southern kingdoms as well, I would love to work with any and all in Lesmania who would aid us,” Ai added, “as for Jnanac, we can discuss him in detail later, and perhaps as always, you should be in charge of making sure that sort of shadowy battlefield is dominated by our wishes.”
"We must also consider the forest realm of Averon. My agents have managed to create disunity in the alliance of late, but this will not last, especially if we begin to march into the south." Kabius bright pupilless eyes regarded that very forest on the map, "that place remains a blind spot despite our best efforts. No agent who has entered has returned, at least not in their right mind. I would suggest avoiding it for as long as possible, but we must be ready should that realm awaken."
“I had a similar deduction, just one without any true prodding. I do plan on avoiding it as long as possible, nothing good comes from the unknown in battle,” Ai agreed.
“So, if there are no further open comments,” Ai clapped his hands, “Kuth I will see your army counted when it arrives, you have my thanks, standby on our Charce invasion. Kalon, I will need to talk to you about logistics. Kabius, just keep doing what you do best, level our playing field and get us as many allies and as few enemies as possible, I’d love to fight a war of only surrenders and use only resources that weren’t ours to begin with, but being realistic, let’s get as close as possible. Finally, Soraya, I will need your military and the accompanying information. Soon we march to secure those forts and ultimately: Lesmania.”
Kalon nodded, light bouncing off his mask. “We should be able to begin building up our forces immediately, so long as supplies begin making their way here before long. Sanc Valatir maintains considerable stores of food.”
“Great, with any luck those enemy shipments going to the forts will be of aid to us in more ways than one, beyond that, expect my own logistics train to help with food and supplies. I’m sure you’ll find the Stromist Vanguard very easy to upkeep,” Ai sat up in his chair, “Iao designed the logistics of it himself.”
“I will work to ensure my own forces are maintained. They have… particular needs.” Kuth added, leaving details vague.
“I’ll have my forces submit to your command.” Soraya inclined her head. “Where would you like to meet them?”
“Send the generals here,” Ai answered, “let’s get this all underway.”
I understand that this collab was not only a dry read but very repetitive. Writing a good war council is tough, and even more so when collaborated with so many people with various schedules and moods. However, Ai did attempt to save you a lot more of it at the end there and Soraya at least shook things up a bit at the start. I'm sorry if you don't like it and I promise future collaborations will be much more "Juice-AY". - GoldE
P.S I have no idea who the skinny blonde is in the picture.
The Stewardess of Boria had elicited little fanfare upon arriving in the fortress-city of Sanc Valatir as part of the entourage of Regent Master Ai. Charged with the command of the northern near-half of the Night Mother's empire, Ai naturally received more attention upon his arrival than Stewardess Helkha, who was merely a steward of a depauperate and easily-forgotten realm far to the north. Though she was well received by the welcoming party of Sanc Valatir, the Stewardess was almost-immediately overlooked by Kalon's lackeys as they devoted their full attention to Ai in their discussions about the upcoming council meeting - a council that was to be attended only by the great archons and the greatest of the exarchs. This exclusion did not bother the Stewardess; if anything, the Stewardess was relieved to be excused from the tedium that was imperial politics. With Ai gone to all manner of meetings and councils for the past few days, Helkha found herself with many hours of idle time.
She had spent the morning wandering the lower levels and annexes of the Valatirnine Sanctum. Somewhere in the upper reaches of this great edifice, Ai, Kalon, and the archons were conversing at this very moment about some matter of great importance. While the masters of the Illyrican Empire decided on matters that would shape the course of history on Ethica, Helkha found herself browsing the extensive collections of the Sanctum's archives. Though the Valatirnine Sanctum's archives could scarcely compare with the legendary Bibliotheca of Charce nor the great libraries within the Tower of Shades in Thulthar, Exarch Kalon's collection of scrolls, tomes, and glyph-etched tablets were still far more extensive than the pitiful library that existed back home in Rasthomig.
The archive's wizened curator, unaccustomed to visitors of any sort - especially dignitaries from distant realms - was delighted to assist when Stewardess Helkha requested any maps of the lands beyond Illyrica. Gladdened by the reprieve from the monotony of cataloging and sorting documents, the wisp-bearded librarian seated Helkha at a large table that he soon set about covering with all manner of rolled parchment and scrolls. She thanked the curator for his assistance and set about digging into the maps splayed before her.
The maps of a dozen foreign dominions were splayed out before the Stewardess; distant lands that the Stewardess knew so little of. Born to a tribal lord in the remote northern reaches of Boria, Helkha's education had been rather unconventional compared against that of the nobles of the Motherlands. As such, her geographical knowledge of Ethica was somewhat lacking. She had only learned to read at the age of fifteen when Vadigar left her as Stewardess of Boria; after all, Boria had only a crude and seldom-used alphabet of runic glyphs before the realm was incorporated into the Night Mother's dominion. Helkha's upbringing in tribal Boria had a single purpose: to marry off to the son of another tribal lord in order to cement tribal alliances. But the purpose of Helkha and Vadigar's lives changed dramatically with the arrival of the Illyrican Empire into their homeland. As a young girl, Helkha could have scarcely imagined being the ruler of Boria; she never would have believed that she would travel so far as the Tiranine Mountains. She still could not believe that her brother had traveled beyond the edge of the known world. The lands that Vadigar had reached had to be known to someone. Helkha hoped that someone had charted a map of those distant realms, and that hope had galvanized her to see if Exarch Kalon happened to have such a map in his more extensive archives.
The Stewardess glossed over each map, briefly seeing if the realm it depicted corresponded with Vadigar's rough whereabouts. She looked over a map titled the Southwestern Reaches of Draor Chor, a seemingly-vast and hilly realm far removed from Illyrica's frontiers, before sliding it away. Curiosity struck the Stewardess when she saw a map depicting an unfamiliar landmass whose shores were ringed with reeflike archipelagoes. The features of this land were scrawled in a writing style the likes of which Helkha had never seen and the only Illyrican transliteration offered was that of the title, which simply read Jiaozi. She eventually set that chart aside and rifled through a few more maps.
Helkha eventually came across a map that caught her attention. The placement of such features and mountain ranges and lakes was awkward and unnatural - suggesting that much of the lay of the land was drawn based off of conjecture rather than geographic survey. It depicted a coastal realm surrounded by a chain of great mountain ranges. A great body of water stretched ever westward. Helkha's eyes widened when she read the title of this map: The Sorcerer Kingdoms of the Sunset Ocean. This was the map she had been searching for, the lands against which Vadigar had spent the last ten years campaigning.
She traced her finger around the peripheral realms on the eastern side of the mountain ranges and found Hadu, Basim, and Thedaar. Helkha recalled these strange-sounding names from her final conversations with Vadigar by scrying orb. These, her brother had explained, were vassal kingdoms to an empire ruled by warlocks known as the Djaam. Vadigar would gladly recount tales of battle against Djaam mercenaries in these lands, and how the victories against them had earned him numerous allies among the vassals who were eager to overthrow their hated masters. Helkha guided her index finger northward, into the sheer mountains north of Hadu. Somewhere in those mountains, her brother had attempted to circumnavigate the fortified passes between that linked Hadu and Thedaar to the Djaam homelands. That was also the last place she had heard from Vadigar.
She squelched the fearful thoughts associated with that last conversation, and assumed her dear brother had indeed crossed the mountains. She traced her finger westward, out of the mountains, into the inner provinces of the Djaam Empire. In these coastal lands there were drawings of what appeared to be several large cities orbiting the figure of a great citadel on the coast named Zar Dratha. There was Zar Mythrad in the northeastern province labeled Ayt Sharduum, a seaside fortress in the far north called Vagora, and in the southeast was Kaldir.
Helkha thought of what these distant and exotic lands might be like, what armies their inhabitants might bring to bear against her beloved brother. It was comforting to know that these lands did indeed exist; that her brother had not simply disappeared into the farthest corner of Ethica. Vadigar, she dearly hoped, was fighting in these lands even now. And so, Helkha whispered a prayer to Mother Izalith, asking that she guide her brother through those distant and dangerous lands. ________________________________________________________
There was no doubt now: the Night Mother was with them.
Vadigar, surrounded by his entourage of lieutenants, marched triumphantly up the spiraling causeway up to the inner citadel of Kaldir. They were halfway up to the rock-hewn summit of this mighty citadel, and from this point Vadigar and his men were already afforded a breathtaking vista of the city that they had so-effortlessly taken. From here, they could just look over the walls - more than one hundred feet high even at their lowest point - and survey the rolling hill country the comprised the breadbasket of the Djaam Empire. Kaldir's ramparts, shimmering in the late morning sun with black obsidian in some places and glowing orange-red with red lavastone in the others, were too tall to have been built up with mortar and bricks. These walls, and the rest of the city, had been carved, not built. Vadigar's native translators said that Kaldir was once a small volcano, whose frequent eruptions of ash enriched the surrounding hill country. But the Djaam, in an earlier age, used their magic to silence the volcano forever. Over the course of hundreds of years, their slaves whittled the volcano into a citadel surrounded by a great wall of solid rock, leaving the impregnable citadel of Kaldir in its place.
Impregnable, perhaps, against the most numerous of armies and the greatest siege engines in Ethica. But Kaldir's fortifications were very seldom put to the test. The mammoth gates into Kaldir's walls were so heavy and cumbersome that it took nearly an hour to shut them, and so the gates were left open during the night and day, with only contingents of guards standing at the gates to control the inflow of travelers. The Djaam had no idea that Vadigar and his host had crossed the mountains, and were caught woefully unprepared when his army stormed through the open gates in the dead of night and put the Djaam's warriors to the sword.
By dawn, most of the Djaam's warriors had surrendered, save for those who had fallen back into the citadel itself to defend their masters. But it would not be long before the citadel was breached, and those few loyal warriors paid the ultimate price for defending their doomed masters. Even now, Vadigar could hear the percussive thud of the battering ram against the citadel's hardened obsidian doors. Within a reasonable time, Vadigar imagined, the doors would give way, and 1,000 of his seasoned Borians would storm through the breach.
A satisfying crack of stone breaking under strain resounded across the captured city, prompting Vadigar to look up to the citadel. The rhythmic thud of the ram continued however, giving proof that it had not been the citadel's doors being broken by the battering ram. Something else had broken, and Vadigar looked around to see what it was.
In one of the city's plazas below him, he saw the source of that noise. A cadre of his soldiers, armed with pickaxes rather than swords or spears, were scrambling away from a huge circular dais carved from obsidian. A colossus of the same glistening obsidian stood some sixty feet high upon the pedestal. The figure was a nubile goddess, nude with arms wide open. Three pairs of batlike wings spread forth from her back, and she wore a crescent-shaped crown upon her parted brow. Vadigar recognized this being as Rabal - the moon goddess worshiped by the Djaam. He could see that the colossus was now leaning forward, teetering on the pick-hewn stumps that had once been her ankles. The colossus suddenly tumbled over forward, shattering upon the plaza with a thunderous peal.
"HAIL IZALITH!" Vadigar heard shouted from the plaza. The Exarch wore a wide smile as he continued up the causeway toward the citadel.
A smaller plaza existed at the base of the citadel - a wide open space surely designed to allow the Djaam to rain their fell magic down upon attackers from the upper reaches of their citadel. Indeed, a few black scorch marks on the plaza stones gave proof that the warlocks had cast thunderbolts down on Vadigar's soldiers. But a number of archers trained on the upper windows and balconies of the spire were enough to keep the Djaam at bay, allowing the Borian shock troops to continue battering against the doors unmolested. As Vadigar and his lieutenants entered the plaza, one of the soldiers manning the iron-tipped log left his post and ran over to address him.
"Hail, Exarch!" The soldier saluted, throwing his arm around his lord's cape-clad shoulders to embrace him.
"Doremun," Vadigar exclaimed, returning the embrace. "I have heard that your performance in the attack was exemplary. Many of the Djaam's men died upon your blade; you fought well."
"Only because it was the Night Mother's will," Doremun reminded, releasing Vadigar from the embrace.
"Indeed," the Exarch affirmed. "She has been kind to us this day."
"You don't know the half of it, milord. Come, Look what these Djaam imbeciles have allowed us to have."
Vadigar directed his lieutenants to take Doremun's place on the ram before being led away from the citadel to a collection of buildings surrounding the citadel plaza. At the doors of these buildings, captured warriors of the Djaam were watched over by Vadigar's soldiers as they laid armfuls of swords and spears upon linen sheets at the feet of the occupiers.
"We can field several thousand warriors with these arms," Doremun said as they watched the plunder of the armories. "Warriors I am certain that we will easily muster from the people of Kaldir. Even in their own cities, it would seem that there is little love for the Djaam."
"Mother be praised," said Vadigar.
"Oh, but I have saved the best for last, milord."
Doremun led Vadigar away from the armories to a tall, long edifice built of lavastone brick that Vadigar guessed to be a warehouse full of grain. But the fact that the doors were some 30 feet tall and 16 feet wide, coupled with a low bestial growl emanating from within the building, suggested that this building housed something different entirely.
Doremun and Vadigar slinked through the cracked doors, and were immediately confronted with the putrid stench of confined beasts. As far as Vadigar was concerned, this building's interior looked more like a stable than anything else, except that it was built three times too large. On Vadigar's right and left were stalls much like a stable, with great iron bars. Vadigar saw nothing in these first two stalls but he could hear something breathing heavily in the next stall to his right. Something big.
Within the iron bars of this stall, Vadigar could see the outline of a great beast sleeping soundly upon a thick bed of straw. His eyes had not yet adjusted completely to the darker light inside this building, but Vadigar believed he could see a four-legged animal perhaps four or five times larger than a horse, whose arms and legs were chained to iron pegs planted firmly into the stable floor. A torso of leathery gray skin rose and fell with every growling snore.
"What is this beast, Doremun?" Vadigar whispered.
"The native translators tell me it is vilespawn."
"Vilespawn?" Vadigar repeated incredulously. "The same vilespawn as-"
"Yes," Doremun affirmed. "The translators tell me that the vilespawn are more prevalent here in the western lands. More numerous and more varied in their form. There are vilespawn that look much like men, and there are those that are more bestial. The servants of the Djaam go into the wilderness, hunting for suitable vilespawn. Those that suit their fancy are captured and sequestered by the Djaam. As these monsters are the product of corruption, the Djaam cleverly recognized that vilespawn can be easily corrupted and manipulated. They perform wicked magics on these captive vilespawn, accentuating useful features of these beasts, while pruning away others that are less desirable. The Djaam remove the savageness and cunning of these captive vilespawn, making them docile, predictable, and subservient. The Djaam force their bodies to grow to incredible size."
Vadigar's eyes had now adjusted to the relative darkness, and he could see the beast sleeping before him with greater detail. It had a snout that resembled a crocodile, with jagged and irregular fangs protruding from its maw. Four sunken pits in the beast's skull suggested that this beast once had two pairs of eyes; knowing that numerous eyes are purported to give strength to vilespawn, Vadigar suspected that the Djaam had likely pruned its eyes away completely with their magics. A twisting pair of tusks protruded from the corners of the beast's mouth, and the beast's skull - misshapen by runaway magical corruption, poked out from the skin of its head in a spiny frill. A loud crack from outside - the sound of the battering ram fracturing the doors of the citadel - seemed to have woken the beast from its slumber. It gave a gurgling roar, seemingly irritated at being awoken.
"The translators call them val shakum" Doremun declared. "Vilesteeds."
"Vilesteeds, hmm?" Vadigar repeated before turning his attention to the sound of the battering ram crashing against the doors of the citadel. His eyes scanned over the beast's clawed digits and fearsome fang-tusks, and then thought back to his tiring soldiers battering ineffectually against the citadel's door.
"Let us see if we cannot find someone among the surrendered warriors who can tell us how to fit this beast for war. I would like to show these Djaam how vile their steeds can truly be."
The Carved Table Room was one of the most well known locations inside the Citadel. Even though its access was limited to a few trusted guards and the commanding officers of the VIIth Legion, the place where the Exarch held his war councils soon captured the imagination of the masses outside. With little in the way of more interesting subjects to talk about, both Northmen and Legionaries liked to wonder and talk about what was inside the room. Sure, everyone knew there was a table who was supposed to be in some way special. But besides that? Rumors varied wildly. Some said the Legate had a harem of defeated warrior women chained to his throne, so that he could hold orgies while conferring with his Tribunes. Others said that the War Room was stuffed to the brim with treasures from all over the world, including the stuffed cadavers of all kings and warlords defeated by the VIIth. And a few even went as far as saying that the Carved Table was actually a magical device that allowed the Night Mother to communicate with the Exarch directly.
Of course, all of that was bullshit. The Tribunes and soldiers were more than willing to share what was really inside the room. But it's not like any random bondsmen could walk up to a Tribune and ask. Not if you like not getting flogged. Besides, whenever the few Legionaries with access to the place tried to dismiss the rumors they were jeered and laughed at. Of course, they would try to cover for their masters. So eventually they stopped bothering and decided to have some fun themselves with the whole situation.
Now back to the room. It isn't actually that out there. Sure, its nicer than the random Northmen would be used to, with marble columns, beautiful statues and colorful mosaics. But compared to the wildest rumors, it really wasn't that much. And the vaunted table was just a thick slab of mahogany carved to represent the Northlands. Impressive, sure. But not really "magical artifact"-impressive.
Anyway, the reason for all this talk is because the Carved Table Room was being used again (and because Drunken likes to ramble about useless stuff). Missives had arrived from the Capital, including some rather unfortunate orders for Manius and his Legion. And that brings us to the scene itself, with Exarch Manius Quinctilius Dolabella and his Tribunes stood around the large table of carved wood representing the entire breadth of the North.
The men had just finished settling into their proper places around the solid map. Not sitting mind you, Imperial Tribunes could certainly stand to stand for the few hours it took to hold the council. And if not, well, they didn't deserve to hold the position to start with.
"My Tribunes!" Manius thundered, because he used to forgot that inside voice was a thing. "I have received urgent missives from our master, the Archon of War."
"Its war, right?" Gnaeus Gentilius asked eagerly, a wide grin covering his ruddy face. "We're finally going to crush the Southlands."
"I have not finished." Manius replied sternly, glaring at the overeager Tribune, who at least had the decency to look ashamed. "But yes, the Empire is finally bringing civilization to the southerners, it seems. And we will be taking no part on it."
The room exploded into murmurs and shock. Before another thunderous shout brought back the silence.
"We have been tasked with holding the Northlands while the armies of the Empire march south." Manius paused. "It's certainly not the most glorious task." He took a deep breath. "But its just as necessary and important as marching down South. Otherwise we would simply win the South while losing the North. I will soon enter in talks with Legate Sergius and the other Exarchs of the North, so as to better coordinate the defense of the land."
"So, what exactly will change?" Asked a visibly confused Titus Septimus. "Aren't we already supposed to be doing that anyways?"
"Direct as always, Septimus..."Manius remarked. "But you are indeed right. Our basic duties will not change. But they might be expanded. For example, Legatus Sergius will be taking his Legion South, and so we may need to end up covering for him while the war goes on. The same goes for any other Exarch that marches to war."
"Do we even have the manpower to take on these new duties?" Asked Gnaeus.
"I believe so, forces will be left behind to support us. At least Sergius has already pledged to grant us the support of his levies after his Legions depart." Manius replied, before adding more forcefully. "Steel yourselves, my brothers! We have much work to do yet."
Inside the white stone walls of the tower of Iao, a young Ai walked the spiraling hallway with an even younger Errocas. The older brother was clad in fine furs and an all too familiar band of metal covered his arms and chest. Two tiny hoops jutted out of his shoulders where a fanciful yet absent cape was to be pinned and a young yet thoughtful face conquered his visage in the same way he had just conquered the last holdout of the Aeslings just a day ago.
His thick black hair was pulled back, letting his fierce eyes focus forward with little distraction as he walked by the side of his youngest sibling. Errocas was dressed in a much simpler panoply, devoid of the lustre of his brother’s. A simple navy tunic and ring of jet professed his station. A pair of inquisitive eyes occasionally looked towards Ai before darting back to the carpet below, as though looking into the sun and regretting it immediately after.
Finally, “How did you do it, Ai?” the youngest spoke, “Defeat the Aeslings, I mean.”
Ai nearly stopped in his tracks as the image of the battle struck him, but then he kept walking, slowing his pace only to make sure he had Errocas’ attention. He looked over to his younger brother and shook his head, “it was something else, I didn’t expect it myself, but it was all our father.”
“The Aeslings lost the war nearly a year ago, if you remember, officially I mean, but there was one queen left who refused to assimilate into our Empire, remember?” Ai held the smile of a tutor.
Errocas grimaced as he recalled the tedium of countless lectures. “Yeah. But she was different. What made her so special? ”
“I’m not too sure,” Ai chewed his cheek, hating to admit lack of knowledge, “but as Father put it, if one stood, they all stood.”
Almost a little too eager Ai waved a hand, “but anyways, the siege! Do you really wanna know!?”
Errocas gave his brother a firm nod, hands balled into little fists full of conviction.
“Okay so,” Ai began to gesture with his hands, as if placing the various regiments on an invisible battle map, “we were all lined up like this, Jericho on the west, me on the east, we were going to pincer an entire holding, I had spent all night in the books and notes formulating the best approach since Father put me to the task. Admittedly I made a mistake and misjudged how much the fortified walls of the Queens citadel could take and we were getting nowhere fast.”
“We weren’t losing,” Ai quickly added, “it was just taking a long time, and time is everything in war.”
Ai smiled as if remembering the exact image, “but then our Father arrived.”
The older brother stopped walking and put his hand on Errocas’ shoulder, “he walked up to the walls, not flinching as arrows whizzed by his ear, the sharp heads too afraid to touch our father. All our soldiers stopped in awe at what happened next. He stood a mere three feet from the mighty citadel walls and with one breath he finally said, ‘Kneel.’ The battle grew eerily quiet as the walls themselves obeyed our Father and crumbled to his feet in a loyal bow. It was indescribable.”
Ai’s eyes were saucers, “you could feel the spirit of Stromism flood around him, it was impossible for even our own soldiers not to kneel at the command.”
With a breath Ai started walking again, his hand leaving Errocas’ shoulder, “after that, it was as simple as flooding through the breach and finishing what was started.”
Visions of battle cavorted in Errocas’s head, of his father’s banners flying high atop the walls of the Aesling citadel. It was enough to sate the imagination of any twelve-year-old for a while. Several moment later, Errocas turned again to Ai and asked, “If- If Father hadn’t been there. What then?” His gaze held a childlike sense of wonder, wide-eyed and expectant. Perturbing, almost, given the connotation of the question.
Ai shrugged, a cocky smirk on his face as they approached the steps that would take them to their father’s private floor.
“The way I see it,” Ai finally answered, “no matter what we would have won. The plan was pretty good despite the shortcomings, and even still the Aeslings couldn’t stay held up there forever. Father had a few good words about it himself. He has been teaching me to rule next to him after all!”
“Yeah. I guess so,” mumbled Errocas. He shuffled his feet at the bottoms of the steps. Ai’s words were a swift reminder of who the eldest one was. Which one of them was destined for greatness, to rule.
Ai looked down at his mumbling brother and sighed, “maybe I got a little egotistical right there.”
He pinched his chin in thought, “I’m trying to work on that, our tutors aren’t exactly fond of how… arrogant some of us get, namely me.” He smiled as if telling a joke.
Silence overtook Ai as they climbed the first step, “but hey, I’ve heard Exarch Corros has been talking to Father a lot lately, and they’ve been asking questions about you to your tutors, even Jericho and I.”
Errocas froze a moment, then regained his composure. “Like what?” he inquired, sounding more suspicious than curious. “What does the old coot want with me when you’re the heir?”
“I’d be a little more respectful towards our oldest family friend save Kabius,” Ai huffed, “especially since he has been curious to your impressive progression, and being childless, I sometimes wonder if all those questions about you equate to becoming his ward, but as I know it, it was Father who started the talks.”
Ai skipped up a few steps, “come to think of it, he has been doing a lot of planning these last few weeks.”
“Hmph.” Errocas nearly stumbled as he bounded after his brother, grimaced, then climbed at his own pace. “What about Jericho? He’s as old as you, and has just as much experience.”
“Jericho.” Ai echoed the name, it was hard to tell what Ai thought of his twin, “Jericho has been distant for a while. I’ve heard rumors that Father has noticed his lack of interest in the Empire, and even his laze in battle orders.”
“I- I haven’t really talked to him,” Ai admitted, it seemed hard to say as the two used to be inseparable before the tasks of early adulthood stole their attentions away, “sometimes I think he might just be angry with me, but I didn’t choose for things to be this way.”
Ai grew silent and his eyes focused on the remaining stairs.
“I like Jericho,” Errocas added plainly. “He knows a lot.”
Ai gave a forlorn smirk and looked over at Errocas, “me too.”
After a few more steps, the brothers pushed the heavy oaken door aside, and the dim evening light flooded their eyes, spilling in from the wall slits. All around them hung elaborate quilts, fabrics and flags depicting military feats of yore and new. Besides the tapestries, the room was rather plain, with only a personal dining area being of note. A crisp forest air clung to the atmosphere of the room, and the emptiness only brought a strange feeling of calm among the many battles shown. A mighty door stood opposite from the brothers and through it was the bedchambers of their father, but blocking them from the way was a troubled looking Corros by the dining table, wooden cup in hand.
Upon seeing the boys he perked up and placed his cup down, “there you two are!” He said urgently, “I called for you so long ago-” he shook his old white fringed head wildly, “ you know what it doesn’t matter!”
“Corros, what’s wrong?” Ai furrowed his brow.
“Your father has requested you two.” Corros placed a firm hand on Errocas as he shuffled the two towards the door.
“Wha-what about Jericho?” Errocas protested out of confusion, Ai nodding in concurrence.
“He has yet to return from the battle.” Corros answered grimly.
“What!?” Ai’s voice was clearly worried.
“Not now!” Corros hushed the two sons of Iao as he pushed them through the door, “it is important you talk to your father right away.”
The trio burst into Iao’s room, and there on his large velvet bed was their father. He had no sheets covering his massive form, but various weapons by his sides. His skin was the color of scarlet, a color the brothers grew to know very well and a primal shock of white hair grew from his scalp and chin. The muscular Archon of war laid still, fiery eyes the color of the sun peered at Ai happily, and then at Errocas.
A thick yet usually deft hand rose from Iao’s side and he reached lazily towards his youngest, a smile broke his frowning red face and he uttered softly, yet strangely still in a room shaking baritone, “Errocas…”
Suddenly the hand slowly fell back down to the bed, and the mighty God of Battle’s eyelids slid over his eyes as he grew silent.
“...Father?” Errocas rasped. “Father!” The boy darted past his brother to the bedside where Iao lay. Errocas halted some feet from the hulking form, failure to comprehend the nature of his own father preventing him from leaping up on the mattress and embracing him. This form was alien, unnatural.
Ai quickly followed suit, but unlike Errocas he reached out and grabbed his father’s hand, the fist of the man filling both of Ai’s.
“Don’t worry too much,” Corros approached behind the sons, sweat on his own brow betraying his own advice, “he has been slipping in and out of sleep for a while now.”
“What, why?!” Ai demanded.
“I do not know,” Corros answered, flinching at Ai’s tone, clear inheritance from the boy’s father lacing his voice, “but- but the Stromism is strong.”
“Tell me what you know,” Ai growled. And from Errocas, “Why does he look like this?”
“Jericho!” Corros stuttered, he seemed as thrown off guard by the whole scenario as much as the sons, “he keeps mentioning Jericho, he wants you to go find Jericho, that is his only command.”
Ai was about to protest but suddenly almost as if listening to the three talking, a strange apparition flickered over Iao, and a eerie arm the color of ethereal floated out of Iao’s torso. The ghost limb mirrored that of one of Iao’s physical arms, only this one’s hand was pointing towards the door as if to say “Go.”
Ai and Corros both looked at each other, both aware that the powers of Iao were allowing him to communicate. Without further challenge, Ai looked down at his younger sibling.
“Errocas,” Ai said sternly, “we need to find Jerricho.”
The younger boy nodded weakly, having not entirely came to terms with the bizzarity of the situation before him. Corros had hardly told them anything and now they were supposed to leave?
“Where will we go?” he asked softly.
“The Citadel.” Ai looked over at Corros who simply nodded, “Corros, prepare Pain, we need to move fast.”
“I’ll have your father’s pegasus ready before you reach the stables,” Corros answered. He and Ai rushed out of the room. Errocas lingered at the door, looking back at the swollen body of his father. Then he gulped, tore his eyes away and followed after the others.
Clear, midday sunlight poured into the meeting chamber of Alexander’s palace. The room itself was an architectural master piece. Formed by several master Elysianites. Half the round room was in fact a balcony. The pillars upholding the roof outside were imbued with wards that dampened all wind to a fresh breeze that could barely flicker a candle. The floor was made from normally cold granite. But the many enchantments upon it allowed it to soak up the heat from the sun. In the middle of the room stood a table. Sprouting from the floor as a stone flower. For now the table looked normal enough. A flat surface with in the middle a pool of water.
Alexander gazed from the balcony downwards. At his great city. If he wasn’t an Exarch, he would have spent over half his life protecting and nurturing it. Yet, with the blessing of Mother Night, he could continue his project for so much longer. Various birds flew through the gentle sky and below the streets were filled with merchants selling their wares. Closer to his palace were the guildhalls with the various magical institutes whom each sold their services. Who would have thought that a city on the break of collapse merely two decades ago could flourish so much? Alexander could stand for hours here, watching the city. But as the door behind him opened, duty called.
“Grandmaster. I’m happy you’ve found time.” Said Alexander with a bright, welcoming smile. The Grandmaster of the Elysianites was an old man. Grey and weathered, the man must be 70. Even though exact age was never discussed. He made a curt bow as a man who has lost too much of his life to courtesies and came right to the order of things. “What can the Elysianites do for the Exarch of Sorcery?”
Alexander approached the table in the middle of the room, as did the Grandmaster. With a wave of his hand the flat surface started to morph. The water spread out and the now clay-like substance started to mold itself in small towers and large mountains. When the table’s content stopped changing, a map of Makania was displayed on it. With several real representations of rivers and the lake to the east. Villages were marked with small houses, minor taverns with a single depiction along the road and Makau as several towers held together by a wall. To the east stood Drakestone Ridge. The fortress built into the mountains. The Grandmaster could not help but smile. It were his masters that made the map table. A piece of art that had an actual purpose as well. Pupils often debated topics like form over function. But this was both.
“Makau was defended by magic. It was restored with magic and now it flourishes because of magic. However, as all those who practice the arts know, magic is not an infinite resource. We have grown prosperous. But now we must look at the future. The mana of Makau will soon no longer be able to keep up with our mages. It will be consumed, harming the regeneration of it and eventually we’d left with a wasteland. I do not like that prospect. So we must find a solution before it becomes a problem.”
The grandmaster rubbed through his grey-white beard as he looked upon the map and then outside to the city beyond the balcony. “Rationing mana would cause riots in a city like Makau. What you need is a way to get more magic.” Alexander nodded and followed up. “Making an arcane center point is not beyond our capabilities these days. But that would raise issues with the neighboring provinces. Not the least of which are owned by the Archon.” It was the Grandmaster’s time to smile. “And you wouldn’t have summoned the Elysianites’ Grandmaster if it was that simple.”
“Indeed.” Alexander once more waved his hand over the map and a few more figures appeared within the mountains. Bodies carved from the mountainside upholding some sort of rings. Alexander took one from the map and tossed it to the Grandmaster. Who could still catch it with one hand. “The land west to us. I want you to build monuments in the mountains as a marker of Makau’s greatness. These monuments would be used to siphon the magic from the hollow moors. It would be a challenge. The plan would require several projects, skilled craftsmen and powerful wizards to allow for the channeling.”
“Which is why you leave such things to the Elysianites. Very well, my lord. We will begin at once.” “War?” asked Elyria. The dragon princess laid in her chair. Her loose robs hanging over everything like silk curtains. She looked at Alexander, trying to see if he was serious about this or not. Normally she’d be warned about such developments. “With whom?”
“The south, obviously.” Declared the Exarch’s cousin with an air of superiority. The two women rarely could stand each other’s presence. The Ice Queen was always calm and collected. As a good diplomate should be. But she was more than just calm, she was icy. Distant. Sealed off. No man could say in truth that they fully knew Korri. Elyria, on the other hand was hot-tempered and quick to speak her mind. So far it’s unclear whether it’s the drake’s bond or just her personality. But often times she looked like she could breathe fire very much like her mount. “Charce has been gathering allies. They fear Mother Night and her empire. Else the city-states would have remained that.” Lady Korri continued. To add to her point she waved over the table.
Very much like the map table in the other, open meeting room, this one started to morph and change. Around her the curtains started to open up, allowing beams of sunlight to pour in. But the curtains opened up in such a way that the light beams all focused down upon the map. Upon the table now the lands of Charce had formed. With its various ports and cities. Though if one would compare it with the modern maps from, for example Sanc Valatir, it would be lacking. But it did the job well enough.
“What a joke.” Echoed through the hall. Three words rarely used in the presence of Lady Korri. They came from Elyria. “How can Charce believe they can stand up against the Empire? With the combined strength of all three Archons? Even with allies. We’ll just raze the place.” Violence and utter destruction always came too easy from Elyria. Then again, for her an inferno was just a candle from high up in the skies. Alexander had long feared that the endless flying upon her drake had made her disconnected from the world below.
However, in the discussion Lady Korri was not yet ready to admit defeat. “Even if it’s true what you’re saying, the republic is more than just Charce. Averon and the Brettureans have joined. If we want to get to the Kingdom, we either go over the lake… or through the Forests of Averon.”
But then Alexander rose up from his seat. Apparently tired of his two most trusted allies bickering. Or knowing it would never end. “Thank you, Elyria, Korri.” It was enough to return both to their seats. “I was not invited to War Council. So I do not know the exact plans of the Archons.” He started his explanation as he gazed down upon the clay map. “However I’ve had the forsight to dispatch my wishes in a letter to our Archon. Lady Korri. You are to mount up a diplomatic mission within Charce itself. I doubt you’d convince any of the city-states completely. But your task is rather to sow doubt amongst the united forces.” The Ice Queen threw a cocky smile at Elyria. “However, you have a secondary objective: Corinthi and Epirus. We need ships to get us across that lake. When Charce and Attica falls to the brunt of the attack, the others will see reason.” She nodded in understanding. In fact, content to know her exact mission she left the room to write and dispatch the first letters to request safe passage through Charce.
“Elyria. You and your drakes will head for Sanc Valatir. You’ll be joining the vanguard.” This got her rather excited. “And you’ll be reinforced by the Black Knights.” It didn’t particulary dampen her spirits. But neither did it heighten them. Just like Korri she jumped up from the chair and marched off to prepare her drake. As well as her lords. Alexander remained to discuss further subjects. He didn’t dispatch any other troops.
Errocas frowned, drawing his furs taught over his shoulders. The beginning of Spring meant little this far north; it would be frigid for months yet. Months poorly spent sitting on his hands, waiting for an opportunity to resume the campaign season. The cold was not kind to armies, least of all the Nordheim cold. Yet he’d seen those northerners defeat the elements, ignore them as if they did not exist. A howling Aesling with an axe and blood boiling was more than a match for a little frosty wind. No, the southerners would sit out the chill, holed up in their fortresses, safe, albeit uncomfortable.
The Exarch peered out from the battlements into the frosted treeline. Not far beyond, to the west, was the Empire’s border with Atar. For many months Errocas had raised hell along the no-man’s land between the nations. That was before the snowfall hit, before the tiger retracted its claws and crawled into its den for the winter. He yearned to ride out again, finish what he started. To his displeasure, neither Ai nor the weather would permit it.
“My Lord,” huffed a shivering lieutenant, “There’s a carriage on the road not five miles from here. It carries Mother Night’s flag.” Errocas met him with a raised eyebrow. “A Herald? Here?” “It’s possible, Sire. Our scouts are escorting it here as we speak.” “Hum.” Errocas cast another look at towards the border. Though still frigid, the snow had started to melt the last few days, betraying strips of green on an otherwise white canvas. “Make ready to receive Her Majesty’s envoy,” he said with a grimace, and made down the rampart’s steps.
The rhythmic sound of horse hooves trotting across the hard-packed dirt road could be heard easily across the white plains. They announced the arrival of a small procession of riders escorting a single carriage of dark wood, with purple banners flanking the vehicle to either side. The banners held the heraldry of the black rose circled by a ring of thorns. It was the coat of arms any fool knew instantly belonged only to Mother Night. The real power of in these lands; lands which were graciously given her peace.
Four magnificent steeds pulled their charge forward at a brisk pace. Surrounded by armed guardians that wore the dark purple robes of the private household soldiers of Mother Night. Known and feared as the Blackguard by many. Little was known of them, for even their faces were covered by armored masque stylé full faced helms. Even their gender a difficult thing to guess under their garments and armor. Leading these horsemen was a single rider who wore naught but the simple purple robe without any apparent protection.
They held a spear with the banner of Mother Night itself tied just under the spear pointed shaft. The escort draws nearer and nearer to the fortress, having long since been spotted by the men on watch. Many shifted uncomfortably on their feet, for many had heard rumors of the heralds who spoke for Mother Night. Some thought them to be barely human avatars of her power, to look them in the eye merely meant one had forfeited their life. Others thought them to be true angelic beings who had never been born mortals but created by the pure power and will of Mother Night herself to act as her agents in the world.
There were a thousand and one tales but none save the Archons new the truth. Even the exarchs were unsure of the exact nature of the woman they held their fealty too. This mystery only added to both her Majesty and the fear surrounding her. Such things would usually invoke mistrust in the hearts of most followers, but such was the dread and power that surrounded Izalith that it only created loyalty in her vessels. Loyalty born from fear, but loyalty and dependence all the same.
When the carriage arrives at the gates of the fortress, it stopped short. The black steeds they rode seemed to make eerily little nose as they came to a halt. Allowing the fog of dread for the men on the walls to increase even more. The lead rider rode forward, head covered by a cowl, yet enough of their face was visible for an observant onlooker to see they were a woman, their long locks of gold spilling forth from beneath their hood.
Raising the banner, she held into the air she spoke with a voice that dripped with command and power, "Open and make way for the Voice of Izalith!"
At once, Abkher’s sturdy doors swung open with a crash, and the procession of Mother Night’s retainers rode inside without another thought. The keep’s garrison had been roused, dressed and assembled for display in the middle of the grounds. Nervous glances were exchanged and beads of sweat ran, despite the cold. The only soldiers that did not betray their worry were Errocas’s personal guard, but even their presence seemed to shrink as the purple-clad retinue stole the garrison’s attention.
Errocas stood among his guard at the forefront of the assembly, a single defiant, unflinching soldier among the perturbed throng. The carriage slowed before him, and he watched it come to a halt with stern eyes.
The silent guards soon dismounted as the carriage finally came to a complete stop allowing seemingly frightened stablehands to tentatively take the reins themselves and escort the horses to the horse pens. The robed woman followed suit before walking toward a side exit of the carriage, handing off her spear to one of the Blackguardsmen without a glance. A guard clutched the latch and pulled the portal open once the robed woman stood beside it.
She bowed her head as she offered a hand to someone within the carriage. A single pale hand reached out from within and took that extended support. A feminine figure exited the carriage with elegant ease before stepping onto the packed dirt of the fortresses open courtyard. The moment the occupant of the carriage stepped into the light of the day many in the court gasped.
The woman possessed exquisitely long locks of ashen white hair like lengths of silver liquid. She wore a dress of blackest ebony, with strips of more dark cloth wrapped around the length of both her arms. Upon these were woven many sigils and arcane symbols. The dress complimented her figure well, revealing elegant curves that most women of the day could only dream. She seemed to exude an aura about her, a kind of oppressive presence that was simultaneously awe-inspiring, soothing and most of all gave an air of dread and impending danger.
No word given no command needed, for the moment she appeared all found themselves upon their knees in respectful subjugation. Most unable to raise their head to dare look upon her, least they somehow invoke her ire. Those rare few possessed of a stronger will, or utterly consumed by curiosity could not take their eyes off her. In their minds, they saw what could only be described as the most beautiful creature they had ever laid eyes upon. Many mouthed silent prayers to Mother Night without realizing it themselves.
They could not see her entire face, however, for her eyes were hidden behind a single thick wrapping of cloth as if she wore a blindfold. One too thick to be a mere veil, yet, if this hindered her in any way was not wholly apparent for she walked without hesitancy or difficulty. The shrouded gaze seemed to fall on one man in particular. She walked straight toward Errocas without hesitance nor pause. When she was but six steps away from him, she spoke in a voice that managed to be both frightening as well as alluring, "Exarch Nobilissimus Errocas."
Each word pronounced to perfection, and once more sounding every bit as much as a statement rather than a question.
“My Lady,” answered the Exarch. Errocas groveled on his knee beside his men, though unlike most, he stared unblinking at the woman before him. It took a measure of his Stromist power to do so, so great was her aura. She was at once both terrifying and magnificent, seductive and repulsive. Even his skin crawled as she loomed above him, and despite the veil over her eyes, he felt her gaze burn like a hot iron.
“Mother Night has need of me?” he asked, knowing full well the answer to his question already.
The woman did not respond right away instead gesturing with a hand for him to raise to his feet. Once he had risen she spoke once more, "we have come far loyal son of Iao, my guardians would do well with rest and water."
Her perfect black painted lips completely captured Errocas's attention giving her words an almost hypnotic effect, though a subtle one. She inclined her head to one side slightly, "I have heard much of the hospitality of the north since Iao's conquest. I wish to see for myself."
“As you wish, my Lady,” the Exarch droned.
Errocas waved a hand to his closest attendants, making clear their compliance with the lady’s request. Whether it was by some kind of sorcery, or just the woman’s presence, Errocas felt compelled to cater to her whims. His orders came almost without thinking. The servants bowed and ran off, to return shortly afterwards with carts of refreshments. Pages took horses from their masters and led them to the stables.
“My men will show your retinue to their quarters after they have drank and eaten. Any other service you require, I will not hesitate to fulfil.”
The whole time, Errocas’s eyes did not linger from those obsidian lips. From them, as they parted, flowed the very will of Mother Night.
The woman smiled, the oppressive aura around her seemed to become less potent though still remained. "My thanks, Exarch. And you may call me Lady Ravera Sarvando; loyal daughter of Izalith."
Ravera looked back to the robed woman that flanked her and made a simple hand gesture that the other woman responded to with a bowing of her head. "While my followers situate themselves, I would have us speak of something of no small significance in the interim."
“Of course,” answered Errocas, and to his aide in a harsh whisper, “Clear the grounds. Neatly. This way, Lady Ravera.”
Errocas gestured for Ravera to follow him, turned and made through the portal of the main hall. He led her down a secluded cloister, away from the bustle of soldiery. The snow had been cleared from the grounds, to his relief. As he walked, the heavy presence of Izalith’s servant hung over him like a mail hauberk, tenfold.
“It must be a critical matter indeed, for Mother Night to have sent one of her own Heralds,” Errocas finally said. His composure became more diminutive as they turned a corner and Ravera brushed by him alarmingly closely.
"Perceptive of you," Ravera said. "Indeed, Mother Night has a task for you, Errocas of Abkher." Still close, Errocas could almost feel the heat of her words on his skin. “What does she ask of me?” he asked with a shiver. "Not ask," Ravera warned with a faint edge to her voice. "Izalith wishes, and we make it so." “Yes... we are but instruments of her will,” Errocas replied, cursing himself. His cheeks reddened and his eyes stuck to the ground.
"Indeed," came the sole reply followed by a pregnant pause before Ravera turned her unseen gaze forward once more and added. "A fortnight ago, a caravan was waylaid three leagues south of Colonia. Among those present were two priestesses of Mother Night, and a woman who was taken into their charge that they and a small group of guards were to escort to Thulthar."
"This girl was discovered in a village here in the north and was found possessing certain...gifts," Ravera's head turned to Errocas once more, the power of that veiled stare boring into him, the blindfold doing little to dampen it. Instead, it gave an air of mystery that allowed one's mind to conjure up images of what may lay beneath. "A native of the North was decided to be the best candidate to mount a search for this wayward servant. Only her body was absent from the remains of the caravan when it was found, and it is believed others may have discovered her importance. Feel honored Exarch. For you have been chosen."
Errocas’s heart hammered. He’d ‘been chosen.’ What did that mean for the war? For Severen? Atar? Most of all, what did it mean for him, a budding Exarch? Ravera’s message heralded change. This would not be another endeavor for the North’s - for Iao’s legacy. With this, he was serving the whole of the Empire, and Mother Night herself.
Errocas’s mouth opened and closed without a sound as he stumbled over his words, then he swallowed and caught his bearings.
“What more can you tell me about the girl? What is her name?” "She was born under the name Aelkja," Ravera explained in the tone a teacher might use on a student. "As she is of Vargian stock, she holds many of their features. Red of hair, dark gray eyes, and tall of stature for her age. Will that suffice?" “Hrm. And how will I locate her?” Errocas would need more substance to go on, but Mother Night surely had her secrets to keep. He knew it was best not to pry too far.
Those enchanting black lips pulled themselves into a knowing smile, "Mother Night provides," came Ravera's cryptic response as she raised a closed hand toward Errocas. That same hand opening to reveal a flawlessly clear opal gem, the color of which was like the dark blue of the open ocean. In the center of it, though barely visible, was a single strand of what looked to be a thread of hair.
"An invention of the Justicars called a seeking stone. It is tied to her life force and will point you in the right direction. It will also allow you to see where she has been, but be warned. It is a fickle thing at times, and it would be wise not to rely on it overmuch. More importantly, it will allow you to identify her immediately once you find her."
Errocas took the stone gingerly from the Herald’s hand. It felt warm to the touch, like a living thing of flesh and blood. He shuddered at what kind of procedure the Justicars might use to forge such a tool. He quickly dispensed it within a pocket inside his uniform.
“Thank you. I will see that Her Majesty’s trust is not misplaced,” he told Ravera, though the assurance was just as much meant for himself as it was her. After a brief pause, “How long will you stay at Abkher?”
Ravera inclined her head slightly almost as if she were listening for something, "I shall remain for no more than two suns. The Mother has need of me elsewhere."
“Very well, Lady.” The pair came full circle around the garden cloister and Errocas showed her through the doors to the main hall. From within his jacket, the stone blazed with heat, and he winced as he trailed behind Ravera.
Port City of Ardaza, Heartlands Act II I Pit of Vipers
”The Disjunction released not only raw, tainted magic onto Ethica, but it also opened up our world to the spirit realms of the Ancient Ones. This was not the opening of some rift... but rather the loosening of the bindings that separate our world from many, many others ruled by beings of truly alien minds and powers. And although the Disjunction was brief, there was time for all manner of spiritkind to come into our world. The greatest of such beings were the Ancient Ones such as Degolacha, N'oiboth or the infamous Azueral. The lesser spiritkind born of this mighty titans soon discovered they had no essence of their own and were forced into either parasitic or symbiotic relationships with what they found around them. Spirits merged with the multitude of different things, from rocks and rivers to the trees, birds, beasts, and men. Many if these spirits lacked sentience, while others were incredibly intelligent. Some were benign or helpful, while others grew like tumors within the bodies they possessed and such malevolent spirits that took shape into these living creatures that rejected them transformed and became some of the first vilespawn. All things on the face of the planet were affected by this. Few and far between are the examples of things that remained untouched.
The changes are too numerous to mention in this brief account but recognize that some terrain became twisted and evil, such as the Shattered Wastes, while real terrors never before imagined began walking Ethica... and new races of men came into being. Some 500 years later, at the time of this writing, there are four documented and at least partially civilized species of men.”
The morning found Jahard to be in a rather optimistic mood, as he rested on the hard cot of his inn room. A yawn and stretch later he was wiping to sleep from his eyes as he rose to a sitting position on his bed. The cot on the other side of the small room was empty. Jahard guessed his sister had awakened up before him. In the time it took him to get dressed, restring his bow, and splash some water on his face, Aleena had returned their room. Still kneeling over the water basin, Jahard shook his hands dry and shook his head.
“Where were you?” He asked without turning his head.
“Out,” came the simple response.
Aleena kicked the door closed behind her as she entered the room, a bag hung over her shoulder. Still knelt Jahard clutched the open petal amulet fashioned like a rose he wore around his neck. He mouthed a silent, quick prayer to Mother Night before rising to his feet. Stretching the muscles of his left arm and rotating the shoulder joint. He had slept poorly the night before, and he blamed the bed for the stiffness in his neck. The innkeeper had assured them of the quality of their room the night before, and Jahard remained skeptical. Top quality his arse. It seemed the title of justiciar held little reverence here. Unsurprising.
“So I suppose we’ll be heading to the spot the guards said the shade was killed?” Aleena asked.
“Yes, but first we wait for the guide Manuel promised,” Jarhard responded as he reached for his longbow, placing it in a leather sheath at his waist.
Aleena sighed as she rolled her eyes, “yes, of course, the guide. Why did you even ask for one? They’ll be more a hindrance than any help.”
“It allows us a degree reciprocity with the cities Exarch. We might be able to open more doors with a representative of the Exarch with us...and know what doors Manuel would prefer remained closed." Jahard belted his twin axes before adorning the shoulder cape that possessed the symbol of the justiciar and raised an eyebrow at the bag Aleena carried. "Anything I should know about?"
Aleena only shrugged, "just some early shopping, nothing fancy." She nonchalantly tossed the bag onto the bed, which produced the distinct sound of metal on metal. "Let go meet this guide then and hope they're not every bit as useless as I expect them to be."
The pair exited their rented room and made their way downstairs to the main hall of the inn. The innkeeper was already behind his desk, sitting on a stool and apparently playing a game of cards with himself. He looked up and gave the two justiciars barely more than a nod before turning his attention back to the line of cards before him. Messaging a sore spot on the left side of his neck Jahard hoped they'd not have to wait long. He sensed today would lead to at least some of the answers they needed, so his patience was more strained than usual.
Scarcely a minute passed before a lithe woman made her way into the inn donning the uniform of the Exarch's Guild, the Order of the Unseeing Eye. Briefly scanning the room before approaching the pair the woman smiled warmly and proffered her hand, “Justicars, I'm Lilika Sisinis. I’ll be at your disposal for however long your investigation requires.”
Jahard took the hand offered and gave a single nod, "Jahard Nhazum, and my sister," he added with a gesture of his chin, "Aleena. I take it you're aware of our current purpose here in your city."
“Of course,” Lilika's smile faded as she spoke almost apologetically, “My guild works closely with the city guard, though I was only recently briefed by the Exarch. It's hard to believe though, if not for your presence I would have had doubts.”
With a glance, Lilika pulled a few loosely bound pages of bleached parchment out of the bag on her hip and continued, “I have the document you asked for here. A record of unexpected arrivals at the docks, correct? The Captain had it done up last night, but I can't say it's the most complete list, the Guard’s records are far from perfect.”
Jahard took the parchment with a nod, "excellent this could prove to be very insightful. Once we know where to look," Jahard carefully placed the documents into a large pouch at the small of his back.
"Hmph, I hope you don't expect me to read through all that," Aleena yawned, "Alright now that's out of the way we should get to it."
"Agreed," Jahard looked to Lilika. "We'll head to the sight the victim was found if you might please lead the way."
“Certainly Justicar, it’s not a long walk.” With that Lilka turned and strode out the door, her blue eyes looking back only for a moment to ensure the pair followed.
Jahard followed Lilka's lead with Aleena not falling far behind. As Lilka had said, it was not an overly long march through the already crowded streets. The sun was already rising high in the sky when they reached the location mentioned by the guards. The alley was no different from any other, with a few pieces of strewn garbage and broken crates littering the length of the pathway.
Jahard, however, could see the echoes of what might have been a struggle still evident. A barrel overturned, its contents scattered and the water within it having since long dried up, leaving the markings of what was once a puddle with the odd fish bones laying over the faded marking of it. Dark splotches could be seen mostly upon one side wall, mostly faded but just visible.
Aleena stepped lightly into the alley first, eyes roaming up and down as if looking for something specific. He knew the followers of the Bloody Handed God were adept in finding trace magic, so he left her to her own devices. He lifted a hand to one wall, over a dark patch and looked closely, it was was dried blood to be sure, however, without hemomancy, it was impossible to tell who it belonged too.
"Did the guards mentioned anything else out of the ordinary when they found the body?" He asked Lilka without looking directly at her.
Lilika ran her hand along the building beside her as she approached Jahard, stopping to investigate the grime on her fingertips before she replied, “I was told the shade’s body was found headless. It’s not unheard of, especially since the body had been marked by one of the local gangs. Nevertheless, it did warrant some attention. As I understand it there was a brief search, although nothing particularly notable was uncovered.”
Lilika took a small cloth from her bag and cleaned off her fingers with a grimace before continuing, “The head was either disposed of somewhere far away, or it was taken as a macabre token. That aside, I’m not surprised there’s so little evidence here. Even if the killer bled our shade dry, there’s enough filth in this ally that it’d only serve to add to the mix. The docks have always been a disgusting place.”
Jahard nodded, his face stoic and unreadable. He turned his attention back to the alley itself and tried to envision what might have transpired. However, with so little to go on, he was coming up short. Jahard could scarcely believe common thugs had done this, at least not alone. A possible means of throwing them off the trail of the real killer? Possible. Anyone bold enough to kill a shade would still wish to remain anonymous. No sane man wanted to earn the ire of the Shade Enclave, or worse the Archon of Shadow's attention. Of course, it could be possible they were unaware of the identity and allegiance of the murder victim. Merely coming across someone snooping into the someone's else's business was enough to earn you a knife in the back. The idea of a shade being that careless seemed inconceivable to Jahard, however, but he could not rule anything out this early.
"Does this...gang? Have a name?" Jahard asked.
Lilika pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, “I was hoping you weren’t going to ask that. They call themselves the uh… The Stabbers. I’m not kidding. So far as anyone can tell they think it’s intimidating. The guard has a habit of making examples of them when they surface, something that came about after they rather miserably failed to commandeer a ship, but they’ve never warranted a serious response. To think they killed a shade is… To be frank? Ridiculous.”
"Huh," Jahard scanned the ground as he added, "I agree, though one might think a native of this city would have chosen a better scapegoat to..."
Suddenly Jahard paused as something caught his attention. He knelt to one knee and took hold of the lid of a barrel and lifted it. He brushed aside some dirt and lifted up what looked to be a strip of dark cloth. He eyed it carefully, even as he watched it closely he could scarcely discern the nature of the fabric, as it seemed to fade in and out of the light. It was icy cold the touch, and even as he held it his fingers were fast becoming numb. So much so he was forced to trade hands as he examined it.
"What in seven suns..." Jahard whispered under his breath.
Watching Jahard juggle the fabric from behind Lilka reached out to touch the dangling piece of fabric herself. It had merely brushed against her hand before she recoiled and scowled, “Dark magic Justicar, unpleasant isn’t it? It’s the sort of unprincipled spellcraft one might find in Sheol, a repulsive magic for a repulsive place. I’m loathe to think its practitioners are migrating here.”
Jahard eyed the fabric with new eyes and a grimace of disgust as if the thing had started leaking pus, "and loathsome implications follow if this hints to what I fear."
Jahard retrieved a small leather pouch from a satchel tied to his belt and stored the fabric away within for later investigation. Preferably with spells of divination; despite his misgivings, it merited closer observation under the proper conditions.
At that point, Aleena hissed from further down the alley, "psst, brother I've found something."
Jahard rose to his feet at his sister's prompting seeing that she was eyeing a section of wall with narrowed eyes of suspicion. He walked over asking, "what is it. What have you found."
"...something," was all she responded with as she pulled a dagger free of the sheath bounded to her left leg. She used its sharp point to prick the index finger of her right hand. She mouthed something under her breath and raised her hand over a seemingly random spot on the alley wall. Several tense seconds pass before what looked like black ink melted off that section of the wall and ran down the face of it like a living shadow.
The unsettling touch of sorcery could be felt for just a moment and then it was gone, leaving the feeling one felt in their stomach after they had fallen from a high place.
"Someone used a rather potent spell of illusion to hide something here. I don't know any people outside the Enclave of Shades able to use shadow magic this powerful.... if the maker had taken their time on it I doubt anyone but a Shade could have managed to break it. Lucky for us our shade didn't have that much time by the looks of it."
Jahard bent forward quickly intrigued, "seems even in death Shades can keep secrets! Luckily the killer was either unaware of this or was too inept in sorcery to find it. What does it say."
Aleena frowned at the letter and numbers, "...I'm not sure, I don't recognize these symbols."
Peeking over Jahards shoulder Lilka eyed the scrawled writing and pursed her lips in thought a moment before she spoke, “It’s a pier designation Justicar, and a warehouse address under that. I can assemble a contingent of guardsmen if you wish to move on the building, given the lack of information.”
"Hmm, a mustering of the guard might tip our hand," Aleena thought out loud.
"That may be a risk we may need to take, we know not what awaits us," Jarhard cautioned. "Still, I'd rather we were the first to the scene." Rising to his feet, he looked to Lilka, "send word to the guard to be ready move on that pier, I and my sister will go ahead to stake out this location. You're free to come along if you wish."
Straightening up and dusting off her clothes, as if the very air of the alley had sullied them, Lilka nodded, “I shall inform the guard and meet you there Justicars.” With that said Lilka took her leave, leaving Jahard and Aleena to the scene.
Somewhere in the Heartlands Act II | Pit of Vipers
"Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark."
The final hour of days work had signaled with the grim toll of the town's bell. The sound echoed through the villa with slow vibrations. Already many were returning to their homes, the recent arrival of a merchant caravan had marked a day of rare excitement for many. But already the market stalls were being packed away as those same merchants retired to their tents for the night. Angelica knew her mother would scold her for staying out past curfew, but after a day in the market (where a particularly generous merchant had given her a bag of sweets for free) she wished to visit one of her newest friends she had made only recently.
Old man Taba had only recently become part of the town’s community. An old wanderer that had decided to make his home in the little villa, Her father had called him an hermit, which sounded like a rather silly name to Angelica. Making her way up the small hillock that sat on the western edge of the villa, Angelica soon found old man Taba on his log, watching the sun set over the horizon. He sat wrapped in his old cloak, the kind she had come accustomed to seeing. Against the log was his staff, a dark wooden stave he often used to aid him in walking. His hood was pushed back currently, allowing her to see his balding head and white hair, with an oval face and sharp chin that held a chest-long beard.
He seemed serene and sat so still she almost believed for a moment he had merely died on the spot. Too old and tired to even fall over proper. At that moment she held the very real fear, he might, in fact, be dead, but she noted the subtle shift of his body now and again. She silently sighed in relief and smiled to herself as she thought of playing a little trick on old Tab. She crept up behind Taba with slow and deliberate steps. By the time she was only five steps away, Taba had spoken, spooking Angelica with the suddenness of it.
So caught off guard she did not even catch what Taba had said. After a short but pregnant pause, Taba repeated himself. "Oh, sorry if I startled you, the fair must have ended I take it." As he spoke, he retrieved a pipe from within the depths of his cloak.
"Y-you didn't," Angelica responded with as much dignity as she could muster. Recovering quickly she blurted out, "I wanted to hear another one of your stories! Pleease!"
Taba seemed to sigh as he filled his pipe with a black herb, eventually lighting it before finally saying, "very well, but after you must promise to return home before dark, you don't want your mother getting worried over you now!"
Angelica nodded fervently before taking a seat on the log at Tab's prompting. They spent an entire candlemark there with Taba recalling past tales he had gained in his travels and Angelica paying close attention. Soon the day had been all but spent, and despite much protesting, Angelica eventually agreed to return home. Taba watched her descend the length of the hill and smiled to himself. He had come to find begrudging pleasure in these little moments. The people of this villa had shown him an extraordinary kindness Taba knew; he dared say they were beginning to grow on him. Normally there was rightful suspicion when a stranger came into such small communities. However, it seemed as long as Taba kept to himself and caused no trouble, the people here were happy to let him be.
He exhaled a puff of smoke and watched as the last fingers of light vanished behind the horizon, even now the first glimpse of Azueral’s Eye appearing above the skyline. He waited there as the shadows grow long, and darkness began to overtake the landscape. A keen eye might take note of the odd fact Taba seemed to cast no shadow of his own in the failing light; just sitting and waiting for something.
Or someone.
“You are the sentimental sort, aren’t you, old man?” A cold and cruel voice rang out from the darkness behind him.
Like the full moon on a starless night, and existence of pure white approached. A white cloak, white skin, white hair, a white veil. Like a hole in the world where all darkness and color had ceased to be. He smiled as Taba turned to face him, his lip curling up to reveal his white fangs.
Taba lifted an eyebrow at the dark apparition, seemingly unbothered as he met the man's gaze with an unreadable one of his own. Tab returned his stare to the horizon, faded pupils seeming to scan the sky. "You could learn a lesson in subtlety, even if one learns to hide their shadow. Looking the part of the unassuming is a valuable skill."
The man known as Taba knocked the edge of his pipe against the log he sat upon, shaking loose some of the burnt embers within, "at least you remain punctual."
“Subtlety is for the weak. May the powerless avert their eyes in shame, and the bold be blinded by my glory.” Walking closer to the older man, he squatted at a position perpendicular to him rather than sit alongside him. “Now what is your business?”
Adding more crushed herbs to his pipe Taba gave a single nod, "mhm, yes. The bold words of youth yet untested... often it mirrors the words of the foolish."
Bringing the pipe to his lips he snapped a finger, lighting the contents instantly. "The Keeper gods of old believed they were all powerful. Unchallengeable." He inhaled sharply, then exhaled a single stream of smoke. "Then the ancients came and merely changed the rules. Now many are cast down, destroyed, or dead. Their arrogance paid for in blood."
Taba’s eyes wandered up and settled on the half moon that hung in the night's sky, he pointed the end of his pipe in it’s direction. “Tell me, when you look up what do you see?”
At Taba’s prompting, the white man looked up at the moon, not bothering to remove the opaque veil over his eyes. “The eye of the aeons, waiting to be torn open. A realm yet unconquered.”
Taba nodded, "and one seeking to devour us all." Taba took another drag from his pipe, "but more than that. An opportunity few can see. For they see only the obvious. Yet...very, few indeed can read the signs."
Taba reached for his staff and took hold of it, and with careful and deliberate movements, draw a circle in the dirt before him with the butt of it. "This world is a predictable one of cycles and patterns when you know what to look for. Every few centuries that old beast in the sky rears its ugly head and every time night blankets the land to shield us from the power of that eclipse. That much even the common folk know, for she is possessed of as much arrogance as those fallen gods."
As the circle was completed Taba paused a moment, "but lesser known is there are signs of the coming of true night. For Azueal's Eye is a thing bound by cycles."
Taba looked skyward once more, "this night it takes on an amethyst shade. The next it will be a blood-like crimson. So on and so one. That in itself is of little importance since one can expect the intervention of her.... but at that moment of intervention, she is at her most vulnerable. None know this fact, even the Archon's are left out of this knowledge... save one of course."
Exhaling through his nose, Taba produced a lopsided smile, "Such an opportunity then presents itself to those with the knowledge and boldness to take it." He slowly made a fist with his free hand and held skyward as if to pluck the moon from the sky with not but his hand, "I do not share this lightly my fellow apostate, for even knowing this much is enough to make one's life forfeit in this empire built on blood."
He paused once more as if in thought, "what I will propose tonight my young friend, is something I shall only offer once. But I must first know you will be committed to this course once taken. There can be no going back, and only absolute destruction for us both should failure find us upon this road."
“I have ceased to stand at the edge of oblivion. I am the void and it is me.” His companion answered, in his usual roundabout way.
Taba nodded, "well enough," he looked down toward the village with an expression unreadable in the dark gloom of approaching night. "So let us prepare the ground then. There live four grand solar priests of Kammeth, the sleeping god, that reside within the borders of the Empire. These four men must die." The cold wind of night swept across the hilltop, sending leaves into the air.
"In this unassuming village lives one of these men," Taba lifted a hand and tapped the side of his head. "Each holds within their gray matter but a single piece of a spell of binding. No one priest is even aware of the identity of his other fellows, so if one was found, he could never betray the identity of the other holders. Thankfully I have long since located each one and -- with your aid-- we shall find and kill out each one in turn. Tonight Bishop Nolestien Genert of Reviran will be the first."
Taba produced a bound scroll from a satchel on the log next to him and nonchalantly tossed it toward his companion. "That possess the names and location of two others; you must dispatch them and remove their heads. You need not take either of them alive for what is needed. You would do well to slaughter every man, woman, and child of the towns they reside in. There can be no witnesses."
"Let it appear as a raid or attack of vilepawn as you wish; the priests have gone to great pains to hide themselves. This will be to our advantage for one maimed body will be easily overlooked in a field of them. So the others will not know it is they who are being hunted, offering us ample time to find them."
The stranger in white listened with what seemed to be disinterest, but the veil over his eyes made his expression difficult to read. As Taba concluded, he stood up suddenly and crossed his arms in a pose of dominance. “Very well. This hamlet shall hear the opening notes of the song that ends the world.”
As Taba was about to reply, out of the corner of his eye he spotted a small figure approach. The other man sensed it as well, turning his eyeless face in the direction of the figure. As it neared and became clearer, Taba’s heart sank. It was Angelica, stolen out from her bed with a bundle over her shoulder. His throat tightened, and his brow furrowed. He had hoped that she would be asleep for what was to come. He looked to his companion, hoping to read his intentions, but found that his expression was utterly void of emotion.
“Taba!” She called to him as she came near enough to see the two, “It’s getting cold tonight, so I brought you a blanket! I brought a honeydrop too, just to thank you for the stories!”
Foolish child, the old man thought intently, Don’t come closer, please.
Eventually she grew near enough that they could clearly see her expression in the moonlight. She smiled generously, showing the gaps where her infant teeth had fallen out, and her breathing was slightly labored from the trek up the hill. Taking note of the other man, she looked up at him in wonder, clearly astounded by his unusual presence.
“Wow, who is this? Is this one of your friends?” She smiled again, approaching the stranger. “My name is Angelica, it’s nice to meet you.”
Taba wanted to reach out to her and stop her, or at the very least tell her to run away and not look back. But he couldn’t, and he knew it. This was only the beginning, and he had to harden his heart now for what was to come. It was for Sadayni's sake after all, and he had and would suffer and do far worse to rectify the wrongs of his past.
His companion was far less troubled, and looked down at Taba disdainfully, “Nothing?” He scoffed. “As I said before: sentimental.”
The man lifted his veil, revealing the eyes beneath. They were demon’s eyes; orbs of brilliant crimson that burned like the fires of hell. He looked down at the girl, and she up at him. As soon as their gazes met, the girl’s flesh turned to ash, and she blew away in the wind. No scream, no cry, only the sound of her clothes and the blankets she carried landing softly in the grass. The man replaced his veil, and began to walk down the hill.
He gestured to Taba without looking at him. “Come, old man. I won’t do all of your work for you.”
The man known as Taba did not move for a heartbeat, face unreadable beneath his cowl. He slowly rose to his feet, only offering the briefest glance to where Angelica once stood. He turned away then and placed a hand over his face, dark swirls of blackening mist engulfing his visage. His attire changing in the span of a heartbeat, becoming a dark coat of a style that had long since been forgotten by this world; from an age and people long gone. He lowered his hand, revealing a mask as dark as the abyss with piercing glowing eyes of a sick pale gleam. So let it begin, he thought. If the world demanded he become a monster to achieve the justice robbed of him so long ago, he would become that monster.
And so much more.
Reviran would only be the first bloody stepping stone. May Sadayni forgive him.
